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Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five & Six.
Author’s Note: Change of POV
She let out a muffled groan against his palm before squeezing her eyes shut - reminders of her naïveté were all around her. His face was that mask she hated, showing nothing but occasional flashes of anger. Her skin burned where the knife had nicked her, but she was thankful that it wasn’t more. She obviously had found the way to fight, but it hadn’t helped her. The dull throbbing in her scalp, the sharp pain in her side were a testament to that.
Her shirt was tearing almost silently under the edge of the blade, she could feel it in the way the material seemed to slowly loosen across her chest. She opened her eyes finally and stared up at him through the spiky points of her lashes. He was silent, having settled into that damned focus. The game was up, except the price for losing this was something she didn’t want to experience.
He could have killed her by now, but instead they were at this point. To prove he was stronger? She moved slightly and he shifted with her, reacting to cut off any chance of an escape. She felt the increase in pressure of the hand on her face. She could taste him, his flavor seemed to pierce the soft barrier of her lips. The blood? Still, it was a familiar flavor, one that at one time made her heart beat faster.
Cool air assailed her and she knew her shirt lay open. The hand moved from her face and he stared at her for a long moment before dropping his gaze to the soft peaks of flesh before him. He hadn’t allowed her several items, the bra being only one of many, and she doubted it was an oversight. He was detailed. Had she expected any sort of consideration? This was a man who, in some circles at least, was called Hammer. She thought it charming back then before she really understood what his business, The business, was about. Hammer, God’s Hammer - except in this case God was a very short-tempered mob boss and the Hammer was the sadistic genius that kept people in fear.
Terror, he knew.
Her body jerked as the tip of the knife pressed lightly into her nipple. He leaned over her, his face hovering just above her own. His palm moved and she could feel his breath against her parted lips.
‘I can taste your fear.’ He inhaled, closing his eyes and drawing a breath that disquieted her more than his words. His eyes were slow in opening, heavy lidded when they did. ‘Smell it, too.’
The blade turned slowly in his palm and finally pierced the thin barrier of skin. She let out a soft sound, her voice reverted back to a soft whisper, every bit of her fight having left her. She felt heavy, pinned in place by more than just his weight. ‘Please, Marco.’
His eyes lifted from the suspended drop of blood poised on her nipple to her eyes, which stared at him, glassy, filled with anxiety. ‘Please what, amante?’
The word was a caress and she imagined it lingered on the soft flesh of his tongue. He glanced back down at the exposed flesh and a smile formed on his face as it hardened into an even tighter bud. She could feel the tingling in her body, the way it responded even as her mind screamed its outrage. Adrenaline poured through her, her body quaked almost uncontrollably. He moved slightly down her body and his fingers brushed against the underside of her breast, tracing the smooth flesh. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was silenced by a reflexive choke as his lips closed around her nipple.
Her arms moved and she realized they were left unbound, unrestrained, laying uselessly at her side. She moved them then. First to hover in the air over his shoulders, his jagged wound, then to his hair, touching it lightly. He lifted his head, staring at her, the warning clearly spelled out in the thin line of his lips, the slight narrowing of his gaze.
‘No. No. N-n-no.’ The words stuttered at the end. Images of what she had seen him do, this man who controlled her utterly at the moment, flooded her mind. Her body still ached, bruised from her earlier rebellion.
He lifted his body slightly, his hands reaching up to disengage her fingers. He pressed one hand back against the carpet by her head, the second he lifted to his lips, the knife he carried tucked neatly in the fold between his thumb and index finger. He pressed his lips against the smooth rounded nail at the tip of her ring finger and his tongue raked against the soft padding on the underside. He stared down at her as he pushed the second hand back beside her face; she could feel the air against the rapidly cooling moisture on her skin. ‘Touch me again without permission and I’ll remove the nail from that finger.’
Tears rolled down her face and he sneered, his hand finding the waistband of her soft, cotton pants. She met his steady gaze as he again rolled above her, but faltered when she felt and heard the rending of the material at her waist. She turned, her body trying to twist away, her fingers desperately grasping for the shredded material, but he rolled her back, his hands shoving hers away before he settled above her, his knee parting her tightly held thighs.
