Mistress of the Undead© 2018 by Isabelle Drake

 

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

 

For more information contact:

Riverdale Avenue Books

5676 Riverdale Avenue

Riverdale, NY 10471

 

www.riverdaleavebooks.com

 

Design by www.formatting4U.com

Cover by Scott Carpenter

 

Digital ISBN: 9781626010369

Print ISBN:  9781620611779

 

First Edition October 2018

What They’re Saying About

Servant of the Undead

 

“You’ve seen slow zombies, and fast zombies. You’ve seen Haitian Voodoo zombies, Deadite zombies, and Vampire zombies. Hell, you’ve even seen radioactive mutant ghoul zombies. I’m willing to bet, however, you’ve never seen erotic sex zombies—and if you have, never quite like this.

Servant of the Undead wasn’t quite what I expected, and it’s better for it.”

 

—Bob Milne, Beauty in Ruins

 

“I don’t think this book is going to be a book for everyone but if you like a little monster mixed in with your erotica it may just be the book for you.

This book is something else. I cannot honestly say that I liked any of the characters with the exception of Rachelle, the cuckolded but good-natured girlfriend, because they’re all pretty despicable creatures who do terrible things and think terrible thoughts but I couldn’t put it down. It was all rather amusing in a dark, dubiously sexy sort of way.”

 

—Barks Book Nonsense

Dedication

For Betrayal. I have known you.

Chapter One

 

“Talk first. Fuck second.”

 

Sex cult zombies wearing camo shorts soaked with fake blood, mud smeared torn black T-shirts, ripped sequin tube tops and moth-eaten suits off the Goodwill racks packed the halls of the Boston convention center. None of them had it right. These people playing dress up were sexy and hideous, but they were nothing compared to the real things. Hayden Buchanan Thomas, wonder kid and tabloid reporter ought to know. He been fucked, tormented and used by the best of the sex cult zombie tribe that’d silently invaded the city. The creatures had arrived with the blizzard and taken advantage of the crippling effects of Snowmaggedon. He’d lost his girlfriend, Rachelle Daly, to one of them. He’d lost his pride and humanity to another.

But those had been real ones, not these fake ass pretenders crowding the Sunday morning halls of the comic convention. If these cosplay wanna-bes knew the truth, what the so-called sex zombies really did to humans, they wouldn’t be so excited. They’d hit the snow-covered streets, head straight home, get drunk and hope like hell one of the things wouldn’t pick them for their next sexual servant. Hayden took another look around, watching the naïve faces rushing past. Then again, maybe they wouldn’t hide. Maybe they’d want to know firsthand how bad bad really was. After what Hayden had been through the past week, he understood there was no bottom to the pit of human, and inhuman, depravity. The more heinous, in fact, the more likely it was to happen.

A tug on his arm stopped Hayden’s already too slow progress through the slinking mob. “Hello, pet.”

That insulting voice, that bitter smell. He knew them as well as he now knew disgust and deep personal shame. Hayden wanted to keep moving, get back to cutting through the crowd as he had been, looking for his boss, but his muscles had already started to quiver. Matthew’s grip was unyielding.

“Surprised to see me? You shouldn’t be. Your articles are making me famous. I’m making all kinds of new friends.” Matthew shoved Hayden sideways until they both collided with a wall. The guy made a point of grinding his crotch against Hayden’s thigh before rolling to his side, locking them both just out of the human flow. His disgusting smirk lingered, his mouth making a game of the forced contact. Hayden jerked his arm. After three tugs he managed to free his arm from the cold grip.

Surprised wasn’t the word Hayden would’ve chosen to describe how he felt about being in the clutches of the zombie tribe leader. Shock would have been closer. Terrified, closer still.

“My sweet sister told me where to find you.” Matthew gently cupped Hayden’s dick, then squeezed with a grinding laugh. “Since you have the privilege of being Mattie’s current favorite, you ought to appreciate that she keeps track of you. After all, the alternative… ” Instead of finishing the threat, he loosened his grip and stroked Hayden’s cock with his thumb.

Even with the fabric between them, Hayden could feel the bitter intent of Matthew’s touch. He shoved the hand off and looked for a break in the crowd even though there wasn’t much point in breaking away. Matthew wanted something and wasn’t going to leave him alone until he got it.

Fuck.

Only about 10:20 a.m. and already the convention hall was packed and frenzied. The crowds had been waiting at the doors and flooded the center the minute the doors were opened to the public. Attendees milled past, laughing, phones bobbing in front of their faces as they documented their own cult-worthy awesomeness. A woman Hayden recognized from the zombie contest the day before trotted past, a wide-mouthed laugh making her whole body shake. Her boyfriend was trying to snatch a Coke out of her hand and she was doing nothing to avoid running into everyone around her as she kept it from him. Everyone around was so ecstatic, so unaware.

Except Matthew. The guy was feral with awareness. As the attention of his slitted brown eyes raked over Hayden, he tried to block the memories of what the two of them had recently done together but couldn’t. Cold threads of fear and disgust wove themselves through his nerve endings, stitching into a nasty second skin, one hidden over the layer the world saw. No matter what happened, thanks to what he’d been through, the ugliness he’d found inside himself, Hayden would never be the same man again. This guy was a reminder of that.

“What’s the matter?” Matthew propped his elbow on the wall and leered down. His sparkling white teeth shined in the fluorescent lights. “Pissed about Rachelle? You shouldn’t be. Don’t let those pearls and lace confuse you. She isn’t your… ” The leer turned into a tight assessment, then he finished with, “type.”

Hayden’s stomach clenched. The night before he’d watched his girlfriend Rachelle climb into this guy’s banged up, green pickup, then down a thermos of the mind-numbing tea these things used to get what they wanted—needed—from the living. She’d left him behind without a single backward glance.

Probably the treatment he deserved for dragging her in to this never-ending inhuman shitstorm.

Matthew pressed his knee into Hayden’s leg, pinning him to the wall again. The gesture could’ve been playful, but Hayden knew better. The guy shrugged when Hayden recoiled, then said, “No point in playing games with you. Mattie tells me you’re smart. Are you smart?”

Hayden’s reply was a glare. If you looked at his IQ score you’d think so. But if he was so damn amazing, why couldn’t he figure a way out of this fucked up mess?

“Guess I’ll come right out and tell you why I’ve sought you out. I’ve brought you a gift.”

The last time he’d been this close to Matthew, two of them had been in a cage with Rachelle, using her, fucking her in all possible ways while she squirmed, blue eyes glazed while she begged for more abuse. He’d gone along with everything that had been asked, even the things that were only suggested. In the end, he’d fallen to a depth of depravity he hadn’t known he’d been capable of. Never even knew existed. He knew now.

He understood.

“Really.” Matthew sighed dramatically. “Stop thinking about your poor little rich girl Rachelle. She came to the camp willingly. Nothing’s happened that she didn’t want.”

Hayden swallowed against the bile rising in his throat.

“She likes our lifestyle very, very much.” The other guy laughed, reached up and stroked the row of rings outlining his ear. “You’re really going to have to let that resentment go.”

If only it was resentment. That emotion would be easier to get through, rationalize.

But it wasn’t only resentment. It was a collection of much uglier things. Those vile images he’d created were etched in his mind, along with the memories of what he’d done in that cage. Matthew had asked him for a show, to make it good. So he’d performed. Done horrendous things he hadn’t known he was capable of. “Fuck you,” was the only response he could muster.

“Next time,” Matthew said with a wink. “But for now, come to Rod McKinon’s booth. What I have for you is absolutely to die for.” Not waiting for a reply, the other man pushed himself from the wall and easily cut into the crowd. Anywhere else the guy would’ve stood out, but there in the mix of comic fans and zombie wanna-bes a guy dressed in brown leather pants, black T-shirt and a long black leather coat fit right in. Shaved head, tattoos and an all-around disturbing appearance, it wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow. After all, it could be a costume, just something someone put on for the event. Or he could be a graphic novel writer. Or an editor. Or a movie star pretending to be a zombie, like Rodney McKinon.

If only.

But he wasn’t.

The guy was the real thing—one of the newly infamous sex-cult zombie tribe infecting the snowy streets of Boston. A thing that feasted on sex with humans, took them for servants. This one was the leader of the undead dozens that existed in the same horrific way. The creatures stopped at nothing to get what they needed. Ruining lives was just another day for them.

A gift.

Doubtful. Another manipulation, more likely.

Without even knowing what it was, Hayden knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant. He was damn sure he wasn’t going to want it, either. And now he had one more thing to deal with before finding his boss. The man had made him a promise, and he wanted to be sure it was still good. It had to be because Bob Keeler delivering on his end of the bargain was absolutely the only thing that was going to make this sickening week of his life worth living through.

Hayden stayed flattened to the wall, watching Matthew’s bald head until he disappeared around a far corner, then dove into the flowing mob.

 

Rod McKinon, the star of the just released horror hit, Zombie Rites, was in his booth flanked by two bald security guards, both with arms bigger than a normal man’s legs. McKinon himself was pretty average—not tall, not short, fit enough to get work in Hollywood, and alright to look at. The thing about the guy that made him stand out was his weird flexibility. He could bend himself into hideous positions that not even CGI programmers could think up. Or maybe those positions made him that much more appealing on the casting couches and that’s how he’d worked himself to the top of the horror movie world. No matter what it was, the guy was the It man right now. The just-released action horror film was selling out across the country and, thanks to Hayden’s coverage of the zombie tribe roaming the streets of Boston, even more so in his city.

A growing line of groupies holding movie posters and T-shirts snaked away from the booth. Some of them were dancing to the techno buzzing from the speakers. Since the morning before, Rod had probably already signed thousands of posters and dozens of other things—like tits and ass cheeks. Apparently, if the rumors were true, he refused to sign cocks. Hayden spotted Matthew’s back in the far corner of the booth. From the movement of his arms, it looked like he was talking to someone but Hayden couldn’t tell if there was someone else back there with him or not. How exactly was he connected to the star of the moment? As he stood in the aisle, trying to decide what the best plan of action could be, the endless stream of bodies jostled him and the constant hum of chatter and shouts rumbled in his ears.

“Hey man, you want to meet him, right?” Someone tapped Hayden’s shoulder. “I can set that up.”

Hayden tried to side step the guy who’d planted himself right in his way. Now he really couldn’t see what Matthew was up to. “Thanks, but I don’t need anything.”

The guy smiled, lifted his eyebrows. “You here alone?”

“Yeah, but I—”

Following Hayden’s movement, the guy held up some bright pink wrist bands. “These are for the dudes only after party.”

The guy had one of those overly-macho shaved on the sides, slicked back on the top haircuts that just about screamed, I exist for microbrew beer and quirky short films. What was he doing there at the comic-zombie mash-up? Hayden looked the guy over, as though he might be able to find some answer hidden in the plaid of his pressed and tucked high-end flannel shirt but found nothing to answer the question.

Being that out of place sucked. If he’d been in the right mood, Hayden would’ve felt bad for him. As it was, he wasn’t in any kind of right mood, so he dodged the other way. “Like I said, I don’t—”

“No, man,” the guy smiled wider, flashing two rows of rich kid teeth as he held up one surprisingly calloused palm. “It’s not like that. It’s going to be cool. Sexy. These are special bands, a priority invite to an exclusive event. Just a $20 to me and you’re in.”

Even as he was trying to look past the guy’s shoulder to see what was going on in the booth, Hayden’s reporter curiosity kicked in. He pointed toward the booth. “Thought you said I could meet McKinon?”

The blond’s eyes lit up. “Right man. It’s his thing.” The guy leaned in. “It’s at The Southie.” He lifted his other hand and circled it in the air. “Starts after this circus ends.”

No way in hell this guy had ever been to The Southie. That place had a reputation. Instead of pointing the hypocrisy out, Hayden mimicked the guy, circling his index finger. “A circus, huh?”

The guy didn’t catch on that he was being made fun of.

Hayden kind of liked him for that. “Why’d you pick me to sell the band to?”

The guy’s smile disappeared. “Buy the band and find out.”

Hayden slipped a $20 from his wallet. The guy’s calluses scraped Hayden’s skin as he wound the band as tightly as it would go, then snapped it on. “Good luck,” he said, backing away, his shoulders looking broader and more solid as the guy unwound and straightened to his full height.

The bright band, a new dark promise, cut into Hayden’s wrist.

When he turned around, Matthew was there, right in his face, breathing on him. He grabbed Hayden’s arm and yanked him through the crowd surrounding McKinon’s booth. A couple people in line shoved them both, yelling fuck you and assholes loud enough to be heard over the music and general noise. Hayden jogged along feeling the cut of each of Matthew’s fingers into his arm as he rammed into people crowding around McKinon’s booth.

When they reached the far side of the booth, Matthew swung behind and shoved him in. The back of the booth was dark, crammed with cardboard boxes and steaming with a stench that soured Hayden’s lungs.

“Here you are, college boy. My gift to you.”

Hayden took two steps forward, then reeled back.

Matthew folded his arms across his chest. “I’m glad you recognize it.”

Last time he’d seen the thing there had been two of them. He’d watched Mattie carry them out of his apartment, one over each powerful shoulder. Her bringing them back to the tribe was supposed to make her some kind of hero. Why was Matthew so anxious to get rid of one?

“That’s’ right.” The tribe leader leaned into a crate and crossed one ankle over the other, staring hard. Watching Hayden’s response. “One for you and one for me.”

He couldn’t possibly take it. Where would he put it? How could he explain it? “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

“Like I said, Mattie keeps telling me how clever you are. How you’re going to get some information and figure something out. Guess I want to see what it is you’re going to figure out. I want to know what you’re so clever about.” Matthew lifted the thing off the ground. “We might as well start with this, right? See what you can do with it.” Matthew forced the thing into Hayden’s arms, said, “Don’t disappoint me,” then backed him up to the edge of the booth, shoving him through the beige curtain and back out into the ever-flowing sea of people.

 

* * *

 

The information Hayden needed wasn’t anywhere on the coffee table in front of him. It wasn’t scribbled on one of the loose papers crammed in his backpack sitting on the floor of his borrowed apartment. Nor was it in either of those articles he’d written for The Boston Weekly. It sure as hell wasn’t hiding somewhere in the back of his mind. His head was filled with humiliation, dread and fear. That was all.

Days ago, his only worries had been fucking his girlfriend and finding better ways to pay his student loans. Getting a respectable job, he’d wanted that then, wanted it even more now.

Once Matthew had put that burlap-wrapped bundle into his arms, he’d had no choice other than to return to his apartment. There he sat, reading and rereading. Once a person joined the tribe, was there a way out? What was he missing? All Hayden had to do was deliver. That and find a way to get rid of the thing lurking in the shadows of his life, appearing when it suited her to use him for sex and to manipulate him into getting the information she was after.

How could he have ever imagined that his life would be taken over by one of the undead, a mini-skirt wearing thing that looked like it a teenager’s video game fantasy. Torn fishnets, heavy black boots, tits popping out between the makeshift sweater made of bands of red wool…  

But Mattie was no fantasy. She’d torment then tear apart the sturdiest of grown men.

Hayden ought to know. That’s what she’d done to him.

Shredded him. Pulled him into tatters, then laughed in his face.

Someday he’d need therapy. Someday he’d heal. Right then he needed to get her what she wanted and, in the process, find a permanent way to protect himself from her coming at him again. And again.

And again.

And now he had Matthew’s gift to deal with. What the fuck was he going to say if someone came to his place and saw it? Not that it was likely anyone would be looking under his bed, but if they did what could he possibly tell anyone to explain what the fuck it was? And why he had it?

He got off the couch, went to the window overlooking Boston’s Back Bay. Some of the snow had broken loose from the trees lining the boulevard of Commonwealth Avenue, but the evening scene below still reflected the huge blizzard that had attacked the city. Piles of dirty snow made the curbs invisible, but the street itself was exposed and passable. The dark brick of brownstones, the grey-blue sky, it was classic Beantown. His own dilemma, an aching for a high-status job, an East Coast classic too. Add in the pressures of student loan debt, and the result was the typical plight of a recently graduated man. Except this man had no connections—social, political or economic.

All he had was his brain, his ability to write, and determination. Hayden watched the traffic further down the street and imagined the harsh wind coming off the Charles River a few blocks away. The blizzard had been historic, unforgettable, one to be remembered. For him, it was one he’d want to forget.

He moved away from the window, went back the stand over the table. Maybe it was better that he hadn’t been able to talk to Bob. The piece he’d just turned in the day before, the follow-up one on sex-cult zombies roaming the blizzard-locked Boston streets, was still a huge hit. Web subscriptions were up. Ad sales were up. Sex craved zombies prowling through the nasty blizzard, seeking human sex slaves, made good reading. Apparently, judging from the huge crowd at the comic convention that shit made for good fantasies too. Nobody but him knew the truth. Well, except sex-cult zombie tracker Guy Belmont, but that guy was gone. Keeler, his boss, sure as hell didn’t care about the truth. He cared about money, that was it.

Writing another trash piece for Bob wasn’t going to be all that hard. The fake stuff he’d used for the piece that had everyone buzzing was some half-ass shit he’d coerced Belmont into helping him put together. Belmont had followed the tribe for decades and even he didn’t understand everything. Granted the man had been more concerned with what he wasn’t getting, sex with the undead, rather than what he had—some chunks of potentially useable information. Despite their incompatible research styles, Hayden did have something in common with the old man. Once he got what he needed, he planned to keep it completely to himself, use it for his own purposes and never tell anyone a single thing.

Nobody was going to believe him anyway. No way in hell. That shit was too hideous, too disgusting and too vile. No wonder Mattie wanted out. Was she out? Maybe. Maybe she’d gotten what she’d needed from the notes she’d snatched from Belmont. He doubted it, though. He still felt her presence. Constantly. Acutely. Painfully.

Hayden shoved the pile of notebooks aside, pushed them onto the floor where they landed on the stack of library books he’d demeaned himself to get, then got up, paced. Beyond the windows, endless black stretched across the city. The velvet cloak was broken up by dots of light. The bits of color were only the illusion of civilization and decency. He padded across the polished wood floor, back to the window, cupped his hands and peered out at the Boston skyline. The night he’d been in the public library, citizens had been told to stay in. That had been his plan, too, once he’d gotten that first zombie piece done. Him staying in with his girlfriend, Rachelle, and screwing her until the sun came out, that had been the idea.

Hayden almost laughed at the memory.

That isn’t what’d happened.

Not by a long shot.

He’d been the one to get screwed.

Now, the blizzard from the last few days had softened to flurries. Flakes whispered through the cold night air, landing lightly on top of the huge swells of snow the storm had left behind. Some of the snow settled into the corners of the window sill. Some floated through the pale light cast out from the street lamps. The gentle scene was a lie.

Snowmaggeddon had delivered something worse than treacherous feet of snow. It had brought them. And now the entire city was infected and in danger.

Mattie was near, he knew. He imagined her skittering across the roof of the brownstone, muscular thighs twitching, ice hanging from her tangled hair. She’d gaze into any window she could, steal the humanity from those inside simply by watching them. Maybe she’d do more. Maybe she’d find a loose window, get into their apartment, take what she needed and leave.

“I’m surprised you didn’t lock the bathroom window.”

He was almost relieved. In some ways the anxious anticipation of awaiting her arrival was worse than her presence. With her there, he’d soon have an outlet for his anger and disgust. A chance to fight, to fuck, to give in. After he dropped his hands from the window, he could see the green glimmer of her eyes reflecting off the glass. The chill from her body caressed him as she moved forward. The pressure of her knee against his thigh was the first point of contact.

Chapter Two

“There now. Doesn’t this feel special?”

 

“Why bother with a lock?” he replied, watching a black sedan pull away from the curb, skidding briefly before straightening out, then creeping around the corner. “The lock didn’t stop you before.”

She jerked her knee forward and up, knocking him off balance. She grabbed his upper arm as he fell, squeezing her fingers deep into his flesh as she flung him onto the couch. Sneering down, she kicked at him until he scooted himself to the far end, stopping at the arm. “And I was thinking the unlocked window was an invitation. That you’ve started to like me.”

Trying to brace against the effect she had on him, hoping for a fraction of control, Hayden stiffened. She came forward, loomed over him as she fingered the hem of her midnight blue mini-skirt with her dirt smudged fingers. “No? No new feelings for me?” She lifted the snow-stained fabric with one hand and tucked the fingertips of the other hand into the top of her tattered thigh high fishnets. “To think I’ve been hoping you’d start to like me as much as you liked Rachelle.”

Hayden’s gut clenched. “She isn’t part of this anymore.”

“Oh, but she is, Hayden.” Mattie lifted her skirt up over the tops of her fishnets to show off her bare pussy. “Your girlfriend is a big part of this.” Dropping the skirt, she moved forward, her heavy black boots thudding on the floor as her sneer shifted into a false frown. “Sorry. I meant to say your ex-girlfriend.”

Ready to fight his way through, Hayden reached for his belt, jerked it loose. When he started in on the fly, she set one wet foot on his hand and pressed down to stall his motion. Chunks of ice fell onto the back of his hand. Cold water dripped into his palm, then ran down to soak into his jeans. “Not that, not now. Talk first. Fuck second.”

Hayden thrust her foot away, then scooted himself upright and away from her and gestured to the pile on the floor. “I don’t have anything new and you took all Belmont’s stuff, so there’s nothing to talk about.”

Except, of course, the burlap thing under his bed.

Or did she already know about that?

She knelt and sorted through the papers and books. The clumps of ice in her hair were starting to melt, letting loose fat drops that hit the wood floor with wet taps. Still perched on the backs of her heels, she flipped open Guy Belmont’s book, the one that had been the cause of all the fucked-up shit Hayden now called his life.

“Where’d you get this copy?”

“From Belmont. It was his good-bye present.” That was partly true. After they’d finished the follow-up piece, Hayden had taken it from the old man’s suitcase, then told him to fuck off.

“Wasn’t that nice of him,” she said, flipping through the too-familiar pages.

The sketches of the barbaric sex rituals, the initiations, the speculations about the turning ceremonies were well done, Hayden had to admit. The sketched images were clear and made you feel like you were right there. Probably because the old man had been right there-decades ago, back before he was old.

Mattie glanced up, the bright green glimmer in her eyes shining between tangles of hair. “Imagine that man stalking us all those years, hiding behind trees, jacking off, drawing pictures, doing who the hell knows what else. If he wanted it so bad why didn’t he do something about it? Pretty pathetic, don’t you think?”

Hayden figured the man stayed in the shadows because he was either terrified or had a shred of good sense to hide. He kept that to himself, though, because he got what she meant. From her point of view, that man was a loser, a coward who was afraid to go after what he wanted. After all, she’d made the choice to cross over and join the tribe of the undead. Never mind that she now wanted out.

Drops of melted ice continued to fall from her hair, hitting the pages, leaving dark dots on the lurid drawings. For a long minute, she studied a picture of a woman bound at the ankles, while another woman examined her breasts. After carefully inspecting a few more drawings, she set the book aside and grabbed the stack of papers, flipped through it quickly, scanning the lines of careful notes and few random sketches tucked in along the margins. “These are all your notes? This is all you have?” When she looked at him, her frown turned real. Or as real as any of her expressions could be. “Nothing new?”

He shook his head but thought about Matthew’s so-called gift stuffed under his bed.

“Be glad that old man left town. He was going to be an issue for you.”

For the first time that day, Hayden laughed. “Hell no. I don’t even think so.” That old man was the only one he wasn’t afraid of.

“You’ve been wrong before and you’re wrong about that.” And then her face changed, the stiffness returning, the hard glaze in her eyes an icy reminder of what she could do to him. Of what she already had done to him.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked, even though he was sure he already knew.

“An update,” she rolled back then stood. “But I guess that’s covered.”

He hated the way she easily wrote his skills off, as though he was useless. But the truth was, what bothered him more was the fact that once she decided he wasn’t ever going to find what she wanted, he’d be totally vulnerable. Then, he’d have absolutely no leverage, and she could do whatever she wanted to him. Killing him, the least of his worries. “If you want to take advantage of my research skills, why don’t you give me the journal and thumb drive you took from Belmont?”

“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. Haven’t decided yet. Meanwhile… ” She went to the window, placing her hands where his had been. “What’s your plan?”

“I’m still working on it.”

Neither of them spoke. She leaned forward, continued staring out the window. He watched her, imagining the slices of skin visible between the red straps binding her huge tits. Her black leather jacket hung loosely on her shoulders, suggesting a casual air that was the opposite of reality. His heart began to thud, and his jaw was beginning to tighten. That was the same reaction he’d had when he’d first met her, but now the response came from both fear and uncontrollable lust. How easily she’d pulled him in and how stupidly he’d followed.

Her head swiveled, and she found him with her emerald gaze. It wouldn’t be long before she was on top of him. She moved her hands from the window, then slid her fingers under one of the straps. Her breasts bounced as she tugged on the binding. It was her way of taunting him, humiliating him for wanting. Needing her. “What’s your plan researcher?” she asked, still tugging on the red straps. “I know you have one, so tell me.”

He shifted, trying to evade her study of him but still felt the weight of her cold stare. The icy gleam cut through him, gave him a chill that went straight to the marrow flowing deep in his bones. “We have to go back to the camp. Both of us.”

“Sounds fun.” Mattie stopped toying with the red straps but left her hand cupped on her breast. “You need my help, don’t you? I like that. It’s nice to be needed.” The green in her gaze had deepened, the color a threat, a reminder that he was her possession. Her tool. He was whatever she wanted and needed him to be.

And she did still need him, he knew that because if she was willing to go to the camp, that meant she was still part of the tribe. And if she was still part of the tribe, she hadn’t yet figured out how to break free. And so… she still needed him. As bad as that was, it was good.

He shivered. The quiver rolled through him, eventually making his skin tighten. Going to the camp wasn’t going to be fun. Slowly, he looked her over, took in the holes torn in her fishnets, the snarls in her hair and the roughness in her powerful hands. “You’ll help me? What do you want in return?” he asked.

“Don’t be an ass, Hayden. You know what I want.”

Pretending he had a choice, he unzipped his jeans, shoved his pants and briefs down and took out his dick. Stroking it, feeling it get hard, he said, “I think you want more than this.”

Lifting her skirt, she moved toward him. “You’ve gotten to know me. That is so sweet.” She climbed onto him and with one hard thrust covered his dick with her cold, tight pussy. “That will make fucking you so much more amusing.” She looked down at him, her eyes raw, the green glow swirling deep. “Won’t it?” The edge of her top lip curled as she reached back and gripped the side of his hips with her hard thighs. Once she had him pinned to the couch, she started rocking. “There now. Doesn’t this feel special?”

Hayden clenched his jaw, ground his teeth and turned his attention to the window, staring out into the night and praying the darkness would take his mind, make it as blank and as still, as the cloudless night. As it did every time, his body betrayed him. With each motion, his cock grew harder and harder still, responding to the tightness of her icy sheath and the aura of possession he had no control over.

If she was going to fuck him and take what she needed, he was going to try and take advantage of the opportunity. “What about Matthew?” he asked, remembering the last time they’d been together and the abrupt way she’d responded to her brother’s name.

