Bound by Blood (The Contract Book 3) (8 page)

Lisa

My name is Lisa and I’m not certain how long I have been here. The man holding me captive is a man I once trusted, a man I spilled my innermost secrets to. You see… he is my psychiatrist.

I have to say that I believe the reason I chose to go and talk to him is because I simply do not, nor have I ever, bonded with anyone. When I say anyone, I do mean anyone.

He tells me it’s due to my childhood. Years of being ignored, neglected, and abandoned have left me a shell of a woman. I didn’t seek out counseling because I am troubled about my state of being, a state of being
alone
for a lifetime. I sought out counseling to understand why I am unable to bond with anyone. Curiosity, more than anything else, is what drove me to seek out his services.

My earliest memories of my mother are of having to step over her drunken body to change the TV station. My earliest memories of any kind of father figure are of trying to avoid the men she subjected me to. She brought a different man home every night and, as I grew older, I instinctively knew that staying anywhere near their vicinity would be unwise. To do so would only ensure that their sexual interests would fall on me rather than my mother. My foresight saved me from ever falling victim to their drunken sexual assaults or molestations.

My mother made it very clear from day one that she never wanted me which, ironically enough, doesn't bother me. Memories of her screaming at me in drunken rages as she adamantly proclaimed that I was a bi-product of rape and I ruined her life still, at times, echo in my ears.

I have learned to adapt—until now. I am not confused, nor traumatized by the fact, that I am being held hostage by a man I once trusted. I am, however, confused by the fact that I have become attached to him. The only reason I have been able to come up with for this phenomena is that this is the first time in my life I can ever remember someone wanting me. So, with that thought fresh in my mind, I wait for the monster holding me captive. I actually look forward to his visits. Crazy, huh?

Shh, I hear his footsteps…

I scurry to the front of my cage, kicking the teddy bear and blanket he has provided me with to the side. My hands grip the bars as I expectantly look out, awaiting his arrival. He looks so harmless—he is anything but. He appears to be the cliché office geek. He has brown hair, average build, wears glasses, and dons a suit and tie. You know… he’s the guy who sits next to you in your cubicle at work.

“Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock, Prey has no clock,” he taunts me. Before I ever see his face, I hear his voice and his hard soled shoes slapping on the concrete floor. He enjoys fucking with my head. I find it very humorous that he brought me here to research me and yet I have brought out a side of him he never even knew existed—the emotional sadist.

“Is
it
wondering how long
it
has been here?”

He peers down on me accusingly before he looks back at the far wall of my cage where I have been using my now broken acrylic nail to mark my days in captivity.

I know what he is doing. He is purposely calling me
it
, trying to dehumanize me.

I refuse to engage; it angers him and he begins to poke at me with a stick that he has carried in with him.

I begin to grab at it, having every intention of breaking it if I succeed in catching it within my grasp.

He jerks it away, and out of my reach, each time that I make an attempt.

“I hate you, sicko!” I hiss.

He viciously reaches through the bars and grabs a handful of hair. “You dare to call me sick? You cry for me in the night hours, Prey! Now, who is the morbid sicko?”

“I hate you,” I whimper, as tears stream down my face.

“Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock, Prey… has no clock…”

His laughter rings through the air as he turns to leave.

I scream out before he makes his way to the steps. “Please, don’t go! I’ll be good.”

Maybe my Predator is right. Maybe I am sick and twisted, so sick and twisted that I have bonded with my sick and twisted captor…

Black Rose

I wait until I know she and Tommy are sound asleep before I enter their apartment. There is something very intriguing to me about violating her by snooping through her things as she sleeps. She’s completely unaware I’m here and that gives me a sort of power over her. I like the idea of touching her things and peering into her life in a voyeuristic way while she has no idea I’m doing so. Doing it via surveillance is enjoyable, but doing so in
real time
is much more rewarding.

I open up the drawer in the end table by her bed. I doubt she has any toys or I would have already viewed her using them. The thought of watching her fuck herself with a dildo captivates me and I make a mental note to make her do it for me someday. I feel myself begin to harden at the thought of it.

If she were any other woman, I would have fucked her by now but this one is different. She is innocent, but not in the manner that normally annoys me. I don’t do well with
bimbos
or
ditzy
doormats. I respect Melanie because, though she is innocent in matters of men, she’s a very strong woman. She has proven that by the way she has taken care of her son. She’s worked hard—long, late hours on her feet waitressing for shitty tips. On her days off, she spent all of her time with Tommy instead of going out partying. Ironically enough, this woman, who has little means, gives her son more love and attention than my wealthy mother ever thought about giving me.

Tommy has a good mother, a great mother, and I want to help her give him the life he deserves.

