The Dark Trilogy (90 page)

It was obvious. He did not hide it very well. She knew that sooner or later he would go after Megan and kick Cindy’s skanky ass to the curb. Even if that other bitch did not return his interest, it would make no difference to him. He would dump Cindy just to prove himself worthy of Megan. What a lousy piece of shit name. Megan. Everything about the other woman was worthy of contempt.

Cindy had felt hatred from the moment she saw her. That was nothing big; she hated Lydia too. Most men pissed her off pretty fiercely as well. The teenagers had looked at her with lust in their eyes at first, and that was amusing. She had joked with Michael that she was going to break Ray and Teddy’s cherries at the same time. She asked him if he wanted to watch while she did it. In response, Michael had smacked her in the jaw so hard that she had been knocked unconscious. When she came to, he was wringing his hands over her, in a panic, worried that he had killed her. When she smiled up at him and licked at the trickle of blood on her chin demurely, he nearly fainted. Then, when she insisted they have sex right then and there, he almost had a nervous breakdown. Still, he complied, and it gave her a sense of power over Michael that nothing else could. She owned him. That bitch Megan could never have that sort of a control over a man. Never.

The sex was interesting and Michael was willing to experiment, though he was amazed at how depraved Cindy’s mind could become. It was all boring to her, though. She gave thought to cheating on him with that filthy scumbag Frank. Or maybe Frank and Marcus together. They were disgusting, and they leered at her when they didn’t think she was looking. Still, she knew it would be a hell of a challenge to get them into bed. They were scared shitless of Michael, and the idea of crossing him like that was probably the equivalent of committing suicide to their pea brains. That turned her on even more. Imagining having Michael walk in on something like that was delicious. He would beat the living shit out of her, but he would kill them, just as they feared. She knew she could get him to do it, especially if the look on her face when he burst in was one of pure ecstasy. Those two slime buckets couldn’t turn her on if they slapped an electric motor to her ass, but she would play it up for all it was worth if it did a number on Michael.

Later, as they lay side by side, their sweat soaking through the sheets, Cindy jumped on top of Michael, knocking the air out of him. Anything that made him feel uncomfortable was a good thing.

A wicked grin creased her face. In the darkness and shadows, it was disconcerting, but Michael knew it was no better in daylight and was grateful that he could only see part of it now.

“Of course I am.”

The smile disappeared as she moved her hand up his hairless, muscular chest and grabbed at his nipple, squeezing it. She moved her face directly in front of his, less than an inch away, and pinched his nipple as hard as she could as she hissed at him.

“So are you going to screw that whore?”

Cindy went flying, hitting the wall opposite the bed, where she slumped to the floor.

“Bitch! You might be into fucking pain, but I’m not!” Michael screamed as he stood before her. She stared up at him, her eyes gliding down his naked torso. She smiled.

She reached up and grabbed at him, and he swatted her hand away. Grabbing a hold of her other wrist, he wrestled her up on the bed again, jumping on top of her and holding her down.

Cindy purred like a kitten, and Michael stared down at her, exasperated, but unable to deny that she had him aroused once again.

Michael hated Cindy.

But as much as he hated her, he hated himself even more for having hooked up with the psycho bitch in the first place. She was a piece of trash, pure and simple. Somehow, as much as she appalled him, her trashiness was the root of everything that turned him on about her. There was absolutely nothing he couldn’t do to her. He could beat her to within an inch of her life, and she would come crawling back for more. When she had first provoked him, he had resisted the temptation to smack her, but she cried out for it. She dared him, taunted him, and did her best to humiliate him.

Michael had not been a particularly violent man before he met her. He’d never laid a finger on a woman in his entire life, and thought anyone who did was scum. He’d beaten the crap out of a few losers, true enough. A drunken brawl back at college had sent a guy to the hospital, but Michael’s father, with his many connections, was insurance that a little problem like that never became a big problem.

Michael’s martial arts training taught him balance and patience, taught him to bury his anger. His temper had been well under control. There was some rage inside of him, but that was fairly normal for most red-blooded American guys, wasn’t it? But these days, there were plenty of excuses for rage to shine through and no one to question it anymore. In fact, rage was an excellent motivator. It drove Michael in his quest to survive and thrive in these dark times. He had refused to yield to the undead, refused to believe that everything was over and done with just because some virus had torn the human race to shreds. This was a new beginning. Whoever was strong enough to stay alive and adapt would reap the rewards.

Cindy had just … amped things up a little bit. It was okay to unleash all that pent-up rage in front of her, around her, and upon her. Every impetuous desire he had been repressing his entire life could see the light of day. In fact, he could use those impulses to help his followers to survive and prosper.

It frustrated him that Cindy had been the only piece of ass in his age range for miles around—possibly anywhere. So her aggressive tactics when they first met weren’t a total turnoff. What other options did he have, anyway?

Cindy was a tattooed and pierced freak to whom he would not have given the time of day when he’d been wearing Canali business suits and climbing the corporate ladder. The bleach in her hair was erratic and left her mane a mess of black and white scattered across her head. It had originally been shaved on one side and spiky on the other, but as time went on, she let it grow out and got rid of the dye. Not that she had much of a choice. The supplies they had collected did not include much in the way of hair care products outside of shampoo.

They made an odd pair, and everyone knew it. He made it clear from the moment they fell into bed together that he would tolerate no crass acts from her in front of the others. Whatever she wanted to do with him—or more specifically to him—was to be limited to when they were in private … at the factory at first, and then in his RV once they had set up camp in the woods.

Soon after they had gotten together, she began provoking him. At first it was simple taunting, but it turned into getting rough in bed. Punching, kicking, and biting. Part of him wanted to kick her to the curb right away. But every time she did something to him, she pretended to be sorry. She promised him she would never do it again if he forgave her. Then she would blow his mind in the sack, and he would be left trying to convince himself that the pain was worth it.