This time she didn’t slow. “What about him?”

No reply came to mind. The brutal physical pleasure was beginning to shut off his thoughts. He stiffened his legs, firmed his back, tried not to smell her scent. “That’s what I want to know.”

She slowed, stopped then put one cool hand on each side of his face, glared down. “Guilt. You know about guilt, right? It makes you do stupid things.” Then she bent down and kissed him, brushing her lips across his so softly and quickly he didn’t even feel the cold. She released his face, and unnerved by the tender contact, he squeezed his eyes shut.

Slowly at first, she moved again. Grinding long and hard each time she rocked. Unable to stop himself, he lifted his eyelids. As he expected, she was glaring at him with an anger seated so deeply inside her that he knew he was only the target of it, not the source. Whatever caused hatred that deep took months, years, to get that rich and insidious. The new rage and disgust that now flowed through his veins was no match for hers, not even close. With a groan, he turned his head so that only the night skyline filled his vision. Gradually, she quickened her pace, pounding on him with her hard body, taking, taking, taking...

He sucked in several deep breaths. The bitter iron smell that made the back of his throat tighten filled his nostrils with the stench of fear, anger and undeniable lust. The combination sparked his adrenaline, kicked his nerves into high gear. The muscles along his spine twitched, knotted, then clenched. He was nearly immobile, but not numb. Her cold sheath squeezed his cock, gripped him hard. Her hips pounded his crotch, hitting his balls, rubbing his thighs. Everywhere her body touched, chilled and heated him. The effect was everywhere. All over him, all in him, as though she consumed him inside and out.

Fighting was pointless. Why did he bother? Pride?

Still she moved over him. One of her breasts had come free from the bindings. The other was pinched between the straps. His hands burned with the desire to grab them both. Squeeze them. Feel the cold skin in his warm, human flesh, pretend for a minute that what they were doing was normal. Healthy. Right. He kept his hands down, willed himself to accept the truth.

Suddenly, she stopped and reached under him, her arm movements sharp as she explored his underside. Seconds later, she pulled his phone from his pocket. After checking the screen, she held it in front of him. The call was from Bob.

His boss.

The reality of the situation couldn’t sink into his mind. He was that far gone, his dick nearly throbbing from the way she’d been banging into him. Every muscle twitching, every nerve on fire.

Hayden shook his head.

“If you don’t answer it, I will. She held the phone aloft, starting again to grind against him, continuing to take what she needed to sustain her inhuman strength.

He snatched it from her and answered.

“I need you to come to the office.”

Gray haze hung in the depths of Hayden’s thoughts, the cloud so thick he could barely recall what he did for work, let alone where the office was located.

The man kept talking and Hayden kept wishing he would shut up.

But that electric edge in Bob’s voice snapped through the line and Hayden knew that whatever was causing it was going to be something he didn’t want any part of but would end up right in the center of. That was how he’d gotten himself pinned beneath this undead thing. “Right, yeah, of course. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Mattie had braced herself by grabbing a side of the couch and picked up speed. The tension was building inside him, and he’d begun thrusting his hips in rhythm to her movements. It took everything he had to keep from grunting into the phone, so he covered the edge with his hand. Hoping to get rid of the man, he lifted his hand long enough to add, “I’ll come in earlier than usual. Sound good?”

“No.” There was some muffled conversation, then Bob changed his tone to one he probably thought was encouraging and added, “Not in the morning, now.” There was another round of muffled conversation, then, “Trust me. You’ll be glad once you get here.”

Mattie leaned down to whisper in Hayden’s ear, “Guess I better hurry.”

Bob was still talking, but the only thing Hayden caught was the man’s speculation that whatever Hayden was doing right then couldn’t possibly be that important. Getting fucked to make himself useful enough to not kill or turned into some kind of dormant undead, unalive thing. No, nothing important at all.

While the guy was still talking, he clicked off, tossed the phone across the room and grabbed Mattie’s hips. Finally, consciousness faded. His raw instincts took over, and he thrust upward as hard and rough as he could. The acrid scent coated his nostrils, making him salivate so quickly the sharp surge made his jaw ache. Clenching his teeth, he continued pulling her down onto his cock, losing more of himself with each hard thrust.

Above him, she started laughing, mocking him as he tried to hurt her. The pulses of her pussy came hard and quick, squeezing his cock with a cruel chill. Her orgasm set off his own and soon his hot cum filled her, offering the first bit of warmth since they started fucking. Groaning, she continued moving until the last pulse of his cock then swung her leg over and climbed off him.

“Stop making that face, Hayden.” She eyed his limp dick as she tugged down her skirt Dropping into the chair across from the couch, she asked, “What is it? Do you want me to say thank you? Tell you I liked it?” She laughed. “Would that make you feel better about yourself?”

“Fuck off.” Hayden pulled his briefs and jeans up, then swung himself upright to buckle his belt.

“That’s’ the idea.” She got up, backed away from him, making her way to the hall that led past his bedroom to the bathroom. “I’ll be back to get you later for our little trip to the camp.”

Not willing to give up on whatever waited for him at The Southie, he called after her. “Come late.”

She shrugged, “We’ll do it your way. But be ready when I get here.”

The last he knew of her was the thump of her boots on the sill as she swung herself out the bathroom window. A gust of bitter wind rushed down the hall and whispered over him. He shivered from the air and from the thought of her perching on the corner beside the bathroom window, then climbing upward to skitter across the icy roof.

 

* * *

 

Less than an hour later, without bothering to wash the traces of their sex off him, Hayden jogged up the steps to The Boston Weekly office. He’d tucked a stack of notes into his backpack and planned to use them to throw his boss off whatever goose chase the guy thought he was going to send him off on. By the time Hayden reached the landing that led to the office door, he’d pieced together an idea to pitch.

Bob Keeler, the status hungry social climber that he was, insisted on having an office that reflected what he thought of as ‘Old Boston.’ Definitely ironic, considering the man made his living by churning out scandalous junk that fed the East-Coast’s fascination with gossip, rumors and half-truths. The Kennedys must’ve been an inspiration for Keeler because the old man lived to dig up hidden family secrets, political scandals and create buzz where there was none.

Hayden hit the afterhours buzzer, waited for the lock to click. Upstairs, he expected to see the usual interns uploading videos and slouching on the tables, retweeting or posting on Instagram but found the place empty instead. The vague scent of sweat and pizza was the only proof that an entire staff of reporters regularly filled the single room. The only light came from Keeler’s glass-walled, corner office. The man liked to keep an eye on his minions while also enjoying the downtown view. There should be a sign over his door reading the Kingpin of Crap. As it was, the marker identifying the room as the boss’ office was a recent photo of Bob shaking hands with the newly elected mayor.

The soft rumble of conversation drifted out into the silence. Hayden slowed his steps, trying to catch the tone of whatever was being said as he dug the pages out of his backpack. May as well have them ready, he figured. Get in, distract Bob, get out. That was the plan. The words from the office came quickly, but not loudly. That ruled out a local being unhappy with a negative depiction of their business or the fact that the newspaper had not only spilled their family secrets but also made them a laughingstock of the city. Little did they know, nobody cared about that sort of thing for very long. Another scandal always came and caught the city’s interest. Short attention span—that’s how the paper stayed in business.

Hayden swung himself through the threshold, took two steps into the office, then stopped short and instantly lost control of his face. The two men continued talking, barely acknowledging his entrance. Bob was half-leaning on his huge oak desk, his fingers bouncing up and down, tapping his gold pinky ring on the glass top.

Hayden didn’t care about his boss’ distress. He had his own to deal with, now in the form of Guy Belmont, standing right there in front of him. Hadn’t he had enough of that decrepit old man?

Apparently not. And apparently the guy didn’t understand that Hayden never wanted to see, or even hear from, him again. The last time he’d been around Guy Belmont, the man had been crawling his old ass self across the floor of a hotel suite, begging to get his turn fucking Mattie or, if that wasn’t possible, get fucked himself. By Hayden.

Hayden got his shit together enough to begin slowly curling up the papers in his hand. A conversation about why he was carrying them around and what he planned to do with them would not be productive. Time for a new plan.

Bob set his fat hand on Belmont’s shoulder. “Look here, Hayden. Dr. Belmont in the flesh. Right here in our humble office.”

Hayden gave up on rolling the papers, stuffed them into his backpack, then forced himself to stretch out his hand.

Belmont’s handshake was damp but shockingly firm.

Bob took his hand off Belmont. “I understand the two of you have already met.”

“Um, yes, at—”

“The comic convention.” Belmont cut in. “I told your boss how helpful you were.”

Hayden set his backpack on the floor. “I was?”

Shaking from an awkwardly hearty laugh, Bob replied, “At the convention contest. When you helped him select the female winner.”

Picking Mattie as the female winner of the dress like a sex tribe zombie contest had hardly been Hayden’s idea.

“I had a great time with that.” Belmont said, also looking falsely jovial. “In fact, I wished I could’ve gotten to know the winner a bit more.”

What the hell? The three of them—Belmont, Mattie, and Hayden—had been together in Belmont’s hotel room. The old man hadn’t had a great time. He’d been thoroughly humiliated, disappointed and taken advantage of. He whined pathetically when Mattie refused to use him as her sex slave, then cried like a baby when she’d taken off with the sketch journal and notes he’d collected over the years of following and studying her tribe. As if that wasn’t enough, Hayden himself had snatched up the two burlap-wrapped dormants he’d found stashed in the man’s bathtub.

Bob reached over and set his hand on Hayden’s shoulder. “That’s where you come in.”

Guy Belmont’s face was totally blank, so offered nothing to clue him in on what the hell was going on.

“You’re going to get that winner and Belmont together. Do some pictures, an interview, maybe more. Write an article together.”

The old man nodded.

Oh hell no.

If his boss saw the disgust flash across Hayden’s face, he ignored it as he continued. “I’ve given Guy your cell number, so we’re all set.” He took his hand off and backed away, retreating to his desk. The tapping of the ring started again. “Thanks for coming right up. That’s it for now, son.”

Son? Since when was his boss into acting like a pseudo father figure? And they hadn’t set anything up. Hayden was about to point out the second part of that thought when Belmont lifted his hand to offer a condescending wave good-bye. A pink plastic wristband dropped down from under his sleeve.

Chapter Three

“Do you want me to say thank you? Tell you I liked it?”

 

At about 6:30, the Uber that brought Hayden to The Southie pulled away from the curb. The cloud of exhaust puffing out behind the Toyota Camry bled into the rest of the unnatural smells filling the South Boston street. The car bounced off a pile of dirty snow, then disappeared around a corner, leaving the street silent. Unlike his laced-up, careful and socially conscious co-workers, Hayden wasn’t a total stranger to this neighborhood. He knew how to find the infamous dive bar even though the only marker was a faded Rolling Rock beer sign.

Not that he’d ever been inside the place.

Then again, he’d never been curious. Or invited. Until now.

Rod McKinon and Matthew had a connection. He needed access to Matthew. He needed information on Matthew. Belmont, a man he’d thought was history and must have underestimated, was somehow in this mix. And so, he climbed over the hunks of rock-filled snow heaped across the sidewalk, bracing against the constant chill as he moved to the building, stopped under the sign, squeaking in the wind. The music inside vibrating the door was low and wordless, a goth trance blend, if there was such a thing.

He shoved the door open, came face to face with a thick-browed woman with green hair and black lipstick.

“Lemme see your wrist.” Instead of waiting for him to lift his arm, she grabbed his hand and, with a sharp jerk, pulled his arm up. The pink band flashed against his wrist. She pinched the shiny material between her thumb and index finger, slid them around the smooth plastic. The slow movement was both a caress and an assessment. Finally, she looked at his face. “Band comes with free specialty drinks. Enjoy yourself lucky, lucky boy.”

Hayden pulled his arm from her grip as he moved into the small, battered bar. The place was mostly empty. Half of the stools along the bar were vacant, the others occupied by versions of the same man—jeans or work pants, boots dripping from snow, woolen hats pulled low. One, wearing black leather gloves, stood out, so Hayden went to sit next to him. He passed on the free drink, ordered a Rolling Rock instead, then waited.

For what, he didn’t know exactly.

Something to feed his curiosity. Something to take his mind off that awkward, illogical scene in Bob’s office. After he’d been dismissed, he stood by the door, watching them. The whole time Belmont had been talking, Bob kept nodding and grinning, looking like he would have agreed to anything the old man said. Totally out of character. His boss was usually a total blowhard, arrogant and condescending to the core.

Hayden scanned the room, checking again for Belmont. That geezer had a bad habit of popping up at the worst times. The crowd was, like the blond who’d sold him the band said, only men. One by one, the single men came through the door, looked around like he had, then took a seat. Some at the bar, some at the small tables spaced across the chipped vinyl floor. The music continued to vibrate, filling the room with an oddly electrical series of sounds. All the men sat alone, the pink plastic cups that the free drinks were served in dotted the room.

One guy tapped his unlit cigarette on the table, flipping it end over end, tapping, then flipping.

Tapping. Flipping.

A guy with a cowboy hat poked the ice in his drink with a stir stick. Poked, then swirled.

Poking. Swirling.

Hayden picked at the label on his bottle, tearing it into small pieces and creating a pile on the bar. He’d been sitting at the bar for 13 minutes when Rod McKinon, wearing only his leather coat and a pair of tattered black jeans, showed up. The star must’ve come in through a back door because he appeared from behind the bar. His face was emotionless, and he was carrying a labeless wine bottle. The two bodyguards from the convention were with him, trailing behind, their faces pulled tight, gazes bouncing back and forth, scanning the thin crowd seated around the bar. The men in the room continued with their drinks, expressions flat, fingers tapping, gazes flickering.

Matthew appeared too, also from behind the bar. Wrapped in one of the giant fur cloaks from the camp, he looked like a second from the Game of Thrones set. But he wasn’t holding a sword. He was holding Guy Belmont’s hand. Belmont trailed back and off to the side, as though he was an afterthought in a bad dream. The spark he’d just seen in Belmont’s eyes was gone, the old man’s eyes were glazed and grey, his posture soft and submissive.

Matthew ran his index finger down Hayden’s arm. “Hello again, pet. What a complete and total surprise to see you here.”

Hayden leaned back.

“No, no need for that. We’re all friends tonight.”

Matthew moved down to the end of the bar, then rounded the corner at the far end. Hayden resisted the urge to back away again as the two of them got closer. Matthew paused directly in from of him, threw back one side of the cloak to reveal his naked, wiry body, and said, “Tonight, it’s your turn to sit back and watch the show.” After making a humming noise, he rolled his eyes while lifting his brows. “How excited are you?”

Hiding his revulsion and dread, Hayden asked, “The guy who sold me the band implied this was a party.”

“Will you be surprised to find out he lied? People do that you know.” Matthew slid his gaze to Hayden’s crotch then shot a look at Belmont. “People lie. They lie like they use each other.”

The image of that so-called gift Matthew had sent Hayden off with earlier, now wrapped tightly in burlap and hidden under his bed screamed to the surface of his mind. “I’m not surprised by anything anymore,” he said through a crack in his voice.

Matthew snorted. “Now look who’s lying,” he drawled over his shoulder as he stepped off, taking the ashen-faced Belmont with him.

McKinon had set his bottle down, seated himself on one of the dented metal chairs and was waving at the guards to clear the area around him. Metal screeched as the two huge men shoved tables and stacked chairs. The yellow and blue lights from the jukebox blinked, making the chipped, brown linoleum coating the floor glimmer with a malicious sheen. McKinon slid out of his coat, and it spun through the air when he tossed it away. It landed in a heap beside the jukebox. Newly arriving men continued to step up and request their free drink.

Matthew parked Belmont near McKinon, leaving the old man floating like a ghost, then went back behind the bar. The door to a back room swung sharply after he cut through it. It was still swinging when he reemerged, a burlap-wrapped heap draped over his shoulder and an all-too-familiar thermos gripped in his hand. This time, he strode past Hayden, leaving a trail of stench behind. That smell. It was the same stink that had filled his bedroom. He’d wrapped the creature tightly in plastic, but how long until the stink oozed out, seeping into the other rooms of his apartment. Hayden’s heart started hammering, pushing his blood so suddenly his veins stung from the force.

The heavy music continued to pump from the speakers, making the air thick with bass and liquid with rhythm. The men sat, even more still than before, their hands no longer skimming or tapping. Their bodies were so still if he weren’t already on edge, the unnaturalness of the crowd would’ve given Hayden the chills. As it was, he was lost somewhere between fear and fascination.

Guy Belmont had removed his clothes. He stumbled forward, dropped to his hands and knees and crawled forward, his bony legs jerking as he moved toward McKinon. When he sat back on his heels, he lost his balance, tipped sideways, hit the floor, then rolled onto his back. His hands floated above the floor as he scrambled, trying to get himself upright again. McKinon scooted forward, stopping at the edge of the chair, stretched out his legs then spread them apart, creating a space between his ankles. The heavy bass beat on, the men in the crowd unmoving.

Matthew laid the burlap heap in front of McKinon, shrugged off the cloak, then knelt. McKinon began running his hands over the rough, brown fabric. Back and forth, back and forth, he rocked in rhythm to the music. His lean body was a smooth blur. Hayden’s breath caught in his throat, his face started to get numb, his neck was tight, his chest hard.

Hayden knew what was inside that burlap—one of the undead. Only unlike Matthew, Mattie and the rest, this one was truly undead. It was both undead and unalive. McKinon continued to caress the dormant’s wrapper, slowly pulling the burlap off the top of its head. Inch by inch the thing’s pale, frozen face appeared. Soon everyone would be able to see the long red hair, vacant eyes, the hard cheekbones, the dry, chapped lips.

Keep going, Hayden whispered to himself. If Matthew kept going, the men in the room would see the thing inside the burlap for what it was. They’d stop this—whatever it was—stop Matthew, collect Rod, even Guy, put a stop to it all. Then they’d all leave. Go home to their lives, their families, jobs.

But nobody moved.

These men couldn’t know, couldn’t understand, what they were watching.

Matthew pulled the rough brown material around the thing’s neck, tightened, pretended to choke it. The eyes of the dormant didn’t even flicker. It continued to stare straight ahead, unseeing, unknowing. Matthew’s fingers flattened, his wrists started to shake as he continued to pretend to squeeze the life out of the body.

Guy had gotten himself upright and shifted so his face was directly above the dormant, his open mouth barely an inch from the dry, pale lips of the undead. It was as though he was trying to breathe into the thing’s mouth, force air into its unmoving lungs while Matthew continued to pull tighter on the material around its neck. And still the music rolled, beating lowly throughout the room, making the walls bounce, making Hayden’s skin tremble.

Even after Guy pressed his old, wrinkled lips to the thing wrapped in burlap, none of the men in the bar moved. If anything, they were more still, completely motionless. Pink cups sat in front of them. None of them reached for the phones, none even looked toward the door. It was then that Hayden noticed, he was the only one with a bottle. All the other men had the pink cups, every single one of them.

Hayden spun toward the entrance. The woman who’d been there was gone, the solid wood door closed and latched. The latch was medal and held secure with a thick lock.

None of the men were looking at the door. None cared.

They watched Guy, now breathing into the thing on the floor while Matthew continued to uncover its pale naked skin. McKinon crawled from the chair, kicked it back. He picked up the bottle, poured oil—not the wine Hayden had been expecting—onto the thing’s face, trailed downward onto its neck and breasts. McKinon worked in tandem with Matthew, the two of them coordinating their efforts to simultaneously uncover and oil the thing. Once the exposed skin was gleaming with oil, he set the bottle down, then bent forward, resting his palms on either side of the thing’s head, rocking his hips, lifting high and low, higher and lower. Matthew began caressing the thing, gliding his hands upward over its hard, glistening skin with one hand while still pulling the burlap down with the other.

Hayden scanned the room again, but the men circling the stage continued to watch, mesmerized by the freak show. A difference now, occasionally they each picked up their pink cups, took a sip, then set it down.

McKinon paused to kick Guy, making the old man turn so he was perpendicular to the body, so he and Matthew had better access to the dormant. Soon, both men were moving in rhythm to the music. Guy continued to sporadically breathe into the thing’s mouth.

Whatever that thing was now, it had been a person once. It had chosen to be defiled, used and made unhuman.

Acid trickled up Hayden’s throat, burned its way across his tongue. He was part of this world. He’d chosen it, too. A chill went down his arms and soon his body was aching with both heat and ice. His stomach clenched, pressure ran downward, filled his guts, made his cock hard. He inspected the room, watching the men watch the sick scene. That first night he’d had sex with Mattie, he hadn’t known everything, but if he was honest with himself, he’d known enough. He’d known it was fucked up, literally and otherwise. But he’d gone ahead.

And that had only been the start—not the worst of what he’d done recently.

What’s the worst thing people are capable of?

That question had no answer. The depths of terror and disgust, humiliation and depravity—there was no bottom to that pit. That black hole was his new normal.

For now?

Forever?

Hayden braced himself, physically and emotionally. Watching the sick scene stirred desires he wanted to deny. The constant motion of McKinon’s long arms, his oddly-angled legs…  

Hayden knew what was coming. He started to feel the anxiety, the ache, the out of body need for the cold chill of Mattie’s possession.

Where was she? Why wasn’t she there?

Why didn’t she need him?

His apprehension started to swell, prickle against his skin. If she’d found someone else and didn’t need him anymore, he was fucked. If she didn’t need him, if she’d found someone else to use, give her what she needed…

It was then that Rachelle came out from behind the swinging door. The woman coming around the end of the bar was a long way from the proper, socialite, graduate student he’d met weeks ago at an art opening. That night she’d been gentle charm, a cute impish tease in an expensive fur. She was wearing a fur again, but one from the camp, so it was ragged and worn. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a messy twist, flashes of her bare legs slashed beneath the heavy animal skin as she sauntered to the makeshift stage.

Hayden had had those bare legs wrapped around him, quivering beneath his hands. Now those legs scared him. Those legs made him sick. The whole woman made him afraid. Not because of what she herself could do to him, but because he was now comprehending how little he’d understood her. Now, he sat like the other men, fascinated, frozen and tense, waiting. But Hayden was also disgusted. Nauseous. Knowing.

While the three men continued the ritual, Rachelle picked up the thermos, not bothering with the cup. She took a long drink, then recapped it with practiced precision. Her lips, still wet from the tea, were soft, her mouth open. Need? Or desire? Hayden didn’t know. He’d never known that woman. Fool that he was, for thinking he had.

And he was a fool. He knew that for certain. And yet he couldn’t stop being the fool. He should’ve noticed before he was the only one drinking from a bottle. Everyone else in the room had been dosed with the potent tea. Being a fool to yourself was the easiest thing. Thinking you know, thinking you’re in control. Over and over he’d done this to himself but kept coming back for more. There he sat.

Taking more. Getting more.

Now the voyeur, watching, thinking about Mattie and hating himself for wishing she was there to tap in to the insidious heat the scene before him had stirred to life in his body. He dropped his hand to his crotch, stroked his hard cock and watched as his ex-girlfriend slid the fur cloak from her shoulders to expose her bare tits and compact body. Yes, he’d touched her skin, kissed her softly, fucked her harder. But he now knew there was another side of sex. The side where you gave up while someone else took, leaving you used and depleted.

The bolt on the door, the drugged men at the tables, him, alone, watching this ceremony, it was all a set up, and he’d walked right in. Of course, he had. Someone had known he would. Why was he there? Was it an invitation or a threat? He lifted his hand off his hard-on, willing himself not to give in to the moment.

Rachelle dropped the cloak all the way, revealing a key dangling between her breasts and a wide holster circling her waist. Two items hung from the holster: a small, squat, black bottle and long, pointed piece of wood. The small, wooden staff had a fine metal tip bound to its end. She withdrew the wood first, set it on the floor. The metal point caught the light. After pulling free the bottle, she knelt beside Matthew, then set the bottle on the floor. She took off the cap, set it aside.

Matthew had pulled the burlap down to the thing’s waist. He nodded to McKinon and together the two of them flipped the thing over. Its face hit the linoleum, head rolling to the side. McKinon doused the creature’s back with oil, began massaging the pale skin with long, smooth strokes. The music rolled on. The men in the room continued to watch, staring through glazed eyes as the scene continued, evolving slowly with brutal precision.

Matthew ran his pale fingertips up and down the spine, flicking pieces of burlap off the bony points visible beneath the skin. Each time Matthew’s hand moved up, McKinon’s moved down, until, suddenly, they both stopped. Rachelle dipped the metal tip into the bottle, began stabbing the thing at the base of the spine, just above its flat hips. Matthew moved back, crouched, held its legs. McKinon held its shoulders. Over and over, Rachelle went back to the bottle. Her application wasn’t careful or artistic. Her hands worked quickly, stabbing the ink into the skin, her small breasts bouncing from her sharp movements. The black line appeared quickly, marking the bones beneath it.

Belmont had scooted back, positioned himself on all fours and rocked back and forth, his body moving in rhythm to Rachelle’s hands. The old man’s face was filled with grief. Or was that resentment because he didn’t have a significant role in the ritual? No doubt he wanted more than the small part he was playing. The low, heavy bass of the music continued, the beat doing nothing for the men in the room who sat still, watching, numbed by the tea and consumed by the moment, the actions, and probably, as Hayden was, their own dirty fantasies.

Rachelle’s hand bounced back and forth between the jar and the spine. The line over the spine got thicker and darker, longer, and soon it was half way up the back. While Rachelle continued, Belmont crawled backward and pulled a sketchpad from his coat. He flipped it open and started drawing, his hand surprisingly steady.

Thinking about the others he’d seen with the same spinal inking, Hayden got off the stool and backed away. Only a few yards away, Belmont scribed. The old man suddenly looked determined and objective. Hayden, on the other hand, panicked. He wanted to see more, but he also wanted to get away from the sexual shadow hanging over him and swallowing the whole crowd. His cock was hard, his skin on fire. How could he feel this way when Mattie wasn’t nearby?

Rachelle finished the inking. She returned the makeshift quill to the holster as Matthew and McKinon flipped the thing back over. The crowd sat motionless but still radiating sexual energy. The music thumped on, churning through the room with a steady, relentless rhythm.

With one sharp jerk, Matthew tugged the burlap all the way down, tossed it aside. He stood, showing off his huge cock, now erect. McKinon reached for the oil, drizzled the thing’s legs, then began massaging the muscles with precise sweeps of his hands. Rachelle knelt in front of Matthew, began stroking his cock. Belmont’s hand skimmed over the sketchpad on his lap, most likely documenting this ritual as he had many others of this tribe.

Hayden backed away again. Rachelle, her hands still on Matthew’s dick, looked up, finding him instantly. Of course, she’d known he was watching. Of course, she’d known right where he was seated. She released Matthew’s now jutting cock, got to her feet, and stepped toward Hayden. Heart hammering, he braced, as she moved through the room, not the least bit self-conscious about being naked among these strangers. She stopped in front of him, stared up into his eyes, a mocking smile lingering on her mouth. He’d seen that look before, but on Mattie’s face it stirred fear. Seeing it on Rachelle’s simply made him angry at her and disgusted at himself.

