The Fallen (A Sons of Wrath Prequel) (13 page)

“Dirty fucking girl.” His whisper in her ear cast a shiver and another pulse beat through her core. “So goddamn wet.”

It was true. She shamelessly milked his fingers with every tiny contraction.

A deep, masculine growl of satisfaction rolled in his chest and tickled Karinna’s stomach. “You taste like ecstasy.”

“Do you plan to hurt me?” She hated the pathetic tone of her voice, but she needed something to temper what he’d just done. The ice cube trick seemed a clever way to fuck with her, but didn’t exactly heighten her lust for vengeance.

“Yep,” he answered. A twist of her nipple had her back arching, binds pulling tight. “Pain is your mind’s way of protecting your body. Do exactly as I tell you, and I won’t harm your body, so let your mind relinquish the pain.”

Her mouth fell open. Thighs desperate to come together and stamp out the burgeoning heat between them. He released her nipple and the pressure lifted from the bed. He fumbled with something across the room.

A low humming sounded beside her. As if he’d turned on a machine. An electrical impulse?

A smooth object with rounded edges tickled her thigh and heat spread out.

Hands gripping fabric. Tearing. Laughter. Touch. Heat. Legs bound.

Not again
.

She refused to let him weaken her twice. In spite of the inexplicable images plaguing her thoughts, Karinna pushed back into the headboard, fighting it. The tickling of the machine reached deep inside as visions of hands gripping and groping her spread like a disease, killing her ability to slip inside the part of her mind that would shield her from his torment.

Xander didn’t stop.

The sensation had her head slamming into the pillow. Higher, he climbed. The edge coming into focus, the closer he moved toward her core. “No,” she breathed.

“Don’t fight me. You will not win.”

She thrashed her body, pushing her hips upward only to have them forced back against the bed.

Her mind and her body clashed—one trying to convince her through random flashing scenes that whatever Xander did to her was wrong. Her body vehemently disagreed. She convulsed on the bed like a woman possessed. Tormented. Split in two.

Let it go, Karinna
. Lita’s voice seemed to reach inside her head.
You enjoy his torment. Surrender to it.

And just like that, the second orgasm in a matter of thirty minutes had her stomach spasming, thighs flexing, and head rolling against the pillow.

He never even penetrated her with the toy.

“Fuck you!” she cried out, hips thrust upward, knees together, before she slammed her bottom back against the bed. She groaned and growled. “Fuck you.” The fire died out that time, the riot inside of her, fizzling with each deep breath.

“My name is Xander. When I give you an orgasm, I want you to call out
my
name. Is that clear?”

Xander. Orgasm. Clear.

I like his name
, Lolita’s voice chimed again. As if she could hear her laughter, the thought grated on Karinna’s nerves.
Admit it, sister, that was hot. You loved every minute of it.

Unable to formulate a single word, she nodded, head spinning, dizzy, mentally willing him to put the toy away for fear she’d do the unthinkable and come a third time.

What is wrong with me?

Traitor and whore flashed like a marquee behind her eyelids. She’d always hated being tickled. Hated the sensation of someone touching her that way. Yet, that very hatred just hit her with the most powerful orgasm she’d ever had. Like he’d opened a very dark and wicked box buried deep inside of her.

Weak. Broken.

Not me
.

Except, a part of her felt like she’d conquered something. What, though?

He removed her blindfold and released her binds. “
Give
and take.”

At the click of the door, she buried her head in the pillows and allowed the shame to fully consume her.

***

The white masks closed in. Hands reached out, and Karinna’s heart, gripped with fear, pounded against her chest. Their laughter filled the abandonment as hands pulled at her clothes, tearing them away from her body.

None of them stood out—like emotionless clones, they wore the white larva mask and never spoke a word.

Her breasts jostled loose from the bra, and the groping and pinching had her crying out in panic. Pressure against her flailing arms and legs forced her still, and the first man entered her, railing into her with such force and hatred. She screamed at the invasion, the perversion of her body into nothing more than a hole to bury their lecherous desires.

The laughter became familiar. It betrayed every bit of trust.