I make my way to her dresser and open a small antique jewelry box. A ballerina spins and music plays as I finger the trinkets within. Only a few items are inside and I pick up the only item which is of any financial value—a small pearl ring. A surge of jealousy courses through me before I see the engraved inscription:
With love, Mother.

A sense of relief fills me. I know if it had come from Tommy’s sperm donor, I would have to insist that she get rid of it at some point. By the time I’m finished, he will have no legal rights to Tommy.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have waited up.” Her voice interrupts my thoughts. I make no attempt to hide the fact that I have been snooping. She will learn over time that I have access to every area of her life.

I make my way to her bedside and place a finger under her chin, lifting it so I can study her face.

“What else will you do for me? Not because you’re here, not because I’m taking care of you and Tommy.” Once again I ask, “What else will you do for me?”

She’s hugging the sheet tightly to her nude body. I know myself well enough to know that my eyes are boring into her, demanding her to tell me all she keeps hidden from the world.

I gently pull the sheet down and roll a nipple between the pads of two of my fingers. “You don’t
have
to do anything because I’m taking care of you and Tommy. Well, let me rephrase that; you don’t have to do anything sexual. I have women… but you already know that, don’t you, my curious little kitten?” She isn’t answering me. She’s just toying with the sheet and trying to hide the fact that her breathing has become labored due my fingers toying with her now hardened nipple.

I gently tug at the sheet and expose the rest of her body. Even in the darkened shadows, I can see having Tommy didn’t affect her tiny frame.

“Be a good girl and lie down.” She obeys me but moves to look at the opposite wall. “Look at me.” She chews her bottom lip and turns her face back towards me. “Good girl. You will learn, in time, your obedience will bring rewards and your disobedience, discipline.”

I abandon her nipple to focus my attention on her now very wet pussy. My fingers strum through her folds and I slip one into her, manipulating my thumb over her clit as I study her face for signs of pleasure. Before she knows it, I will be able to read her every emotion.

“Keep looking at me. That’s it. You’re such a good girl. Move your hips, baby. Yes, just like that. Someday soon, it will be my tongue softly lapping over your clit. Then, one day… my cock will be pushing into your depths, fucking you until you scream out my name and beg me to let you come.”

I’m watching her face and, though she stays silent, her eyes are begging me. Very soon she will beg me with her words. Her hands clench the sheets as she cries out with her climax, never once taking her eyes off mine.

I gently, but firmly, grab a fistful of her hair and place my finger near her mouth. “Clean it off, kitten.”

Despite her obvious embarrassment, she locks her lips around my finger and sucks. I can feel the pull of it all the way down into my cock. The thought of defiling my innocent, curious, little kitten just became much more arousing, and the need, more urgent. My tone and my expression become very cold as I remove my finger from her mouth and take her chin in hand. This time, I’m squeezing it between my thumb and forefinger just enough to let her know I mean business.

“Your orgasms now belong to me. If I catch you stealing them and taking them for yourself, I’ll be very displeased. I can assure you that you won’t like that side of me. Don’t think I won’t know, because I will.”

She timidly nods her head, indicating that she understands. “Go back to sleep, Melanie, you have our Tommy to take care of tomorrow.” With that, I turn and make my way out of the room.

I make certain to deadbolt the door and then I make my way out to my car. She will be left wondering why I pleasured her and made no attempt for her to reciprocate the action. Her mind will be on me—exactly where I want it to be.

Stormy

We pull up and park down the street from the woman being held captive. It’s late so there really aren’t a whole lot of people out, just the normal activity. There are a couple of dope dealers a block or two up, a drunk making his way somewhere on the other side of the street, and a hooker pacing back and forth on the sidewalk behind us.

My mind is rapidly trying to figure out a way to get out of this ass beating I’ve been promised if I don’t find and identify the hidden object in the room. I have no idea what Miller is referring to. The fact that I know the window is frosted, only offering an opaque view, isn’t putting my mind at ease either.

We quietly make our way through the side yard and to the back window. When we get there, I bend down and peer in with the hope of verifying that the prisoner is still alive. I’m grateful for the fact that I can see what appears to be a blurred feminine form through the frosted glass. I’m going to need light so I retrieve my cell phone from my back pocket; the flashlight app on it will come in handy.

As luck would have it, she is awake with her back turned towards me. I can see her scratching into the concrete wall with her long acrylic finger nail and it dawns on me what she is doing. She is marking off her days of captivity…

I breathe a sigh of relief. She’s alive, she’s safe, and I think I have the answer to the riddle. The shit I go through to work with this man is ridiculous. I am not giving up now for the mere fact that it has become a game of wills. The more he tries to get me to quit, the more determined I become. I will not quit and so we now have… a battle of wills. Suddenly, I see the outline of a second body enter the room and I almost drop my phone in shock.