She reached between her breasts, taking the key into one of her hands, then lifting the twine from around her neck. Once she had it off, she pivoted, then headed to the door, freed the lock, threw off the latch, then came back to him.

“Stay?” She put her hand between his legs and pressed upward, smiling when she realized how erect his dick was. “Be part of the show?” She let go and took a step back. “Or be a pussy and leave?”

Hayden shoved her away, jogged across the barroom floor, then burst through the door and out into the icy, stinging darkness.

Chapter Four

“Be part of the show?”

 

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Mattie asked, pointing at Belmont, dressed and sober on Hayden’s couch.

If the old man was surprised or insulted by her greeting, he didn’t show it. Instead, he used his bony, age-spotted hands to scoot himself forward, then did his old man best to shoot to his feet. Reeling from the little speed he managed to gather, he reached back and steadied himself on the arm of the chair. “You aren’t in control anymore, Mattie. We’re going to be a team of equals.” He lifted his hand, fingers spread wide. “Not entirely equals, actually.”

Mattie lurched forward, droplets of melted snow hitting the floor as she reached out to push him, but he dodged to the side, managing to avoid her. She backed up. “Say what you have to say, then get the hell out of here,” she said, giving up on bullying him and shoving her pale hands into the pockets of her leather.

Belmont walked casually to the window, turned, then went back to drop himself onto the couch. He was playing the cat and mouse game Mattie usually loved so much. This time she wasn’t winning, though. No sneer curled her lip and that constant threatening angle to her chin was missing.

Outside, a sharp gust of wind made the window panes rattle. A few flurries brushed gently across the glass. So pretty to look at. But so deadly with possibilities. Hayden would never be able to take the false peacefulness for granted. Things lurked. Things hid. Things did worse than that.

Once she heard what the old man had, or rather claimed to have, it wasn’t going to be hard getting her to agree to take him along. He wasn’t worried about that. It was keeping himself relevant and keeping Belmont alive that were going to be the challenges.

The man was basking in his moment of perceived power. He’d passed on a normal life to be the tribe’s voyeur. The unauthorized, and unknown, documentarian of Mattie’s tribe. The man was stupid beyond belief, but he’d managed to get something from that ritual and as much as Hayden hated to admit it, he should’ve stayed to the end. Seen what the old man had seen. Hayden got off the couch, speaking over his shoulder as he went to the window. “Talk, Belmont.”

Smug. That was the only word to describe the old man’s attitude. That attitude was only going to get him so far. Hayden was stuck with the shit job of making sure the man got the rest of the way. Belmont reached for his parka, started sliding his arms into the sleeves. “We’re all getting out of here, together.”

Mattie replied, but the conversation between her and Belmont faded as Hayden took in the scene on the street below. Five feet from his front door, standing on the sidewalk, were four white ponies. Two of the mounts had tack but no riders. Two of the mounts were ridden by men who looked upward, their gaze focused directly on Hayden. Guards from her camp, escorts, so it seemed.

“Why didn’t you come alone, Mattie?” he asked, without turning back.

She came up behind him, standing slightly to the side as she looked over his shoulder at the scene below. Hayden stiffened, feeling the chill of her body slither across him like an icy second skin. The shiver ignited his nerves, made his muscles twitch. And his cock too, it responded to her closeness. His unanswered question hung in the air sounding, he realized now, like a threat. The combination of lust and fear churned through him, reminding him of what he’d become and how badly he now wanted out. How much more could he lose? How much more would he lose by the time it ended?

And if it didn’t end?

Mattie’s continued silence told him part of what he needed to know. “Troubles at home?” he asked.

Belmont, still soaking up his imaginary importance, didn’t bother to come see what they were staring at. “I want what’s coming to me,” he said. “Let’s go. I’ve waited long enough.” Behind them, Belmont was rubbing his palms together. “Do you have tea? Yes, I know you do. Give it to me. Now.”

She pulled a mesh bag from her pocket, he snatched it, then headed to the kitchen. The hiss of water and clank of the teakettle being set on the stove followed.

The guards circled their mounts, scanning the street. The two extra horses followed their motions, stepping into the banks of deep snow, the lower parts of their legs disappearing into the dirty white mounds. Woe was the passerby who asked the fur cloak wearing undead why they were riding horses through Boston’s Back Bay.

“Why should I want that fuckwad around? You know he’s the reason I’m being watched.”

“Blame the victim much, Mattie? Guess suddenly appearing with those dormants didn’t impress Matthew. Or anyone else. I’d say you’re the reason you’re being watched.”

“You always think you know everything, Hayden. But you don’t.” She sneered at the old man. He gloated in response. She looked back at Hayden, “He isn’t a victim. Just like you aren’t a victim.”

Hayden swallowed, trying hard to ignore that truth.

“You had a choice.” Still behind him, she unzipped her jacket and thrust out her bound tits. He felt their soft pressure push into his back. “You made your choice.”

The lump in his throat got harder, nearly making him gag on his own guilt.

“You really haven’t learned a thing,” she said, her voice a soft whisper, a sexy endearment and cruel threat.

She’d moved her hand around him and started caressing him between his legs. Even through the fabric of his pants, he felt the chill of her fingers. Despite the repeated promises he’d made to himself that he’d no longer crave or even tolerate her touch, he ached for it. Only last night he’d woken up, bathed in a cold sweat, wanting her to suck his cock and pull the pent-up resentment, frustration and lust from his body. She knew her effect on him. After all, she’d created it, fed it. Taunted him over it and ultimately controlled it.

She continued stroking him, making his cock get stiff and long. Don’t want it. But it was no use. She owned him, just as she’d said. And until he found the information she wanted, solved the puzzle of what to do with the stinking dormant under the bed, that wasn’t going to change. Unless, of course, Belmont got the information to her first. What would happen then, he had no idea. Then it struck him—whatever the man had, he’d be sure he got hold of it. Get it. Use it. Or, keep it. He’d decide, he’d have control. That pathetic waste of skin would be no match for him.

“He has something we—you—need.” In the window’s reflection, Hayden watched Belmont reappear from around the wall that hid the small kitchen. He couldn’t stop being disgusted at the sight of the man. And irritated. Why couldn’t he have stayed gone? Kept his promise to disappear for good? Hayden shifted his weight, made his hips roll back and forth, increasing then releasing the pressure she’d been applying to his cock. “At least I think he does.”

“That’s right, my dear.” Belmont stood in the center of the room looking like a child expecting to go outside and build a snowman. “You’ll be taking me to the camp. No sneaking in this time. No hiding in the bushes any more. Never again like that.” The kettle began to whistle. “I expect to be treated with respect now,” he nearly yelled as he retreated to the kitchen.

She followed him. “You’ll be sorry you came back and sorry you asked for this. But that’s not my problem.”

Side by side they reappeared, him holding a steaming mug in his hands. “You’ll understand soon enough how badly you need me.” He cast Hayden a smug grin. “He’s not the man he thinks he is.”

She looked at Hayden, a question in her eyes.

Hayden himself stayed silent but Belmont piped up. “You should have seen him just a couple hours ago, running away from a teeny little scare.”

He turned around to face him dead on. “Fuck off, old man.”

“I may be old, but I’m not a coward. If you’d been man enough to stick around and watch to the end, you might not need me. But you didn’t, did you? So, you don’t know what you don’t know.”

Shit.

Mattie reached for Hayden’s shoulders, pushed him back a step then planted her palms on the cool glass. “You’re wrong old man. I don’t need you. I need him.” She lowered one hand long enough to lift the back of her skirt and expose her bare ass to Belmont, still sipping his precious tea. Hayden didn’t need to be told what to do, yet still he stalled. Just for now, he told himself. Soon, he’d be out. Done. Safe.

He twisted his head to look outside. Below, on the street, the guards had turned their ponies back to face the brownstone and gaze up. Watching. As Hayden unzipped his jeans and released his stiff cock, he studied the taller of the two men. “Is that Matthew?”

She came to stand beside him. Her face inches from the glass, she spread her legs and replied over her shoulder. “Do you want it to be?”

It didn’t matter. Hearing Belmont whine about being left out again, he rolled to get behind her and thrust in, pumping hard and fast as he stared around her shoulder into the pale faceless creatures below. When he moved in closer, the knots on her hair brushed his lips. Behind them, Belmont continued to mutter, pausing only to take another sip of tea.

Soon his hot cum flowed into her icy channel. After he withdrew, his jiz dripped down the firm pale skin of her thighs, dampening the tops of her tattered fishnets. He’d left his imprint on her, marking her as she marked him. The two of them were bound together through dark, cruel, unnatural sex. That and the threats of what lie ahead at the camp.

 

* * *

 

Because he’d been to Mattie’s tribe’s base camp before, Hayden wasn’t shocked to find himself shut inside a dim log cabin, chained to the large wooden bed. He lifted his head and was rewarded by a sharp tug from the metal collar bolted around his neck. The chain rattled as he moved, rolled across his shoulders as he scooted back to give himself some slack. The chain, and the fact that he was naked, except for his socks, wasn’t a surprise either. His clothes were piled on a chair next to the bed. His boots were by the door.

The heavy fur cover shielding him from the cold air slid against him as he shifted backwards, giving himself slack so that he could sit upright. He inhaled deeply in an attempt to settle the effects of the tea Mattie had made him drink. Unlike Belmont, he hated the stuff. From experience, he knew its memory blocking effects would wear off soon, leaving him with only a lingering haze and missing a chunk of his life he would never get back.

The air was tinged with smoke from the wood-burning stove glowing in the corner, but there was no bitter scent, the tell-tale odor of her. He adjusted the heavy chain, so it didn’t pull on the collar and turned to take everything in. A single oil lamp burned on the table beneath the window. Even with the glass pane covered by a thick black curtain, he could tell it was still night or had become night again if she’d drugged him through an entire day. It was possible. Anything, he understood now, was possible.

“Want to go for a little walk?”

Hayden turned in the opposite direction and spotted Rachelle seated in one of the two chairs in the far corner. Wearing the floor length fur robe and soft leather boots, she looked at home in the camp of the undead. The top of her head was hidden by the robe’s hood, but he could see her entire face. Her blue eyes were clear, but still he saw the difference in her. The effects of her time under Matthew’s care had been fast and complete. All traces of innocence were gone and now he saw the power-hungry woman that had been hiding beneath that fresh-face socialite façade.

“Been busy these last couple days, haven’t you?” He reached down to make sure his cock was underneath the cover.

Laughing, she came forward to stand beside the bed and look down at him. A week ago, because he’d thought the expression was an act, he’d considered that haughty glare sexy. Now it looked insolent and mean.

She pointed at his hand. “I’ve seen your dick already Hayden. Thought it was decent then. I still think its decent now. Why are you bothering with that?”

He threw the cover aside. When he looked down at his bare skin, he noticed a moist sheen coating his stomach, thighs and cock. Sweat? Had she fucked him while he was unconscious? “Why are you doing this?” He gestured to the door, indicating the camp and creatures beyond. “All of this?”

“Stupid questions.” The conceit in her eyes changed to something else. Something he wasn’t familiar with. “They like me. It’s fun.”

Hayden’s chest clenched, turned hard. “Getting used, hurting people, that’s fun?”

“Who’s been hurt?” She leaned down and tapped his metal collar with her thumb. “Besides you, I mean.”

“You too.” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud because speaking it made his part in her pain real.

She brushed the hood off and arranged it into a collar below her chin. “Whatever do you mean?” She asked, faking an accent. “Little ‘ole me? Hurt?” She shrugged her compact shoulders a couple times, made the robe fall to expose her bare breasts. When she spoke again the phony sweetness was gone. “If I was hurt, whose fault would that be?”

Thinking about Belmont and the so-called gift wrapped in burlap under his bed, he said, “I’m going to get away from all this. I’ll get you out too.”

Her barking laughter made her tits shake. “Don’t be silly. You aren’t going anywhere until Matthew says so. I’m here to get you. He wants to see you now.” She tugged on the chain. “So up, up, up.”

He grabbed the chain and yanked back. “Where’s Mattie?” As long as she was around, needed him, he was safe.

“Good thing I’m not the jealous type. Cause if I were, I might have a beef with that giant bitch. But as it is, I’m thinking she and I should be friends.” Rachelle righted her robe, covered her naked body. “What do you think about that idea?”

Hayden ignored the barb, instead yanking on the chain again, tugging it sharply enough to make it snap out of her grip. “What’s this about? I came here willingly.”

“That was my idea. I thought it’d be fun to play with you while you were napping.”

“Napping? You mean unconscious.”

She shrugged. “I was even going to tell you what we’d been up to, but then I figured, it wasn’t really any different than what we’d been doing—before—so, mmmm… ” She twisted her mouth and looked upward, “I decided to keep it to myself. You know, like you kept things to yourself.”

No way would she ever believe he’d done some of what he had to try and save her. He wasn’t even sure he believed that any more himself.

She dug a key from her pocket. Dropping all pretense, reached over and unlocked the padlock securing the chain to the wall. “As you must realize by now, no matter how dense you are, I’m Matthew’s girl. He trusts me. He tells me things. Maybe he’s starting to trust you too. Maybe he’s going to want to tell you things too.”

“What makes you so sure I won’t run off in to the snow? Make you look like an incompetent asshole?” Hayden swung himself off the bed. His foot hit a bottle, it tipped, then rolled under the bed. He grabbed a cloak that hung by the door, then stepped into his boots.

“You’re not about to do that.” Rachelle threw herself onto the bed and eyed him as she tried to bounce on the hard mattress. “Everyone knows you asked to come here. That’s why things are different this time.”

Different could mean a lot of things. Obviously, though, she had no interest in being helpful by explaining what the fuck was going on. Hayden shoved open the door, then stepped out into the night. Moonlight slashed through the thin line of clouds stretching across the pewter sky, occasional flakes of snow skittered through the air. It was cold but not unbearable. The trail of packed down snow was easy to walk through, making him wonder how often Mattie has walked it. Or Rachelle. Or them both.

Beyond the closest trees, two mounted guards lingered. He looked back, waiting for Rachelle to get closer. “Are they here because of me?”

She stopped beside him, that haughty look covering her face. “Do you want them to be?”

Was guilt impairing his judgment or was she starting to sound like Mattie? Had the two of them been spending time together? Just considering the possibility made him sick.

As though she knew what he was thinking, and wanted to confirm it was true, she put her hand on the small of his back and shoved him forward.

He stumbled. Once he’d righted himself, he lifted a leg. “Don’t you want to bind my ankles? Then you could really shove me down.”

She shook her head. “You’ve gotten yourself in a mess, haven’t you? You know enough to be a threat, but not enough to get out of here for good.” She brushed past him, putting herself in front.

All in with no way out. That described his situation.

He walked behind her now, stepping in the trodden path through the pines. The branches sagged under the weight of the snow. The heavy thumping hooves of the horses a solid reminder, don’t even think about running. The threat was just for show. Everyone knew he wasn’t going to run. He was hardly a threat, either. If he did know something he could use against them, he sure as hell didn’t know what it was.

He glanced back. The guards stared ahead, faces gray and stiff. They all were so big on control, scaring the humans, making a show of everything. Each day at this camp, it seemed, was another day of drama and torment. What a way to live.

They moved farther out in to the snowy clearing, past the circle of five cabins that filled the area before reaching the leader’s secluded, larger cabin. Like the last time he’d been there, some of the cabins were completely dark, some had a small bit of light inside and a thin thread of smoke coming up from the chimney. The ones with smoke had fires to keep the humans warm enough to perform. Hayden counted three with smoke. Three—or more—humans were there at the camp, captive, being used for sex.

Why had he thought coming back was a good idea? Why had he thought he could manage this?

Rachelle’s back, straight and strong as she strutted through the wintery night, shifted in silhouette against the shadowed snow. Could be she had the right idea: if you can’t beat them, join them.

She disappeared into the darkness of a thick copse of trees. He followed, the snow deeper in the shelter of the branches. Soon, they were in an opening between some bushes. The two chimneys of Matthew’s cabin came in to view. Each had a line of smoke drifting up into the night. The one large window facing the front had curtains, but a slice of dim light reached through to the outside.

Picture perfect, except for guards on each side of the door and the woman tied to a post. Unmoving, she leaned against the timbers of the cabin, her hands stuffed inside the dark grey blanket wrapped around her. As they got closer, Hayden realized her face looked familiar. It wasn’t anyone he knew, but he was sure he’d seen her before. An interview? Billboard? Was she a local news anchor? He continued staring at her until one of the guards stepped up and blocked his view. “Mind your business.”

Rachelle reached back and grabbed Hayden’s arm, tugging him past the guard to the door.

The guard lurched after them, holding out one palm. “Hey!”

At first Hayden thought the guy was barking at him but soon realized he was holding his hand out for Rachelle. She took the guy’s hand, guided it toward Hayden. With her other hand, she loosened Hayden’s cloak until it fell. The bitter wind bit into his skin, made his nipples peak.

“Rub your hand on him, he’s covered in oil.”

The second guard jumped forward, reaching out as well. “How long ago did you apply it?”

Before they touched him, Rachelle pushed both their hands away. “Less than 15 minutes. One swipe each. That’s all. Or I tell Matthew.”

Side by side, the man’s palms slowly slid down Hayden’s chest, a long, reverent caress. When they pulled them away, each pressed his palm to his neck, then shoved it down under his cloak.

“Remember who’s really taking care of you around here,” she called to them as she opened the wooden door. A gust of wind caught it, ripped it from her hands and it hit the cabin with a smack. She grabbed Hayden’s wrist, pulled him over the threshold, then reached back, fighting the wind to get the door closed. The front room was empty but warm. The light shining from the lanterns placed across the rows of crates gave off only enough light to see the floor and wooden walls. The fire in the stove was barely visible behind the grate.

Soon, Rachelle was pulling him through the dark hall, then sweeping aside the black beads hanging at the end of the hallway. Once through them, she shoved him forward then stood beside him, hands on hips, beaming as though she’d brought Matthew a prize.

Matthew was leaning on the ceiling-high wooden cage, his hand on the door, swinging it slowly open, then closed. “Hello, pet.” As usual the man’s chest was bare, his leather pants partially unlaced. At least his dick wasn’t hanging out, so there was that to be thankful for.

Aside from Matthew and Rachelle, the room was empty. No guards, no sign of Mattie. Or Belmont. A pair of handcuffs sat on Matthew’s gold wing-backed chair, the table beside the chair was empty. The covers on the huge bed in the corner were smooth and tidy. The warm fire in the stove flickered, orange, red and yellow, behind a grate. The room was warm. Cozy. Non-threatening. Except for Matthew’s evil presence, his constant threats, the cage, the guards and the woman tied to the post outside.

“Come closer.” Matthew shut the door, locked it. “No cage tonight, Hayden. We don’t need that now. Do we?”

Chapter Five

“No cage tonight, Hayden”

 

Rachelle’s fingers pressed into his spine, drilling in to the bone. “No, we don’t. Right Hayden?”

Hayden moved forward, away from the pain in his spine.

“Good.” Matthew nodded, his face expressionless, his dark eyes shadowed. “Closer.”

Hayden felt Rachelle’s presence behind him. Was there any goodness left inside her? He couldn’t tell. He’d lost his ability to determine. He’d lost the edges of himself and no longer trusted his own judgment. But there was only one way out of this fucked up mess. He took another, longer, step forward.

“Good. That’s right.” Matthew held out one hand. “Come to me.”

The guy had to be fucking crazy. Hayden had no intention of reaching for that disgusting asshole.

Matthew swept his hand upward, ran it across his bald head. “That’s alright. We can wait until you’re ready.”

“Wait?” Hayden backed away. “Wait for what?”

Rachelle came around, put her hands on Hayden’s shoulders, then guided him backward to the bed. Once his calves hit the bed, she eased him down until he was sitting on the edge. The bed was higher than the one in his cabin and much more substantial. It was a real bed, with a carved headboard and stacks of pillows. A very nice normal, everyday bed. It suddenly seemed like the most sane, welcoming thing he’d experienced in the past days filled with terror and torment. He scooted back, let his legs relax.

“Tell me something about yourself, Hayden. Something I don’t know.”

In the back of his mind, Hayden knew Matthew was up to something, but rationalized, why not tell the guy something. Maybe he could get something in return. “I’m trying to get a real job. One that isn’t about assholes like you and shitholes like this.”

Matthew propped his hands on his waist and laughed, the first human, genuine sound he’d heard from the man. Once he’d stopped shaking from laughter, he began stroking his own stomach. Still smiling, he stared at Hayden as he used long, slow motions to caress himself.

Hayden eased his head into one of the big, fluffy pillows. “Glad that’s funny to you.”

“How do you plan to do that?” He moved his hands back to his hips. “What are you going to do to get this real job?”

“Belmont.” Maybe he shouldn’t’ve told the truth, but surely Matthew had figured out that much already. It was obvious he and Belmont were working together, sort of. Weren’t they working together? That assignment Bob had given him in his office seemed like days ago, instead of hours, but Hayden was pretty sure it meant the two of them were working together. Why suddenly did his recollection to the clear-cut order seem so hazy?

Hayden turned his head and watched as Rachelle backed away to sit in Matthew’s wing-backed chair. As she crossed her legs, the cloak fell open, exposing her breasts. She shrugged the heavy fur lower, exposing her shoulders as well. “Hayden’s a great writer. He’s going to write for The Globe.”

Hayden scooted back again, so that his head was resting on the headboard, his eyes almost level with Matthew’s who was pointing to himself. “Has it occurred to you that this asshole and his shithole have already done a lot for you. If it weren’t for us, you wouldn’t have had that private meeting with Bob Keeler, wouldn’t be getting special assignments with celebrities.”

For a split-second Hayden wondered how Matthew knew about that meeting. Had he read his mind? No. Couldn’t be. The room was getting so warm, the fire so pleasant, he decided he didn’t care.

“Want me to tell you something about myself?” Matthew came to the foot of the bed.

Feeling warmer and warmer by the second, Hayden reached down to loosen the fur cloak. “Sure,” he replied. “Why the hell not.”

Matthew stepped around and sat on the edge of the bed. “Mattie only turned because of me. That’s how much she loves me. That’s how much we mean to each other.”

“Matthew has a way with people,” Rachelle said. “He understands. Sees the strength. Wants you to be strong.”

“That’s enough Rachelle.”

“I was just—”

“Enough. You don’t know Mattie.” Matthew put his hand on the hem of the cloak, wrapping his fingers over the brown fur. “But she’s right about the strength. I wanted Mattie to be strong. I love strength. Power. That’s why I love her. Need her.”

That was sick, Hayden knew, but instead of saying something he nodded, and was feeling so good, he almost smiled. Matthew was a freak, for sure, but they understood each other. They could work together, like a team. Get what they each wanted, then go their separate ways. No big deal.

“That’s why I keep an eye on her. And everything having to do with her.” Matthew raised his lean arms above his head, laced his fingers together and stretched. “I really do need her. You should understand that.”

Still nodding, Hayden copied Matthew’s motion and put his hand on the fur of the cloak, began stroking it. The soft hair made his palm heat and the liquid sensation traveled up his arm, across his chest. Each time he swiped his hand across the cloak, more heat swirled into his chest, gradually filling his body. The warmth was spreading, making him needy yet potent.

Not needy, he corrected himself, flushed with strength.

Was this what Matthew had just been talking about?

Hayden pulled in a deep breath, and as he did, nearly all conscious thoughts drifted away and all he was left with was the heat and the simmering, electric power.

Matthew moved closer. “Sit up.”

Hayden did as he was told and watched as Matthew took one side of the cloak in each hand and then pulled it down to his shoulders.

“Lift, your ass.”

The guy had already seen Hayden’s cock, seen what he could do with it, so taking the cloak off didn’t matter. Hell, it might even serve as a reminder of how they were actually equals.

Again, Hayden did as he was told and again Matthew yanked on the cloak. Matthew pulled it all the way off and then threw it aside.

Yes. That was better. Now he was free.

Hayden arched his back, spread his thighs, noticed his dick was starting to harden. After everything he’d been through with Matthew, resisting the urge to stroke himself was pointless. He reached down and grabbed his shaft.

“I like the way you do that. Really strong. Confident.”

Hayden watched his fingers moving across himself.

“Not like Belmont,” Matthew added.

Hayden laughed. “Pathetic. Just thinking about that guy screwing anyone makes me sick.”

“How do you think I feel? That guy has been spying on me—us—for years. Can you imagine what that’s like, having someone watching you all the time.”

He could. But this moment wasn’t about that. It was about him and Matthew.

“It’s nasty.” He nodded to show his support. “Really gross.” Still stroking, Hayden closed his eyes, let the sensation build. “Someone wants something from you, they should just ask.”

“Here. Let me.” Matthew brushed Hayden’s hand away, replacing the firm grip with his own. The guy was skilled, owed him something really, for what he’d put him through, so Hayden tucked his hands behind his head and let Matthew stroke his dick.

That unreal heat, the feeling that had started a few minutes ago, was now flowing throughout his entire body, warming him, softening him, preparing him. Whatever it was that he’d been thinking about so intently less than an hour ago, no longer mattered. He could focus on it, again, tomorrow. For now, he had this bed, the bitter late night and Matthew.

The attention, now, was good. He’d earned this service. It was right. Matthew owed him. Getting what he’s entitled to is part of life. Not his new way of life, but just what he was doing for that night.

“You’re special, you know that, Hayden.” Matthew’s voice sounded like the soft winds that come before the snow. “You understand people. You see things.”

Hayden groaned, continuing to ease into the warm seething strength. “Glad you appreciate that about me. Not everyone gets that about me.”

“I do. I noticed that about you right way. That’s why I put you in the cage with Rachelle.” The mattress bounced as he scooted closer. The leather of Matthew’s pants felt soft and warm against Hayden’s leg. “I knew you’d be able to see her for who she really is. I was doing you a favor.”

Sure, Rachelle was right there, but she knew it was true as well. She was a disgusting, spoiled brat. “Right. I see your point.” The stroking slowed, then stalled to a stop. Hayden waited. Still no caress. Then it dawned on him, how rude he was being. “Thank you.”

“Good boy.” The movement started again, the firm pressure gliding up and down, the motion repeating over and over, not rushed, not hurried. So delicate, gentle, reassuring. Honest.

“Maybe we should go get Mattie, see what she’s up to.” Hayden knew it was Rachelle speaking, but he didn’t know why she’d be thinking about Mattie. Obviously, he was the treat of the night. They didn’t need anyone interrupting them.

“Not yet.” Matthew’s voice had grown distant, seemed to float above the bed. “He’s a little dry. We should get some more oil first.” Matthew’s caress stopped but the firm hold of his cock remained constant. “You want more oil, don’t you, boy?”

Yes, of course it had been the oil that relaxed him, helped him clear his mind. “Sure, more oil.” Hayden’s senses were heightening, becoming clearer, more perfect.

The soft thud of feet, probably Rachelle’s he mused, was full, round, musical. She appeared by his side, a bottle in her hands. He half-opened one eye, so he could watch her drip the oil on to his chest. The glistening trickle of the shiny oil caught the flickers of the lantern light. So beautiful, it was.