Oh, God.

She recognized the man behind the mask.

Karinna shot up in bed, the scream ripping from her throat. Her body trembled, hands sifting through long strands of hair at either side of her head. Sobs broke free from her chest—gut-wrenching, painful sobs that left her curling in on herself.

As she pulled the covers up to her face, a flicker on the ceiling caught her eye.

Two silver specks, like eyes watching her in the darkness, peered down at her. She sucked in a breath and ducked beneath the covers like a child. Peeking through a gap showed the specks had disappeared, though an object seized her attention. Karinna threw back the covers, eyes scanning the ceiling, and crawled across the bed, stepping onto the wooden floor.

She padded across the room to where the object had fallen.

A feather.

CHAPTER 12

“I want you to take down his club.”

Xander’s eyes locked on Ian, where he sat back in his office chair, steepling his fingers.

Few clubs had the power to generate enough cash flow to keep
Hard Limits
from stepping in and buying up their girls.
Cat O’ Nines
happened to be one of them, only because, like Ian, the corrupted fuck who owned it dabbled in more than the strippers. Just like every club that rivaled Ian’s supply of money and girls, it was only a matter of time before the place bleeped up on his radar.

“Burn it down.” Ian poured himself a drink and tipped it back, toying with the top of the zippo he held with its
Bad Motherfucker
in black etching. “Stealing my business. Costing me money.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Xander’s tone remained flat, his expression unflinching.

Always a gambler’s face.

“I know you will. You’re like a brother, Xander. More of a brother than my own sorry fucking brother.” He sighed. “Any word on the girl?”

“Not yet.” Xander crossed his arms. “Probably took off.”

“I don’t think so. I think she’s being protected by the angel. Tread careful. I don’t have to tell you, you’ve killed your share of the holy bastards. But they are as dangerous as they are divine.”

Xander’s gaze remained steady. Untouched by his words.

Like a lunatic, the serious tone of Ian’s voice turned upbeat again. “Got some clients coming in next week. I want you there. Front row. You deserve the show.”

“What’s on?”

Ian smirked and reached for a half-smoked cigar. “These assholes … their wives read shit now. What was once taboo is now mainstream bullshit. Christ,
soccer moms
are talking about getting tied up and flogged these days. Gotta up the ante to make any money, know what I mean? Keep the taboo, taboo.” He lit the cigar and took a drag.

“Up the ante?”

“They want a live performance. After the Masquerade Ball. Lotta cash flow on this one. I need girls. Girls willing to do shit. Clean girls, though.”

“
Willing to do shit
and clean don’t belong in the same sentence.”

Laughter threw Ian’s head back. “Allow me to rephrase
willing
. I meant trained. I’ve got the boys out scouting. I’d send a couple your way to break, but you end up scaring them off, you sick sonofabitch.” He chuckled and tipped back another drink. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to sabotage my fucking operations here.”

Xander’s face remained stoic.

“Cat O’ Nines. Close that shit down. I’ll throw in a bonus if you torture the bastard.”

Xander sneered. “Consider it done.”

Ian rose up from the chair, came around the desk and placed his hands on Xander’s shoulders—a show of respect. “Good man.”

Coming from the asshole, it meant nothing.

***

Daylight scorched the sky as Xander strode up to the entrance of
Cat O’ Nines
, as if the next hour didn’t include blowing shit up and torturing the owner.

He tugged on the handle. Locked. From his pocket, he pulled a skinny serrated blade—like a messed-up looking ice pick. Yeah, he could bust the door down, but he happened to enjoy the element of surprise. He inserted it into the lock and popped it with a couple sharp twists of his wrist. At the click, Xander gave a good haul, careful not to rip the door off its hinges, and paused a moment as the glass rattled in its frame behind iron bars.

No sound from inside. No movement.

Like being swallowed by night, he entered the dim lighting of the club, eyes searching until they landed on old man Rich and what must’ve been the bodyguard beside him with the way his arms unraveled as Xander approached.

“Who the fuck are you?” The cigar in Richie’s mouth damn near fell out.

