L.L. Foster - The Acceptance

Relishing it all, Oren withdrew the keys and with the touch of a button the doors unlocked. “Don’t fight it, Bliss. There’s no point. No, don’t be afraid, my dear. Fear won’t help. Yes, here you go. Inside. That’s it.”

Eyes going vague, as amiable and placid as a newborn kitten, Bliss allowed him to lead her into the backseat of the sedan where she slumped in a foul heap of open legs and lifted skirts.

Oren took in her disarray with distaste. Yes, she deserved this. Every single second of it.

Repulsed at the touch of her smooth flesh, Oren shoved her legs inside and closed the door. She’d be out cold any second now, and she’d stay out until he had her well caught in her restraints.

Uncle Myer and Aunt Dory would be euphoric. For them, the joy was in the play, not the pursuit. Plebian fools. They had no imagination.

No motivation.

Without him, they’d still be sitting in the squalor of their small apartment, feasting on cheap porn and each other. When he’d first met them, he wasn’t sure if they could be trusted. But bloodthirst lurked inside the most unassuming people. It smoldered in the bosom, bound by principle and morality, until someone daring broke the fetters.

He was daring.

And once circumstances occurred to call their fetishes into action, circumstances that he’d manufactured as a test, their true natures broke free, shattering forever their mundane existences. Now they served him.

And he indulged their desires. A perfect union.

Ripping off his hat and removing his backpack, Oren climbed behind the wheel. He got the satchel-type purse from the backpack, and the sandals, then removed his jacket to reveal a young woman’s T-shirt. He stuffed the jacket, hat, and sneakers into the backpack, and put it all in the oversized purse.

Within one minute, he’d transformed himself from a boy to a young, but legal-aged woman.

Driving out of the area, he passed low-class establishments, but he knew if anyone noticed him, they’d see only a woman.

Never Oren.

Never that.

The only one to ever see him, really see him, was the skinny whore with the too-intense eyes.

Maybe it was thoughts of her that distracted him, but Bliss was sitting up, slumped against the rear side door when Oren finally brought his attention back to her.

She didn’t look well. Eyes closed, body weaving, she clutched the car door.

Stupid sow. “The door is locked. There’s no escape,” he enjoyed telling her. “You should rest. Believe me, with what I have planned for you, you’ll need your strength.”

She moaned, delighting him.

“You’ll be constrained in handcuffs, gagged so I don’t have to hear your ridiculous begging, and every inch of your body will be explored to find your breaking point of pain. You’d be amazed, you slut, how much the human body can take before giving in to death. I predict that you’ll last for days, if not a week. That is, as long as I temper Dory and Myer’s appetites. They can be gluttons when it comes to deriving pleasure from another’s pain.”

Oren smiled at her through the rearview mirror—and she gagged.

Outrage coursed through him. “Don’t you dare!” Frantically searching for the window release while still watching her, Oren lowered the window. “Hang your head out, you stupid pig. Hang it out! ”

Oh God, she didn’t.

Through the mirror, Oren watched in disbelief as she swayed away from the door and gagged again, this time more convulsively.

“You listen to me, you detestable tramp. If you dare vomit in my car, I swear to you, I’ll—”

She hurled, not just in the car, but all over the back of Oren’s head.

Shock stripped him of thought and reaction. He felt the hot, loamy ooze dripping down his hair, seeping into his neck, his ear cavities, slipping over his shoulders and on to his chest.

It almost made him vomit as well.

Slamming on the brakes, he knew he’d kill her now, right now—and in the next second, she toppled out the open window and hit the street hard.

Oren’s mouth fell open. No. She didn’t.

How dare she?

Bliss screamed even as she pushed herself up to her feet.

Two thugs on the corner looked up.

Screeching, her voice raw and weak, Bliss made a haphazard race down the street. She didn’t even care that puke stained the front of her clothes, or that she babbled like a drugged idiot.

Men in front of a bar started toward her.

Fury made Oren see red. Damn her, he had no choice but to drive away now, before anyone approached him with questions. The stupid bitch had robbed him. Because of her and her weak stomach, he’d have to go home empty-handed.

With puke on his neck.

Seething, he made a vow to return, soon, and when he did, he’d make sure she paid. They’d all pay .

In the most painful ways he could devise.

“Tell me what happened with Carver.”

Walking away from him, Gaby went to the building and slumped down to sit with her back against it, her knees up.

Even in the dim light, Luther could see the crotch of her plain white panties, her long calves, her pale thighs. Salacious heat set his blood to boiling. His dick twitched, but then, around Gaby, twitchy was a way of life.

But more than that, more than anything carnal, he felt Gaby’s isolation, and he hated it.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t give in to it. Not yet. Not now, with a murder to be solved.

Standing over her helped Luther keep the emotional distance he needed to think with clarity. “Tell me what happened, Gaby.”

“Fine.” She scratched at a bug bite on her shoulder. “Carver hurt one of the women.” She shrugged. “So I hurt him.”

Luther had known the facts, but still, the dispassionate, almost flippant way Gaby retold the story bothered him. He wanted to see her care. About something. About him. “Which woman? Give me a name.”

“Winnie.”

Luther searched his mind, but couldn’t dredge up a resemblance to go with the name. “You know her well?”

“No, but what does that matter?” Elbows on her knees, Gaby dropped her forehead down and crossed her wrists at the back of her skull. Voice muffled, she intoned, “No man has a right to hurt a woman.”

“I agree.” Abuse of any kind enraged him. “Unfortunately—”

“Yeah, they’re prostitutes. I know. And I accept their life choices, I really do. They let men knock them around as a routine part of their day. It’s as commonplace for them as eating is for other women.” Her hands curled into fists. “But there are always limits, and Carver took it too far. He hurt her.”

Aching to touch her, Luther whispered, “It wasn’t the first time.”

“No.” Her shoulders tightened. “But then Bliss was under his control.”

Ah. He’d realized early on that she and Bliss had an affinity, a bond of sorts.

And that meant . . . what? That Gaby had to get Carver in line? “You take responsibility for Bliss?”

“She’d lived on the streets for a long time.”

Another child society had ignored, and forgotten. Luther softened more. “Until you moved her in near you.”

“Something like that. I thought it’d be better, but with Carver still around . . . I won’t let anyone hurt her, Luther.” She made a small, choking sound, and Luther could tell it hurt her to admit, “She’s so young, and so sad, that I can’t help but care for her.”

Her distress proved more than Luther could take. Giving up, he sat down on the mucky, debris-covered concrete beside her. Being closer to Gaby, shoulders touching, helped.

A little.

“Let’s try this from another angle.” Staring at the moon-glow on her smooth skin, Luther asked, “Does Carver know for sure it was you who attacked him?”