“Pour some on his thigh. Right below his balls.” Rachelle did as she was told. Matthew let go of his dick to spread the oil over his thighs and around his asshole. His fingers worked across his balls, stopping short of his cock.

“None for my dick?” Hayden asked.

He was just about to demand he get what he wanted when Matthew said, “We have other plans for that.”

How lucky Hayden was to be spoiled this way.

No. Not lucky. Deserving. He was getting his due. He was strong. Worthy. He was entitled to this treatment. He arched his back, jutted his hard cock upward. If only one of them would get on top of him. He’d fuck them senseless. Hell, he could fuck them both senseless.

“I want it on my cock.” He heard the plea in his own voice but didn’t care.

“I’m not going to rub it all in. We want there to be some extra.”

Hayden didn’t know who Matthew was talking to and didn’t care. “I don’t want extra. I want it on my cock,” he said. Was he begging? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he was demanding, urging them to do his bidding.

Rachelle drizzled another line and it hit his skin like a snake, gliding across him with coiled purpose. “It’s going to take too long.”

Matthew turned his attention back to Hayden’s cock, this time bending down to lick the tip several times, leaving it shining from his spit. “It works a lot faster on us. Not you, I mean, us.”

“Us,” she whispered, the word light and filled with awe and a tremor of excitement.

“Okay, pet,” Matthew cooed, grabbing Hayden’s shaft with his oil-coated fingers. “I’ll take you all the way.”

The effect of the oil applied directly to the sensitive skin of his dick made his entire body shudder. It was as though the sensations deep inside him, the nameless ones, the ones without conscience, took ownership of him, silenced his thoughts and everything attached to them. Like values, ethics. Morals.

There was only pleasure and the craving for more of it.

He desired it. He was entitled. Earned it.

Hayden groaned, lifted his hips, forced more pressure from Matthew’s rhythmic strokes.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering.” The other man’s fingers continued moving, up and down, down and up. But it wasn’t just Hayden’s cock being caressed. The effects of the touch pulsed through his entire body, making him tremble with a need so liquid it was feline.

Hayden didn’t bother opening even one eye when he responded. “Mmm. What’s that?”

“Tell me about Guy.”

Hayden did open one eye. Matthew’s attention was turned downward, watching his own hands as he stroked Hayden’s rigid cock. “Why are you asking me about him? Seems like you’d know him better than me.” And why care now, when the man had his magnificent hard-on the cherish and worship?

“He spied on me. On us. That’s not quite the way to get to know someone, is it?” Matthew slid his hand lower, flicked his fingertips over Hayden’s balls, curled his fingers over one soft sac then the other. “You’ve talked to him.”

Talk? That wasn’t what Hayden would call those interactions. “Sort of.” And why did they have to have this conversation right then? “I don’t care about that old motherfucker. Keep going.” He groaned. “Harder.”

“What’d you talk about?” The caress slowed to nearly a stop. “The three of you.”

Hayden lifted his head. “Three?”

“You and him.” Still caressing, he added, “And my sister, Mattie.”

A bolt of warning ran through Hayden, but he labeled it as simple sexual need. Desperation for release. There had to be a way to get this conversation over with, so they could all go back to what mattered—paying attention to him and his rock-hard, king-size shaft. “If there’s something specific you want to know, just ask.”

The caress stopped, and Matthew stared at Hayden for several seconds, his eyes hard and searching. Finally, he asked, “Why is he so interested in the dormants?”

That? That red haze of warning fear faded. Of all the things the man could wonder about, Matthew wanted to know about those creepy creatures? Hayden scoffed, “How the hell should I know? You think I ask him questions? Take notes on his replies?”

Matthew didn’t react to Hayden’s attitude. Instead, he started sweeping his gentle fingers up Hayden’s cock. “Rachelle says you’re interested in them too.”

The pleading, sensual mood was quickly giving way to demanding anger. That was a fine thing for Matthew to say, considering that disgusting, insincere gift. And if Rachelle was so interested in the dormants and what Hayden thought of them, why didn’t she speak up and say something instead of loitering in the shadows. Bitch. “Nah. I’m not interested.” That thing under his bed gave him the creeps. If he could just get rid of it, he sure as hell would. But then where would he be? Surely Matthew was going to demand it back at some point. Hayden wasn’t so stupid as to think it was an actual gift. What the fuck. “I am not interested in them at all.”

Thanks, again, for your thoughtful present, asshole.

“Why were you looking at her, then?” Rachelle had come out from the dark and stood by his feet, watching.

For fuck’s sake. Who cared? He sure as hell did not. Not right then. “Because she was right there on the floor, in front of everybody, I—”

“No.” Her single word cut through the air.

His mind was getting too fuzzy, his body too warm and fluid. Churning with a dense need. “I don’t know who—what—you’re talking about.”

Something, maybe a snow coated branch, brushed across the roof of the cabin. The sound almost reminded Hayden of the outside world, of what he was there to do. Almost. He’d get back to that later. After this.

“It’s okay. You can admit you were staring.” Matthew’s words were gentle as he started stroking Hayden’s thighs. “I won’t tell Mattie.”

Rachelle squeezed one of Hayden’s toes. “Hayden likes to stare at women.”

Why was Rachelle there? Why did she keep talking? They’d been having such a good time. If she’d just shut the fuck up and let this shit about Belmont and the dormants go.

“All men like to stare at women. Think about fucking them.” Matthew said it softly, but with authority, as he started stroking Hayden’s cock again. “It’s normal. Natural. Just a thing that all guys do.” Matthew came closer, brushed his lips against Hayden’s ear when he whispered, “It’s part of being a man, isn’t it? Thinking about fucking random women is our right as men.” He eased back and looked Hayden in the eyes. “Right?’

“I didn’t mind, Hayden, when you stared at Mattie.” Rachelle whispered in Hayden’s other ear, then licked his earlobe. “Oh, that’s right,” She tipped her head and knitted her brows. “You did more than stare at her. You fucked her. On film. Then used it to get famous.”

Hayden squeezed his eyes shut, tried to block them both out. He didn’t want to talk about that. Didn’t want to think about that. He wanted the oil. He wanted the admiration.

“Look how all that turned out.” She snickered. “But the bright side is you may get that job at The Globe. Right?”

“No.” He let out a breath and opened his eyes. He couldn’t piece it all together right then. What did Rachelle have to be upset about? She was getting this free trip to Freakville. But if apologizing would shut her up…  “Making that video was a shitty thing to do. I’m actually sorry about that.”

Rachelle laughed, a full on wide mouthed endless laugh. She got up and went back to stand by his feet. “Do you want more bad shit to happen?” she asked, her voice cold.

“No.” He sure as hell did not.

“So that’s why I’m not going to tell Mattie you were staring at the one outside, as long as—”

In his mind, the whole conversation circled around again. He pulled away from Matthew and sat up. “Staring at who?”

“Don’t even try it Hayden.” Matthew folded his arms across his chest. “You saw her.”

Finally, it clicked. “Tied up, outside?”

Rachelle scraped the bottoms of his feet with her nails. “Yes, of course.”

Hayden jerked his feet away. Why were they playing these games? “Mattie doesn’t care who I stare at.” His insides were beginning to surge. He tried to swing his leg off the bed, but his legs wouldn’t move. He kicked harder, but his leg stopped short.

Matthew got up, circled the bed, dropping his arms and slipping his hands into his pants. “You really don’t know my sister well, do you?”

No, that wasn’t true. He knew Mattie. Understood her. Didn’t he?

That branch, or whatever it was, ran across the roof of the cabin again. He tried again to move his legs, but Rachelle leapt forward and pinned them down.

Matthew pulled his hands out from his pants, began loosening his fly even more than it already was. “Do you want to talk about Mattie? Or Belmont?”

Neither. But that wasn’t one of the choices. He fought with Rachelle for possession of his legs. “Belmont.”

“Tell me why he’s so interested in the dormants.”

“I don’t know.” But right then he wished he did. That haze was coming back into his brain, swelling his nerves, making them throb. He sagged into the pillow, let it soft cushion support his neck. They couldn’t make him say anything he didn’t want to. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut.

Rachelle shoved her tits in his face, then brushed her nipples across his lips. He stretched out his tongue, flicked it across one. She giggled, shook her breasts. It was a playful, fun side of her he didn’t remember. No, maybe he did remember that side of her. Or had that been the girl he’d been with before Rachelle.

He noticed her holding her phone up, selfie style. Matthew was stroking his cock again, and that all over heat was so good. What the hell, a couple pics didn’t matter. Even after she moved the phone to get Matthew into the shot, he still didn’t care. He’d ask her to delete them later. Of course, she’d do it.

Glad the stupid, pointless grilling was over, Hayden let himself fall back into the sensations, letting the mood and atmosphere take him over. It was research. What better way was there to understand these things? None. No better way. This, this was the best way. And he was the best man for the job.

And those pictures Rachelle just took? She was doing him a favor. He could send them to Bob. They’d use them, just like the ones of him and Mattie. Rachelle was right, he was one step closer to that job at The Globe.

“You’re both disgusting.”

Beads slapped against the doorway.

Matthew withdrew, looked toward the rustling. “Don’t be like that, Mattie. We’re just having fun.”

Rachelle’s phone disappeared. “There’s plenty for all of us.”

Mattie slipped off her leather jacket, whipped it across the room and it landed on the wing-backed chair. “Shut the fuck up Rachelle.” She moved into the room. “Nobody here gives a shit about what you have to say.”

That’s the truth, Hayden mused through his sex fog.

Rachelle leaned forward. “Matthew cares what I have to say.”

Mattie slipped her fingers under the bands binding her breasts, then tugged one down to reveal one of her huge tits. “Shut up Rachelle.”

Rachelle scrambled off the bed.

“Do you still need me?” Mattie tugged on another band until her other tit bounced into view. She came closer, spoke to Matthew. “Did you get what you wanted?” She started pulling down the bands.

“I don’t think he knows.”

Her hand stopped. “Then why don’t you leave him alone?”

Matthew cupped Hayden’s balls, stroked the soft spot beneath, then inched his deft fingertips toward the hole.

Hayden groaned.

Do it. Go there.

Chapter Six

“Do it. Go there.”

 

“Look at his cock. So hard. So long. It’s beautiful. Isn’t it, sister?” The pressure moved away from his anus, lightened across his balls, got firmer as it went all the way up to the tip. “You going to fuck him?” There was a pause, a flicker of touch on his tip. “Or am I?”

Hayden stared at her tits, felt his cock get even harder. God damn. So hard. “You’d like to fuck him wouldn’t you, brother?”

The bed shook as Mattie shoved Matthew off it. Her face appeared in front of him, and he looked at her with half-open eyes. “You don’t have to pretend to like Matthew.”

He wasn’t pretending to like him. He was letting him jack him off. Those were two very different things. But explaining that seemed totally unimportant, so he said, “He knows I don’t like him. I don’t think I like you either.” Even as he said that last part he wasn’t sure who he was talking about. He was also pretty sure none of them actually liked any other of them.

What difference did it even make?

As long as they each got off… got what they wanted…

Mattie got on to the bed, straddled him, grabbed his biceps and squeezed, the painful grip of her hands a message to behave. Her breasts bounced above his face. He strained against her grip, wanted to grab them, squeeze them. Squeeze them hard enough to make her wince, make her beg. He didn’t want to behave, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to listen to her warning. “Good.” She said, lifting then lowering herself on to him, forcing his cock into her cold cunt. “I don’t want you to like me.” His cock was inside her now, her hips tight against him.

He missed Matthew’s gentle, careful caress. But he wasn’t going to admit that or ask for it. That would be weak. He wasn’t weak. He was a man. “We’re not here to be friends. You just want me to fuck you.”

Suddenly, she stopped moving, her cold body stiff and hard as ice. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you stupid asshole, I’m the one fucking you.” She stretched herself across him, pinning him down with her body. After wrapping him into a fierce bear hug, she rolled him over, so he was on top of her, then hooked her feet over his calves.

“Stop pretending you have a choice.” She pried his legs apart then slid her legs between his. “Stop pretending you want a choice.” His cock was still inside her. With her legs closed, the pressure on his dick was more intense than ever. He thrust in, pulled out, then thrust in again. He continued pumping into her, driving hard and pulling back. Over and over, doing what came naturally. He was a man, after all and this is what men did. There was no reason to be careful. He took what he wanted, fucked her how he wanted. Being on top gave him all the control, and he loved it. It was the way a real man fucked.

What had he been waiting for?

Mattie was beginning to moan and wiggle, push back with her palms, but he kept on, giving it to her, showing her what he was capable of. Somewhere in the back of his mind he noticed her stiffen and slow. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Rachelle, staring at the two of them, her fancy, rich-girl face a mask of lurid excitement and wonder. Matthew was also staring, his flat eyes taking on a sheen of admiration and animalistic lust.

Mattie was right. He didn’t have a choice. Neither did she. He picked up his pace, gritting his teeth as he drove his cock into her, grinding his hips against hers, smirking as he considered the possibility of leaving bruises. On her, if it was possible, on himself, as a remembrance of what he’d done, this path he’s crossed.

“There was oil on him.” Mattie turned her head to her brother and choked out the words, even as her body tensed, her muscles clenched beneath him. “Tell me the truth. Tell me now. I want to hear you tell me.”

Hayden thought of the bottle, the drizzled lines, but beyond that her words didn’t mean anything to him. He didn’t care. He kept fucking her, thrusting hard enough to feel bones against bone. Praying for the bruises. She struggled, grabbed at his arms, tried to pull him away. But her strength was failing her this time. Good. Let her feel every inch of him. Let her feel used, the way he had.

Grunting, gasping for breath, he slowed. The end was coming, and he wanted to feel every tiny pulse, every firing of the nerve endings. He wanted to feel her squirm and twist beneath him. She was clawing at him, her hands grabbing his shoulders. She was either pulling him to her or trying to shove him away. He couldn’t tell. Either way he didn’t care, but he did want to know.

A few feet away, Rachelle giggled. The sound worked its way into Hayden’s ears, like worms, crawling, wriggling, going deep. His head was starting to hurt. He wished she’d be quiet. Shut up. Or better still, go away. But now she was on the bed, beside Mattie, pushing herself against them. Vaguely, he noticed her wrap her hands around Mattie’s neck, fingers flexing as she tightened around the damp, pale skin.

Matthew moaned, the sound one of release and expectation. “Be sure to time it just right.”

Mattie’s eyes went wild, her hips rocked. “Matthew… ” she choked out. “The oil, the oil… ”

Rachelle’s shrill laugher sliced through the air.

The piercing squall made Hayden thrust faster, as though the rush of motion could drown out her noise. Mattie’s breath was starting to catch, the first pulses of her orgasm squeezing her walls around his cock.

She was thrashing side to side, scratching him as she tried to pull away. He leaned lower, put his face beside hers. The animal intensity wasn’t new. If she was trying to scare him off, it was too late for that. “Feels special, doesn’t it?”

The muscles in her jaw flexed so hard he felt the tightness against his cheek. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” she said.

Hell yeah it is.

And for once he was in control. And owning every minute of it.

“Is it working? Am I doing it right?” Rachelle, her hands still wrapped around Mattie’s neck, asked over her shoulder. “I think I am.” Her voice kept getting higher, tighter. “I’m doing it, right? I’m doing it.” She was screaming now, her shrill words matched in intensity by Mattie’s violent response. She was fighting Rachelle’s grip, her hands, usually so strong, were shaking, fumbling, ultimately failing.

Finally. Finally, Hayden had the upper hand, the control. He kept driving in, using the final thrusts to prove himself. His climax started deep in his gut, in a cold dark place that was born of fear, hatred and other hideous things he kept hidden from everyone and most of all from himself.

The climax clawed its way down, tearing its way through his gut, burning through his cock. His dick pulsed, his muscles burned. It was cruel, ugly, and all consuming—like nothing he’d ever experienced. He hung there, suspended between pleasure and pain, waiting, wanting, hating every second yet never wanting it to end. Darkness clutched his soul, it seemed as though he’d never get release. Eventually, he did, but it came slowly, gradually, pulling the humanity from him, stealing his breath, thought, and his sense of reality.

Finally, the last drops of cum dripped from his tip, smearing Mattie’s thighs as he withdrew, panting—heaving, actually—shivering and nauseated. Fantastic and terrible, he felt both and many ways in between. Still shaking, still disoriented.

“Hayden… ”

It was Mattie, whispering, her voice fragile, broken.

He braced himself above her, stared down, felt his chest clench when he saw the expression pulling on her face.

“No, don’t.” She lifted her hand up, touched his chin with her cold fingers. “Hold on to it, the pain. It’s what makes you human. Alive. Without it… you’re… ” she turned, looked at her brother, skimmed her fading gaze across Rachelle, then turned back to him. Her eyes glazed over. She stared straight ahead.

Hayden tapped her cheek, tapped it again, then slapped her. Her head wobbled, her tangled hair slid across her neck. The skin on skin smack left no mark.

The whisper was gone. The thrashing had stopped. Her body was completely still.

Rachelle was wide-eyed, her hands, loose now, were still curved around Mattie’s neck even though she wasn’t fighting any more.

“It worked,” Rachelle whispered, her voice hoarse with excitement.

Already Mattie’s body was growing even colder, harder, paler. The hard, cruel muscles no longer tight and flexed.

Rachelle’s whisper grew louder, her voice took on a sharp edge. “She’s… she’s… it happened. It really happened.”

Matthew moved over to stand beside his sister’s colorless, static face. “Of course, it worked.” He laid his palm across her mouth, turning his hand so that his fingers cupped her chin. He squeezed his hand, closing her mouth. “Don’t doubt me, Rachelle. I don’t like that.”

Hayden scooted backward, peeling himself off the cold creature beneath him.

Rachelle let go of Mattie’s neck, but continued staring down into the lifeless face. “It’s just that I—I—”

“Didn’t believe me.” Matthew pushed the clumps of hair off Mattie’s face, smoothed his hand across the top of her head. “That’s doubt bitch. Don’t do it again.”

“Right. Yeah.” Rachelle nodded. “Of course.”

“What do you think of this turn of events, Hayden? You got something to say for yourself?”

He climbed off the bed, backed away to the other side of the room.

“Did I—I—I did that to her.”

“You want me to thank you?” Matthew picked Mattie’s leather off the floor, then covered her breasts. The sleeves hung down, the silver buckles on the cuffs rattled.

“It wasn’t just you, Hayden.” Rachelle lifted her hands, curled her fingers inward to mimic the strangulation.

Matthew’s face contorted. “Get the hell out of here, Rachelle.”

Rachelle lowered her hands, then opened her mouth but after a quick beat of silence snapped it shut.

“Go wait in the cabin.” He paused, glanced down at the motionless body then lifted his head. “You can take what’s left of the oil. Use it on one of the guards if you want. I don’t give a shit who you fuck.”

Rachelle’s smug smile was wasted on Hayden. He sure as hell didn’t give a shit who she screwed either. The beads smacked against the doorframe, and the thud of her feet faded into silence.

Matthew scooped up Mattie, carried her across the room, then sat in his wingback chair with her curled in his lap.

Hayden grabbed the fur cloak off the floor. “Why did you do it?”

He leaned back, looked up at the wood beams of the ceiling. “I can bring her back whenever I want,” he said in a near whisper.

Hayden was away from the bed now, unfurling the fur. “Why did you do it?”

“Fuck you, Hayden. You’ve got no fucking idea what’s going on around here.” Matthew adjusted the leather, covering as much of Mattie as he could. “This is your fault.”

Once the cloak was on, he moved to stand directly across from the chair, leaned against the wood slats of the cage. Mattie’s lifeless body sagged into her brother’s lap. She still looked like the vicious, cunning creature who’d taken him to edges he never knew existed. Yet, she was helpless, gone.

Matthew tipped his head back and howled. The sound was jagging and mournful. When he was done, he set his chin on top of Mattie’s head.

The smack of the beads in the door announced the guard who took only a half-step into the room.

Matthew didn’t look up. “Get this loser out of here. I don’t need him right now.”

Even though he was already heading for the door, the guard grabbed Hayden’s arm and pulled him from the room.

 

* * *

 

Late Monday morning, Hayden woke in his own bed with his own clothes. His clothes were not on his body, but they were in the room with him, heaped on the floor on top of his boots and coat. Had he taken them off himself? Had he been brought there naked and dumped into the bed? Who the fuck knew. He sat up, rubbed his eyes and saw the spare key he’d given Rachelle on the nightstand.

Pieces and parts flickered through his mind, a dance of darkness and haze. The white ponies. Tea. Chained to the bed. Matthew’s cabin. That other bed. Rachelle. Him actually wanting Matthew to touch him. Mattie. Him on top of her. Senseless fucking. Pounding in to her. Anger. Contempt. Ugly. Hatred. Red. Her turned dormant. Wailing. Matthew. The guard dragging him through the snow, taking him to Rachelle. She’d offered him two choices, drink the tea or get punched in the face by the guard until he blacked out. He’d chosen the tea. And that was the end of the night for him. Darkness.

What of Belmont? There was no telling what they’d done with him.

Hayden crawled across the floor, dug his phone from his inside coat pocket and waited while it powered on. He took the opportunity to grab his head and squeeze his temples, feeling the beat of his blood beneath his fingertips. The quick massage did nothing to ease the queasy pain festering inside him. Finally, his phone blinked with the log in screen.

No messages.

A voicemail from Bob.

Not a good sign. That meant it wasn’t anything quick. Fine. But it was going to have to wait until he’d had some coffee—not tea—and a shower. He pushed himself off the floor, shuffled to the bathroom, not bothering to flush the toilet after he pissed. Still naked, he made his way to the kitchen, set the kettle on, grabbed his French press. He reached into the cabinet over the sink for the bag of coffee beans but all he found was an empty space. Rolling onto the balls of his feet, he reached further back, felt around the vacant space, smacking the bottom of the cabinet.

“Don’t bother looking. I drank it all.”

Hayden froze. Waited for his brain to process the voice. Still reaching in to the empty cabinet he called over his shoulder. “Belmont?”

“Who else?” The old man grumbled. “I tried to stay awake but gave up around five. They must’ve brought you in after I fell asleep.”

He slammed the cabinet closed then crossed to the front room. The old man sat on the couch. His clothes scattered across the floor. Thankfully, this time, his ancient dick was covered by his striped boxers. “They brought you here too?”

“Turns out, I never left,” Belmont replied, giving Hayden’s naked body the once over.

Hayden stalked to his bedroom, grabbed the cover off the bed, wrapped it around himself then shuffled back to the front room. “You been here the whole time?” He dropped himself into the chair. “It was only one night, right?”

Instead of having the decency to cover himself up, the old man just sat there, his sagging chest and spindly old knees exposed. “I knew they’d bring you back once they got what they wanted and yes, only one night.”

Hayden sank into the chair. “Shit.”

“That’s the way they do it. Fucks with your head, doesn’t it? Makes you wonder if it ever happened?”

That pretty much summed it up. “You’ve been through it.”

“Actually, no. But I’ve seen it happen enough times.” The old man paused, then looked Hayden over again. “What’d they do to you?”

No way. He was not ever going to admit to any of that. Did not want to talk about Matthew touching him. Did not even want to think about what he’d done to Mattie. “I need coffee.”

“Get dressed. We’ll go get some. My treat.” He shoved himself forward, bracing his palms on his thighs as he stood. “It’s the least I can do. I ate your stash of Girl Scout cookies.”

Hayden spotted the torn green box on the floor beside an empty can of tuna. “Those were from last year.”

“You think I cared?” he asked, pulling on the pocket-laden travel khakis he’d tossed over the back of the couch.

Hayden pointed at the TV. “You charge anything on pay-per-view?”

“What?” He zipped up the fly his pants. “You mean like porn?”

“No dude. Like on Prime.” He grabbed the trash from the floor and took it to the kitchen.

“I watched some Breaking Bad on Netflix.”

“Not the Walking Dead?”

Belmont waited until he’d come back into the front room to reply. “Very funny. No. I like Walter. He proves that old guys aren’t useless losers like you think.”

“That’s an actor reading a script. You get that, right?”

Belmont ignored his jibe. Hayden let it go. Binge watching Netflix and eating an entire box of stale cookies would’ve been preferable to what he’d been through the past 15 hours. “Fine. Let’s go get a coffee.”

 

* * *

 

Belmont insisted they walk the extra four blocks to get to the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts. “I have to get a couple chocolate frosteds,” he’d said as they dodged the strollers crammed into the snow piles outside the second upscale, overpriced café he insisted they skip.

“Even after all those Thin Mints?” Hayden asked, unwrapping the scarf he’d tucked into the collar of his coat. The blizzard weather had moved on, the temperature bearable, the sun breaking through the gauzy row of clouds stretched across the stark winter sky.

“Maybe I’m trying to catch diabetes.”

“Catch it?”

Belmont gave him a sideways glance and grunted.

This salty side of the old man was superior to the creepy pervert he’d interacted with at the comic convention or the pathetic wimp he’d witnessed at The Southie during the ritual. Then again, Belmont had the nerve to stay until the end of that freakshow, watch the whole thing. While he’d done exactly what Rachelle said—run out of there like a scared pussy.

As they walked, Hayden did his best to sort through his options. He still owed Bob that article. What was he going to write about? Getting oiled down like a pig, grilled by a pair of psychos, then turning into a psycho himself? Yeah. Right. But the oil… that was the place to start. The rest of the truth was going to remain his own secret. Then there was the issue of Mattie. What kind of fiend did that to his own sister? Should he be glad Mattie was out of the picture? Was he safe? Out of this mess? But why did he feel like absolute shit every time he saw the image of her blank-eyed face drifting through the back of his mind.

Rachelle was still in. That was her choice. So why did he feel guilty about that too?

What a ball of fucked up shit he’d put together.

They passed yet another elegant café with high-end strollers parked out front. This time the row was under a pink polka-dotted awning and very orderly. Like a sportscar sales parking lot. Hayden was starting to understand why Belmont wanted to go to Dunkin Donuts. Bound to be a more appropriate crowd for the two of them. At the corner, they turned off Commonwealth and after another two blocks, the pink and orange sign came into view. There was a pitbull chained to a bike rack a few feet from the door. Classy. Yes, a better place for the two of them. They went in. Belmont got his chocolate frosteds. Hayden settled for a large black coffee. Usually he took it with crème, but embracing the sharp bitterness seemed like a good idea. Might prepare him better for whatever was coming next. It was the way his life was going these days.

On a table across from the one they’d taken by the plate glass window, Hayden spotted The Globe’s pages heaped into a pile. He snatched them up, started sorting through, scanning articles and bylines as he did. All the usual headlines, the usual stuff. The bread and butter of the print media world. But still, he really, really wanted to write for that paper. Over 100 years old, dozens of Pulitzer Prize winning writers. In the age of digital, it was one of the most successful print papers in the U.S. If he wrote for them, he’d know he’d made it. Getting that job would make all this shit worth it.