Xander kept his stride, ignoring the large human advancing on him. One swift punch had the burly bastard spinning on the balls of his feet and kissing the floor.

Richie climbed backwards into the booth. “What do you want? I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Xander gripped his throat and smiled. “I want your spleen spilling all over your …” He glanced around. “… nice clean floors. And your spine as a keepsake.”

“Cash? Women? I got it, man. I stepped on toes. I’m sorry. I’ll give you a cut. Please, just don’t do anything stupid.”

Xander bowed his head, squeezing tighter to the guy’s throat.
Sins,
the word hissed inside his head. One of the missing girls had just turned eighteen. Sold off. Quite possibly dead.

Xander tugged a dagger from his back pocket and held it up in the air. A saw-toothed blade curved into wicked angles that could tear away flesh with little resistance. He angled the exceptionally pointed tip toward the guy’s eyeball. “Mr. Portaine sends his best.”

Cries of agony filled the room as Xander set to work.

***

Karinna tried the bedroom door once more.

He’d locked her in. Locked the armoire. Locked the gun safe that she’d hoped might have something sharp to pick a lock.

Hell, the adjacent bathroom didn’t even have anything. Razors. Toothpicks. Nothing she could possibly use.

No chance of climbing out of a window, either, unless she planned to sprout wings and fly.

The backpack on the floor caught her attention and she fell, crossed legs, to her butt, tearing through the contents inside. T-shirts, jeans, bras with their matching panties, leather corsets and a few pairs of thigh-high stockings. Part of her wanted to set them out on the bed and organize them. Another part told her to leave them—why would she bother making herself at home?

Discarding the pack, she circled the wooden contraption in the center of the room. Had seen them before in the BDSM clubs. Spanking horses. A St. Andrew’s Cross stood propped against the opposite wall.

He’d probably chosen to keep her in the room on purpose. To terrify.

Her hand drifted down the cold steel of the cross. How many girls had been strapped to it? Beaten? Tortured?

The only difference between Karinna and those girls?

She’d trained herself—watched too many hardcore BDSM videos, had allowed herself to sub, studied torture methods and techniques for being held captive. All in an effort to prepare herself for the shit her sister, Lita, had gotten involved in for the last few years. Jesus. How had Lita ever grown to love pain so much?

“Oh, man, he sounds pissed.”

Karinna scowled at the amusement in Lita’s voice as the two of them hid beneath the basement staircase. “You push him every time,” Karinna whispered. “You know how strict he is about curfew.”

“Whatever I get is worth it. Tyler Davenport’s dick is everything they say it is and more.” She put her hands out to demonstrate the length.

“Please don’t tell me—”

The door swung open and the wooden stairs croaked under the weight of their father’s heavy form.

“I swear he’s gonna fall …” Lita let out a wheeze of laughter. “His fat ass is gonna fall through the wood …”

Karinna slapped a hand over her sister’s mouth.

“Fall on us,” her muffled voice said behind Karinna’s tight clutch.

“Shut. Up.”

Lita’s body shook with laughter.

Karinna wanted to laugh. She wanted anything that would prevent what was about to happen. Lita might’ve accepted her punishment, but it didn’t keep Karinna, the older of the two, from stressing over her sister’s impending discipline.

How could she be so carefree? So … irresponsible?

“Michael asked about you,” she whispered.

“I don’t care. I’m not interested.”

“You’re insane. I’ll bet his dick is bigger than Tyler’s. And that’s saying something.”

Karinna burst into laughter. Bent forward, the two of them stifled giggles.

A thick arm speared the space in front of Karinna’s view, and, by her hair, their father dragged Lita out from beneath the staircase.

Karinna reached for her. “No!”

Father brought Lita to a stand, facing him, gripping her hair tighter. “Petulant little bitch.” He slapped her face and grabbed her chin. “Who was it this time, you little whore?”

“Dad! Please! She didn’t mean to break curfew,” Karinna pleaded, climbing out from beneath the staircase.

Lita’s lip curled in defiance. “I did. I had sex, Daddy. With the most popular boy at school.”

Karinna clinched her stomach.