But finally, after a while, something happened. In a fit of anger after one of her mocking abuse sessions, he hit her. It was a hard slap across her face that resulted in a little trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth and a welt that would be hard to imagine makeup hiding, the way it concealed the hickeys he’d already given her. After realizing what he had done, he lost his mind. He begged forgiveness and apologized profusely, swearing he would never lift a hand to her again. For all the minor abuse she had heaped on him, hitting her had never crossed his mind. But when she grinned and asked him to do it again, he was speechless. He refused, so instead she jumped on him and practically raped him, which only served to confuse Michael even more.

But not for long.

The blow that knocked her unconscious was next. From there, it became easier for him to do whatever Cindy wanted. The guilt faded into the background, and he let the rage inside of him come to the surface. Eventually, they learned to keep the bruises and welts hidden to avoid any questions from the others.

Over time, Michael began to dread his encounters with Cindy. But it was dread drenched in an undeniable craving for what she offered. Because she had unleashed a part of him that he didn’t know existed, a part that wanted to cause pain. He could justify to himself the idea of inflicting pain on her—she wanted it, so he gave it to her. But it was when that desire to administer pain began spilling over onto everything else he did that he grew truly disturbed.

And now, as he sat above her in what was supposed to be a position of complete control, she was the one in charge, and deep down, Michael knew it.

Cindy’s purring stopped. “So, you gonna screw the whore, or am I going to slit the bitch’s throat?” She smiled up at Michael, taunting him, prodding him onward.

The fist crashed down on her stomach. Cindy gasped in surprise as the air whooshed out of her. Her vision blurred, and a thousand stars appeared before her eyes. When she managed to focus again, Michael was already lying next to her, pretending not to care about how badly he had hurt her this time. She had taught him well.

Cindy enjoyed the pain in part because, after years of abusing her body with drugs and anything else she could get her hands on, her nerve endings had dulled to the point where excruciating pain was about the only thing she could feel anymore. But even that was a fleeting sensation.

As the pain faded, her mind fixated on Megan once again.
So what does he see in that bitch anyway?

Megan looked pretty hideous to Cindy. Although run down and so thin she was almost transparent, she bore an aura of confidence and toughness about her. On top of that, Megan was someone with whom Michael could be seen by the others without embarrassment. She was the antithesis of everything that Cindy was or believed in.

And there were the others who had come into the camp with Megan. Two men and a black kid. The kid was nothing, just like those other little brats that Lydia dealt with. The bigger man looked like some sort of whiny wimp. That was obvious to Cindy almost immediately. He moped around like he was already dead and just generally irritated her.

The other, Jeff, was more interesting. He appeared to be with the woman. Not that it would stop Michael. If he wanted Megan, not much would stand in his way. In a twisted way, that was yet another thing that turned Cindy on about him. Society may have dulled that caveman edge out of him, but society was dead, and Michael was the one making the rules these days, so he could take what he wanted.

Cindy didn’t so much care if he got his rocks off with the bitch once or twice, as long as that was all there was to it. Hell, she would hold Megan down and get off watching him rape her if that were something that could be arranged. Screwing meant nothing to Cindy. It was all about control. Being controlled and controlling the other person.

No one else seemed to understand the level of control you had over another person when you forced him to willfully inflict pain on you. Michael beat her because she willed him to do it. He did not want it, but she did. Now, after only a few weeks, he couldn’t stop himself. And because of all the guilt and trauma that it caused inside his head, she was able to manipulate him in other ways. Michael was a good little puppet.

But that weasel Marcus had mentioned how Megan slapped Michael when they first met. That was something she could not tolerate. Cindy knew the stupid bitch had no idea what a slap meant to Michael, the meaning attached to such a violent physical act, but she bet that if Megan had been looking deep into his eyes at the time her hand crossed his face, she would have realized what it had done to him. The fact that he had to let off some steam by putting a knife to Frank’s throat right after that confirmed how excited Megan had made him. Cindy had corrupted Michael enough that violence was the only thing that really turned him on any more.

There was no doubt in Cindy’s mind that her boyfriend was already fantasizing about that pathetic tramp. But tackling that subject head-on wasn’t going to give her any answers she wanted, so instead, Cindy came at it sideways.

“Okay, so forget about Megan. What are you going to do to put these newcomers in their place?”

Michael rolled over to face Cindy. Weakly hidden guilt traced his features from the latest assault he had perpetrated on her. It was always there, no matter how well he tried to hide it. It made Cindy smile inside, though she was careful not to show it. The guilt was a tease. Everything forbidden had guilt associated with it. Guilt was one of the strongest stimulants in the world. As long as it kept showing up on his face, whatever caused that guilt remained tantalizing and forbidden. It was simply too much to for him to resist.

“What do you mean?”

He was tired and past further anger or arousal that night. In other words, he was getting boring. But it also meant that his defenses were down and she could easily get him to divulge the truth and perhaps even agree to do something she wanted just to get her off his back.

“I mean, you dragged them in here and treated them like your best buddies. Then you brought Jeff in the RV and had a nice little chat with him. Now I hear that you and the rest of the guys are going into town tomorrow on some sort of supply run. What the hell is the point of that?”

Michael closed his eyes and laid one hand over them to blot out the light trickling through their window.

“So you’re asking what the hell I have planned.” He paused. She did not respond, and he sighed heavily. “Well, my dear, that is very simple. I am going to test their loyalty to me and see if they can obey orders like good little soldiers.”

“Loyalty? From people you kidnapped off the fucking road? Are you nuts?”