“You want to write for them?” The old man popped the last of his first donut into his mouth. “That’s going to be a stretch, don’t you think?” Belmont wiped his mouth, picked up his other donut, broke it into thirds. “Try for The Herald.”

Hayden set the pages down. “Bob’s going to help me get in with The Globe. He has friends there. Connections. The sort of things that happen in a career when you don’t spend your whole adulthood stalking a tribe of sex-crazed zombies.”

“Why would Bob help you?” He pinched one of the donut chunks between his fingers and lifted it half-way to his mouth. “Makes no sense when you’re cranking out garbage that’s making him money.”

Why hadn’t Hayden thought of that?

“You got something on him?” Belmont waved the hunk of donut. “An angle?”

He did not. Why hadn’t he thought of that either? “Just this garbage. The zombie stuff.” Said aloud, it sounded really lame. Also, it could die out any minute. After all, he wrote for a tabloid. Those readers could stop caring about something mid-sentence.

“That’s swell, but you’re going to need more than that.” He stuffed the piece of donut in to his mouth and chewed.

Hayden tucked the pages neatly together. “What do you have on him?”

“Me? The man who wasted his career being a stalker? What makes you think I have something on Bob?”

He folded the paper, set it on the table beside them. “At his office.”

“Why should I tell you anything?” Belmont picked up another piece of donut, tossed it into his mouth.

“I may have information that could help you.”

Shaking his head, he swallowed. “Thanks. But I doubt that.” He grabbed the last piece, held it up, studying it carefully before cramming it into his mouth.

Something wasn’t adding up. “Why are you still around? What do you want from them?”

Again, he shook his head while he swallowed. “Where’s Mattie?”

Hayden took a long gulp of his coffee. Still hot, it burned as it slipped down his throat.

Wiping his mouth, Belmont leaned forward. “Something happen to her?”

“Let’s get out of here.” Hayden got up, grabbed his coffee and crossed to the door, went outside. The dog was still there, sniffing the air, eyes alert, watching a couple guys pushing their way through the crowd of people waiting at the bus stop across the street. Belmont had stopped to watch the dog, watch the men across the street.

“Come on, man.” The last thing he needed was a couple bored assholes getting mad about being stared at. “That’s nobody.”

Belmont took one last look then moved on, heading back the way they’d come. “Tell me what happened to Mattie. I may be able to help you.”

“What makes you think I need help?” He was starting to think that her being turned was the best-case scenario for him. No more threat. Well, except that thing stuffed under his bed. And the bad, terrible feeling he got every time he accepted his role in Mattie’s demise.

Belmont’s only response was a laugh. “They aren’t done with you until they’re done with you.”

Again, Hayden pushed aside the confusion he had over his own actions and considered that thing under his bed. The old man knew what he was talking about. He couldn’t see any downside to telling Belmont about his night, so he did. He left out the part about Matthew’s hands all over his cock. That went without saying. He also left out the evil of his own thoughts and behavior. That was too disturbing.

Belmont listened to it all, then was silent for a while until he asked, “How well do you know Bob Keeler. I mean personally.”

“Not at all. What’s that got to do with anything?” They were back on Commonwealth, walking past the cozy cafes and charming brownstones.

“You think these things just happened to show up in Boston around the time of the movie release? That Bob randomly asked you to do a tie-in piece? Does it make sense to you that these things managed to go undetected all these years?”

That had been what he’d thought, but suddenly realized how dumb that was.

“I’ve seen more than sex rituals. So have other people.”

“What was that shit about you wanting your turn at being used? That you felt cheated?” They paused at the corner, waited for a trash truck to roll by. “Why did you go to that ritual at the bar? Seriously, Guy. What the fuck?”

“I do feel cheated.” He fell silent for a long moment, then continued. “I’ve wasted years on this shit. Got nothing in return. Nothing yet.”

“Is that why you went to The Southie?”

“I went to see. That’s all you need to know for now.”

“Why? You could have done anything else.”

“Think about Rachelle. Think about her family. Stop feeling guilty because you think you led her astray because that’s crap. Think about where she’s come from, her people I mean.”

They were near Hayden’s apartment, so he stopped. “What are you talking about?”

“Who is she connected to?” He moved on and Hayden leapt forward to catch up. “Who are her people connected to?”

The answer was obvious. “Other rich people.”

“Who is Bob connected to?”

Shit. Why hadn’t he thought of that. “Other rich people.”

“There’s something.” He said, grabbing the handrail of Hayden’s brownstone and pulling himself up the icy steps. “Dig in. Think.”

“What do you have on Bob?” he asked again. Whatever it was, it had to be big.

They both stepped aside so a woman walking her terrier could pass.

“It’s nothing to do with you. Nothing that will help you either.”

They’d reached the landing. “You really want to do that article together? The one Bob talked about in his office?”

“Right now.” Belmont pointed to the door. “Let’s write it now.”

“Why? What’s in it for you?”

“I want to provoke Matthew.”

Hayden had his key out, a surge of excitement sparking inside him. “Get back at him?”

“You might put it that way. I’m not saying more, so don’t bother asking. You want my help. You got it. But like I said, we’re doing it my way.”

The way Hayden saw it, he had nothing to lose and something—the job at The Globe—to gain. “I’m in.”

“We’ll write the article, take it to Bob in person. Tell him to release it tomorrow.”

Hayden unlocked the door, shoved it open. “I don’t have an appointment with him.”

Belmont smirked, crossing in front to go inside. “I don’t need an appointment.”

Chapter Seven

“That’s all you need to know for now.”

 

Four hours later, his mind blown, Hayden sat beside Belmont in the back of an Uber. They’d worked together to write the piece, in the end agreeing it was what they needed to provoke Matthew into coming for them both. Next step in their plan—Bob had to run it. Given what the article revealed, Hayden wasn’t so sure his boss was going to go for it, but Belmont insisted it was an offer the man couldn’t refuse.

They were right around the corner from the tabloid office and Belmont had been going over the details ever since they’d slid into the backseat. “It’s not Bob I’m after,” he said, grabbing on to the door handle. “I have no interest in damaging him. I just want to shake up Matthew. Get him to come for us. You understand that, right?”

“Right.” Good. If the Kingpin of Crap was going to crash and burn, Hayden didn’t want that happening until he got what he wanted.

Belmont asked the Uber driver to stop by the back door of the building, and they climbed out. Bob’s personal assistant, Christopher, was waiting with the door open and a professionally blank smile pulling on his mouth. “You gentlemen will be meeting in the lower lounge.” He waved them inside. “Right this way.”

He led them down a hall Hayden hadn’t even known existed, down a set of stairs. They passed through a pair of locked metal doors, then came to a wooden one at the end of the hallway. The assistant pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, then again ushered them through. “Please, make yourself comfortable. They’ll join you shortly.”

Belmont didn’t miss a beat. He brushed past Christopher and headed straight to the bar along the left wall. Hayden followed him into the room, but turned right toward a low, round table circled by four overstuffed chairs. On the table was a plain looking wooden box, a stack of brass trimmed coasters, and a miniature gold chest. The assistant hadn’t come in, he simply nodded at them both, then turned and closed the door.

Soft nondescript jazz floated into the room from above, plush paisley carpet swirled across the floor. Other than the music, the room had a stuffy, silent feel. Soundproofing?

“What are you drinking,” Belmont called from behind the bar. He’d already begun twisting off tops and pouring shots into a low glass.

“They? Someone else is coming?” Hayden eyed the colorful collection of bottles. “No thanks on the drink. I think maybe I better keep a clear head.”

“Yes, on the drink.” Belmont pulled an ice bucket from below the bar, set it next to a pair of glasses. “They’ll think you’re nervous if you’re not having a drink. Nervous means weak. Do you want to look weak?”

The man took a swig straight from a bottle with a green label, set the bottle on the bar beside a stack of signed baseballs in clear plastic cases. “Besides that, I think sooner or later you’re going to need something with a kick.”

Whatever that meant. “They? Who else is coming?” Hayden asked again.

“I’m not going to spoil the surprise.”

Hayden kept his groan to himself. “What’re you having?”

“Manhattan.”

“I’ll have that,” he replied, even though he had no idea what it was. Beer or wine, those had always been his options.

The old man took the bucket ice away and replaced it with a jar of cherries. Hayden stepped to the side, picked the chair with the best view of the room and dropped himself in to it. The soft leather hugged him, filled his nostrils with an earthy scent. The smell filled his nostrils, went deep in to his lungs. Something clicked in the back of his mind, making him shiver. The sudden chill flashed across his skin, went deeper, deeper still, sent an icy force through him so intense for a moment he couldn’t move. A collection of images churned through his mind. Mattie’s arm, flexing as she pinned him down to his couch, her fishnet-covered thigh as she climbed in the library window on the night he’d become hers, the glassy stare of her eyes after he’d fucked her like… like… there were no words for that. Only more images. The molten ash chum of his thoughts. And feelings. Dispair. Hope. Disgrace. Hunger.

He wanted to blame Matthew and Rachelle for what he’d done to Mattie, for being part of their plan, for fucking her even when he knew she was clawing to get away, trying to tell him to stop. But more likely the oil worked like the tea, releasing a nefarious nature every human held hidden far inside the evil part of their soul. Another round of shivers quaked through him, continued to tease and tense his muscles. He was still nearly frozen when Belmont came over, offering him one of the golden-brown drinks tucked in his palms.

“Feeling the chill?” he asked, holding the drink out.

Hayden forced his body to move, looked into the man’s face. The understanding he saw there did not make him feel better. It forced him to accept the bleakness of his situation and to recognize that he had no choice about going back to the camp. Belmont’s plan to provoke Matthew had to work.

He pulled his gaze away from the old man’s shrewd expression and checked out the square shape of the room. “Was this an old walk-in refrigerator or something?” Using both hands, he took the glass and put it directly to his lips. The sip went down smooth. He took another, longer drink. His muscles softened, almost went back to normal. The shivers continued but declined to a manageable level.

Belmont took a sip from his own glass. “That chill wasn’t from this room.”

Hayden took another drink, willed himself to relax.

The wood paneled walls were covered with framed Red Sox posters, signed photographs, and other old school Beantown effects. The area behind the bar was full of Patriots paraphernalia. A signed helmet sat on one of the two bookshelves filling most of the wall across from the door they’d come in.

Belmont eased himself into the chair across from Hayden, his back to the door. “Withdrawal, that’s what you might call it. Or jonesing. Not much difference, is there?”

“You’re kidding.”

The old man swirled the liquid in the glass, then reached in to pull the cherry out. He dropped it between his wrinkled lips, closed his mouth to yank the stem off. After twirling the stem between his fingers, he threw it onto the floor. “Did that shudder feel like I was kidding?”

Belmont reached down to grab one of his calves, pulled his leg up, then set it over the other thigh. Then he set the glass on his calf. The old man knew too much. Hayden slouched in the chair, draped one wrist over the armrest, set the other, the one still holding his drink, on his knee.

The door swung open. Bob came in first, headed straight for the bar. Rod McKinon strolled in behind him, long hair tied back, head covered with a bright pink bandana. Bob set out a glass, grabbed the green-labeled bottle, the very one Belmont’s mouth had been all over, then poured himself a drink. Belmont drummed his stubby fingers against his glass as he watched Hayden watch Bob.

Old guys and their vendettas.

McKinon paced, his gaze bouncing between the bar and the two empty chairs.

“Go ahead and sit.” Bob said, grabbing a Rolling Rock from under the bar. He handed the can to McKinon, then brushed past him to get a cigar out of the wooden box on the table. He lifted a cutter and lighter out, set them on the table. “Smoke?” he asked the three of them, gesturing to the full box. “Help yourself gents.”

McKinon took a step forward but seemed to think better of it because instead grabbing a cigar he sat him the final remaining chair. Guy took one. Hayden stayed still. The two older men took their time, taking turns with the cutter, making a show of snipping the ends, then exchanging the lighter, again making a show getting them lit. Watching their fleshy, withered cheeks pull in as they sucked the tobacco to life made Hayden queasy. Within a few minutes, a cloud of smoke hung over the quad of chairs, making the already stuffy room even stuffier.

McKinon’s narrow body looked smaller than usual in the big chair.

“You may as well spit it out, Guy.” Bob took a long draw on his cigar, tipped his head back and released a stream of smoke. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Speaking of shows,” McKinon uncrossed his legs, then recrossed them the opposite way. “You enjoy yourself, Hayden, at The Southie?”

“Oh yeah.” Hayden was still having a really hard time believing what Belmont had told him about Bob, but he did believe what the old man had said about not looking anxious. Or afraid. He let some sarcasm slid into the tone of his reply. “That’s exactly what I call a good time.”

“Guy had fun too.” McKinon to Belmont. “Didn’t you Guy?”

Guy’s only response was a quick sip of his drink, followed by a puff of the cigar.

“Hayden?” Bob ashed his smoke. “How come you didn’t tell me you were going to Rod’s par—?”

“You want the show?” Belmont tossed the envelope containing a printed version of their newest piece on the table. It slid a few inches before hitting the wooden box. “Why don’t you take a look at it.”

Bob picked it up. “You sure you want to do it this way, Belmont?”

Guy took another sip and followed it with a series of small puffs.

“Roddy.” Bob cleared his throat then ended up coughing on cigar smoke. “Take Hayden to your playroom so the grown-ups can talk.”

McKinon hopped to his feet and rushed to the space between the two bookshelves. He leaned his shoulder into the wall and pushed. The section swung open, revealing a continuation of hallway. Fuck. Hayden did not want to follow that freak down a secret passage and into some obscure room.

“Enjoy yourselves,” Belmont said, swirling his drink.

Bob’s face had turned to stone.

No choice for Hayden, apparently. He downed the last of his cocktail, set the empty glass on the table, then followed McKinon out of the room. Overhead fluorescent lighting buzzed and cast sharp shadows on the walls of the bland hallway.

McKinon jogged the last ten yards. “Everyone who comes in here for the first time has to play a game. But you get to pick which one.” McKinon put his hand on the doorknob, then paused to look back at Hayden, “You have two choices. Truth or Dare or Treasure Hunt.”

“Drop the act, Rod.” Hayden replied, still walking to the door. “There’s nobody here to impress.”

“You. I can impress you, Mr. Thomas.”

Leaning against the wall, he said, “I don’t give a shit.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I think you do give a shit. You just don’t realize it yet. Or worse than that. You’re a liar.” Rod eased the door ajar. “I’ll pick for you. Treasure Hunt.”

“Fine.”

He lifted his eyebrows a couple times. “Don’t you want to know the rules?”

“You give me a map. I try to find things.”

“You won’t need a map.” When he patted the door with his free hand, Hayden spotted the gold band on his left pinky. Where had he seen that design before? But he didn’t have time to remember because Rod flattened his palm, readied himself to push the door open. “It’s all in here,” he said as he shoved the door open and went in.

The smell hit Hayden immediately. He knew that stench. Had lived it. Hid it under his bed. But in there, it was deeper, more pungent and more powerful than he’d ever experienced it. Instantly, his body began to react, blood quickening, heart hammering, cock hardening. Inwardly, he groaned through his despair, outwardly, he controlled his face, reminded himself to follow Belmont’s advice and not to show fear.

Stay in control, no matter what.

Some advice from the man he’d seen crawling around on all fours, whining and crying. But that, he’d since learned, had most likely been partly an act. That man had too many sides. Too many secrets.

This second room was much larger than the other. It was less gentile, less civilized and much, much more horrible. A living nightmare.

Hayden went forward. Went all the way in.

Cages. The first thing he saw were the four cages.

Then the tables filled with bottles, vials, big jars, small jars.

A row of knives on a magnetized bar.

Books and journals. Strew across tables and stuffed onto shelves.

If it’d been a ‘B’ movie set, he would’ve loved it. Understood it.

It wasn’t a set. It was real life. It was where he was. It was rotten and frightening. But he did understand it.

It made sense. It was going to give him answers.

There was one cage in each corner of the large, rectangular room. Each one roughly 15 by 15 feet and constructed out of round metal bars. There was a creature inside each enclosure. The two on the far end appeared to be asleep. Or dead. Or pretending to be one or the other. The things in the cages closest to him were active. The creature on his left was shrieking, its hands clutching bars, its body twitching. Drab flesh hung from its bones, bulging eyes nearly hung from the bony sockets. The one on his right was on all fours, crawling from corner to corner. Howling, gnashing its teeth, a tattered neon blue dress covering some of its grey skin.

“Give a shit now, Mr. Reporter?”

Hayden pushed McKinon aside, went to the cage on the left. The thing inside was tall, must have been huge before, when it’d been human. Whatever muscles it had were now mostly gone, atrophied, flattened, with black and grey skin hanging loose. Each time it thrashed, the skin shook, the dead muscles trembled. Bright green eyes stared at him, willing him to come closer. As he approached, the thing reached through the bars, its fingers opening and closing, grabbing, as it screamed over disintegrating teeth, through peeling lips.

Stopping just beyond its reach, Hayden turned to McKinon, the obvious question not yet coming from his still human mouth.

“That’s right. This is what happens when they don’t—”

“Fuck humans.”

McKinon jogged to a wooden crate under a nearby table. On top of the crate sat a thick glove. After he slipped the glove over his hand, he reached inside, pulled out a live rat. The rodent squirmed, its tail flicking through the air as he tossed it into the cage. The beast inside snatched it out of the air, held it in its hands for mere seconds before stuffing it, whiskered face first, into its mouth. Blood spurted. A furry leg fell to the floor. The thing chomped through the fur, sucking at the fresh, living, pink insides. It ate the tail in one sharp bite. Hayden’s mouth went dry.

“They’ll eat everything I give them. They’ll survive on nothing. Doesn’t matter what I do to them.”

“They just stay like that?”

McKinon nodded, then went back to the crate, pulled out another rat, headed toward the other cage. The green-eyed thing inside saw him coming, scurried to the bars, mouth opening and closing as it snapped its teeth. This time McKinon walked to the cage, rat squealing and twitching as he carried by the base of its tail. Each time the animal bent upward, trying to bite its way free, he shook it, forcing it to straighten. When he reached the cage, he got down on his knees and set the rat free. The rodent raced to the opposite side of the enclosure, but the undead thing inside was even faster, lurching forward and catching it with both hands. The thing rolled onto its back, feet in the air, kicking excitedly, as it stuffed the twitching rodent between what was left of its teeth. Mangled bare feet continued dancing in the air as the rodent was consumed, bite by bloody bite.

That green-eyed desperation he’s seen on Mattie’s face made a lot more sense now.

“You want to know what’ll happen if I get in there and fuck one of them, let them fuck me.” McKinon took the glove off and threw it onto the top of the crate. “Admit you want to know.”

He shrugged, spoke loud enough to be heard over the wailing and gnashing. “I admit it.”

“They look like Mattie,” he replied, smiling. “Like Matthew. Like the rest of them. Strong. Frightening. Powerful. Beautifully, perfectly, foul.”

Dozens of questions shot through Hayden’s mind as he moved further into the room. Maybe he should have been stunned, but he wasn’t. It made sense. They were all connected: Bob, Belmont, McKinon. And now him.

Hayden gestured to the tables, covered with notes and all matter of equipment. “Experiments?”

The other man didn’t answer. Instead he spread his arms, inviting Hayden to look. “The treasures await. Bask and enjoy. Study. Speculate.”

Hayden had adjusted to the shock of the stench, but the nausea remained, swirling through his guts in tight, mean, coils. His gaze moved from one table to the next, each had a clear center area surrounded by the collection of bottles, jars and a variety of other small containers. The table closest to him had a row of bottles, each with a number and letter combination. He unscrewed one, 18UT, pulled the glass rod out and held it to his nose. He recapped the jar, went on the to the next, 19UT.

“Most of them have no scent.” McKinon propped himself on a stool. “I’ve been trying different mixtures for a couple years now.”

“Oils?”

He nodded. “Not the kind like from the ritual. I don’t make anything like that. Don’t know what’s in them. They have their secrets. I have my own fun here.” Reaching for the bottle labeled 23UT, he said, “Smell this one.”

Hayden did, then shook his head. It had a slight scent, but nothing familiar. “Should I remember it? Know it?”

Again, no response. Instead, McKinon moved on to the next table. A stack of herbs was scattered across the top. Other herbs were tied into bundles and hung on long pieces of string tied to hooks secured into the ceiling. A pile of mesh bags sat off to the center of the table. A scale and box of zipper-style bags beside it.

The things in the cages had stopped with the worst of the noise but continued to gnash their teeth, hiss and stare with their gleaming green eyes.

“But you do make the tea? You drink it yourself?”

He picked up one of the tea bags, sniffed it, then passed it over to Hayden. “I made the best copy I could. Like I said, I don’t have their recipes. But I think this one is close to theirs. I tried it a couple times but did shit I’d never want to admit. If the press got hold of things like that, I’d be in the tabloids for months.” He snickered. “No offense, man. We all have to make a living.”

He was right. His tea was very close to theirs. It smelled the way he thought it should—like dirty snow and cold rocks. It made him think things he wanted to forget. “How do you avoid getting… ”

“Horny? All worked up and aching to get rammed in the ass by some undead piece of shit?” McKinon laughed at Hayden’s expression. “Dude, I’m immune to their charms.”

It didn’t seem likely, but maybe. He’d made it through that ritual at The Southie. Didn’t he? “These,” Hayden pointed to the herbs, waved over at the small bottles of oils. “Is this all for your… ”

“Pets.” McKinon flashed his Hollywood smile as he looked from one cage to the next. “Just these four.”

Hayden gestured to the rest of the stuff scattered all around the room, “What about Bob? And Belmont?”

“So now you want to play Truth or Dare?”

“I don’t want to play any games.” He went away from the table to examine an herb chart tacked to the wall.

“Bob never comes in here.” McKinon moved around, walking in a tight circle, his gaze darting from creepy thing to creepy thing. “It’s my playroom.”

Not surprising. The man was too busy collecting dirt to ruin people’s lives. Or control them. Apparently. “Belmont?”

“He came in here a couple times before you wrote that first piece. Didn’t find what he was looking for and left.”

“Do you know what he’s looking for?”

McKinon stopped pacing. “Nope. Nobody knows what he’s looking for.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Nothing really.” He went toward the other two cages. “I mix up different things. Give it to them to eat, see what happens.” Leaning on the bars of one of the cages he looked in at the motionless undead thing heaped on the floor. “I gave them some of that 23. Thought it would keep them quiet, but it seems to have knocked them out.”

“How long have they been that way.” If it worked on these ones, it had to work on the others.

“About a day, I guess.”

He moved closer to the bars, tried not to breathe. “Think they’ll come back? Wake up?”

McKinon reached his leg between the bars, kicked at the thing on the floor. “Don’t know. First time it has happened.”

Hayden went to the other cage, looked in at the thing. Its leg was twisted beneath its torso, and its head was facing the wall. It could have been a giant size zombie doll, something someone bought for their kid’s Halloween party. “This is all really fucked up. It’s an epic high level. You know that right?”

“Yeah.” He kicked it again, harder, hard enough to make it roll over. Its leg hit the floor with a soft thump. Its eyes, still open, weren’t green. They were brown.

“Why do you do it?”

“To see what happens next.”

“What is going to happen next?”

Keeping his fist wrapped around the bar, McKinon dropped his body down and started swinging on the bar. “Truth or Dare time?”

Hayden tried breathing through his mouth, but the stench was so thick it made him gag and salivate. Soon it would be so far inside him it may never come out. “Let’s go back.”

McKinon contorted his body into one of his famous mind-bending poses. Once he was sure Hayden had gotten a good look, he switched it up, put himself into another uncanny position. “Don’t you want to know why I brought you in here?”

He found out one very useful piece of information and that was enough for him. “Bob told you to.”

Still twitching himself around, he asked, “You think I do everything Bob tells me to?”

“I don’t care about whatever the two of you have going on.” The thing in the blue dress was now climbing the bars, using its feet like monkey hands. When it reached the top of the cage, it began crawling across the top, upside down, hair hanging, tattered dress fluttering.

“You don’t care that your boss has a movie star for a pet?”

He watched the thing reach the other side and crawl down, face-first, to the floor. “No.” He looked back at McKinon who was still trying to impress him by doing terrible things with his arms and legs. “If that’s what you are, that’s your business, and I really don’t care.”

“You’re very sophisticated.” McKinon’s sarcasm meant nothing to Hayden.

The guy finally let go of the bar, did a full backwards stage roll so that he was standing again. “Let’s go back.”

Hayden let the other man get about ten feet in front of him. He walked slowly past the tables, pausing when he was within arm’s reach of bottle 23. They passed through the buzzing hallway, stepped back into the cozy, wood-paneled room. Hayden was breathing easier, the rotten smell no longer assaulting him. Belmont and Bob were quiet, sitting beside each other in a stand-off style silence, each puffing the last of their cigars.

McKinon went to the bar, got himself another beer, even though his first sat on the table right where he’d left it.

Bob had the small gold box in his open palm, balanced on his opposite thigh. Belmont continued to puff on his cigar. McKinon popped open his beer, took a long drink. Bob lifted his arm, holding the box aloft. “Here’s what you asked for,” he barked, locking gazes with Hayden. “Once you’re in, you’re in.”

McKinon came to stand beside Hayden, shoved him toward Bob.

“I didn’t ask for anything,” Hayden said.

“Take it.” McKinon jabbed him with his elbow. “Open it. Wear it.”

“Or don’t,” muttered Belmont, holding his bare right hand up.

Hayden took the box, flipped the latch, lifted the lid.

A gold pinky ring was tucked between two rolls of black velvet.

Hayden snapped the lid shut, offered it back to his boss. “That’s okay. You guys have your club and that’s cool, but—”

“Once you’re in, you’re in.” Bob wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was staring at Belmont, who appeared oblivious to Bob’s attempt at a threating look.

Belmont ashed his cigar, jabbed it into the tray until it went out, then braced his hands on his knees to get up. “Come on, Hayden. And bring the stupid box. You don’t have to wear it. You just have to keep your mouth shut.” He stopped at the door, turned back to Bob. “Tomorrow morning in print and online.”

“Fuck you,” Bob called.

“Fuck you too,” replied Belmont.

Then they left.

Chapter Eight

“Give a shit now, Mr. Reporter?

 

“Give us a show, Hayden.” Rachelle opened her mouth wide and made a show of circling her lips with her tongue. Wouldn’t her rich associates be shocked to see their fancy friend wearing a black leather corset and carrying a whip.

“And if its good enough,” Matthew sat in the chair and pushed back the fur cloak covering his naked body, “we’ll take you to the crypt like you asked.” Matthew started caressing his dick, slowly pulling it to its full, hard length. Hayden tried not to watch but couldn’t pull his gaze away from the man’s huge cock. When Matthew noticed, he reached down with his other hand, pinched the tip, then laughed. The harsh barking sound snapped Hayden from his dismal trance and he turned away, his stomach flipping over as he looked across the room.

Wavering yellow light from the lanterns hanging in the cage stroked the walls, casting shadows over the girl crouched in the corner. They hadn’t even given her a cloak, so she was already naked. The glazed lust in her gaze was from the tea, probably. Not him. None of this was about him. Or her, whoever she was. He didn’t even give a shit who or what it was about. This was his one last time at the camp. He’d get what he could, then get out. Him and Belmont.

