Hell by J.L. Beck
16
Lucian
There’sa chill in the air tonight. It’s clear, without a cloud in the sky, and the full moon casts its light over the woods. I chose tonight specifically because I knew the weather would be clear, that the moon would light the way.
She has to be able to see just enough to believe she can get away. And I have to be able to see enough so I can catch her, though I don’t doubt I’ll be able to do that without much trouble. I know these woods like the back of my hand, while I doubt she’s ever been out here. She’s in for quite a night.
And so am I. My last night with her.
As always, my mind rejects this idea. Nevertheless, I knew it was coming, knew that eventually, we would have to go our separate ways. There would eventually be a final encounter, one last time.
And I knew then, as I do now, that I cannot accept that. There’s no way this is the end. There can’t be an end, not at all. Because now that I’ve had her, I can’t go the rest of my life without her. I could hire anyone to do what I make her do, could pay them any amount of money, but I would never find the satisfaction I find when I’m with her. There’s something about her in particular that makes everything… More. Stronger, sharper, all-consuming. Better.
If she was willing to give the money back, that tells me it wouldn’t be so easy to keep her. But I have to. There must be something I can do, something I can offer to make her want to continue this arrangement. More money? Certainly, her life could use an upgrade. I doubt she has much of an education, but I know she’s been reading during her long, otherwise empty days. She’s not a stupid girl. I could offer to fund her schooling, could subsidize her lifestyle so she wouldn’t have to work. She could have a decent start in life, one which would’ve been impossible were it not for my generosity.
Surely, she can’t be hoping to stay in that rathole of an apartment for the rest of her life. And eventually, once enough time passes, and she no longer hears from her recently departed ex, she’ll come to understand he is no longer a threat. She will feel greater freedom. And then what? I could lose her forever.
I can’t let that happen. What’s that line from the movie? I’ll make an offer she can’t refuse. And if my first offer isn’t good enough, then I’ll make another, and another. Eventually, I will break her down the way I’ve broken her body for my pleasure. I will have what I want. What I’m starting to suspect I need.
Headlights in the distance catch my eye, and I watch as the two orbs of light grow larger. That has to be Rick—no one drives out here, especially in the middle of the night. There isn’t a neighboring house or cabin for miles in any direction, which is how I like it. Even when I’m not using the house for activities like the ones I plan for this evening, I prefer to keep my distance from others. My idea of hell involves chatty neighbors.
Sure enough, a familiar SUV passes through a pool of moonlight, and I get a good look at it. My instructions were clear: drop her a half-mile northeast of the house. Then tell her to run. That’s it. She’ll be given no other direction but that. She has no idea where I am or even that I’ll be hunting her.
Tonight, it will be me alone. I’m not going to share her, not like last time. As enjoyable as that was, sharing doesn’t come naturally to me. Especially when I’ve stumbled upon something remarkable. Something like her.
Anticipation quickens my pulse, and adrenaline begins running through my veins. It’s been a long time since I’ve performed a hunt at night, and this is the perfect sort of night for one. I’ll keep her guessing, keep myself at a short distance long enough to give her hope that she might escape me. Of course, there is no hope. I hold all the cards.
In the back of my mind, I can’t let go of the idea that this could be our last time. That no matter what I offer, she’ll refuse. That little flash of independence she revealed in the library changed the game and left me wondering about her. It seems that no matter how much I learn, there’s always more to know. Now I see she’ll never be some trembling, weeping, thankful waif I rescued from a life of unspeakable pain.
I can’t pretend I didn’t know that spirit was somewhere in her. I admired it from our first encounter. Even though she was afraid of me that night in my office, she didn’t cower. She didn’t cry. She accepted the situation even though it terrified her. It was charming, then intriguing, almost delightful.
My attitude has changed.
The car pulls to a stop, not fifty yards from where I’m standing, half-hidden in shrubs. The woods are thinner here, which is why I wanted him to drop her in this place. It’s deceptive enough to lead a person to believe the going will be easy with so many thin, scattered trees around. Twenty or thirty yards in any direction, however, tell a different story. The woods close in fast, and they’re thick. Sometimes impenetrably so. Only the barest hint of moonlight will filter through the branches, and everything will look the same. She won’t be able to tell where she’s been or whether she’s doubled back on her tracks.
I’ll easily outmaneuver her in a pair of hiking boots I typically wear while staying out here. The only thing I’m carrying is a coil of rope. It’s all I’ll need.
I can hear her voice, can hear her asking questions as Rick pulls her from the car. The edge of fear in her voice is intoxicating. I can’t deny it. She should be afraid.
Rick points away from the car. “Run!” He barks loud enough for the sound to carry my way on the evening air. She hesitates, but only for a moment, trotting off in the direction in which he pointed. I follow, careful to avoid making too much noise at first. I want this to unfold slowly, so I can’t show my hand too early.
I can tell her heart’s not in it. She’s putting this on for show, pretending to run, looking over her shoulder with every other step. Almost like she’s looking to see who’s watching, to see whether she’s giving a good performance. I deliberately step on a thick branch lying on the ground, and the satisfying cracking noise that results makes her jump. When she takes off again, she’s moving faster.
I have the high ground, another benefit of knowing this land and all of its many features. She’s coming up on a thin stream that cuts across the southern corner of the property. Her head swings back and forth as she decides which way to go. Should she follow the stream, or should she cross it? Already she’s winded, doubling over with her hands on her knees to catch her breath.
