Depraved (14 page)

Garner kept on laughing.

Megan sat in a metal folding chair in the center of an empty room. The room was small, about the size of the average walk-in closet. There were no windows, and the white walls were unadorned, with the exception of a few pieces of graffiti scratched into the drywall. L
INDA LOVES PUSSY
. G
OD HELP ME
. N
O WAY OUT
. N
O SHIT
. And so on. The most interesting was a phone number with an area code Megan knew to be in Manhattan. Below the number was a scrawled, messy plea from someone named Sonia begging anyone with mercy in their souls to call her parents.

Megan memorized the number.

She was still handcuffed, but otherwise was unbound. She’d been alone in the room for some five minutes, deposited here while DeMars and one of the Prestons went off somewhere for some last-minute haggling. She got up and walked to the door, tried the knob, and found it locked. No surprise there, but she gave the door a closer inspection. Maybe she could kick it open. But it looked so sturdy. She recalled a video clip she’d seen on YouTube. This guy had been trying to break into some little store well after closing time to steal beer. He kicked the store’s door over and over, each kick more frantic than the last, until the final kick. The security footage of his leg snapping was a hard thing to forget.

Megan decided not to kick the door open.

She returned to the chair and sat down.

She was afraid.

Very much so.

But she was also angry.

Rage built inside her with each slowly passing moment. She was a human being. A real, feeling, flesh and blood person. But she was being treated like an animal. Worse than that, like a commodity. Something to be swapped and sold. She could be raped. Beaten. Murdered. Even eaten. And in the eyes of the local law, it was nothing. These things didn’t count as crimes, because she wasn’t a real person to them. And she knew she was far from the first outsider woman to endure these exercises in degradation.

It was wrong.

More than that, it was evil.

Someone should do something about it, end it once and for all.

Someone.

Somehow.

The door to the room opened, and the muffled thump of a Mötley Crüe song grew louder, became an earcrunching blare. A man came into the room. Megan looked at his hawklike face and drew in a sharp breath of surprise. It was the same man she’d observed standing next to the van behind the Hopkins Bend General Store. One of the heartless redneck pigs who’d tossed her Pete so carelessly into the van. A face from the beginning of this nightmare, and as such it symbolized everything wrong about this town and its people.

He grinned, flashing rows of rotting, yellowed teeth. “Howdy.”

He shut the door. Then he walked up to her and unzipped his pants, pulled out his dick. It was a small one. His exposed crotch stank. The vile man hadn’t bathed in
days. He chuckled and waved his genitals at her. Megan couldn’t imagine anything more repulsive than having to suck the thing. It would be like fellating an animal. But some colder, more pragmatic part of her took abrupt control. She reached toward the man, cupped his sweaty balls in her cuffed hands and leaned toward his limp cock. This was going to be awful, but maybe she could earn some good will by playing the part of the willing, eager new whore.

But the man laughed and swatted her hands away. He pushed his cock and balls back inside his pants and zipped up. “You ain’t my type, honey.”

Megan licked her lips and arranged her features in an expression of fake lust. “But I’d make it good. Better than you’ve ever had.”

He laughed again. “Wouldn’t happen. I guarantee it.”

Megan wriggled in the chair, scooted to its edge, leaned forward, and looked up at him. Her shoulders were hunched forward, and her cuffed hands were down between her spread legs. The thrust of her breasts was now very tantalizingly displayed in the skimpy halter top. She dropped her voice to a lower, huskier tone. “Let me prove you wrong.”

“Thing is, you ain’t black.”

Megan frowned. “What?”

“I only like black pussy. I keep a couple of the finest Nubian princesses you ever saw in my own cellar. Wear ’em out day and night. Dick stays hard round the clock at home. Here?” He shrugged, a wry expression on his face. “Not so much. Most other local fellas favor blonde white sluts. Which is why a bitch like you is always a good business acquisition. Reason I took my dick out was to see how you’d react, because that’s gonna be happening a lot. Think you can handle it?”

