Warlord Metal (29 page)

Jordan popped her seatbelt and opened the car door. "C'mon," she said, stepping out into the chill air, her breath puffing into a cloud of vapor before her.

The woman nodded meekly and followed suit.

Keeping her senses on alert, Jordan eyed the suburban setting she resided in. It was a pretty sure bet that the others living here were all wrapped up in their own lives. No one would notice the neighborhood rebel returning home with the catch of the day. Fuckin' sheep.

The teenager led her prey, not to the house they had parked near, but down the tidy little alley behind it. Her back still twinged from the beating received last month when she'd stupidly had her prey park in the driveway. Louis had not been happy.

Three yards down Jordan reached a high wooden fence. At the gate was a heavy cord and she yanked on it, opening the gate onto a well manicured lawn. The teenager quickly ushered her charge in before closing the gate and locking it with the padlock that had been hanging on a peg.

She took Sylvia's arm roughly and hustled her across the yard to the back door of the Victorian style home. A light was on in the living room, shining dimly through to the kitchen window. Good. Lucifer's still up. Wonder if he's got any company. Jordan pulled her prey up the stairs, purposely putting her off balance so she stumbled, making noise on the wooden floor of the porch. The hand tightened on the woman's upper arm, crushing the flesh, and the teenager growled, "Be careful."

Sylvia's arm ached under the viselike grip and her mouth was dry. She stood quietly as her mistress dug keys out of a pants pocket. Her blood was singing in anxiety, wondering what would happen to her once the door was closed. And then it was unlocked and opened and she was propelled inside the yawning darkness.

Pushing the woman before her, narrowed emerald eyes peered past and down the hall to the living room. Jordan locked the door behind her without looking, an automatic gesture as she saw a shadow moving at the front of the house. Make it look good. "Take off the skirt," she ordered, eyes glittering in the dim light.

Not expecting the command, the woman hesitated.

Jordan was on her with lightning reflexes, a hand pulling the dark hair, yanking the woman down. She bent over and hissed into her ear, "I gave you an order." With surprising strength, the teenager grabbed hold of the skirt's waistband and tore it from the woman's body. The sound of ripping cloth and buttons clicking on the floor echoed in the kitchen.

Tears were in Sylvia's eyes, tears of pain and embarrassment and relief. She was bent double with the tattered remains of her panties brushing against her ass. Her mistress was standing beside her, supporting her, holding her by the hair as her center glistened wetly for anyone to see. It was exactly what she needed.

Jordan ignored the dark silhouette in the doorway, silently watching the proceedings. If Louis wanted to join in, he'd do so. Until then, his voyeuristic tendencies were to be indulged and he was merely a fly on the wall. Shit. If that were the case, I'd have taken a flyswatter to his ass years ago! The teenager shook off the thought. Get to work! Before he gets to work on you!

Sylvia jerked forward, the resounding slap of flesh on flesh ringing through the air. Her hair was pulled tightly and a stinging erupted on her rear. She was spanked again, her other buttock receiving a similar warming. And then her mistress' hand was caressing the sensitive skin. Despite herself, the woman moaned and pushed back into the touch.

"You like that, huh?" Jordan asked, dipping a finger into wetness. When there was no answer, she pushed Sylvia away, causing her to stumble and fall against the refrigerator. "Answer me, dammit!" she yelled, apparently furious.

The woman held a hand to her rib cage, already feeling the bruise developing from hitting the refrigerator door handle. Her grey eyes were wide and she peered fearfully up at the ebony haired youth. "Yes," she whispered. "I like it." Relief flowed through her as her mistress appeared mollified.

Jordan fought down the nausea that was developing. Quit being a wuss! Beat the bitch and get it over with! The whisper was back, making itself a nuisance, stirring up the already boiling mess in her gut. Stop now. Make a stand. Violence isn't the way. The rage that welled up from her constantly warring interior took over and she stepped forward.

Even as the teenager approached, Sylvia tried to straighten. She saw the sudden flash of fury in emerald eyes and raised her hands to protect herself on reflex. Her wrists were plucked out of the air and pressed against the freezer door on either side of her head. The woman could feel refrigerator magnets poking into her shoulders and back, her mistress pinning her to the appliance.