“You’re not going to be able to fuck me from there.” She said, laughing as she crawled forward, then stopped to lean back on her haunches. She spread her legs, invited him to look at her dark snatch. “Unless you have a horse cock.” Smacking her lips, she continued opening and closing her legs. “Do you have a horse cock, Hayden?”

Rachelle chuckled, then snapped the whip. “Maybe I should make him trot, so we can see what kind of horse he is.” The soft pop of the whip continued as she moved forward, cracking the leather into the air.

Matthew snorted. “He doesn’t have a horse cock, baby, but he sure wants to get into the crypt.”

“You going to fuck me good, Hayden? Give them a show?” She glanced to the other side of the room, then looked at him with half-closed eyes peering through thick red hair. “I want to be part of the show.”

Matthew and Rachelle howled with giddy excitement. Rachelle cracked the whip several times, then handed it to Matthew, so he could flick it at her. The teasing snaps left red marks on her legs. Laughing, she grabbed the whip back, started snapping it toward the cage.

“Maybe I should come in there, Hayden.” She cracked it again. She and Matthew shrieked with laughter.

Hayden’s stomach tightened, and bile rushed upward. His throat burned, his guts continued to wretch. He held his mouth closed and pulled in a long, deep breath. Even his nostrils burned from the acid churning within him. But he had to get in to the crypt and meet up with Belmont like they planned.

He looked at the girl, felt his lips tighten as the hot liquid burned deep in his gut, creeping lower, then spreading outward, making his arms and legs burning and hard with pain and need. He felt emotions that had no names. Emotions that didn’t belong inside him.

Or maybe they did.

Hayden stalked forward, feeling the smooth, wooden boards beneath his bare feet. The girl wriggled, her narrow shoulders shifting as she crawled around, her hips rolling as she made a tight circle. Around and around, she continued crawling, her skin pale and soft looking. Her knees made a thump against the wood, her palms barely made a sound. The wooden slats of the cage sliced hard in the background. Beyond the log walls, the night wind wailed, the rest of the world continued. Normal. Mostly sane. But there at the camp, Hayden had to play by their rules.

Do what they wanted to get what he wanted.

The girl in the cage was beyond all reason and human awareness, her eyes glazed as she moved, looking like she was intentionally pulling herself deeper into the dark trance. The continued circling, knees thumping, arms and legs swinging. Even though she was acting like an animal, looking like an animal, she wasn’t an animal.

Rachelle had thrown down the whip and was running her hands over her breasts, pinching her nipples, and wiggling her hips. Matthew had taken out his dick and begun playing with it. His breathing rasped as he pulled on his cock, playing with himself, smiling. There was an undeniable, extra charge to the air. Matthew was more focused than usual, but also coiled, more emotionally tight. He was holding something in. Rachelle giggled, the high pitch squeak out of place in the dismal space. She too was hiding something, but like the tribe leader, she was on overdrive—excited, electric and unstoppable.

An ordinary coupling wasn’t going to be enough to satisfy these freaks.

Hayden threw off his cloak, felt the smoke-filled air coat his skin. When he thrust his shoulders back, his nipples peaked from the chill. He pulled a smoke-tinged breath deep into his lungs, held it tight, then let it burst out in a rush as he looked at Matthew. “Get me a rope.”

Matthew’s hands actually paused, but of course he didn’t let go of his dick. “Now you’re talking.” He motioned to the guard by the door. “Go get it.” The guard ducked out, the beads in the doorway rattled against the door frame. Rachelle’s giggling had stopped, and she’d moved closer to Matthew, started whispering in his ear.

Hayden went to the girl, knelt, grabbed her shoulders.

She stretched, pushing her body into his grip, and lifted her head like a cat. He recognized her tea-stained eyes. But was that a glimmer of green hiding in the vacant depths?

“Why do you want this?” he whispered.

“They like me.” She looked past his shoulder as she pulled her lips into a smile. “They’re my new best friends. I want to learn to be part of the show. Make them happy. Get things.”

He didn’t want to imagine what rewards those two had offered this girl for letting herself be defiled for their entertainment. He lowered his voice but tried to get her attention by leaning forward. Not nose to nose close, but close enough to force her gaze to his. Close enough to smell her skin. “They’re not your friends. They’re not even each other’s friends.”

Her fake smile fell away as she put her face nose to nose with his.

What was that scent?

“What do you know about friends?” she asked. “About loyalty?” She spoke so softly he couldn’t be certain she’d actually said it. Or had it been a voice in his head? She moved back, her lips pressed together as she shrugged, now trying to look casual. Or maybe she was. Maybe none of this was as twisted and disgusting as he thought. And maybe he was imagining that pale emerald passing through her gaze.

“Why do you want to get in the crypt?” she asked.

Mattie. No, he told himself. Don’t.

Belmont and he had agreed to meet up in there. This without knowing for certain they could each get in, but still, that was the deal they’d made. “My friend is in there.” He swallowed, forcing the hot bile back down his throat as he remembered Mattie, turning stiff and silent beneath him. It hadn’t been his fault, he told himself again.

“Oh, Mister Sensitive. Look at your sad, sad mouth.” She snorted, the motion distorting her entire face. “You’re allowed to have friends, but I’m not?”

Still no sign of the guard who’d gone for the rope. Rachelle and Matthew were cuddled up on Matthew’s chair, and she was telling him something. Or explaining? Or asking?

Hayden flicked his gaze across the girl’s naked body contorted by her crouch. She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed, trying to knock him over. She was weak and inexperienced. Easy to outmaneuver.

Leaning in harder, so she couldn’t force him to move, he asked, “Think about it. Why do you want this?”

It was her turn to swallow, the sharp motion making her chin lift. “Same reason as you.” She stopped pushing him. “I came here for the agony. More pain to stop the pain. I want you to tear the misery out of my body.” She clenched her jaw, hissed through her gritted teeth, then whispered. “Tear me out of my own body, Mister Sadface.” She dropped back onto her ass and spread her legs apart and spoke again, only this time louder. “Tear me apart, Hayden. Torture me. Make me hurt more than I already do.”

He leaned forward, bracing himself between her legs. “Why? Why do you hurt?”

“What does it matter? I do. So, do you. Make me suffer so bad my whole body turns numb.” She winced, her face contorted, green light coming from somewhere in Matthew’s cabin flickering in the back of her eyes. “I have a promise for you. Hurt me bad enough and you’ll feel the pain too. We’ll share the anguish.”

The beads rattled. Boots thudded. “Come get it, playboy. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Hayden rolled back on his heels, caught himself when he lost his balance, then shoved himself upright. The guard was holding the coiled rope in one fist. In his other hand, he held a small vile. He lifted the rope toward Hayden, the vile he lifted towards Matthew and Rachelle. “Found this outside, near the door.” Matthew held his open palm out and jerked his chin. The guard tossed the vile. Matthew snatched it out of the air. After the guard threw the rope near Hayden, the man turned, gave the girl crouched in the cage the once over, then stomped out. Again, the beads smacked the wood, rattling as the guard retreated down the hall.

Hayden grabbed the rope, stoking it with his palm as he uncoiled it. The rough brown fibers were stiff. Unyielding.

The girl was in front of him, still crouched. Mattie would’ve fought. Rachelle would have taunted. This girl simply waited.

Behind him, he heard Rachelle. “What is it?”

There was a scuffle, probably her trying to snatch the bottle from Matthew.

Making a big deal of circling the girl in front of him, Hayden strained to hear Matthew’s reply. “Must be some shit Belmont had stashed away somewhere.”

“I want to see it. Let me have it.” Rachelle said, her arms waving.

“You want to hurt? To feel unending pain?” Hayden asked the girl as he walked slowly around the cage, shaking the thick rope behind him and concentrating on listening to Matthew and Rachelle. Hayden paused at the back, by the wall, and used lifting the rope as an excuse to check on what was happening with the bottle. 23UT. The bottle he’d brought with him and managed to get all the way to Matthew’s cabin before having to toss it for fear of discovery.

The girl on the floor pulled her hair away from her face, wound it around her neck, pulled, then called out, “Am I doing it right, Matthew?”

“Go with what feels good,” he called back, now opening the top of the bottle to smell the contents. “Make sure you get what you need.” Matthew glanced at Hayden, his eyes sharp. “That’s all that matters.”

Rachelle nodded, her chin bobbing up and down as she took the bottle from Matthew to also smell the small glass rod attached to the top.

Hayden shook the rope, letting the heavy ends thump against the floor as he continued to watch the location of the bottle. After replacing the top, Rachelle whispered something to Matthew, then set it on the small table beside Matthew’s chair.

“I can make you hurt, baby.” Hayden said. “I can make your fantasies come true.”

She yanked on her bright hair, cutting into her neck as she looked toward Matthew then nodded.

It was easy. She was too easy.

“What are you waiting for, Hayden?” Matthew barked from his chair.

The girl blinked. Still waiting.

Rachelle giggled.

Hayden’s guts churned. His muscles tensed. His soul quivered.

The girl flipped herself over. She was on her hands and knees with her ass square in his view. She rocked her hips side to side, exposing her dark hole. “What are you waiting for Mr. I-don’t-have-a-horse-dick?”

He put his foot on her ass, pushed to knock her onto her stomach. “No more name-calling, little bitch.”

She fell with a thump and whimper.

Rachelle shrieked with laughter, cheering with her arms in the air, she yelled over to him. “Way to go, Hayden!”

“You think I’m going to fuck you like that?” He circled her, pulling the rope across his palms. “Boring.”

She scrambled to get back up onto her hands and knees.

“Crawl forward and don’t stop until your face hits the wall,” he said, circling her.

She started slowly but picked up speed, her knees bouncing, her hair hanging in her face. Once her nose pressed into one of the logs, she stopped.

He didn’t want to enjoy the way she followed his every command. But still, that sense of power was there when he barked the next order. “Roll over.”

She did what he said, flipped onto her back in one quick roll.

Yes. That’s right, little bitch.

Hayden wanted to pull the thought from his mind, wanted to blame it on the camp, its atmosphere, and the creatures surrounding him.

“I want to play!” Rachelle had come over to the cage and was making pathetic mewling sounds. “I want to be part of the show!”

Hayden turned his back on her to bark at the girl. “Lift your hands.”

Again, she did what she was told.

Again, he knew the satisfaction of being in control.

Once he had a hold of her wrists, he wrapped the rope around them and knotted it. The line was too thick to hold the wrists firmly, so he tucked the free strand between her hands and tugged. Satisfied that the knot would do the trick, he yanked, spinning her around so that her feet brushed the spot where her head had been. He threw the loose end upward, trying to get the end over the top bar of the cage. His first two attempts netted nothing but on the third try he got it over. He fed the end over until it became taut, then he pulled and kept pulling until her body started to lift from the floor, her stomach sliding across the rough ground, bright red scratches marked the places where the nails cut into her soft skin. A trickle of blood ran down her stomach making a jagged trail of red to her crotch. He stopped pulling when she was balancing on her knees.

She looked up at him, whimpering slightly, blood running in streams down her stomach. Her breasts were scraped, her face puffy, eyes glazed but definitely green.

“You know how I know you aren’t hurting all that badly?” he asked over Rachelle’s continued noise.

She pressed her lips together, a soft moan rising from her chest.

“You’re still making noise.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You too, Rachelle. Shut the fuck up.”

“I want in,” she said, squirming and wiggling from the desire inside her.

“It’s my show,” he replied. He had no choice, he had to do it. And so, he wanted it to be all about him for a change.

The girl dropped her head, placed her whole-body weight on the rope, swaying. He grabbed the top of her head, squeezed and held her still. “Don’t make a fucking sound unless I tell you.”

“You’re making noise too,” Rachelle said from outside the cage.

Hayden spun, glared at her.

The girl had stopped moving. Stopped making noise. Her eyes were greener still, bright and raw.

Rachelle banged her hand on the bars. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up and get to work? You aren’t here to give lessons. You’re here to entertain.”

Entertain.

Still holding the end of the rope, he shoved the girl back. She toppled over, her legs shooting out beside her as she landed in a heap on her side. With her silent gaze fixed on him, he started tugging on the rope, hauling her upward. Each time he yanked, her body twitched, her arms jerking in her shoulder sockets. He reminded himself to go more slowly, giving himself the time to come up with something exciting enough. Horrible enough to satisfy Matthew.

The girl started whimpering again, but this time he let her. The pathetic, weak noise added to the mood, made him look more cruel than he was. Than he felt. He wasn’t that cruel. He was doing what they all wanted. Soon she was on her knees again, sniffling, her tangled hair hanging in her face. He tugged. Her calves rose. He tugged. Her calves rose again then she stood on her feet.

He yanked, and her feet rose off the floor. She spun in tight circles, her hair now flying outward from the momentum. As her spiral of motion slowed, he got the start of an idea. By the time she was steady, he knew the one thing he could do that would achieve what he wanted.

“Rachelle, you want in on this?” he asked.

She opened the cage door, stood staring at him with squinted eyes. “You know I’m Matthew’s toy now, right. You’ll never get me back.”

It was his turn to laugh. “I don’t want you back. I want you to be part of the show. If that’s what you want, anyway.”

She moved into the cage, eyeing the girl, bloody and spinning slowly on the rope.

“Come in. I dare you,” he said.

“Are you just doing this to piss me off?” Matthew asked, now at the cage door.

“Why? Is this pissing you off?” Hayden reached out to shove the girl, making her spin faster, green eyes flashing. “You afraid of… something, Matthew?”

He propped one hand on his hip. “Fuck you.”

Hayden gestured to his own erect cock. “Fuck someone. That’s the idea isn’t it?”

“You want Rachelle?” Matthew held up the vial, moonlight gleaming across his bald head. “Snort this first.”

Hayden eyed the small bottle pinched between Matthew’s long pale fingers.

“A dare for a darer.” Rachelle tossed her head back and laughed. “Now who’s the pussy?”

“Bring it to me,” Hayden said to her.

She skipped back to Matthew who placed it in her outstretched palm. She leaned forward, cupped her other hand to his ear and scooted close to whisper something. Hayden watched the man’s face, but his expression revealed nothing. That bile started to churn. Finally, Matthew turned his head to reply to Rachelle, a sneer of a smile crossed over her lips.

She held the vile over her head. “Want this?”

Deciding he better play along until he got his mental footing, he nodded. “You know I do.”

She came into the cage, rolling the vile between her hands. Back and forth she worked it. Each time she shot one hand forward, her breasts bounced, the rhythm working into a nice steady beat that shook her tits like a dancer’s. He remembered her handling his cock that way, back when they’d first met. Her small hands were strong and capable. All those travel sports teams growing up had made her agile and strong, he’d supposed back then. Now, he was wondering if it wasn’t something else. Something dark and disturbing. Something he really should have spotted when they’d first met.

She noticed him watching, grinned and did a stage-worthy shimmy. Her small tits nearly spun in circles. Something he really would’ve loved. Before.

“Come suck on my boobs,” she said. “I want to feel your mouth on me.”

He took a step forward. She burst out laughing as she twisted the top off the small bottle. “You wish, asshole.” She smelled the contents of the bottle then held it out for Hayden. “Snorty, snort time, baby.”

He moved but stopped when he heard the noise behind him. The thing on the rope started to growl. It was a low, rough, deep-throated noise that belied her size and earlier weakness. It came again, rumbling deeper, rougher.

“Sounds like she’s getting her second wind. Better get your dick in her, Hayden.” Matthew chuckled. “Or you aren’t going to like what happens when that rope breaks.”

The rope started to shake, making an ear-straining hum. Her body was stiffening, her arms getting visibly taut.

“Get it in while you can,” Matthew said, still laughing.

Rachelle crossed over to turn the thing’s face to her. Its eyes were so green, Rachelle’s own face reflected the vibrant color. She turned her head to Hayden, glanced down at his softening dick. “Want me to help you with that?” Chortling with wild laughter, she dashed out of the cage, shut the door.

The thing on the rope hissed, gnashed its teeth. Vicious. Nasty. Wild. Exactly like the creatures in McKinon’s cages.

Fuck it or get torn apart by it. Those were his two choices.

Hayden reached down, started to stroke his cock. His shaft was warm and soft, but soon that changed. Thanks to the adrenaline flashing through his body, it didn’t take long for him to get ready to save his life.

The thing continued to growl, and now its legs were in spasms, jerking up and down, then swinging outward. When the legs stopped, the arms would start, pulling her upward, teeth trying to gnaw at the rope.

He went to the thing, tried to not hear its growls or the chattering of its teeth. The green eyes rolled in circles, not seeing, not knowing. He grabbed its cool, bare hips, put his dick between its ass cheeks. Above, the rope tightened, strained against the wood beam and it pulled, its arms strong, much too strong. He pushed in, feeling its cool, tight pussy squeeze his cock. It snapped its teeth, fought against his invasion, he held tight to its hips, thrust in, started pumping.

Rachele watched, her mouth open, eyes wide, chest heaving from quick breaths. Matthew’s gaze darted between the wooden beam, groaning from the pull of the beast, and Hayden’s hands, squeezing hard on the flesh of her ass. “Fuck faster, dude. Hurry up.” Matthew locked the door and moved back. “She won’t stop after she eats your face off, and my face is too pretty to get torn to shreds.”

Still right by the cage door, Rachelle had one hand wrapped around bar, face between the slats. “Do it, Hayden.” She yelled over the thing’s shrieks. “Make her right.”

Still pumping, Hayden closed his eyes, fought the desire to stop and flee. There was nowhere to run to. So, he continued thrusting, shoving his cock in and out, hips flexing, leg muscles tight and hard. Gradually her gnashing slowed, and she started to buck backwards, doing what she could to deepen the drives. Her growls changed into grunts. Her fighting for freedom turned into fighting for release. Together they thrashed, their bodies finally syncing, joining, driving each deeper into the abyss of lust and carnal hunger.

The first drops of cum spilled into her as she mewled as the edges of her own release started to circle and tighten. Her pussy squeezed his cock, grabbed hold of his shaft, and so he ground in to her, his jaws clenching from the tensions coiling through his body, pulling him deeper and faster to the hideous place in the far corner of his mind where this behavior was more than acceptable, it was good, the pleasure right. Then it happened, the full force of his orgasm, starting in the tip of his dick, crawling its way inward, through his guts, freezing his muscles hard and stealing what was left of his consciousness.

The girl was panting, by the time he stopped thrusting. His own breath was hitched and high in his lungs, his heart hammering a chaotic beat as he withdrew his now limp cock, another crack in his soul growing wider.

“Screwing her like a pro,” Matthew said. “You’re going to really love what we have next.”

“Going to the crypt. That’s what’s next.” Hayden backed away, started untying the girl who was beginning to move and look around. “We had a deal.” Not that Hayden had any way of forcing Matthew into doing what he’d said.

The girl was free now, leaning against the wall and blinking.

“Me! Me! Me!” Rachelle said, holding one bar and shaking herself.

“Hayden, why do you want to go to the crypt anyway? Nothing going on down there.” Matthew unlocked the cage, swung the door open.

Rachelle rushed in, tossed the vial onto the ground and started helping Hayden undo the rope. She yanked it from the beam, the small, taut body a blur of motion as she made quick work of rolling up the rope, then shoving it into the corner.

Matthew started peeling off his leather pants. “We’ve got something for you, Hayden. It’s going to blow your mind.”

Too late. His mind was blown already.

Chapter Nine

“Hurt me bad enough and you’ll feel the pain too. We’ll share the anguish.”

 

“Go to the bed, Hayden.” Rachelle took one of the girl’s hands and pulled her from the cage. “Come on sweetie, you get to help too.”

Once Hayden was certain all three of them were facing away from him, he snatched the tiny bottle from the ground.

Rachelle had set the girl on the edge of the bed, gone to the cabinet and come back with a bottle. Hayden came out of the cage, paused by the corner of it, looking around for a place to hide the vial.

Rachelle held a bottle forward. “Take it, Hayden. We have another job for you.”

A shiver ran down his spine, shaking him up all over again. She couldn’t be planning, asking for, what he thought. The bottle filled with oil…

He moved to the top of the bed and slipped the vial between the mattress and the frame.

“What’s wrong, Hayden? Don’t know how to take orders from someone other than Mattie?”

Hayden went to Rachelle and took the bottle. “You sure about this, Rachelle?”

Laughing, Rachelle threw herself backwards onto the bed. “You are so sweet to worry about me now. After you introduced me to… ” she winked and pointed at Matthew.

Getting your rocks off, living a dark fantasy, playing at being a bad girl, those were understandable. But this, giving up, going in forever, it was something else.

Once you’re in, you’re in.

That was the way.

“It’s not my fault you’re a coward,” Rachelle spread her legs, then snapped them shut. “Don’t ruin our fun just because you don’t have the nerve to take the turn.”

Do it. Like it was just that simple.

And, he supposed, looking at her wriggling around on the bed, her arms waving upward like snakes, it was that simple.

He pulled the cork from the bottle, tossed it to the ground.

“Who’s going to fuck her?” he asked, a plan taking shape in the back of his mind.

Matthew replied, “I’ll take the pussy. You take the throat.”

“Suits me.” Hayden pointed to the thing, the girl, on the edge of the bed. “What about her?”

“Yeah. What about me?” Her voice was husky, but the dazed look was fading. She got up and snatched the bottle of oil from Hayden.

Good. He did not want the effects of that oil clouding his thoughts. “What about the ink?” he asked Matthew. “Who’s doing that?”

Matthew crawled onto the bed, positioned himself between Rachelle’s legs. “No ink.”

Wondering if he’d even get an answer, he asked, “Only for… bringing them back?”

“A second turn,” the girl said.

A second turn. If he found Mattie, he could bring her back. If he had some ink. And oil.

“Oil me.” Rachelle stretched and wiggled. “It’s time.”

The girl drizzled oil down Rachelle’s stomach, massaged it in with long sweeps. Her hands moved slowly, her fingers firm against the flesh. Hayden wanted to feel nothing as he watched the woman he’d once thought he cared about be prepared for death. No point in trying to stop her, save her. He knew what Matthew was capable of and he had himself to get out of there. And Belmont. Mattie.

The girl was working on Rachelle’s breasts, pinching her nipples, making her sigh. The oil would start working slowly on her, the way it had worked slowly on him. Once she started to feel the sexual heat, there would be no turning back. The frenzy, the ugly lust-driven need for sex, the kind of sex that is near death, would consume her as it had consumed him.

And then she’d be gone.

The girl did her thighs. The bottoms of her feet. The spaces between her toes. Then applied more to her calves, thighs, covered the lips of her pussy. Matthew reached under, lifted her ass, so the girl could get the cheeks, between her legs. They set her hips back down. Rachelle’s breathing was getting quicker, her skin getting flush.

She moaned and closed her eyes.

Good-bye Rachelle.

The girl went to Matthew. He held out his arm, pushed her back. “Wait.”

She tucked the bottle into the crook of her arm and stood, staring down at Rachelle.

The four of them sat in silence, each watching Rachelle’s skin soak up the oil, waiting for the effects to reach the maximum impact. The night was quiet too. No howling wind, no branches scratching at the roof or windows. The guards must be out front, watching the darkness seep across the snow, oozing through the trees. The cabins circling the camp, featured other scenes of use and abuse. The undead feeding off the humans. The humans giving up pieces of themselves. Unwillingly. Willingly.

Another moan came from Rachelle and her chest was rising and falling more quickly. She turned her head, opened her mouth, started to pant.

“Now.” Matthew waved his arm “It’s time for me.”

The girl knelt behind Matthew, poured the oil across his shoulders, down his inked spine to his hard ass. He rose up, so she could reach up between his legs to do his cock and balls. Her hands flickered over his shaft, danced over his thighs. She applied some to his arms, moved around to coat his chest. The effect of the oil was much quicker on him. His skin was growing flush, human-like. Or at least looked human. Maybe the man was beginning to feel human too. His face softened, the hard pull of his jaw gentled. He’d been someone once. Before. Back when he lived in the world.

But not now.

Now he was beginning to growl, his muscles twitching beneath the newly pink skin. Rachelle too was fully transformed. Muscles flexing, nerves igniting, her whole body activated. Her mind too, must have been saturated with hunger, power and need. The girl had rubbed herself down with the residue from her palms. Her skin was ruddy, with uneven patches of red and pink, and the movement of her muscles was more like convulsions than an even roll of contractions. Her hands were on the edge of the bed, and she leaned over Rachelle, murmuring encouragements.

“Get ready.” Matthew told Hayden. “Get your hands around her neck.”

Hayden swung around, so he was near the top of the bed.

“No, on the bed.” Matthew paused, backed up, then grabbed Rachelle’s legs and yanked, making space for Hayden. He got onto the bed, knelt behind Rachelle’s head then placed his hands around her slim throat.

Like Rachelle had done with Mattie.

Rachelle’s eyes were wild, rolling backward, then suddenly focusing. During one of the brief periods of control, she stared up at him. “I’m going to live forever, Hayden. I’m going to be someone special.”

 

* * *

 

That was true. Hayden looked from Matthew, now getting ready to impale her, to the newly turned girl, mesmerized by the spectacle. Special. Yes, he supposed she would be. Deadly. Dead. Tormenting. Tortured. Powerful. Ugly. Was that the definition of special?

Her body started to shake from Matthew’s merciless thrusts. She reached for him, fingers opening and closing as she reached for his arms. Hayden redirected one of her arms, so she grabbed at the girl’s thigh. In response, the girl moved closer to the bed, spread her legs, and put Rachelle’s hand on her pussy lips. Rachelle’s fingers continued flicking, now between the folds.

The three of them were consumed, distant and alone together, gone even though they were still very much there. Hayden reached back, found the vial. He bent over, pretended to cover Rachelle’s mouth with his own, but instead coated her lips with 23UT. Leaning back, he looked up at Matthew. “Wait. Not yet. Kiss her, Matthew.”

He did. Not the quick, obligatory peck Hayden expected, but a gentle lingering, mouth to mouth caress. He stopped thrusting to concentrate on the kiss, giving the gesture his full attention. It was both sexy and sweet. The sort he and Rachelle had exchanged. Back then.

After Matthew lifted his mouth and straightened, he turned his attention back to fucking the life out of her, Hayden took the vial back into his hand. Waited for the chance to coat her lips again and did. Rachelle didn’t even notice. She was too far away, too deep into her own fantasies and delusions.

The oil had hold of Matthew too, so Hayden hardly worried about arousing the other man’s suspicion. “You too.” He called over to the girl. “Kiss her goodbye.”

She smiled as she came over. “Or in my case, I’m kissing her hello.”

And she did. A shorter, less sexual version of the kiss Matthew had delivered.

How much was enough? How long did the 23UT take to work? If only Hayden had thought to ask before lifting it from McKinon’s playroom.

“Get ready,” Matthew said between grunts.

Hayden put his hands back on her throat. She was minutes from real death, but in actuality she was already gone.

“Start now.” Matthew slowed his rhythm, rocking with long, gradual sweeps instead of the short thrusts. “Squeeze.”

