Hansel 2: An Erotic Fairy Tale (9 page)

So I can’t complain when Steven starts to talk, and my stomach clenches up. Our task is gruesome. Sick, even. It makes my head pound and my throat feel tight.

He describes in detail what we do, and I wonder dumbly if I could maybe run.

But no…

He has a gun. We all have knives. The time for opting in and out has come and gone. I’m in this now.

“When I open the door, she’ll be lying there with her arms and ankles tied. Go at her, one after the other. Raz, you’re first; then Bolly, Davis, Ham, and Luke. Be fast, get in, get out, and Luke, you’ll wrap things up.”

Bile licks up my throat. I reach into my pocket, not for my knife, but for my phone. My mouth is so dry, my stomach so acidic, I’m sure I will be sick. My head spins.

I can’t do this.

This is horrible.

I take a small step back, unplanned, just my feet trying to make decisions for me. Steven’s eyes fly to mine, and I fumble in my pocket, wondering if I can feel my way to 9-1-1. I wonder if I could ask to take a piss and call Shelly. Tell her she should call the cops. Do I know the address here?

“Get with it, Luke.” A fist connects with my jaw, and I shove Steven’s chest. He’s in charge, but he likes it when we fight.

I follow the others and we line up along a peeling, moldy wall in the back of the main room, where we’ve met all the times we’ve come here. Davis laughs at Raz, who’s moaning on the other side of the wall.

I clench my jaw as Raz comes out. He’s laughing. “Steve, you’re sick, man.”

Steven smirks.

I fumble with my phone as Bolly and Davis take their turns. Steve hands me a knife, and right about that time, Ham starts to cuss and scream. My heart goes crazy, beating so fast I’m worried I might die right where I stand, as Steven goes inside, a gun goes off, and Steve and Ham come out.

Both their cheeks are speckled with something dark. I know without asking that it’s blood.

Steve comes up behind me, taps my shoulder. “You’re up. It’s gonna be fucking weird,” he says in a low, dark voice, “cause I already offed her. Bitch slashed Ham here.” He jerks his thumb to the tall redhead with braces that shine in the dim light. Ham holds up his hand, then shrugs.

“So go on in,” Steven says.

The other guys snicker, and I’m sure it’s because she’s dead already.

I’m not fucking a dead woman. That’s fucking godawful. Fuck that. I’ll just pretend. AT least I don’t have to off her.

Everyone crowds around me as I open the door. Steven is grinning, and so are the rest.

I step inside, and Steve’s voice followed. “Remember she asked for this,” he says. “Came to papa threatening, treating me like a little bitch, and I’m a leader. See? You’ll see, man. You’re gonna see.”

His voice gets louder as he leans into the room behind me. Above my head, a light comes on.

I remember being surprised the warehouse had electricity. I remember noticing them all step in behind me as I stepped a little closer to the big lump in the corner, by the rusted sinks.

I remember whirling around and slashing at them, screaming, fighting, breaking bones. I went insane. Steve fired all his rounds, clipping Ham and killing Bolly. I stabbed Steve in the chest about the time the sirens started wailing.

Classic pull-out move. It was probably Davis that did it, that fucking pussy. Stick the crime on whoever’s still standing.

But I wasn’t standing. I lay down beside her and I sliced my wrist.

*

“Hansel? Hansel?! What the fuck?”

My eyes flutter, and I see her haze face above me: Leah.

“Hansel?” Small hands grip my face as her beautiful face comes into full focus. “Are you okay?”

I blink a few more times, realize I’m on my back and breathing hard.

Fuck.

I scramble up, but I can’t hide it. I’m still shaking really fucking hard. I look down at my wrist, almost expecting to see blood there.

“Shit, Hansel. You scared me. You like…weren’t breathing right and—God,” she scrambles closer, “are you okay?”

I put a hand over my face and turn away.

“Hansel?”

I grit my teeth. I hang my legs over the side of the bed, and without turning to look at her, I rasp, “How do you know my name is Hansel?”

I can feel my world unraveling as I grip my hair and tug on it.

“It’s Leah, Hansel. I’m Leah. Don’t you remember seeing me last night?” Her voice drones on, but I can’t keep up with it. When it stops, I say the first thing I can think of.

“You should leave. You shouldn’t even be here.”

She gets down off the bed and stands in front of me. She pulls her mask off, showing me the wonder of her perfect face. It’s angry now.

“Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do! You don’t make choices for me. I want to be here. God, Hansel, or whatever you want to be called—I will call you anything you want, but I want to be here. I want to stay here. What’s going on with you? What was that just now? Please, Hansel…talk to me.”

“Luke,” I whisper numbly. “I’m Luke.”

I get down off the bed and cross the room. I fold my arms in front of me, as if they’ll serve as a shield from those blue eyes.

“Leah, you need to go.” I shake my head, trying to find the words I need inside my scrambled brain. “Go on. Mistake,” I grate out. “I made a mistake, thinking we could…” I wave from me to her, unable to think past the thick fog that’s surrounding me.

Leah’s blue eyes dance. She shakes her head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Hansel—Edgar—Luke— Whoever you are, do you know how long I looked for you?” Her voice breaks as she shakes her head. “How long I wanted you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I growl. “You know why?”

She shakes her head, looking so wide-eyed and innocent, and fury builds inside me, both for what I’m doing now and for all the time I lost her.

“Because that person that you knew was just…a fucking ghost! You were a little girl, a fucking lost girl, and I tried to help you. That was all it was.”