The woman squirmed beneath Jordan, exciting her. "That's it, babe. Fight it," she hissed. The struggles intensified on command and her arousal increased as they wrestled, despite the disgust at herself. Whaddya expect from yerself, Horny Jordie? Fruit doesn't fall far from the tree. Granted, he ain't your real dad, but you are what you eat.

It stopped being a fight when a thigh pressed into slick flesh. Sylvia groaned aloud, her center throbbing with the contact. She clutched the appendage between her legs, rubbing against the coarse cloth. Her mistress was growling, chewing hard on the tendon beneath her ear, humping her in return. "Yesss," she whispered.

In the doorway, the silhouette had not moved. Not now! Gotta get her downstairs! Panting, the teenager pulled away. She smiled ferally at the whimpered moan of frustration. "Patience comes to those who wait, babe." With a rabid fierceness, she devoured the woman's mouth, swallowing the groan as she bit down on the soft lower lip. Retreating, she released one of the woman's wrists and grasped the ring in her collar. Roughly, she pulled Sylvia towards the basement door. "We've got a long night ahead of us," she promised, stepping down into the darkness and drawing the woman with her.

The silent shadow followed.

Jordan released Sylvia's other wrist and hit the light switch as she passed at the top of the carpeted stairs. She moved swiftly down the steps, tugging the woman behind her and keeping her off kilter.

The stairs opened to a midsized room. On the left wall were a washer and dryer. A utility sink on the far wall shared space with a solitary toilet and what appeared to be a makeshift shower - nothing but the showerhead hanging from the ceiling over a drain in the concrete floor. To the right was a doorway, gaping blackly. As was the door in the remaining wall next to the stairs. It was to the second door that Jordan dragged her charge.

Stepping inside, the teenager flicked on another light. She pulled Sylvia through what appeared to be a small family room - an entertainment center sat beneath the stairs and comfortable chairs and tables were placed strategically. There was another door here, this one closed. And on either side of it were bamboo wall hangings.

Sylvia was roughly deposited on a couch and she felt her mistress' hand leave her collar. Grey eyes watched the ebony haired youth go to the stereo system, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it into an armchair. The CD selection was perused, a case chosen and pulled out, the disc put into the player.

As the strains of Mozart's 'Magic Flute' filled the room, Jordan schooled her features to not reflect her distaste. How Lucifer listens to this shit is beyond me. Having heard the same music through every abusive encounter with her step-father and his friends only served to have the teenager further shut down on some of her deepest emotional levels. The whispered voice was finally silenced.

Sylvia swallowed in nervousness as her mistress turned to her, a manic gleam in her eyes and a smile that was almost a snarl. The woman's belly was a-flutter and she could almost feel herself soaking the sofa cushion beneath her.

With slow, seductive movements, Jordan went to the closed door, pulling her keys from a pocket and unlocking it. The door swung open onto darkness and she held out her hand to her prey. "Playtime."

The woman saw not a teenager, but a strong youthful angel of darkness with red eyes glittering from her arm. As if possessed, she rose and walked to her vampire / mistress, a part of her realizing that this was it. There was no going back from this point. And the emerald and red eyes mocked her, promising her that things would never, ever be the same.

Sylvia took Jordan's hand and allowed herself to be led into the darkness.

Present

Sylvia's scream amid the harsh voices and laughter pierced her consciousness. Jordan bolted straight up in her bed, the scream still echoing on the edges of her mind. Hands were on her body trying to pull her down and voices were whispering to her. The redhead scrambled away in terror until she fell off the edge of the mattress and scuttled away to crouch on the hard wooden floor.

Wild eyes looked around, trying to place herself. A mattress on the floor, the smell of rain and candles, pale blue eyes watching in shock and a whispered voice trying to soothe her. It was a dream! A fucking nightmare! The relief that welled up inside caused a lump to form in her throat and the guitarist could feel the sting of unshed tears. No! Don't cry! Lucifer hates that!

Sonny slowly eased forward, continuing her litany of calming words. Her lover was cowering nude before her, all disheveled hair and panicked eyes. The teenager slid off the mattress and scooted closer. Her first attempt at brushing the red gold tresses away from Jordan's face were rebuffed, a hand reaching out to swat hers, the body flinching away. Refusing to be daunted, the dark woman forced past the feeble defenses. Soon, she was seated on the cool wooden floor, rocking her lover in her arms.

