Femme Fatale (Black Rose Book 2) (8 page)

Melanie

I’ve been on pins and needles about seeing the kill room all day long. Now that I am pulling into the wooded area and the gravel is crunching beneath my tires, my excitement wanes.

There’s something very hair-raising about this place. The tree branches loom over the roof of my car like a canopy, blocking out the moonlight and adding to the eeriness of this remote location. It’s like they’re alive, beckoning me to proceed down the long gravel road. Instinctively, I want to turn around and get the hell out of here, but I feel powerless against the energy of the place pulling me in. I know the creepy factor is getting to me because my pulse is racing. When your heart is pounding so hard that you can hear the blood rushing in your ears, that’s when you know you’re scared. It’s easy to see why my husband has chosen this place. It’s completely desolate and so deeply entrenched in the forest, his victim’s screams are guaranteed to go unheard. I keep driving but have to suppress a shiver of unease. I almost feel like this secluded place could be haunted. Even as I chastise myself for the silly thought, my gut is still telling me there’s a supernatural presence here—something very dark and sinister, yet compelling. It’s suddenly very clear to me how someone could become hooked on the excitement of the kill. Just driving into this place is stirring something inside me I have never felt before. It’s pulling me in, tempting me, and I know there’s no turning back. Even though I have yet to kill, I have reached the point of no return. Some phantom of darkness has dug its talons into my soul, wanting to use me as a tool to maim and kill, and it has no intention of letting go. In a flash of clairvoyant insight, I know that once I get a taste of exacting vengeance, I will be just as addicted as my husband. I console myself with the knowledge that we are doing what no one else has the courage to do. We’re leveling the playing field for those who have been victims of crime.

No matter how many times I peer back behind the trees to assure myself there’s nothing there, I still find that I’m scared, fearful that ghosts from the past are watching me. Perhaps they wonder how I will respond to the tales they will tell me tonight. No longer will I be left in the dark about the taboo things my husband does; tonight, the truth will finally be revealed.

I stop my car in front of the metal building looming before me. It beckons me, enticing the dark corners of my mind with the depravity that has taken place here over the years. I take one last look around, convincing myself there aren’t any demons lying in wait to jump out and get me. I grab my keys, and before I lose all nerve, I get out of the car, pushing the fob to lock the doors as I quickly make my way up to the building.

My hands shake as I attempt to unlock the door, knowing that once it’s open, all of my husband’s deep, dark secrets will be revealed. I drop the keys and automatically scan the darkness once again, willing my husband to pull in so I can feel safe.

Once I’m convinced there’s no one lurking in the shadows waiting to accost me, I scoop up the keys and am finally successful in unlocking the warehouse door. I quickly shut the door behind me and lock it, but my relief is short-lived when nothing happens after I flick the light switch. Shit, this is like something out of a bad horror movie.

Using my hands to clumsily feel my way along the wall, I try to find another room, preferably one with a working light. I wish I’d been here before so I wasn’t blindly making my way through a building completely foreign to me.

I trip over something, and the loud sound it makes clattering against the concrete floor startles me as I reach for the wall, trying to stop my fall. Though I could’ve sworn the wall was just there moments ago, I miss it and end up on all fours. It’s probably safer at this point to crawl, so that’s what I do, using my hands to feel in front of me. The fall has caused me to lose my bearings, and the initial fear I was experiencing is quickly morphing into terror. I’m starting to panic and decide to just go back the way I came, get the hell out of this dark building, and wait in my car until my husband arrives. I’ve had enough of this shit; I’m getting the hell out of here.

My heart literally stops when I feel a foot where my hand was groping along the floor. Strong hands grab me when I move to stand and take off running. These don’t feel like the hands of someone offering protection; they feel threatening as one clamps over my mouth to silence my screams.

My legs kick wildly in an attempt to get away, but the gloved hand only presses down harder over my mouth. Another hand applies pressure to the artery on the side of my neck that carries blood to my brain until there is darkness that has nothing to do with a blown bulb. When I regain consciousness, I see that I was out long enough to be rendered helpless, stripped nude, and tied down to a cold steel table.

Slowly becoming more and more aware of how dire my predicament is, I twist my body from side to side in an attempt to break free from the restraints. Tears stream down my face, dampening the blindfold, and I will my husband to come save me from whoever this stranger is.

With my arms pinned to the side of the table, I continue to struggle in the restraints. My legs are bent at the knees and held back with leather straps, leaving me open and exposed. Not only can I feel the texture of the restraints, but I can also smell them. It’s obvious I’m being held down by leather straps; the scent of orange oil is heavy in the air, and as I move, I can feel how pliable they are.

“Shh,” wet lips and teeth nip at my skin, sucking and pulling at nipples that betray me, peaking to the point that it feels like they could cut glass.

“I’m only giving you what you want. I’m taking what’s mine. I see the look in your eyes, willing the monster in me to come out and play. At the oddest times of day, I see the longing in your eyes for me to overpower you, and it makes me want to pin you to a wall and take what’s mine. There is nothing about you that is hidden from me; I know your deepest, darkest, and most depraved cravings.”