Megan chose not to abandon the wanton slut pose. She
licked her lips again. “I can handle all the dick you can throw at me.”

The man tossed his head back and howled laughter.

Megan smiled.

And inwardly she marveled at the words that had come out of her mouth. It was not the sort of thing she would normally say. But this was not a normal situation, which was perhaps the mother of all understatements. The human race had survived through the ages because of its ability to adapt to adverse circumstances. To survive by any means necessary. And in this case that included allowing herself to be subjected, without reluctance, to all the humiliations and transgressions against her body and soul the Sin Den had in store for her. She would submit, and maybe, just maybe, somewhere down the line there would be an opportunity to escape.

The man went to the door and opened it. The blare of the music pounded her ears again. Some other hardrock song. “Come on, honey. It’s time to meet your new boss.”

Megan stood and followed him through the door into a long and narrow hallway. The tight space was bathed in a warm red light from ceiling bulbs. Music and faint male laughter emanated from somewhere on the other side of the wall to her right. The walls were painted black and adorned with posters of naked and scantily attired girls in various suggestive poses. Others went beyond suggestive, including one that showed a large-breasted black woman wearing a strap-on dildo. She stood with her long legs spread wide, posing behind the upthrust ass of a slender white woman who was kneeling over the edge of a sofa. Megan supposed the man she was following had picked that one out.

At the end of the hallway, a single door stood open on the left. They were still a good twenty paces or so from the
door. The man was staring straight ahead, not looking at her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw they were the only ones in the hallway. Two competing fantasies took almost immediate shape in her head. The first was to turn and run, maybe find some back way out of this place and make a break for the thick surrounding wilderness. The alternate fantasy included murder. She imagined looping her cuffed hands around the man’s neck from behind. He was short enough. She could do it. Arms up and then down over his head. Hands and handcuff steel tight around his throat as she rode him down to the floor and strangled the life out of him. The first fantasy was the easiest to dismiss. Sure, maybe she could get outside, but the alarm would be raised in seconds. And say she did get out and into the woods. What then? She imagined a pack of shotgun-toting rednecks and hound dogs chasing her down. Even setting aside the handicap of her cuffed hands, the notion was clearly not feasible on any level. She had no real outdoors survival skills. And the idea of tromping around in strange and dangerous terrain in the dead of night? Forget about it. Now, if she killed Mr. Black Pussy Lover, she might buy herself some time, perhaps even enough to get away and into the woods before the alarm was raised. But ultimately she would find herself in the same position and facing the same set of potential pitfalls and hazards.

So…no.

The best approach remained the “go along to get along” scheme. She just hoped there would be a payoff somewhere down the line to make it worth her while.

They reached the end of the hallway and she followed the man through the doorway into a large and brightly lit dressing room. There was a row of primping and makeup application stations along the walls to her left and right. More than a dozen girls in various stages of undress turned to look at her. The women were all very
pretty. Some were almost beautiful. Even so, only one or two were even remotely in her class. Megan recognized this as the ruthless side of her personality coming to the forefront again, and she was happy to allow it sway. These girls were her sister prisoners. Slaves. But they were also her competition. She would have to be better than any of them to have any hope of achieving her goals.

And I will be,
she thought.

It was interesting to study the expressions of the women as they appraised her. A few clearly evinced empathy and concern. One girl, a short but busty brunette, even had tears in her eyes. Others had carefully blank expressions. A few scowled at her. A tall, stunning blonde wearing only frilly pink panties flipped her off.

The man paused to slap the bare ass of the one black girl in the group. The girl squealed and threw her arms around his neck. “Carl, baby, where you been keeping yourself, honey? You ain’t had me out to your place in so long.”

Carl grinned. “Could be I’m gonna be looking to cycle in some fresh meat soon, sweet thing.” He scratched his chin. “Maybe you should convince me you’re the right girl for the job.”