Hayden applied some pressure. Rachelle gagged, her arms came toward her face.

Matthew paused, withdrew, “When she starts to come, squeeze harder. Make sure she passes out at the same time.”

Hayden applied more pressure, got a better hold on her neck, watched her face, her body.

“Time it wrong and she dies.” Matthew said, starting to again pick up speed. “Time it right, she lives forever.” Then he started pounding in to her, hammering in and out of her pussy, making her whole body shake.

Soon, Rachelle moaned, stopped fighting the grip of his hands and succumbed to the spiral of pleasure tearing through her. Hayden pressed down, blocking the air from her lungs. Her body twitched, legs started to jerk, knees bending as she slid her heels up to her ass then shot them back down again. Her arms swung at her sides, fingers opening and closing, then coming shut in fists that she pressed to her chest. Still he held on, watching her face contort with a mixture of pleasure and pain, life and death. Finally, the two dimensions melded together, and she lie still, eyes unmoving, chest still.

And then there was nothing.

Matthew pulled his dick out, looked down at Rachelle’s chilling, rigid body. “Check it out, Hayden. I fucked her senseless.”

Stroking Rachelle’s legs, the girl beside the bed moaned.

“Now what?” Hayden spotted the vial beside Rachelle and scooped it up. “That it? She’s done?”

Matthew climbed off the bed, looking down at the body, into the vacant face. He shrugged. “We wrap her up.”

“Until?”

He shrugged again, this time with a chuckle. “Until whenever. You have a problem with that?”

He did, but knew his opinion didn’t mean shit. Also, he had his own problems.

“Mmmmm.” The girl had stopped caressing Rachelle’s legs and begun leaning more heavily on the bed. “Mmmmmm… .”

Matthew shoved her off the bed. She tumbled to the floor with a hard thump, then lay there. He tested her with a kick, she rolled onto her back. “Fucking new ones.” Then he tugged on the cover and began tucking it around Rachelle. “Wrap her up. We’ll take her to the crypt.” There was none of the anger or despair Matthew had shown when they’d turned Mattie. With Rachelle, it was just matter of fact, just another day at his camp.

Following the other man’s motions, Hayden began folding the cover over Rachelle. Her face was the last to disappear.

Matthew scooped her up, held her above the bed and, looking at Hayden, tipped his head toward the unmoving thing on the floor. “Stay here with her.” Laughing, he added, “If she wakes up with those eyes, you know wh—” He dropped Rachelle onto the bed, braced himself on the bedframe with one hand. “Mmmmm… .” He put his other hand on his face. “What the fu—” Then he was down, on the floor, in a heap next to the other one.

Hayden grabbed Rachelle, then set her on the floor. Next, he picked up the girl, put her on the bed. Matthew was heavier, but still manageable. He arranged Matthew and the girl, then covered them both with what was left of the bed linens. Last thing, he set the bottle, still with a couple inches of oil, close, but not too close, to the bed. Once the stage was set, he got one of the cloaks off the hook by the doorway, threw it on, slipped into his own boots, put the vial into one of his boots, then picked up Rachelle, still wrapped in the bedcover. He slipped through the beads. They smacked behind him, the soles of his boots hitting the floorboards with increasing speed.

Using his hip, he shoved the door open, lifted the body, and said, “Take me to the crypt.”

One of the three guards spun, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Who the fuck are you to give us orders?”

He lifted the body. “Matthew told me to take this to the crypt.”

The guard stepped over, peeled the cover back to expose Rachelle’s face. “Fuck me.”

Another guard came over, took a look. “Motherfucker. That happened fast. Wonder what’s the big deal about this one.”

Inspiration struck. “Matthew doesn’t want to be disturbed. We turned the other one right before this one.”

The third guard came over to look at Rachelle’s face. “What one?” he asked, poking at Rachelle’s cheek.

“The one you had tied up out here the other day. She’s turned.” Hayden adjusted the bundle in his arms then covered Rachelle’s face. “Used almost a whole bottle.”

The guards glanced beyond the doorway to the dark, quiet hall. “Almost?”

Bait taken. Hayden went on, pretending he had no idea where the crypt was located. “Yeah. But now he’s out and doesn’t want to be disturbed. Him and the new one. Out. That’s why he wants me to take this,” he lifted the bundle again, “to the crypt now. Right now. Get it?”

The guard nearest to the door pointed to the path. “He’ll get you close enough, but we can’t walk you all the way. We have to stay here, watch the front.”

Sure, you’ll be watching the front. Right after you sneak in there and get what’s left of the oil.

“Hey, man.,” the guard who’d been appointed tour guide said to the other two. “Don’t forget about me.”

That earned the guy a shove accompanied with a muttered assurance that he’d get what was coming to him.

With that, the guard started forward, Hayden followed behind.

“What’s up with you and that girl,” the guard asked over his shoulder.

“The new one?” Hayden asked, blinking into the icy air biting into his face.

“No. The one you’re carrying.”

It was then that he thought about how she’d be like when, if, they turned her a second time. “Nothing’s up with us.”

“Don’t think that’s the truth,” the guy replied, grumbling something under his breath. “What do I care. I guess.”

Hayden agreed, and he was starting to care even less and less.

Interesting to know this guy wasn’t so happy with the management. That could work to his advantage, especially since Belmont’s brilliant plan ended with the two of them meeting up at the crypt. It did not include a way home.

The night was freezing cold, but still dead quiet, no wind, no snow coming from above. The only noise was the soft crunch of their feet hitting the packed down snow. Once they got past the circle of cabins, the trail grew less defined. Hayden had to work to keep up, and soon his heart started to pound from the physical effort. The puffs of breath came faster and faster, and his chest heaved. The guard was nearly jogging, probably anxious to get back and make sure he got his fair share of the oil. About the time he thought he may have to slow, the guard stopped and lifted his arm.

“See that giant oak with the low branches? To the right of the clearing? Just past there is a fence. Follow the fence until it ends. There you’ll find a door, dug in to the side of a hill.”

Hayden was panting, the vapor of breath making a cloud in front of him. He probably would’ve been able to find it using Belmont’s description, but he didn’t want to raise any more suspicions. “Um, Mm,” he said, shifting the bundle in his arms.

The guard took a step away. “Try throwing it over your shoulder.” Then he began heading back, moving at a jog first before breaking out into a full run.

The fence sagged, dipping in almost to the ground in spots, but it was a clear marker to the door which was, as the guard said, built into the side of the hill. Could have been a bunker or mine shaft. Something you’d see while out hiking and wonder about but be smart enough to walk past. Hayden, now with the bundle over his shoulder, shoved his way inside then waited for his eyes to adjust.

The familiar, bitter scent of iron was the first thing he noticed. He listened, tried to get a sense of his surroundings. The walls were lined with boards, to keep them from caving in most likely, and the floor was packed and even. Could have been someone’s end of the world bunker. Or a farmer’s idea of a reasonable storage. Or a hideaway for human traffickers. The place gave him the creeps, but he’d expected that from Belmont’s description. He pulled in a breath, took in more of the bitter stench. Mattie’s scent. It was familiar but much, much thicker than he’d ever experienced it. The already rapid beating of his heart turned chaotic. His blood flowing through his veins, his nerves coming to life.

A flicker of light danced in the distance. He moved ahead, the ground declining sharply, the air getting warmer and the earthy scent thicker. At the bottom of the decline, he saw them. Rows of bodies stacked in neat piles against the walls and more laid one by one across the racks that lined the hall. The bodies on the racks had numbers written on their bare feet. All the bodies were wrapped snuggly in burlap, faces covered.

37, 48, 49…

The hallway was lit by torches. Belmont must be there. At least he hoped it was Belmont who’d lit the way for him.

He continued walking, 61, 66, 69…

At number 75, there was a split in the walkway. He paused at the intersection, took one of the torches from a holder. More racks lined the walls farther down. He leaned forward, his breath hitching in his throat. The rows went as far as he could see.

Say no to drugs. Be careful what you wish for. Don’t talk to strangers.

All that childhood advice, yet there he was, surrounded by dozens of undead, holding the defiled body of his former girlfriend and hoping like hell he was going to figure out a way to get home. After he found the crazy zombie-cult member he’d come with. That ring, still in the box but on his bedside table, made him a zombie-cult member too. But he’d think about, deal with, that later. For now, he had to find the old man.

Lifting the torch higher, he moved along the rows. Belmont tried to warn him, but he hadn’t really listened. After the shock of McKinon’s playroom, he’d been thinking there couldn’t be anything worse. This was worse.

Chapter Ten

“Be careful what you wish for.”

 

There were rows and rows of humans who’d agreed to be fucked and strangled and then put on tap for whenever those creatures decided to dust them off, bring them back to life, so they could use them again and again. No doubt being one of the undead sounded more exciting and sexier before seeing this, these rows of the bodies, unalive. Where should he put Rachelle? Simply cram her in somewhere? He continued, moving past row after row. No doubt the potential victims weren’t brought down here, shown this storehouse of death, and asked, “want to be one of these pieces of nothing?”

He held the light above the final body in the row. Was it a man? A woman? Shit. It could’ve been a teenager. Or someone’s mom. Someone’s wife. He felt his face crumble as he staggered backward, nearly dropping the torch.

What the hell had he been expecting? A gleaming science lab? A funhouse style set-up like McKinon’s? A single ice chest with one body—Mattie’s? Shit. There was no end to this tribe, this disgusting insanity he’d become part of.

No end to his own stupidity.

He swept his arm in a half circle, the flames dancing through the cool dank air. More rows stretched to the left, dark shelves stacked with numbered bodies. To the right was a curved hallway that narrowed as it bent, the way dotted with more torches. He went to the right, his steps silent and slow. More torches, but not more silence. Moans and scratching. He continued forward, stepping softly and listening. Belmont? That moody asshole. Had the old man lost his mind again?

The moans grew louder, more clear.

He followed a tight bend, then another and came out into the fully lit opening. The room had cheap wood paneling, overloaded cabinets on the walls. Several, tall candelabras filled the center of a square, wooden table in the middle of the opening.

Belmont was welding a knife and trying to pry open a wooden crate. The man was jamming the blade into any opening he could find, twisting, getting nowhere, then inserting the blade somewhere else. Over and over again, he stabbed at the box. Hayden tossed Rachelle onto the table, then went to him and put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. Shaking him, trying to snap the guy out of the trance he appeared to be in, he said, “Hey. Belmont.” Shaking him harder, he yelled, “Dude. Stop. You’re going to slice your hand open.”

Belmont continued jabbing at the crate, still getting nowhere.

Hayden grabbed both his shoulders and held. The man fought him for a minute, then stopped stabbing at the box. “Hayden. This has to be her. Has to be.”

He let go of the old man then sat in one of the chairs. He gestured to the bundle on the table. “That’s Rachelle. She’s turned.”

The knife hit to the floor. “They made you help?”

He’d gotten past being disturbed by the way Belmont always guessed right about these things.

“What the fuck, Guy. Seriously.” Hayden stretched his arms, flicked his wrists to indicate the room, pointed to the cabinets stacked with sinister looking bottles and draw-string bags. “Why do you give a shit about any of this? Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Belmont sniffed.

Hayden eyed the crate.

She could be in there.

The old man closed his eyes and started rocking side to side again, his mouth quivering, shoulders slumped. Hayden didn’t have the time, patience or interest to be sympathetic, but damn. He got up, circled the room, taking in the cabinets. The shelves were stacked with jars of loose tea and piles of mesh bags. There were also rows of small brown vials and some ominous black pint bottles. One cabinet held rows of clear bottles that looked like olive oil, but he knew what it really was. Or, to be more accurate, what it was for—and it wasn’t cooking. No telling what nasty magic they had poured in to those. Rolls of burlap leaned into one corner. The other corner had spare torches. “You’re an old man, Belmont. Stop fighting Bob. And Matthew. Go home. Live what’s left of your life doing… something… other than this.”

Belmont stopped rocking and started stabbing at the box. “Help me, Hayden. I think she’s in there.”

Mattie could be in there. Probably was.

“I want my wife back.” He jabbed at the box, the blade sinking into the wood but doing no real damage.

No fucking way. “Mattie was not your wife,” he said, holding in a scoff.

“Not Mattie.” Guy got up, threw the knife and started kicking the box. “Juliana.” His leg vibrated from the impact, and the box slid. “I want my wife back.”

Hayden worked through the maze in his mind, what the man meant, then how and why that’d happened. She must’ve been young, turned back when they both were young. The scenario was heinous, filled with terrible possibilities. Finally coming up with a guess, Hayden tried, “One of those dormants? The ones you had in your hotel?”

“Yes. My special ones.” He looked up, his old eyes watery and weak. “The ones you stole from me.” He sighed, ran his palm across the top of his head then kicked the box again. “They brought her friend Lila back, turned her, but not my Juliana.”

The ritual at The Southie.

The other one, under his bed.

“God damn.” Hayden paused his pacing and braced one hand against the rough wall. “Shit.”

“At least they let me help. Now I’ll know what to do when I get my Juliana back.”

He ignored the pang of guilt as he kept the truth to himself. “You think they’re going to give her to you? You think it’ll be that simple if you do get her back? Just like that?”

“It worked with Lila.” He glanced over and stared at Hayden. “You would’ve seen it yourself if you hadn’t run out of The Southie like a little pussy coward.”

Fucking asshole. Hayden dropped his hand and shrugged, started pacing again. That set-up upstairs must’ve been a lesson for the newly turned creature. He thought of Mattie’s aggressive approach. Matthew’s blatantly sexual one. That thing—what used to be Lila—had a lot to learn if she was going to make it as one of them.

Belmont watched Hayden’s expression change from confused to understanding and his own lightened. “You’ve seen her? Since the ritual?”

He’d done more than seen her, but what difference did that make? None. No point in filling the man in on all that. Hayden didn’t want to be around when Belmont started to understand what his precious wife was going to be like when—if—he ever got her back and turned her a second time. One way or the other it was going to ruin him even more than he was. “Yeah. I saw Lila. In Matthew’s cabin.”

“She okay?”

Hayden sat down again. “She’s… was active.” Until he’d dosed her anyway.

“Alive?”

“I guess. If you want to call it that,” he said, leaning back. No telling what was going to become of her—and Matthew—now.

He should tell him, about the one under his bed, of course he should. Had to tell him.

“That’s good. Hopeful.” Belmont reached for one of the candelabras, slid it closer, tapped the base with his fingers.

Hayden didn’t think it was hopeful. Not at all. “Do you know where Juliana is now?”

“No.” Belmont’s fingers stopped moving and he kicked the box. “That’s probably your bitch Mattie. In that fancy box.” He kicked it again. “I doubt they’d put my Juliana in a special box like that.”

No, they wouldn’t. They’d give her away as a fake thank you gift. But even though he should, after what the man had done for him, Hayden wasn’t ready to admit to the burlap beast tucked under his bed. Not until he’d figured out how to use it—her—to his best advantage. “Did you look through the stacks?”

He nodded.

“Did you see anything else down there? Anything informative?”

Belmont grabbed the base of the candle stick as he shook his head. “Just bodies. The wrong bodies.” Then, suddenly, the old man let go of the candle and pivoted, his eyes taking on that shrewd sharpness he’d seen before. “They don’t know she’s my wife. Don’t tell them.”

“I’m not telling them shit. Why would I do that? If you want her back so bad, what are you doing sitting here,” he spread his arms, gesturing toward the cabinets, two hallways, and the bundle on the table. “Doing nothing?”

Belmont got up, started looking in the cabinets. “There has to be a way to get this crate open. I want to see. I want to know if that’s my wife or not.”

“Jesus man. Get your shit together.” Hayden started looking for a bigger knife or anything else they could use to pry the box open. “How’d you get down here anyway?”

“I heard some of the others talking about me, about Bob.” He laughed, mostly to himself. “They think he’s in charge.” He laughed again. “If they only knew.” Still looking in the cabinets, he added, “They all think I’m just a useless idiot, so they just left me in one of the cabins. Told me to stay put until Matthew sent for me. I waited until they were gone, came down here.” He grabbed a roll of burlap, threw it. A pick ax slid out, hit the floor with a thump.

Hayden swept over, picked it up, went to the box and jabbed the point between the top and the edge.

Belmont went back to the crate, watching Hayden work. “I don’t care what they think. I wanted to look for Juliana.” He straightened, took a deep breath, seeming to steady himself as the wood started to creak from the pressure of the ax blade.

Hayden didn’t believe all of that. The man was always up to something. Moods swings, power plays, the guy couldn’t be trusted. But for once, Hayden had something on him. And not just something, but the thing.

The one thing.

Hayden put a hand on the top of the crate, the other on the pick. The wood squeaked as the metal rubbed against it. The nails also made noises as they started to give way. The gap he’d started grew. He repositioned the pick, then pressed again. The gap widened, and he could see the dark, burlap-wrapped body inside. The scent assailed him. Belmont grabbed the edge and yanked on the lid. Hayden went to the other end, began prying. The top was coming loose. With a final thrust down on the pick, the top popped open to reveal the thing inside.

Belmont leapt forward, pulled the fabric off its face.

Mattie.

Not Juliana.

He collapsed against the wall, buried his face in his liver-spotted hands. “Where is she? She isn’t here. Not here.” He waved to the hall. “I looked at all of them. She isn’t here.”

But Hayden wasn’t listening. He’d lifted Mattie out, was holding her in his arms, staring into her unfocused, glazed eyes. He shouldn’t have opened it. If he’d left her inside the box, not looked into her unseeing eyes, maybe he would have been able to leave her. To walk away. But now…  Now he needed to take back whet he’d done, reverse his part in what had happened to her.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Still holding Mattie, he went to Belmont. “You help me turn Mattie, I’ll give you your wife.”

Belmont eyed him, his eyelids tight and slited.

“I will.” Hayden lay Mattie on the table, pulled the burlap away from her torso to expose her breasts. He tugged on the bindings, his fingers brushing the cold skin.

“You know where my wife is?” Belmont asked, his tone skeptical.

Without looking up, he replied. “I do. I didn’t know I knew because I didn’t know you even had a wife.” He tugged on the burlap, pulling it down over Mattie’s mini-skirt. She looked smaller, less dangerous. Like a scary but cute action figure.

Belmont grabbed Hayden’s arm. Tugged to get his attention. “That doesn’t make sense.”

It was Hayden’s turn to laugh. “This is the first thing that does make sense, Belmont. It explains why you’ve been hanging around, acting like a pathetic idiot.”

The other man was still glowering.

“I know where your wife is. The minute Mattie is turned, I’ll take you to her.”

“She’s not here at the camp?” he said, letting go of Hayden’s arm.

“No, she isn’t.”

Belmont tapped the base of his right pinky with his left index finger. “You understand, you can’t lie to me.”

“I understand, and I’m not lying.” Hayden tugged the burlap out from beneath Mattie. “Take that cover off Rachelle. I have an idea for getting out of here.”

Belmont, still eyeing Hayden doubtfully, went after Rachelle. “So nasty,” he muttered staring down at her naked body.

“Like you have any concept of what’s nasty.” Hayden picked Rachelle up, dumped her into the crate. “Get the other end of the top.”

Together the two of them sealed her in, did what they could to get the lid secured.

Hayden wrapped Mattie in the bed cover. “Grab two of those bottles of oil, some ink, and follow me.”

 

* * *

 

Hours later, wet and chilled, Hayden climbed the three flights of stairs to his apartment, the bundle that was Mattie draped over his shoulder. Belmont trailed behind, complaining about his knees and asking what kind of shitty apartment building didn’t have an elevator. Once inside, Hayden went to the picture window, waved at the guard who’d taken the bribe to bring the two of them back. The guard nodded, turned his pony and then, trailing the two ponies they’d ridden, left. The first rays of dawn were reaching across the tops of the buildings, making the bottom layer of the night sky tinged with orange and pink.

“Does it matter where we do it?” Hayden went over to kick the door closed.

“Not really.” Belmont dropped himself into the chair. “You can set up the camera anywhere?”

“Yes.”

“Bedroom will look best, don’t you think?” Belmont curled his lips, then added, “Assuming you don’t have any of your dirty clothes scattered about.”

“I’m going to take you to your wife.” His back ached, his ass was sore, and he was not in the mood to deal with pathetic Belmont. “I’ve given you my word.”

“Why don’t you take me to her now?” he asked, rubbing his legs and grumbling.

“We made a deal, that’s why.” Hayden lay Mattie on the couch then started unlacing his boots.

“No wonder Bob likes you.”

“Fuck you.” He kicked the boots off. “I’m not like him.” He peeled the wet socks down, tossed them to the floor.

“Not yet, I suppose. But you have time and now, opportunity.” He used the armrest to get himself up on his feet then eyed the socks. “We were lucky to get out of there. And with our own clothes, oh, boy.”

Hayden rubbed the soles of his feet across the rug. A pins and needles sensations ignited his nerves, already simmering just from the thought of doing the ritual on Mattie. “Think I should write McKinon a thank you note for the 23UT?”

Belmont snorted, hobbling his way to the kitchen. “That loser. If he wasn’t so… interesting… Bob wouldn’t keep him around.” That was followed by the slam of the kitchen cabinets. “Fuck. There’s no coffee.” He came back out from behind the wall that separated the kitchen. “I’m going for coffee.” He pulled the door open. “How do you want yours? With or without cream?”

The guy was unbelievable, going for coffee now?

“You’re getting it like you’re getting it,” he grumbled, stepped out and shut the door.

Hayden picked Mattie up, took her to the bedroom, lay her out across the bed diagonally. Still was wrapped in the bedcover from Matthew’s bed. He bent down, pressed his nose to the fabric and pulled in a long, deep breath. Her scent, Matthew’s, the oil, other things, the smells flowed inside him, made his entire body come alive. Fear. Lust. Hunger. Despair. Those and others, nameless and compelling because without names to identify them he was lost to their power. There was no denying his need to resolve whatever power she had over him.

He took one more long breath and then forced himself to let go of the cover and get to work.

After moving the pile of books from the dresser to the nightstand, he set up his laptop on the dresser’s corner, then worked to get the camera angle right. He wanted Mattie’s body centered on the screen. Next, he checked the background. The ring box had to go. He pushed it off the nightstand, let it fall to the floor. The stack of books on the stand added a sophisticated air, so he kept them. A while back, his mom had given him a candle. He dug that out from one of his dresser drawers, got some matches from the kitchen and lit it. Then he stepped back to examine the scene as the live stream viewers would see it.

A bundle on the intriguing antique bed, a flickering candle, a stack of books...

Yes, it was just what he needed to capture the air of danger and intrigue.

After starting the live feed, he grabbed his phone, started doing posts announcing the livestream feed of the ritual. He started with the obvious hashtags, #sexcultzombie #livestream #ritual, then added ones for The Weekly, and McKinon and his movie and a bunch of other random ones he thought might do the trick. How many people had to log on? Was a virtual audience even going to provide enough sexual energy?

Viewers started to log on. Some posted questions, more just waited, watching for the promised sex zombie ritual to begin.

The door banged open, slammed shut.

Belmont appeared in the bedroom doorway holding one tiny cup of coffee aloft. “I hate those places. Look at the size of this.” He tipped it upside down. “Gone. Already. Three gulps for four dollars.”

Done bouncing between media platforms and posting, Hayden turned the ringer off his phone then set it on the dresser. “Fuck off with the coffee.”

“Glad you feel that way because I didn’t get you any.” The old man tossed the empty cup into the waste basket. “That thing on?”

Hayden nodded. “Just the video. Not the sound.”

After Belmont checked the screen, he pulled one of the bed pillows to the side because it was partially blocking the view. “Good idea about the sound. Listening to us talking probably would not make for exciting viewing.”

The compliment caught Hayden’s attention. “Thanks.” He got up, looked down at the wrapped bundle that was Mattie. “You really think its going to work?”

“Don’t know about this livestream thing, but an audience is an audience I guess.” The old man took the pilfered bottle of oil from his coat, set it on the nightstand next to the books. “If the virtual audience is good enough, it’s going to work.” He pulled back enough of the burlap to see the tangles of her hair, then looked over at Hayden. “I get it. Why you want to do this.”

“I need to.”

He covered her face. “You want to.”

He did. It was true. Fucked up as it was.

Belmont climbed onto the bed, motioned for Hayden to do the same. “You take the top. I’ll take the bottom.”

Once they were both on, Hayden grabbed the oil, set it beside him, then began unwrapping the cover. He touched the tangles of her hair, fingering the strands gently for the first time. He pulled back more to expose her face. Her eyes, grey and unfocused started at the ceiling.

He thought of the bodies in the crypt. Dozens of people who’d given up their lives, their souls, for something more than being human. A life without fear, maybe? A life where you were always in control? Got to take whatever you wanted?

No. That was a lie.

He traced her jaw with his fingertips, ran one across her cold lips. The touch of a human hand, what she needed to come back. He bent down, pressed his lips to her forehead. After tossing the cork aside, he poured some oil into his palm, applied it to the side of her neck, smoothed it under her chin and gently across her face.

Belmont had unwrapped her legs and was running his hands over her calves, the tattered fishnets rippling over her skin. Hayden drew back more of the cover. The red bindings were twisted around her breasts. He tugged the wool down, then drizzled oil across her skin, massaged it in. Moving consistently, he went to her stomach, rubbed the oil across her pale skin. The gentle, slow caress was completely new, completely different from the last time they’d been together.

The skin of his palms was beginning to heat, the first effects of the oil on him. He looked up, “Open the window.”

The bed shifted as Belmont climbed off, bounced when he got back on.

The chill of the night drifted in, floating above the bed, cooling the surface of Hayden’s skin, but deep inside he felt the warmth, seeping into his muscles, making his blood stir. A new fervor made itself known, a sensation inside him but not of him. Hayden lifted the hem of Mattie’s skirt, grabbed at her thighs, smeared them with the oil from his palms then went back for the bottle. He held the bottle above her crotch, poured the oil over her bare pussy, across the patch of bare skin above her tights. Hands beginning to shake, fingers beginning to twitch, he rubbed the oil in, pinching her skin now, kneading it with firm pressure. He picked up the bottle, crawled over her, poured the oil over the tights, rubbing it in, feeling the edges of the rough black netting under his palms.

Once her front was complete, he set the bottle on the nightstand, put his mouth on hers and then filled her lungs with his air. Each time he breathed into her, her chest rose, reminding him of how strong and powerful she was and would be again.

The oil was really working on him now. But this time he knew what to expect, understood where the hostility inside him was coming from. This time he would use the emotion, harness it and direct all its energy into Mattie. Hayden worked steadily, breathing into her with a rhythm synced to the beat of his heart.

“We need to turn her over.”

It was Belmont. He’d forgotten about the other man.

“Hayden.” The old man was already lifting Mattie’s arm, preparing to turn her over. “Now.”

Hayden crawled backwards, watched while Belmont rolled her over onto her stomach, then got off the bed to get the bottle of ink from his coat pocket. He twisted off the top. “Shit. How are we going to ink her?

Too far gone to understand what Belmont was saying, Hayden sat staring at the man.

“Get me a knife.” He jabbed at her spine. “Get me a knife. Now.”