His face is so close that I feel the warmth of his breath as he speaks in my ear. Though it is no more than a whisper, there is no doubt of its threatening intent.

“Ask me to hurt you. Beg me to give you what you need. Do it… I’ll not ask again; I’ll just take.”

“Do what pleases you, my beautiful beast.”

My body’s struggle against the restraints has now become a dance of seduction, begging the only man who exists in my world to have his way with me. Even if it means pain will be involved—and it will be because there always is—I need him to take me.

“Anything? Anything that pleases me?”

I jump as I hear the unmistakable sound of a folding knife being opened with a flick of his wrist. His fingers squeeze my cheeks, forcing my mouth open, and I feel him place two pills on my tongue. He lifts my head with one hand and holds a bottle of water to my lips in an unspoken command to drink. I swallow them.

“Good girl, the codeine will make it hurt less. Are you scared?”

His voice taunts me. He knows I’m afraid, and I know he’s well aware of my fear because I can feel his hard cock through the fabric of his pants.

“I’m going to mark you. Well… I should probably use the term brand. You see, my love, I don’t need the knife to instill fear in you.”

He leans down and chuckles in my ear, “I do, however, need its razor sharp blade to carve my brand on you. I’m going to give you something I’ve never given any other woman.”

“Wouldn’t a tattoo be better?” My voice is snarky in an effort to purposely provoke him.

He viciously jerks my head back, placing the knife at my throat. “Don’t fuck with me!”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

He ignores me and continues to inform me what he has planned. “Normally I would use a scalpel in a cutting scene, but this is no scene; this is just me branding my property. I’m using my Spyderco knife. I can feel the tip of the knife cutting deeply between my breasts. The pills have kicked in, and I’m euphorically high. As if reading my mind, he speaks.

“Have the pills taken effect, love?”

“Yes,” I gasp on a sharp intake of breath. My head lulls to the side, partially due to the drug’s effects on me and partially in submission to my circumstances.

“That’s a good girl. Give in to me.”

He knows what I’m thinking. He always knows. I can feel the blood dripping down my torso. I instinctively know he’s almost finished with his work of art.

“What is it?” I ask, resigned to whatever scar I will carry for his twisted pleasure.

“It’s my heart—my scarred, broken, and very fucked-up heart.”

He finishes and, after wiping the blood from me, bathes the wound in an antiseptic that burns worse than the cutting itself did. His hands are gentle as he bandages me up with a large square of gauze and tape. He’s talking me through everything as his hands work over me with expertise since I’m still blindfolded.

My chest heaves from a mixture of excitement and anger about my husband tricking me into submitting to his will—about him branding me for life. We are both crazy in our need of each other’s fucked-up addictions. The anger dissipates quickly as his thick fingers begin to toy with my folds. His hands work with the precision of a man who knows my body like no one ever has or ever will. He dips his thick fingers into my moist opening, and I groan in defeat. There is no resisting the pleasure my body feels when taken by him.

A whimper escapes my lips when he stops, but then I hear the rustling of his clothing being removed. I jump when I feel his fist twist into my hair. He yanks roughly and growls in my ear.

“Are you mad? Are you pissed that I know you so well?”

“Fuck you.”

“Shut up,” he growls, shoving his fingers into my mouth and forcing me to lick them clean of my juices.

I can hear him making his way to the end of the table. He roughly pulls my knees apart and spreads my legs as far as they’ll go, wedging his body between them as he taunts me. My bent legs are still strapped back in leather cuffs, and he fits perfectly. Everything he has done up to this point has been planned, right down to the way he has me subdued.

“How dare you get pissed off at me for fulfilling your fantasy of being fucked against your will.” He pulls my knees further apart and shoves his cock inside me.

“Your pussy aches to be taken by me, and we both know it. Now, be a good girl, and tell me how much you like the vile things I do to your body.”

“You’re a bastard!”

“I won’t argue with that.”

A mixture of pain and pleasure courses through me as his hand slaps down over my swollen, aching clit. His fingers pinch and pull, and what should be causing me pain, instead, has me on the verge of coming. His body slaps violently against mine as he forcefully fucks me, pinching my clit until I scream out and climax against my will.

“That’s it. There’s nothing like a good angry fuck.”

“I hate you. I fucking hate you,” I cry out, lying. I am pissed that he scared me and has taken me against my will, leading me to believe he was stranger in a darkened warehouse.

His hips rotate in small circles as he slows down, entering and exiting until he’s playing my body like it’s an instrument he’s mastered through years of practice. He’s right; I enjoy the way he takes me at will. I get excited by the vile things he does, and the thought that he has me strapped down in a room where he has killed people in the past turns me on.

“Yes! I like what you do to me,” I scream out as, once again, my body is racked with pleasure. “Fucking take it. Take me. Do whatever you want… I’m yours.”

It’s as if he’s been waiting for me to admit that I enjoy all of the ways he takes me because as soon as I say it, he explodes within me. I can feel the tremors that overtake his body, and I know it isn’t just him taking me. It’s reciprocal—I’m taking him too.