“Sharon!” His voice boomed in the small space, furious gaze locked on Lita.

Their mother appeared at the top of the staircase. “Lord, what has she done now?”

“Fetch my paddle.”

“No.” Karinna’s voice remained steady. Unyielding.

“Straight away. And if Karinna don’t get out where she belongs, I’ll lock her up in solitary for the week.”

Karinna snapped her head toward her mother. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

Tears filled Karinna’s eyes as she found her sister in the dark. Their father had forced her to place her hands against the wall and bend forward, a hand on her back as he lifted the wooden paddle up into the air.

“Now, girl,” her mother warned.

I hate you. I will do whatever it takes to get away from you.

The first whack came down hard on Lita and churned in Karinna’s gut. Aside from a grunt, Lita didn’t make a sound—a game that only pissed the old man off.

As Karinna backed herself away, Lita’s scream pounded inside her skull.

Their mother hadn’t always been so religious and strict. At one time, during her hippy days, she’d been more of a sexual free spirit than Lita, if that was possible.

Something happened in those years. She’d grown hardened. Inflexible. Insane.

Karinna fell back on the bed and switched on the clock radio on the nightstand.
Angels
by The XX drifted through the room. She eyed the bagel and coffee he’d left her, with marmalade on the side—the same breakfast she ate every morning. Strawberries cut into fours, as she always had, sat in a bowl beside the bagel—also a favorite.

Warm, steaming hazel filled her nose as she lifted the mug to her mouth with a frown and sipped the coffee.
Perfect
. Only one place made coffee that good, and she’d traveled about fifty miles to buy her own supply of it.

No way he knew her favorite coffee shop.

***

Xander washed the blood from his hands, its long, lazy swirl staining the porcelain as it disappeared into the drain. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and stared. Through the veneer of perfect skin, the hard lines and circles beneath his eyes seemed to take form. At least, he felt them. It almost sickened him the way humans saw his kind.

Flawless.

The muffled yelp from the adjacent room broke his self-study.

Richie’s pathetic cries for help rang on as Xander strolled back into the room, donning a pair of black leather driving gloves.

He nabbed the gasoline can and shook it around the open floor of the bar. The guard, who’d awakened during the torment, sat tied and bloodied beside his mostly mutilated boss, moaning through the gag shoved deep inside his throat. Xander picked up fingers strewn about the floor and tossed them onto Richie’s torso before pouring the gasoline over the sobbing bastard’s body. Without a tongue, his sniveling and gagging brought on a spell of choking that crimped Xander’s lip.

The rolled wad of cash, saturated in blood and saliva, that Richie sat counting earlier when Xander first arrived, hung from his mangled mouth and Xander lit the end of it like kindling.

As flame caught the paper, Xander recited a passage: “
By the sweat of your brow, you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.
”

He strode away.

Time to get fucked up.

***

Xander stumbled into the wall and shook his head.
Too much Elysia
. Human liquor could knock him around but demon liquor, served by the busty blonde at
Hard Limits
, hit like a stealth bomber that’d dropped nuclear missiles of
holy shit
straight into his bloodstream.

He stopped at Karinna’s door and jabbed one of the two keys in his hand into one of the two locks that floated in front of him.

He needed her. Something good. Something better than having spent half the evening dismembering a human and blowing up his club.

Hot damn. The key went into the hole. A small victory.

The female turned over in the bed and, by God, even through his drunken stupor, his flaccid dick hardened at the sight of her—so much so Xander reached down to keep the eager bastard from springing loose from his jeans.

“Arms … out.” His command didn’t come off as commanding as he’d aimed for.

She frowned, and Xander waited for that defiant tilt of her chin. The one he wanted to grab hold of as he bit down hard on those full and pouty, heart-shaped lips, sucking the blood from her kiss.

Keeping her eyes locked on him, she did as ordered.

Xander lurched forward and locked her wrists into the cuffs. She tugged but didn’t fight. She could’ve, though. Could’ve probably knocked him on his ass. Xander cleared his throat at the thought and straightened his stance.

“More give and take, Pet.”