Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) (6 page)

BOOK: Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0)
13.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Chapter Four

There were plenty of people on the sidewalk, shoving past each other, shoulders bent forward against the wind and the cold. January in New York City could be brutal, and with the snow from the night before piled in filthy hills on the edges of the cleared paths there was even less room for people to mill about. Tucked against a street lamp, Camille ignored the cold, ignored the loud traffic and the bustling population – and focused across the street.

Joe Wilson
.

He was bent over the engine of a car, the hood raised above his head, and for a moment she imagined slamming it down on him over and over and over. Hearing
him
scream, listening to him beg for mercy, beg her to stop, but she had to wait.

Not yet. Always observe first. Know the surroundings.

The blue coveralls he wore were faded and even from across the street she could see the dark patches where oil and grease had stained them beyond repair over time. Six months and he was still in the same place, as if he’d been waiting for her.

Only now she had more than just her knife, and she wasn’t the weak girl he had known who had stalked him in those early days after she’d escaped. No, now she had a gun, she had bullets, and she had training. Keeping her hand inside her coat pocket she aimed her finger at him from across the road, breathed in and out, and – “
Boom
,” she whispered, imagining the bullet tearing through his chest. She’d aim for a lung to give her enough time to stand over him, enough time for him to see her face like Steve had as he bled out. Enough time to realize who had killed him and
why
.

“I’m going to make you scream,” she growled under her breath before she forced herself to walk away. She had spent too long there, and she knew it. If she stayed much longer there was a risk that he’d notice the blonde staring at him from across the road, a chance that he’d recognize her – and she needed to surprise him.

She wanted him to have no idea what was coming until it was too late.

The walk back towards the hotel was long, but the rage inside kept her warm even as the snow started falling again. When Smith had left that morning she had known exactly where she was going to go, and it seemed that Joe hadn’t changed his routine much. Still living in his shitty little apartment, still walking the same set of blocks to the same shitty repair shop, still wandering away from his coworkers to eat alone in one of the abandoned buildings at lunch.

A monster in a blue collar. Hiding in plain sight.

Standing outside her temporary home she looked up at the floors of the hotel and felt like ants were climbing over her skin. Cooping herself up in the hotel room was only going to drive her crazy, so instead she turned and flagged down a cab.

A few hours at the shooting range would blunt the edge of rage inside her. It was just what she needed.

 

 

Her arms were buzzing by the time she packed up the gun and grabbed dinner. She’d fired so many rounds that she’d lost track, but one thing was for sure – she wasn’t the terrible shot she’d been when Smith had first brought her there. Now the gun was a deadly weapon in her hand, lethal with her skill.

It was in the cab on the way back to the hotel that the nausea started to creep in. She’d spent too many hours focusing on Joe Wilson’s face, pulling the trigger over and over as she pictured him, and now it was like she’d cracked open a door. All the memories were skittering inside her mind like wicked demon spiders, wedging themselves in her conscious, tormenting and whispering to her.

‘I’m going to make you scream for me…’
his voice hissed inside her head and she felt her stomach turn over. Rubbing at her face she smelled the gunpowder on her skin and took deep breaths of it.

Fuck this.

She had a gun. She had everything she needed to kill him, and if she found the right moment she’d do it tomorrow. She needed to get her fucking head under control. She wasn’t weak.

“Here, stop here.” Camille tapped the plastic partition and the driver barely glanced at her as he slid it aside and accepted the cash. In a matter of minutes she was back in their hotel room, and she flipped the TV on so that the noise would drown out the thoughts in her head. Drown out the memories.

It worked, mostly, and as night crept on she knew she had to sleep. Had to be fresh in the morning, able to think, able to fight if she had to. Able to kill.

With a deep breath she pulled back the sheets on her bed, and then turned to see Smith’s. Clumsily made by his own hand since they kept the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door at all times. Chewing on her bottom lip she crawled into his bed instead, the heady scent of his skin finding her nose in an instant.

“You’re fucking pathetic,” she growled at herself as she buried her face in his pillow. They’d been close too many times in sparring sessions, she knew exactly what he smelled like. Knew what his skin felt like against hers, just not in the ways she wished. Not in the ways that would erase the memories still crackling on the edge of her subconscious.

It was always worse when Smith was gone, as if his strength was recognized even when she was asleep. Making her mind keep the monsters at bay. With him gone, and only his pillow to keep her company, she closed her eyes and practiced breathing.

Sleep
.
Don’t dream. Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t even think -

 

* * *

It was dark behind her eyes, and the darkness got smaller and smaller until her shoulders were pressed against boxes. Old, stale clothes brushed her face and shoulders, and then panic took hold inside her.

There was rustling on the other side of the door that formed in the darkness, narrow strips of light framing the edges, and she scrambled for the doorknob, scratching at the wood. There were tears on her cheeks. Hot and wet. Her voice came out weak as she begged, “Please, please don’t!”

The hard thump of furniture being moved against the door made her cry harder, her hand twisting the knob, uselessly throwing her full weight at the door as if it mattered. Then that voice,
Steve’s voice
, was on the other side and she threw herself away from it like it might burn her. “You fucking know better, Camille. If you’re nice to us, we’re nice to you. You think about whether or not you want to behave.”