The girl made a purring sound deep in her throat and pulled him close. They kissed. It went on for a while. A lot of very enthusiastic tongue-bathing was involved. Megan stood in the center of the room and fidgeted, nervous from the continued silent scrutiny of the other girls. The striking blonde who’d flipped her off approached her. The girl was maybe an inch or two under six feet, much taller than Megan, so it was hard not to feel intimidated. The perfect Nordic cheekbones didn’t help matters, adding to the overall impression of a cruel and pitiless ice queen. The girl was smiling, but her eyes projected almost palpable hate.

She leaned down and whispered in Megan’s ear. “First chance I get, I’m gonna fuck you up.” She nipped at Megan’s earlobe, making her flinch. “Smash that pretty face to pieces.”

She launched a fist into Megan’s midsection. Air exploded from her lungs as the blow nearly lifted her off her feet. Megan stood bent over and gasping for breath. She braced for a follow-up blow, but none came. The tall girl was already back at one of the primping stations, her back turned to Megan as she stared at a mirror and drew a brush through long, lustrous hair.

Megan was upright again by the time Carl broke the clinch with the black girl. He turned to look at her and frowned at her pained expression. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing.”

He frowned some more, then shrugged. “Come on, bitch. Business to take care of.”

Megan followed him toward a closed door at the far end of the room. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the tall blonde staring at her, a small smile lifting the corners of her pink-painted lips. She hoped her refusal to narc had earned her some goodwill. That was one woman she didn’t want for an enemy. Yeah, she’d promised to “fuck her up,” but maybe—

Carl opened the door and said, “Stop gawking, bitch, and come on in.”

Megan looked at Carl and smiled. “Sorry. Couldn’t help it. I love looking at naked women.”

Carl chuckled. “Sure you do. But you’re playing the game well, I’ll give you that.” He swept a hand toward the door. “In. Now.”

Megan stepped through the door into a roomy office. More posters of naked and near-naked women in slutty poses adorned the walls here. Another door stood open on
the other side of the room, allowing a peek at what was clearly a bathroom. A row of file cabinets stood against one wall. Against another were bookshelves stuffed full with pornographic DVDs. An attractive woman in a blue silk negligee sat behind a desk. She had been reading a magazine, but set it aside as they came into the room. Carl closed the door and nudged Megan toward a chair in front of the desk. The woman on the other side of the desk had long, dark hair, so dark it was almost black, and she was as pretty as any of the girls in the dressing room. But she was older than any of them by more than a decade.

Carl folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against the closed door. “Thought DeMars was gonna be here for this.”

The woman smiled and shrugged. “Rich had to leave in a hurry. Some emergency. Regardless, we were able to conclude our business satisfactorily. This one belongs to us now.”

“Good, ’cause I got a feeling this one’s gonna be popular with the boys.”

The woman opened one of the desk’s drawers, reached inside, and removed something. She flicked a hand in Carl’s direction, and the thing she’d removed from the drawer sailed across the room. Megan caught a glimpse of something silver and tiny before Carl snagged it with an outstretched hand.

“Rich left that. Uncuff her.”

Carl stepped in front of Megan and knelt between her legs. She looked down and saw the little key sliding into the lock. One little twist and the metal bracelets popped open. Carl stood up and tossed the handcuffs and key on the desk. Megan shook her hands and rubbed her wrists, working the circulation back into them.

The woman kept her gaze on Megan, but addressed Carl. “You can leave now.”

Carl didn’t say anything, just left the room and closed the door behind him.

The woman stared at Megan for several long, uncomfortable moments in total silence.

Then she smiled and leaned over the desk. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Megan.”

“You’ll need a stage name. Something sexier.”

“Okay.”

“Stand up.”

Megan stood.

The woman’s gaze moved up and down the length of her body.

“Turn around.”

Megan did a slow spin.

The woman was nodding now. “Nice.”

“Thank you.”

“Take your clothes off.”

Megan stepped out of her shoes, unbuttoned her jeans and began to shimmy out of them. As she did, she heard a low, almost inaudible moan issue from the bathroom. She frowned and glanced that way as she stepped out of the jeans and kicked them aside. The moan came again.