There was a silence that settled over him. She hiccuped as she tried to control her breathing, her entire body tense, prepared for his assault. She felt the knife point again on the tender flesh of her neck and she looked at him.
‘Tell me no.’ He said. She heard the distinct sound of a belt being loosened, felt him shift slightly over her.
‘No.’ She swallowed. Her mouth was dry, her face felt wet, her eyes swollen.
‘Say it again.’
Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. She shook her head, mute. The knife pushed in a little further.
‘Say it.’
‘No, Marco. I don’t want this.’
His hand found her cheek and his fingers brushed away the tears. He wiped a single finger over the crease of his lips. His fingers moved down the path of torn clothing, all while the knife rested, silently threatening, at her jugular. He spoke as his fingers trailed lower, curved around the outside rim of her belly button.
‘I don’t care.’
Posted in Abduction: Awakening on September 7th, 2006 by Daemon | | 1 Comment »
She turned to face me, her palms were outward, tilted up, a gesture of her goodwill? I slowly closed the gap between us, her back was facing a large bank of sealed windows, her only way out, the door to her left. I studied her face, watching how her eyes darted between me and her escape. Stupid girl. She always wanted more options than she was provided. Always wanted to create something that wasn’t there.
I watched her body coil, like a spring, it spoke just when it was ready to let go. When she ran, I was there, my hands wrapping around and jerking back on the same length of black silk in which I had, long ago, lost myself. She cried out and fell to her knees, her head tilted at a painful angle because of my grip. I had her.
It was with a great deal of personal satisfaction that I wound my fingers tighter and slowly forced her to rise again. I felt her hair snapping in my grip, twisted it even more until she let out a pained sound much like a wounded animal. I moved closer to her, my hand controlling every single movement of her head, I could almost feel her heartbeat echo down each strand, the tension making them vibrate like strings on a violin.
‘I-I’ll be good.’ The words were whispered softly into the air. Her hands fluttered around my fist, afraid to touch my hand, unable to stop herself from wanting to be free. She whined softly, as if each intake of breath cost her. I pulled up and she dropped them again, but they were restless, moving helplessly, unable to attack, but wanting to hold onto something, anything. I moved against her back, my free hand sliding around her waist, splaying over the thin cotton of her t-shirt, I could feel her muscles shift with each subtle movement of my hand, jump and jerk. Her breath suspended for brief moments before she forced herself to breathe again.
I tilted her head to one side, moving us both towards the wall in front of us. My voice was soft in her ear, my breath on her neck, raising a ripple of goosebumps as I spoke. ‘Yes, you will be, Annerire.’ My fingers dug into her belly slightly. ‘You are here to entertain me, cunt. You are my toy, at my will, and if you don’t learn, and learn well, I’ll leave your ass rotting in some gutter.’
She sobbed just as I pushed her against the wall, her palms were curled into the plaster as if she thought to keep herself grounded. Her eyes were closed, tears streaked down her face. I knew she believed me, I had never made any effort to hide my business or nature from her at any time before. I slowly eased my grip from her hair and some of the pained tension of her shoulders lessened. I shook the stray strands free and united my hands on her stomach. My chin rested on her shoulder, I could smell her skin, her breath, and slowly allowed the anger to ebb away for a moment.
It was then she pushed back, her palms striking the wall and shoving back, push us both away. I swayed slightly on my heels rocking backward. She tried to run, but fell in the tangled mess of our legs. She struck the floor and I reacted angrily. My foot sank into the soft tender flesh of her waist and she screamed, rolling into a ball before straightening out, her hands pressed against her side for a long moment before she tried to sit up and only fell back against the floor.
My movements were jerky, fueled by another dose of adrenaline and rage. I crouched down, one knee to the floor, my fingers digging into my pocket, pulling out the switchblade I always carry. It flicked into place with the sound of metal on metal. The sound stopped her movements dead cold and she stopped breathing when I place the edge of it to her throat, pressing in until I could feel the flesh start to yield under the honed edge. My other hand settled to hold one of her wrists to the floor by her head.