It had been the tossing and turning that had originally awakened the teenager. Her usual tricks to calm Jordan down during a nightmare hadn't work, however. The blood curdling scream that had erupted had scared the daylights out of both of them. As Sonny held and caressed the woman in her arms, she could only wonder at the depth of pain that had to be buried inside. What happened to you, love? What can I do to let you know it's safe to deal with it? That I'm here for you? Knowing there would be no answers from her broken lover, she whispered calming words and rocked her, swallowing the desire to cry in sympathy and frustration.

As the terror from the nightmare faded, a bone deep weariness invaded her. Jordan stopped fighting off her lover's assistance, too emotionally weak to put up any more of a struggle. She relaxed into the embrace and enjoyed a modicum of peace before the voices could reassert themselves again.

Long minutes passed. As the redhead gained her composure and woke a bit more, she began to pull away. Sensing that the nurturing moment was now over, Sonny stopped rocking and loosened her arms. "You okay?" the teenager asked softly, brushing a wisp of hair aside so she could see her lover's eyes.

Jordan looked away, embarrassed, struggling with her mask. "Yeah. I'm fine." She sighed deeply, noticing the foul taste in her mouth and dryness of her eyes. That's right! You tied one on last night, Jordie, Louis's voice echoed in her head, as it had for years. "I need a drink of water," she mumbled, pulling further out of Sonny's grasp.

"Okay." The long hands gave her a final caress. "I'll get it. You get back in bed."

Nodding, the guitarist crawled back to the mattress and sat down on edge. She rubbed sleep from her alcohol puffed eyes and glanced around. Jordan couldn't remember getting home the night before. Obviously, the dark woman had gotten her upstairs and undressed. The clothes she'd been wearing were sitting in a neat, folded pile nearby. If I did that, I'd have to be drunker than I thought. She rooted out a cigarette and lit it.

Sonny approached from the tiny bathroom and handed her lover a glass. "Here ya go, sexy." She smiled at the brief look of thanks as the redhead took it from her and had a long swallow. The teenager climbed onto the mattress herself, curling up on her side behind Jordan and propping her head up on an elbow. The skin of the shorter woman's lower back pressed firmly against her own torso, and she gently ran her palms along the available flesh.

The water was cool against her parched throat. She drained the glass and set it down on the floor, sighing again at the comforting sensations on her back. Eyes closed, she enjoyed the caresses for long moments, no sound in the room except their even breathing.

Sonny had laid her head down, peering up at the guitarist's profile as she smoked. I wish it could always be this way, she thought wistfully.

Deep in the abyss of self disgust, Jordan mused, I wish this was real. But, as usual, the voices she lived with were there to torment her, deny her, tell her what the reality of her world was. The redhead took a deep breath, breaking out of her reverie. Turning to glance at the bedside clock, she surprised a strange look on Sonny's face. Her emerald eyes narrowed, her mask firmly in place. What the fuck was that?

The dark woman dissembled, shuffling the feelings of tenderness and love away. "What time's your appointment with the lawyers?" she asked, scratching the smooth skin beneath her fingers.

Jordan studied her for long seconds, suspicious. "At eleven." She looked at her clock. "I've gotta get ready. The next bus outta here is in half an hour."

With a startled look, the teenager said, "Bus? You can't ride a bus, Jordan."

"Why not?" the redhead asked in irritated puzzlement. She rose and padded to her clothing stacked nearby.

Pale blue eyes rolled in exasperation. "You're the guitarist for Warlord, sexy. You get on a bus, you'll get mobbed." Sonny sat up and reached for her own clothes. "Remember what you told me about that little store in New York."

Jordan sniffed at the t-shirt she had worn the night before, smoke and whiskey and sweat making her nostrils twitch. She tossed the offending item into the corner meant for dirty clothes and rummaged in another pile of material, pulling out a shirt. "Well, how the hell else am I supposed to get there? Call a fucking limousine?" she asked sarcastically. Vague memories of the bars she'd been at plagued her and she could remember feeling surprised at just how many people wanted to buy her drinks. Well, duh, Jordie. You need a clue.