She glares at me, then sneers, “That’s not all.” Her eyes flash. “I saw the show you did that night, the one with the two girls? I was here with my sisters, and I saw you. You were in my room.” Her voice cracks, but she pushes on. “This whole place,” she waves her hand around, “it’s Mother’s house. Not this room but the outside area. You built a shrine to that place, and you told me today you call all your women Leah.” She shakes her head a little, laughing humorlessly. “I’m surprised that you are such a coward.”

I laugh, too. I can’t imagine that surprising anyone.

I hold my hands up, take a small step back. “Do what you want, Leah, but I’m leaving—now. I don’t want to talk to you. I’m sorry.” Now it’s my turn to teeter on the edge. I lock my jaw until my voice hardens. “This was a mistake. A…sick mistake. All mine. But I’ve got…shit to do. I’ve got another life now. And it’s true I want you, Leah, but it’s not going to work.”

Her eyes gleam. Tears start falling down her face. “I’m stupid,” she says.

I clench my jaw. I’m not going to contradict her. Not when I need her to leave.

She sniffs. “I shouldn’t be so upset, because I know you don’t mean what you’re saying. I can tell. So I’m sorry I’m crying. I’m not usually so…weak. But listen to me, hear me out on this: I’m not leaving until I talk to you. Like really talk, as you and me, without a mask.”

Visions of that night, pulling on the black hood, dance through my head; my stomach rolls.

I open my mouth, and my throat is so dry, I cough before I speak. “I don’t talk about my past, not now or ever. If that’s what you’re here for, you should leave.”

She starts to shake her head, and I can’t stand the look on her face. Peaceful, as if she knows she’ll reach me in the end. As if she knows I’ll fold and tell her everything she wants to know. It’s false hope, because I never will. I can’t. I can’t talk about my shit with anyone, especially not the person who unknowingly witnessed all of it. Each time when Mother…

I walk around her, moving fast, decisive. “I’m leaving,” I snap as I pass. “The Leah experiment is over.”

But it isn’t, because as I go into the living room and start pulling on my clothes, she’s right beside me.

“I’m going with you. C’mon, Luke. Is that your real name? Last night you said it was
.” I did?
“You don’t really think I’d go through all this just to leave now, do you?” She grabs my shoulder, and when I lock my eyes across the room, she grabs my chin. “Look at me.” She pulls my face down, so my gaze has nowhere to go except right into hers.

“You made me hurt you, and I did it because I care for you. I still do, and I think you care about me, too.”

I start to shake my head.

She laughs. “You told me last night, they’re all me. All your subs are Leah. That’s because you still care. I think maybe you even care a lot.” Her cheeks blush as she says it, and my cock actually stirs.

“Just for sex,” I murmur. It’s a lie, but I don’t give a shit.

She’s shaking her head. “I don’t care what you say right now. Something’s going on with you. You zoned out in there and there’s something wrong.”

“Just you,” I try lamely.

She grabs my hand. Traps it in her own. She twines her fingers through mine. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me. Until you tell me I’m the only one who feels this way. Who’s stuck in the past.” A single tear rolls down her cheek, and my stomach clenches. I want to hold her, to touch her, I want to tell her it’s okay. But that would be a lie.

My brain fires up again, slow and steady. I know what I’m going to say. I look down at our joined hands as my heart pounds.

“Okay, Leah. Come along.” I nod at the door and laugh, just a bitter huff of air. “I’m going to Mother’s house tonight.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lucas
Fourteen Years Ago
 

I blink at the red lips moving in front of me. Then I tug my gaze away from her and look at the snowy peaks behind her.

Huh. We’re in the mountains.

Her hand closes around my forearm and she nods at the looming house behind her. “Come on out, dear boy.”

I look down at myself. At the gauze around my wrist. When they pushed me into the back of her SUV, someone was too rough. I can see a spot of blood, feel the tugging pain of fucked up stitches.

Oops.

“Come on. I’ll help you.” She holds her arms out for me, and I get out on my own, just so she doesn’t fucking touch me.

As I stand there, underneath the giant Christmas-looking trees, she moves to stand close to me.

“You’re my new son.” Her mouth quirks up. “I know all about your past. The lack of mother.”

Pain shoots through me, cracking the wall of ice that’s formed all around my chest. I want to glare at her, but I’m too tired. Every part of me, so tired.

“Poor boy.” She wraps an arm around my back. “The only mother who wanted you is dead now. That must really hurt.”

“I killed her,” I say woodenly.

She laughs a little. “You sound like a very naughty boy.” I take a step away from her, but she’s faster, and she clearly cares more.

She places her hand over the bandage on my wrist and tugs. “I think I’m going to call you Hansel, my dear boy. You can call me Mother Goose.”
#
Hansel 3 is coming soon. Possibly VERY soon. I haven’t decided which day I’m releasing it, so if you want to know, please sign up for my newsletter!
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*

If you’re looking for something to read while you wait for Hansel 3, allow me to recommend this smutty new serial series from the amazing Melody Grace. I’ve read it, and it’s SO hot.

Discover the sensual, seductive new serial from NYT bestselling author Melody Grace.

DIRTY DANCING #1

FIRST POSITION

Raphael

A woman dances the same way she fucks.

              Soft and self-conscious; lithe and graceful. Or wild. Passionate.

              Unleashed.

              It’s not just women either. If you want to know how a man will perform between the sheets, just take him to the nearest dance floor. You’ll learn everything you need to know. His stamina, his rhythm, the slow grind of his hips. Some people are born to it, others learn through years of careful study.

              And dancers? We fuck best of all.

              Our bodies are our instruments, and we use them in a symphony of pure pleasure. We know just how far to push you, the breathless pacing of true art. The rise and fall that will make you beg for mercy; the ache of satisfaction when we give it to you hard and strong.

              Dancing is the ultimate in sensual pleasure, a timeless erotic ritual that needs no words.