“NO!” She screamed, and the panic was making her chest tighter. There wasn’t enough air. The closet was too hot, too stifling, too full of junk, and the small square of floor space she’d been dumped on was already cramping her limbs. But she didn’t want them to touch her again. She had bit one of them, some piece of flesh, an arm, or a hand. They had hit her, and now she was in the closet again.

They wouldn’t feed her in the closet.

Steve forgot to feed them even on a good day.

She closed her eyes and rocked, the darkness eating at the walls, devouring the cardboard at her back, eating at the tiny shreds of light like little monsters, determined to leave her alone with the demons. The last shred of light was like a lighthouse beacon, high at the farthest corner of the door, and she wanted to reach for it, to feel the light on her fingertips – but it disappeared.

Suffocating, empty black.

She wanted to cry out, to scream for help, but every part of her knew it was futile. Knew that the darkness would only last longer the more she screamed. She had to behave if she wanted out. She had to be good. Quiet. She had to
play nice
.

It seemed to have a texture, the darkness. Something foreign, and yet familiar, but above all it felt wrong, threatening. Camille started counting in her head, to different rhythms and meters, closing her eyes against the empty space as if it would make it better.

Then there were hands. Petting her. Stroking her from the black. They pressed at her thighs, between them, groping and pinching, invisible lips and tongues and teeth on her skin. She tried to brush them away, to escape their touch, but nothing worked.

Weak. Powerless. Vulnerable.


Slut
,’ the voices whispered against her cheek, ‘
You like it. You want it. Just take it.

“NO!” Her scream shook the darkness. “NO! NO MORE! I WON’T LET YOU!”

The words made the shadows tremble, but the hands kept scratching and clawing at her skin, trying to tear her open so they could get inside. So they could own her. Inside and out.

“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!” With her roar the closet shattered, there were no more hands – and there was light. She was surrounded by it. Yellow, and dirty, and flickering, but it was light. Her eyes opened on it, and she blinked.

So much red. Too much.

It was everywhere.

Shit
. She had tracked it through the house.

Twice.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid…”

Why the fuck was there so much blood? Should there be this much blood? Had she cut herself?

Camille was naked. She was almost always
naked. She scrubbed at her arms, her stomach, her thighs, but it just kept spreading. It was under her nails, in the grooves of her palms, and she clenched her teeth as she scrubbed harder.

She’d really done it.

Slamming the water off she tried to stop shaking, dripping pink droplets into the tub. Grabbing the already ruined towel she managed to wipe most of it away, and she almost tripped as she climbed out of the bathtub, bracing her hands on the sink.

Her blue eyes were bloodshot, her white blonde hair lank and damp against her cheeks.

Was she crying, or was that the water from the shower?

The knife. It was in the sink, still slick with blood. The sides of the bowl were streaked with it too, and she stifled the urge to start screaming as she flipped the water on to rinse it.

Had she screamed earlier? Had someone heard her? Had they made noise?

Shaking her head she pounded her fist against her temple. “Get it together, Camille. Get it the fuck together.” Reaching for the knife she hissed and yanked her hand back. “SHIT!” The water was boiling hot, and she growled as she flipped the faucet the other direction before she snagged the washcloth and wiped the knife clean, and then the sink.

Water won’t work. Water doesn’t do this.

Turning on her heel she stormed through the house, ignoring the petite bloody footprints that criss-crossed the already filthy carpet. The kitchen was a wreck, dirty dishes piled in the sink, and the smell of rotting food wafted out of the fridge even with it closed. Swallowing the bile in her throat she tore open the cabinet under the sink and almost laughed when she saw the bottle of bleach next to the half-empty bottle of dish soap.

“Looks like it’s my day, asshole.” Camille ripped it from underneath and poured bleach onto the rag as she traced the path she’d taken. Cleaning her bloody fingerprints from the walls, the doorknobs, the railing at the bottom of the stairs. Then she was back in the bathroom, pouring it into the sink and splashing it across the tub and the tiled walls.

Her reflection caught her again and she wanted to slam her fist into the mirror.

“I’m not you! I’m never going to be you again, you hear me?” She was shouting at the girl in the mirror. The weak, pathetic girl that had existed before tonight. That had been locked in the closet. That had been held down, and used, over and over and over.

Never again.
Never
.

Camille dropped the bottle of bleach into the tub. There was too much blood across the house. Too much to wipe away, and even then they’d find her DNA everywhere. Not to mention the fucking bodies.  She couldn’t move Steve, or
Mama Carrie
. Fucking pointless.

Clothes. Shoes a size too big. The knife. Cash from the coffee can in the back of the pantry. A coat that reeked of pot smoke and cigarettes.

Dressed, she finally went and got the key and unlocked the room. Two terrified shapes huddled on narrow beds, whimpering, shaking. She had been like them an hour or two before. She had been them, or maybe she had never been like them, but now she knew she wasn’t. She would never be again.

BOOK: Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0)
13.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Fields of Glory by Michael Jecks
The Litigators by John Grisham
Much Ado About Vampires by Katie MacAlister