I drew it down slowly, pressing the point in just enough to make a dotted line form on her flesh from her neck to collar of her tshirt. I lifted the edge with the tip of the blade and looked at her face again, her eyes were wide, doe-like. I could smell the fear that poured off of her, the uncertainty. I could kill her, she knew, but I think she feared more what I could do to her that she would survive. She’d seen the photo album I keep of my better work.
She opened her mouth and started to speak but the words were muffled by my palm. ‘Enough of your lies.’ I placed my other knee on the floor and moved over her, it was easy, she still remembered to respect the knife if not the bearer. I settled one knee on either side of her legs and leaned forward until my mouth hovered over her face, still covered by my hand. ‘You’d have me believe you were the Virgin reborn.’ I tilted the blade and the fabric of her shirt yielded.
‘But I have already taken care of that minor detail, haven’t I?’
Posted in Abduction: Awakening on September 7th, 2006 by Daemon | | No Comments »
I pushed her away from me, feeling her teeth tear from the skin of my shoulder, the moisture that was more blood than anything else. I glanced down at the jagged wound, the blood that stained the crisp, white fabric of my shirt and was momentarily consumed with rage. I glanced back at her and caught her defiant look, my hand raised on its own, she wasn’t the first to feel the sting of my hand, nor would she be the last. My fingers curled into a fist and I moved.
I don’t know if it was the instant fade of her bravado that stopped my hand, but her arms curled protectively over her head, her body sinking to the ground in a crouched fetal position. I sneered, angry at myself for holding the blow, as much as I was at her for giving in so easily, being so afraid of the pain. I stood there above her for a long moment, my chest rising and falling as if I had been jogging for a fair bit. I spat out a single word even as I shoved her back onto her ass with my foot.
‘Bitch.’
My hand went to my shoulder as I turned, my fingers feeling the jagged edges of skin under my shirt. My fingers were moist, I could smell the blood, my blood, as I pulled the shirt open forcefully, sending the buttons in every direction. I tossed it on the ground, casting a glance at her before I opened the small medicine cabinet behind the bar. She was as I left her, her eyes looking at me with a defiance and wariness that wore on me, I watched her rub her mouth, as if she could wipe away the lingering flavor of my blood. I cursed softly, more from frustration than anything else when I applied the gauze to the wound which leaked crimson steadily.
I threw the stained cloth into the sink and moved my arm slightly, watching the skin move. It was already clotting, a pattern of teeth could be seen amid the stain of blood and torn skin. She had made her mark on me first, it would seem. I snapped my fingers and pointed to a place a few feet in front of me. ‘Come here, Annerire.’
Her head tilted at an angle that would have been amusing had the circumstances been different and I, not been bleeding and angry. She didn’t move, the tilt of her lip suggested even that she thought to best me. I regretted again not striking her. Pain translates to fear and fear is a powerful bargaining chip in these negotiations. I carefully closed the box and slid it further onto the counter, my voice was soft, a cold anger was starting to harden in my gut.
‘Make no mistake that I will retrieve you if you do not come. Make no mistake that I will do so with any measure of force required. Do not have me repeat myself.’
She pushed back a strand of her hair and stood, circling around one of the club chairs that was near her. I watched her, turning as she moved, keeping my gaze steady on the caged animal before me. My shoulder stung and I clenched my jaw, she was frustrating me, moving as slowly as she was, moving in no forward pattern, but in a semi circle around me. I mentally measured the distance between her and the door.
It was only a moment later that I moved to place myself between her and it. She wouldn’t have gotten far, but the chase tends to send me where I did not want to be at the moment, in violence. I should have recognized that was a lost battle. I already smelled blood, that it was my own was merely a minor setback and would ensure that she spilled that much more.
Her hair was wild, a mass of black that I remembered her pulling back more than once in a pony tail. It’s odd how memories assail you even as you force yourself to make these new ones. I took a step towards her and she bolted, darting over one of the chairs. I moved, unwilling to allow her another moment of calm to steady herself. This was now my time. I had allowed her enough time alone, enough patience, enough God Damned peace. It was time to pay the piper.
My price was high.
Posted in Abduction: Awakening on September 7th, 2006 by Daemon | | No Comments »
Author’s note: Do yourself a favor and read part I, II & III before jumping into the fray.