“You better hope you found the answer to that little riddle I gave you, girl. I do kind of like the idea of beating your ass tonight though.”

“Shut the fuck up, Miller! He’s in there.” I’m whispering and it sounds like more of a
spit hiss
. This man of mine deliberately tries to antagonize me, doing anything he can to break my concentration.

I know he is purposely trying to make me more nervous than I already am. It never entered my mind that her captor would be in the basement with her and it is catching me off guard. I’m watching the scene unfold before me like a movie, a movie I don’t want interrupted. I can barely see through the slit at the top of the window film. When you add that to the fact that I have to stand over to the side to avoid being seen, all while dealing with Miller’s bullshit antics, my nerves are shot.

“Shit, Miller, do you see this crap?” I can’t even believe what I’m seeing.”

I know he sees the guy poking her with a stick like she’s a rabid dog. I’m just talking, trying to vent.

“Maybe I’ll do that to you, girl. I’ll put you in a cage and poke you with a stick.”

He is relentless,
I think to myself as I glare angrily at him.

That’s what I missed; she’s made a calendar on the back wall. Ah ha! I got it. There will be no lashes with a cane for me. A feeling of triumph washes over me.

I watch, intrigued by what I’m witnessing, but my curiosity is quickly morphing into two other feelings I don’t like: rage, and helplessness. The rage I can deal with but the helplessness…well, it hurts. Everything in me wants to go in there and put a bullet in her captor’s head. I’m not sure how many more times I can walk away from this woman and do nothing.

Flashbacks of our first kill flood my memory. I vividly remember when I jumped from the car that night with no thought of anything but saving Melanie. It was almost like I suffered a blackout. I remember having the thought that I should jump out and go help her but the next thing I knew, I was putting a bullet in the back of a man’s head, severing his brain stem, with no remorse for my actions. I went from thinking, to doing. Somewhere along the way, the once automatic act of processing consequences for my actions disappeared. I know how I get when I’m in rescue mode; I’m dangerous. I’m already fighting off thoughts of returning for her on my own, going through different scenarios on how I can sneak out while Miller is sleeping to come back and rescue her.

The only thing keeping me from thinking about it more, to the point at which the idea will become a reality, is that I know Miller would kill me—literally. I console myself with thoughts of talking some sense into him. We can’t keep waiting to make our move. His voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Didn’t you hear me?!? Get in the fucking car!” It’s then that I realize he has been talking and I haven’t heard a word he has said. I can tell by the look on his face he isn’t at all happy about it. Great, I’m going to get a lecture on the importance of reading one another and being in sync. This can only mean one thing… I’m in trouble.

Trepidation washes over me as I hurriedly walk back to the SUV, listening for the sound of the locks disengaging. He purposely makes me wait. He’s just standing on the driver’s side, glaring at me and not opening the door.

“Damn, Miller, do you want the guy to see us?”

“Oh, I get it. You’re in charge now?!?”

“Miller, you know that’s not what I mean. Please… let me in the car. I’m nervous.”

“You should be.”

Oh fuck! I am in so much trouble…

I glance over at him as he pulls out onto the street to head home. His face is set like granite and I begin backtracking, trying to talk myself out of this mess.

“Miller, I just have a hard time leaving her there every time we go to check on her. I keep thinking about the possibility of him killing her before our next visit. I feel like it will be my fault if he does. I don’t know why we can’t just go in and rescue her.”

I’m talking, just trying to get any kind of response so I can get a read on him but, as usual, he is not giving anything away.

Reasoning isn’t working so I resort to anger. “I don’t think it’s fair for me to be in trouble. You’re too hard on me.”

I continue doing anything, everything, to get out of trouble but his face continues to be set in stone, looking out the windshield as he drives. He doesn’t acknowledge me the whole way home so I come up with another plan.

We make our way in, briefly speaking to the doorman who is clueless to my plight. I fish my keys from my purse and, as soon as I unlock the door, I take off running and lock myself in my office. I’m shaking as I listen to his threats on the other side of the door.

“Stormy, you better open this fucking door and I mean now.”

“Nuh, uh,” is all I say.”

“You have until the count of three or your days of working with me are over.”

Of anything he could have said that is the one thing that would make me open the door. I don’t have time to brace myself before he bum rushes me. With one swipe of his hand, he scatters everything on my desk and commands me to bend over it. All I can think is that I’m glad my laptop wasn’t up there because without it, I can’t write. That would be the worst punishment anyone could ever inflict on me. I make a mental note to never reveal that to him. Being the sadist that he is, he would definitely use that knowledge against me.