I pick up the nearest rock and throw it into the stream not far from where she’s standing. The splash makes her jump, and she takes off running again, following the path of the water. The ridge I’m standing on ends in another few hundred feet, so I have no choice but to make my way down the slope and follow her on lower ground.
She would never do well in an actual hunt; that much is for certain. She’s sloppy, leaving a trail it takes no effort to follow. I can hear her up ahead, breathing heavy, like she’s panicking. I laugh loudly enough for her to hear, and her sharp intake of breath tells me she didn’t realize I was so close.
“You’re going to have to be faster than that,” I tell her, keeping my voice low. Menacing. The sound of feet crashing through brush grows louder, more desperate, and floundering. I follow with another laugh.
She crashes through the stream, then to the other side. I follow easily, jumping to the opposite bank with no trouble, now whistling softly as I trail her. “You can run, but you can’t hide,” I call out.
“Why are you doing this?” It’s a breathless question, halfway between a demand and a sob.
“Trust me, Rowan. You don’t want me to find you too quickly. You’d better run.” She does as she’s told, the way she always does, the way I can count on her to do. There’s a fallen tree up ahead, and I watch as she hoists herself over it. I can only imagine her hands smart from the effort, along with the rest of her. That’s nothing compared to what I have in mind tonight.
She stumbles and almost falls, and I deliberately pick up speed, letting her think I’m closing in. She scrambles to her feet and darts away, her golden head a beacon in the moonlight as she zigzags between the trees. She’s becoming exhausted, I can tell, thanks to her panic and the physical exertion. Perhaps it would be better to take pity on her and bring this to a close.
Besides, I’m tired of waiting. Anticipation can only take a man so far before he becomes frustrated with it.
With that in mind, I take a long, curved arc, putting distance between us but knowing, in the end, I’m taking a shortcut. Another hundred yards in front of her is an old stone wall marking the southern edge of the property. Most of the wall has long since crumbled, but there’s enough of it to provide a barrier against her moving forward. She can either go left or right. To the left is a mass of overgrown brambles I doubt she would take her chances with even if she wasn’t half out of her mind with panic.
I wait for her by the wall, knowing she’ll come straight to me. She doesn’t disappoint and stumbles in my direction, not a minute after I reach the rocky surface. She can’t see me, too busy looking around over her shoulder, deeper into the woods she only just stumbled out of.
So when I step out in front of her, she has no time to react. She slams into my chest and bounces off, landing on her ass. Before she can get away, I pounce on her, taking her by the arms and hauling her to her feet before locking my arms around her body, holding her fast.
“Gotcha.” I can only laugh as she struggles in my arms, exhausting herself. The worst thing a person can do is try to use their head as a lever when someone has their arms trapped at their sides. It’s completely pointless, and if a person struggles hard enough, they can knock themselves unconscious. Probably not the optimal result.
That’s exactly what she’s doing now. “That’s right,” I whisper in her ear. “Fight all you want. Maybe it will work this time. Maybe you’ll be able to get away from me.” She squirms harder than ever, but all she manages to do is rub against my cock, which was already semi-hard before I caught up to her. I should pull down her pants and fuck her here and now, in the dirt.
I’m not that crazy. And I don’t much enjoy the idea of getting an infection—who knows what’s out here in these woods? So I settle for wrestling her to the ground and pinning her with one knee on her lower back while she grasps and claws at the dirt.
I can’t explain why this excites me the way it does, knowing I have her helpless and completely at my mercy. Knowing she’s mine. For now, at least. She’s mine and only mine, and nothing she will do can change that.
“Fuck you!” she barks when I reach down to brush her hair away from the side of her face. I only want to see her, to take in the sight of her flushed skin, her wide, fear-filled eyes scanning the area like she is expecting someone else to appear.
“It’s just you and me,” I croon. “You might want to consider speaking to me with respect, considering that there’s no one here to help you, no one to save you. It would be much easier if you go along with it, Rowan.”
She responds by kicking out when I touch her ankle. My grip tightens until she whimpers. “That’s right,” I mutter, binding her ankles together using the rope. “You’re going to figure out who’s in charge. It will go better for you if you treat me with a little respect. Maybe I won’t fuck your ass until it bleeds.”
She tries to scramble away with a high, shrill cry, but it’s no use. I’ve already tied her ankles, and now I flip her onto her back. She punches, slaps, and claws at me, and I have to wonder in the back of my mind how much of this is sincere. Whether she’s fighting for my sake or her own. Regardless of the reason, it’s making me harder than ever.
“Every mark you leave on me will be one more mark I leave on you,” I promise as I bind her wrists. She tries in vain to slip out of the rope as I stand, staring down at her. I could just as easily jerk off now, all over her, but that would ruin the fun. Why go to all the trouble of chasing her down while savoring the anticipation only to spike the ball short of the goal line?
The girl is as light as a feather, so it’s easy to lift her and throw her over my shoulder. I find myself whistling happily as I begin the short walk up to the house. It’s more of a cabin, really, though slightly better outfitted than one. I’m not a caveman, regardless of the fact I’m carrying a woman over my shoulder. I enjoy my comforts.
The anticipation builds the closer I get, and by the time I reach the shallow porch, I’m ready to blow a load in my pants. This is going to be a night worth remembering.