He didn’t answer her, not that she expected him too. She took a deep breath and swallowed back her next words as she watched him put down the small tray he was carrying. Her hands ran through her hair and when he turned back to face her, she took a step back. It was automatic, but she cursed herself silently when she saw the smirk on his face. Her chin lifted and she crossed her arms over her chest.
‘So what’s your plan, Marco?’ She nearly whispered the question, the pressure in her chest felt like it was squeezing the air from her lungs as she looked at him, unwilling or unable to keep steady eye contact as she waited for the silence. He would answer her on his schedule - that she knew. Her unsteady legs carried her over to a chair and she sat on the edge, cursing herself, playing everything she had imagined happening in her head. Where was her strength now? Where was her willingness to attack?
Her breath quickened as she watched him pull off his jacket and toss it over one of the many club chairs that littered the room. Why wasn’t he speaking? Her nails were making moon shapes into her palms, digging in so that pain, if nothing else could keep her grounded. When he moved closer, she retreated further into the chair, drawing her legs up against her chest and wrapping her arms around them, as if to shrink away from him, to disappear. Her breathing was jagged and she had given up trying composure, openly staring at him as a wounded gazelle would a lion.
He sat on the edge of the chair closest to her so that her head tilted back to see his face. He stared down at her with the same intensity she remembered from years ago, before his black hair had become so littered with gray. She jerked back as he lifted a hand and saw the amused glance he gave her at the overreaction. He carefully removed the cufflinks at his wrists, rolled the sleeves of his shirt up. Every gesture was methodical. He moved as if he had all the time in the world and that unnerved her even as she acknowledged that they were, indeed, in a place of his choosing. Her silence, her quiet jail, had quickly become overcrowded.
Her fingers brushed her eyes again and she found them wet. Her world blinked in and out from blurry to clear. He was the same and still so different than before. His control was there, but it seemed etched with something cold, something she couldn’t put her finger on. He still hadn’t shown his temper, the entire reason for her fleeing after such a week. She watched him roll up the sleeves on his arms, caught the sound of his breath as the music paused between songs. She squeezed her arms around her and shut her eyes for a moment and then opened them again. He was looking at her.
She flinched from the look as if he had touched her. He either didn’t notice, or didn’t care because his face was set in that stoic pose that she found so attractive before. Now she knew it masked everything he didn’t show, like an undertow in the ocean, seemingly calm on the surface until you are caught and eventually drowned.
He nodded his head to the side and motioned for her to rise as if they were in different roles, old roles. She remained still, staring at his profile as he folded his arms and waited for her to comply. The chair felt heavy as if the leather had wrapped itself around her limbs. She wouldn’t go willingly, not a second time. He closed his eyes and she imagined him to be counting, but the thought left her when his voice resounded, a deep baritone that sent a jolt of awareness down her spine.
‘Come here.’
She sank further back into the chair, shaking her head, her voice was choked, dry, her vocal chords felt as if they were sticking to the back of her throat. She swallowed that dry lump in her throat. ‘No.’ She hated the mousy quality of her voice, wished she had the strength to scream it.
He didn’t look at her, in fact, his demeanor was unmoved by her statement. He spoke in a cool tone. ‘I don’t believe the request, or the circumstance in which you find yourself, affords you the opportunity to be bold.’ He turned his head and glanced at her, his lips thinning out.
She heard his words, rolled them over in her head over and over as she stared back at him. By the time she opened her mouth to speak, his hand was already reaching for her, wrapping around her upper arm as he pulled her easily from her cove within the leather grip of the chair. She reacted instinctually, jerking her arm in his grasp, finding the band of his fingers tightened painfully on her with each motion which only served to renew her rebellion. Her fist beat his hand where it held her in a bruising grip.
He said her name somewhere in the cloud her mind became as she struggled, her nails prying at the edges of his, trying to peel them from her skin. It only served to get her shook, his other hand taking control of her free arm. She stared into his face still for only a moment.
Then she bit him.
Posted in Abduction: Awakening on September 7th, 2006 by Daemon | | No Comments »
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