Hayden slid off the bed, ran to the kitchen, came back with a steak knife and handed it to Belmont. Immediately, Belmont started stabbing Mattie’s spine. Once he had a row of tiny holes, he dipped the knife into the jar and then went back to her spine. Back and forth he went, adding more ink to the row she already had. His application wasn’t artful, but it was quick.

“What else?” Hayden asked. “What else is there.”

“Nothing. Just this.”

Chapter Eleven

“I’m not like him.”

 

“But I—”

“Ran out of the bar. We don’t need to go over that again.” Belmont’s hand was a blur, tapping the tiny holes into the dimpled skin along Mattie’s spine. “She’ll either make the turn, or she won’t.” He continued applying the ink with steady pokes.

The air from outside had filled the room. It had started to snow, and the flurries were coming in, collecting on the window ledge and drifting down to dot the bed. Hayden rolled back onto his heels, watched the clouds of his breath float over the body, noted that he didn’t feel cold. He was burning, the blood in his veins cursing through with such a force it felt as though his veins could pop. The twitching of his skin was visible, tiny puckers appearing than vanishing, showing up somewhere else.

“Oil her back.”

It was Belmont again, breaking through the intense haze.

“Her back, her ass. Get the oil.”

Hayden grabbed the bottle, poured some directly on to Mattie’s solid back. Avoiding the spine, to stay out of Belmont’s way, he rubbed the oil up and down. He climbed off the bed, swung around the did her ass then the backs of her legs. It was difficult though; his hands were shaking.

“That’s enough,” Belmont said, then shoved Hayden off the lower part of the bed. After setting the bottle on the nightstand, he got on and sat near the headboard.

He groaned, flexed the muscles in his thighs, then rolled his shoulders back. Using all his will, he resisted grabbing his crotch to massage his cock through his pants. The light on his laptop continued to blink. The livestream was rolling, the audience continuing to watch. It had to be enough. He needed it to be enough.

Belmont slowed and looked up. “It’s taking too long, I—”

The muscles of her back rippled.

“Is she moving?” The old man jabbed her again. “Did she move?”

Belmont continued jabbing at her spine, went back for more ink and poked at her again.

Hayden put his hand on her shoulder. It was cool but vibrating. “I think so.”

Belmont paused, watching, but she remained still. He went back to dip the knife again, but Mattie’s leg swung to the side, sending the bottle to the floor. Her hands slid upward, stopped by her ribcage and then she pushed herself up, throwing her head back with a bottomless, teeth gnashed, growl.

Belmont threw the knife, scrambled off the bed, then stood by the door. “Deal’s a deal, Hayden.”

Mattie growled again, shaking her head, making the tangles of hair smack her face. The cords in her neck stuck out, pulling taut as she tossed her head side to side. Her whole body began to quiver, her breasts shook as she threw herself side to side, her spine curving backward.

“Take me to my wife,” Belmont said, loud enough to be heard over the hissing and growling.

Hayden crawled backward, pressed himself against the headboard. The mixture of fear and need was becoming still more intense, and he was fighting urges he didn’t understand. Instinctively, he knew that she would know what he needed. She alone could release the pressure mounting inside him.

Mattie, now crouched on all fours, stared at him with glittering green eyes.

Banging his fist on the wall, Belmont yelled, “You have your monster back, Hayden. Take me to Juliana.”

“She’s—she’s—she’s—” The oil was reaching full impact. Hayden had little control or rational thought.

“Now!” Belmont barked, his face hard, eyes even harder.

Hayden finally forced the words out of his trembling throat. “She’s under the bed.”

It was Belmont’s turn to stare, speechless and stunned.

His arm cocked at an odd angle, Hayden pointed downward. “This bed. She’s under this bed.”

Belmont dove to the floor, lifted the bed skirt, then exhaled a long sob. He reached under, pulling out the bundle in one sweep, then tugged back the plastic sheeting and burlap to look into its eyes. “She’s mine, finally she’s mine.” He grabbed the other bottle of oil and picked up the jar of ink. Some black liquid had spilled onto the floor, so he started pinching it with his fingers, trying to put some back into the small bottle.

Mattie was rocking back and forth, her spine quirking side to side, her hips shaking. “Hello Hayden.” She looked around, her bright eyes flashing in the darkness. “How sweet to be in your bed this time.”

She began running her hands over her body, her fingers gliding over the bindings. “Is your girlfriend hiding somewhere? Ready to slither over and strangle me again?” She dropped her hands, bared her teeth, then exhaled a guttural growl.

From the corner of his eyes, Hayden saw Belmont set the bottles in the hall, then slide the bundle across the floor and through the door. Then the old man reached up to snatch the laptop, livefeed still running, and was gone.

And Hayden was alone with her.

It.

She rocked forward, arm muscles twitching, eyes flashing the deepest green. “Is it just you and me?”

Her scent had enveloped him now, coated his skin, lined the insides of his nostrils. The saliva came, sharp as always, make him open his mouth and wince from the pain.

“Well?”

“It is. Just us” He reached down, attempting to unbuckle his belt.

“How totally sweet.” She grabbed his hand, squeezed his fingers. “But a lie. I know you didn’t bring me back by yourself.”

“Belmont.” Tugging proved useless, her grip was too tight.

“That old man doesn’t have enough sexual energy to turn a mouse.”

His cock was fully erect now, pressing into the zipper. “We livestreamed it.”

“Yes, of course. For Bob? For your paper? A clever solution, Hayden. Very clever. Helps me. Helps you too, doesn’t it?” She let go of his hand, rose up on her knees and looked around. “Where is Belmont now?”

“Left.” He freed his belt buckle, started on his zipper.

“Not like him at all.” As though she was trying to find herself again, she shimmied her breasts and rocked her hips back and forth. “Why didn’t he stay for the show?”

After her breasts stopped bouncing, he replied. “I gave him is dormant back.”

She stopped moving, bent low and looked into his eyes. There was no defense, if he’d done the wrong thing. He lay there, heart-pounding, mind blank. Inch by inch, she leaned back.

The snow outside had intensified, coming into the room faster and thicker. Behind her, the thick flakes floated in, over the bed. Some stuck in her hair. Some landed on his legs. Others swirled above, turning into bright points when the moonlight reflected off them.

Something close to a smile moved over her mouth as her eyebrows rose. She grabbed his hands again, stopped him from undressing. “The precious Juliana?”

Fear passed and was replaced by frustration. Yet another layer of deception. Or was it simply a secret? “You knew that was his wife?”

She yanked down the waistband of his jeans. “What of the very special Lila?”

How special was Lila to Mattie?

That probably mattered. But his dick was almost free, and her pussy was so, so close. He needed her possession. Ached for it. His body was begging for the fiery, soul-stealing release. “She’s… at the camp.”

“Who cares about that tag-a-long nothing.” She backed up, grabbed Hayden’s legs and pulled until he was beneath her.

Again, he tried to get his cock out, but again she stopped him. She shoved his hands out of the way, then yanked at the legs of his pants until they were completely off. Finally, his cock was free, and she was poised above him. No more waiting.

Now. Fuck me now.

But instead of thrusting down, sheathing him with her cool pussy, she glared at him with glittering emerald eyes. “You want to know if this time, it’ll be the last time.”

“I brought you back,” he said. Why did it sound so lame? As though it had been his duty, rather than his choice? “We’re even now,” he added, aware of how ridiculous that sounded. He was pinned beneath her, cock ready, nearly begging to be fucked. She could do anything to him and they both knew it.

She grabbed his cock, wrapped her chilly hand around the shaft. The caress was something, but not enough. He wanted it all. Her wanted her.

“So, you think I’m not going to kill you?” she said. “That I’m not going to turn you into something… ugly.”

All Hayden wanted was sex. Not this conversation. His mind began to fight against him. Flipping thoughts though, teasing him. He heard the growls and hisses of things in McKinon’s cages. Felt the softness of Rachelle’s neck under his hands. “We’re even,” he said again, managing to not look at the box on the floor. “You aren’t the only one with friends.”

“Yes, of course.” She squeezed his cock, the pressure near pain. “Bob Keeler. Man in high places.”

The cool of her hand, the heat radiating from deep inside his body, the need to fuck her, the want to understand her… he was never going to be done. He knew that now. Accepted it. He grabbed her hips as he lifted his own, forcing her to let go and give him access. Finally, she dropped down, and he was fully inside her.

She possessed him. Owned him. And he’d give her whatever she needed. And also, what she wanted. Hayden bucked his hips, rocking until he matched her rhythm. The fall into abyss was smooth and effortless, the reward excruciating perfection. There was no conscious effort, only movement, and an out of body reality that was so true it made him never want to come back.

“Good boy, that’s right.” From a different woman the words would’ve been encouragement, a compliment if even a condensing one. From here they were a threat. A message. Be good—or else.

He willingly heeded the threat, pumping his hips upward each time she thrust down, driving his cock all the way in, so far, so deep. The coils of tension stung as they tightened even more, his nerve endings on fire. The edges of his own thoughts were well and truly vanished, the boundaries of himself disappearing. They had become one. No, he had become a part of her.

Still holding her hips, he gradually increased his speed. She dropped down and placed her hands on either side of his head. The peaked tips of her breasts grazed his chin, the sensitive points a remnant of her humanity, the chill of them a reminder that she no longer was.

Yet still, he pistoned into her, quickening his pace, fueled by darkness, energized by her icy control. She responded lifting her body back upright and riding him. She matched his speed and ground into him, squeezing her wet pussy around his cock. The first loops of his release were taking hold, far inside him. The chill from her body enveloped him, and he breathed it, and the bitter iron smell, deep into his lungs.

She was grunting, pounding into him.

He was holding her and taking her abuse.

The loops widened, crawling through his body, gnawing at his muscles, eating at his soul. There was no coming back. As his orgasm took hold, he knew, he was one step closer to death, to a soulless existence. But it was too late. The fierce pleasure was through him, her cold pussy walls convulsing, squeezing the hot cum from his cock. The sounds of his own groans echoed in his ears, surrounded him. She too was at the end, growling, and hissing as her body stiffened and twitched. The muscles in her arms tensed and tightened around his head. She grabbed at him, her arms circled his head, moving down to his neck.

He gasped for air, fought to get his hand in between her arm and his neck. Using all his strength, he pulled down, gave himself some space to breath. Air wisped in, just enough to keep him conscious. He kept pulling, finally managed to get her arm away from his neck.

She was laughing, the sound at odds with the hard expression of concentration and anguish on her face. “Take it easy, Hayden. I’m not going to strangle you.”

He coughed. “You were strangling me.”

“Whatever.” She swung off him, went to the window.

His heart was still hammering, his blood still burning, but that insatiable hunger, the hideous need, had faded, leaving behind a residue of shame. Would he have done that if it hadn’t been for the oil? He wanted to think no, but the answer was mostly likely yes, he still would have done it.

Face still toward the window, she asked, “Tell me what you and Belmont have been up to.”

Hayden stayed silence, trying to decide the negative consequences of telling her. She’d discover what he’d done to Matthew and Lila, find out about Rachelle, she already knew about Juliana and Lila. No need to tell her about McKinon… or Bob. Or the ring.

“I know you’re hiding something, Hayden. I can feel it.”

She came back to the bed. Her eyes, with the green gone for now, were guarded but not wrathful. Skipping the part about the 23UT, he told her about turning Rachelle, taking her body to the crypt and swapping her body for Rachelle’s. It hadn’t been hard, figuring out which guard to bribe.

“Matthew doesn’t know his own guards.” After a pause, she asked, “What did you bribe them with?”

He looked away, then realized his error.

“You might as well tell me. I’m going to find out anyway.”

He told her about McKinon and the playroom and the 23UT.

She got up and left the bedroom. After wrapping the cover around himself, he followed her to the front room. No sign of Belmont.

Mattie was at the window, looking out at the black night, the snow, the ice. She had her hands to the glass. There probably wasn’t a guard out there this time, but if Matthew did come to, this apartment would be the first place he’d look. If he looked.

“I don’t know how long it lasts,” he said, coming further into the front room.

She put her fingertips on the glass. “Or if it ends.”

“Right.” He sat on the armrest of the chair.

She dragged her hand down the pane, leaving a series of trail marks on the glass, like someone from outside was trying to get in.

“If I hadn’t dosed Matthew… ” He wasn’t sorry, and he’d do it again. Matthew was a disgusting motherfucker. Lila was a case of wrong place, wrong time. Rachelle. She got what she asked for.

“You did what you did, Hayden,” she replied, putting her other hand on the glass and making another trail with her fingers.

“What happens to you, if he doesn’t… wake up?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He did. He did want to know. But he wasn’t going to ask a second time and he needed to let go. “This is good-bye for us.”

“Oh sure,” she said, still staring out the window.

Now? What for him?

He went back his bedroom, grabbed his phone.

Five texts from Bob, each more excited that the one before. The livestream with the Zombie Rites tie in, he loved it. The guy was ecstatic about the brilliant concept and outrageous execution, but Hayden didn’t care so much about all of that. It was the last, final message that had his full attention. That was the one that promised delivery on the job.

Hayden was headed to The Globe.

He was standing with his fingers poised over the phone, crafting the perfect text in his mind, when he heard several thumps and a metallic clank sound come from the bathroom. She was leaving without saying good-bye.

He should be glad.

But he tossed his phone onto his bed, then ran to the bathroom. The window had been pried open. Wind and snow blew in, chilling the air already. Chunks of ice covered the ledge where she’d climbed out. A smudge of dirt from her boot was on the wall—right next to the toilet, which now had the cover taken off.

The top of a plastic zipper style bag poked up above the water line.

Holy shit. Belmont’s research. It had been right there. Damn she—it—was crafty.

Hayden pulled the bag out, dried it off, then took it to his front room and shook the contents out onto the floor. Sketches, hand-written notes, and the thumb drive. All right there.

Chapter Twelve

“This is good-bye for us.”

 

Wanting to savor the moment, Hayden paused outside and gazed up at the wide, gleaming building. Rows of windows, intriguing architectural details. It wasn’t old-school Boston like Bob’s building, but it was impressive. It represented the power of the press, not the power of secrets and conspiracies and cover-ups. Truth mattered and reporters, real reporters, had power. The power to make a difference. The power to transform lives. That hadn’t changed.

And he’d arrived.

It wasn’t likely that he’d have an office, hell he’d be lucky if he had a desk, but he didn’t care. This was his moment, what he’d worked for, what he’d nearly traded his soul for. Nothing was in his way. That tabloid was all in the past. No more shit stories. No more assholes. Bob had promised him, only high exposure pieces. He’d promised himself, only a decent life.

His phone buzzed. Bob?

No, it was Belmont, assuring Hayden that he’d get his laptop back as soon as the old man’s newly turned wife gave him a break. Then the old man went on to explain what he meant by that, disgusting old guy that he was.

Ugh. Hayden tucked his phone back into his pocket.

The sunlight from the cloudless sky streamed over his face, warming his cheeks. No wind. No ice. Just crisp sun. The soft piles of snow were melting, edges softening to create shapeless lumps lining the road. Congress Street was alive. Cars zoomed past. Buses and trucks rumbled by. The city hummed as though that storm had never happened. Hayden moved his gaze, traced the edges of the roofline, checked around the top floor windows. All clear. Nobody—nothing—would get in his way. Not then. Not ever again.

He’d learned his lesson.

He smoothed back his hair, adjusted the collar of his light-blue button down, then straightened his back. After he hiked his bag up onto his shoulder, he headed for the door. It swung open on smooth hinges. As the door was gliding shut behind him, he decided right then—he was going to continue the Pulitzer tradition at the newspaper. He’d start checking his Twitter feed, watch for the next big thing. Maybe he should try 4chan. Tap into the subversive subcultures that never get any exposure at all. He’d find his niche. Make it big. Not just for him, but the paper too.

The elevator door opened just as he was approaching, as though his arrival had been perfectly timed by unseen forces. If he believed in karma, he would’ve taken that as some sort of sign. But he didn’t have faith in things that couldn’t be seen. He didn’t want to put his future in the hands of some hopeful idea, so he took the welcoming door as his due and slipped inside, hit the button for the top floor and positioned himself in the center. The car stopped a few times, letting people on, lettings people off. Nobody even looked at him, but within a couple weeks, he’d be exchanging hellos to some of them. Finally, the doors spread wide, he got out, strutted down the hall and rapped on the door centered on its end.

Perfect.

It was all perfect.

His exchange with the administrative assistant was quick and efficient. The red-haired man took his coat, dropped it over a chrome coatrack tucked tastefully into a corner. Time spent in the waiting room: not long enough to get distracted by his phone.

That was perfect too.

The assistant escorted him to his new boss’ office and motioned for him to sit in one of the sleek chairs positioned across from a mid-century desk. Gladly, he did what he was told. Elizabeth Hume, businesslike in her bright red suit jacket and plaid pants scooted out of her imposing chair to circle the desk. She propped her narrow hip on the side closet to Hayden and stared down at him with long-lashed, brown eyes. He waited, watching for an outstretched hand that never came. Instead of being welcoming in the traditional sense, she folded her arms below her narrow chest and looked down at him over the top of her reading glasses. The few stray hairs framing her 40-something face would’ve looked sexy if he’d had a mind to think about them. He didn’t. A man with a mission shouldn’t let himself be distracted. And—he’d had enough sex and sexy to last him a long, long while.

“Hayden Buchanan Thomas. Wonderkid. Let me get a good look at you.” She slipped the glasses off and tossed them onto her desk. She took her time, looking him over, letting her gaze linger on his thighs, creep up to his neck until finally settling on his eyes. “I hear you had quite an adventure.”

“I—I—” Hayden cleared his throat, glanced behind her at the late afternoon skyline. The sun, hanging low over the horizon, cast an orange hue over the buildings. Beautiful. Now calm. “It was what it was,” he finally managed, lifting his open palm and trying for a casual air. He tugged on the collar of this button down, loosening it until he spotted the careful way she was following his hand. “In the end,” he added, emphasizing the word end, “I was glad to deliver for the readers of that paper,” he said, again adding emphasis to be sure she understood he knew her paper wasn’t anything like Bob’s rag.

“Glad to hear you understand the importance of delivery.”

He nodded and murmured, “Mm, hum, yeah.” Trying to recover from his sudden awkwardness, he attempted a clearer tone, “Yes, of course. I’m ready to get started with you—your paper.”

She scooted close enough to set her hand on Hayden’s shoulder. “That’s good. We should talk about your new position and you need to think about your first assignment.”

Some ideas were already forming in the back of his mind. The upcoming election? The controversial zoning proposals that were slated to be on ballot? He swallowed and watched her slowly, maybe reluctantly, pull her hand away. Maybe he wouldn’t mention the sexual assault allegations he’d heard were about to come to light on one of the local college campuses. While in grad school, he’d done a series on the higher education financial aid crisis plaguing community colleges. He could suggest that and impress her with a quick turnaround time. The research was still in his laptop and the contacts still in his phone.

“I know you’re going to love what I have in mind for you,” she said, giving his shoulder a gentle massage,

“Great,” he said, pretending to not notice the way her hand was digging into his muscles or exploring the curves of his shoulder. “Lay it on me.”

She gave his crotch a pointed look, her lips quirking. “How about I just tell you about the project?” She laughed, a sexy, open-mouthed red lipstick laugh that lasted so long that Hayden had begun to wonder if she’d been expecting him to chuckle too.

“Yeah. Right. Okay.” Fuck. He sounded like an intern. “Of course. Whatever you’d like me to do.”

Thankfully, she dropped the sex kitten act and went back around to her chair. She rolled it forward, set her elbows on the glass top and leaned in. “You are going to be the senior editor for our new feature.”

Senior editor. Good. Feature. Bad. “Thank you. I appreciate your confidence in me.”

“Thank Bob.” Her tone had an edge and she looked away, frowning.

She seemed to be waiting for something, so Hayden nodded. “I’ll do that. For sure.” Again, he winced inwardly. Why was he acting so stupid? Nerves? That made no sense. He’d earned this job. He was ready.

When she spoke again, the edge was even sharper. “After you thank Bob, forget Bob.”

“Oh, okay.” He didn’t think she was thinking about his new position or his job qualifications.

“Good. That’s settled.” A smile flashed across her lips. “No doubt you are aware that print media,” she paused and pulled her glossy mouth into a frown. “is in a downward tailspin. Readers—no offense—don’t care about quality writing or actual news. They reply on Twitter for the minute by minute and CNN for the drone-on drama.”

The bottom of Hayden’s stomach dropped, but he nodded.

“Whether we want to, or not,” she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, “we have to adjust.”

Hayden nodded again, that sick feeling getter sicker as he noticed that gesture was the exact same one Rachelle had used when she was about to condescend. Criticize. Back then he’d thought she was entitled, after all, her family was old money Boston.

“Hayden? You still with me?” Elizabeth patted his wrist with a vague smile. “This is an exciting opportunity. I know you’re so, so ready to get started. And we—I—appreciate that.” She moved back, the faux gentleness gone as she once again folded her arms. “Monetized content. That’s the new trend. That’s where you come in.”

The gut drop was nothing compared to the all-around queasy feeling now spiraling through him. He didn’t want to be monetized. He wanted to be notarized.

“Your first task will be to come up with a title for the feature. Paranormal Patterings. That’s what the focus group came up with. But they were all over 60, just there for the free lunch.” She scoffed. “Personally, I think that sounds ridiculous. My favorite, Night Bumps.” That was followed by a shrug that was obviously intended to be cute. “But you have the experience, so you come up with the name.”

“You want me to cover… ”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Not just zombies. We think it’ll be best to shut that down for a bit. Let that all cool off. You understand?”

Again, she seemed to be waiting, so he nodded his agreement.

“We want you to go in a different direction.” She tapped her dark grey fingernails on the glass. “I heard a guy is making a documentary about a possessed house in Watertown. I heard HBO tried to get the rights to the story but this unknown, mystery director paid cash for the house. The owners moved to Houston. I bet you could track them down. Dig up their story. See what’s going on. Is it a hoax?” She stopped tapping, propped her hands up on the armrests. “What if the family made the whole thing up? Just to unload the house to the highest bidder?”

Hayden tried to nod, but his neck was too stiff with tension. “A real scam.” As he said it, he thought about Bob and how that thank you may not be coming after all.

“A total scam. Exactly!” She choked out another series of scoffs. “We know it’s not real. And you could dig that all up. Toss in some sex, like you did with the zombies. Crass as it was, people did love it. Bob showed me the numbers. Numbers don’t lie.”

“No, I guess they don’t.” But people did.

“So. You have the idea of what I’m after?”

“Yes. I guess I do.”

“Just to let you know, we keep a closer eye on things here.” She picked up her glasses and waved them at him. “That means no unexpected livestreams. No wild stunts.” She set the glasses back down. “Understand?”

Oh yes. He understood.

He also understood that just maybe he didn’t have to take this job.

She shoved her chair back, the wheels gliding silently on the wood floor. Once she was on her feet, she started walking to the door, a clear indication the meeting was seconds from ending. “Darrel out there will help you with your paperwork, give you a company laptop and phone.” She swung the door open, paused as she leaned into it. “Features writers don’t need offices, you wouldn’t even want one if it was offered. Would you?” She ushered him out into the ante room, pausing with one hand on the door, the other out stretched.

The handshake, finally. Hayden reached forward, offering his own hand, and that’s when he saw the gold pinky ring on her right hand. When his hand hid it, the tips of fingers brushed against the cool, hard, metal, sending a cold, hard shiver down his spine.

Once you’re in, you’re in.

“Guess that’s it for now,” she said, tugging her hand from his lingering grip.

He backed up. “Yes. I suppose so.”

The assistant took Hayden’s coat from the rack, held it out. “I’ll take you down for the paperwork.”

“Sure.” He took the coat. “There a restroom around first? I need a minute to, to… ”

Get my shit together.

“Down that hall,” he said, pointing back the way Hayden had come. “Past the elevator and around the corner. It’s kind of crappy, but it’s the only one on this floor. Only one you can use, anyway.”

“Cool.” Needing something to do with his hands, he tossed his coat over his shoulder. “Back in a minute.”

Not caring that he was being told to use some kind of second-rate restroom, Hayden got the hell out of the room and out into he hall where he could let his face go.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Once you’re in, you’re in.

Damn.

After bending around the corner, he spotted the narrow door marked restroom, shoved his way through it and went straight to the small white enamel sink. It was stained by some kind of brown mold, and the mirror above it was chipped. The walls of the entire room were beat up tile. It was like a high school shower room. The toilet was running, gurgling water constantly. An icy draft was making the entire room cold. Darrel was wrong. It wasn’t just crappy, the room was borderline disgusting. Guess it was fitting for the new paranormal feature editor. Maybe he should check it for ghosts or demons. Do his first feature on it.

Shit.

He tossed his coat over the stall door, flipped on the cold water, cupped his hands under the spout to let it chill his palms. Once his hands were numb, he splashed the cold water across his face. Doubtful he could wash away the shock, but maybe he could freeze his face enough to keep it from showing.

“Too much excitement. Hayden? The first day too much for you?”

Hayden swiped the water off his eyelids. “I said good-bye, Mattie. I meant it.”

“Oh, I know you meant it.”

“I did. Seems to me you should have something better to do.”

She shoved herself between him and the sink, then sat on the edge of it. “Thanks for worrying about my schedule. I appreciate it.”

He took a step back.

“What’s the matter, Hayden? Can’t deal with how deep you’re in?”

He crossed his arms, trying to protect himself from everything she aroused in him, everything she did to him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She laughed as she grabbed the waistband of his pants, yanked him to her. “I don’t know? It’s you that doesn’t know.”

He tried to pull her hands away, but her grip was too strong.

“You’re in deep, Hayden.” Leaning in so that he could feel the chill radiating from her skin “Very, very deep.”

She was right about that. Stuck working for another one of Bob’s cult groupies, writing junk. Elevated junk, but still junk.

“Do you like her?” Mattie started swinging her legs, kicking him gently in the shins.

“Who?” But he knew she meant Elizabeth, his new boss. One of Bob’s weirdo pals.

“Yes, her.” She stopped kicking. “The Mistress.” She put her cold finger on Hayden’s lips. “Looks like you didn’t know. You thought Bob was the one pulling all the strings?” She laughed. “Get ready to dance puppet. The show is just starting.”

“I—I—”

“You want to say thank you for that little piece of intel?” She shoved him backward. “I may come back later and let you thank me.”

And then she jumped off the sink, skittered to the window, and disappeared into the bright, white of the winter morning.

About the Author

 

Isabelle Drake got her start writing confession stories for pulp magazines like True Confessions and True Love. Since publishing those first few stories she has written in multiple genres, earned an MFA in Creative Writing and became an English & Writing Professor.

When away from her keyboard, she watches films, especially classic noir, horror and romance, and reads (of course). An avid traveler, she’ll go just about anywhere—at least once—to meet people and get ideas.

Find Isabelle as Isabelle Drake on Facebook, Youtube and Goodreads & @isabelledrake on Instagram, Twitter and Tumblr & isadrake on Snapchat.

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