Chapter 5

Five

JANE

“Okay, it’s a date. Looking forward to it!” I’m so not, but a gal’s gotta do! Hopefully, Echoes will blab about it to Cal, and he’ll get jealous. Or it could backfire again. I never know with him. Besides, he’s my boss. He probably has strict boundaries he’ll never break for me. Even with mauve lipstick.

Rainier’s not a lowly farmer as Echoes made him out to be, though that was clever of her to undersell him. Turns out, he’s a lackey in the fields for the Von Dovish clan, ensuring their major product is safe.

Giggling my way to a first date invitation, I finally let my face muscles relax after hanging up the call. Rainier’s into BDSM, or likes to brag about being a dom online, then calls anything else anyone says about it “not real BDSM,” trying to spread his education like the pseudo intellectual he is. Being an obedient sub, I completely agreed with him on all points, made him feel important, and agreed to meet at the Crimson Angel on Friday night.

What ever happened to dinner and a movie?

“Another date?”

My red hair gets caught in my mouth as my head snaps to Cal, who’s smiling as he enters from the warehouse. We hadn’t talked much more since Monday’s police fiasco, and I hadn’t seen him at all the previous day. Usually, he stops in to check on me at least once.

“Yeah,” I say, lifting one shoulder to let him know how casual it is. “I don’t know if it will work out or not. I think we may have different interests.” So you can still ask me out!

Cal’s dark brow grows heavy. “What are your interests, Jane?”

Did he put emphasis on my name? Or did I just want to hear it that way? “Um, I like to read. And watch movies. And go out to dinner.” Was that too forward?

“Is that what you and your date are doing? Watching movies and going out to dinner?”

The slight curve to his lips drops to a frown as his piercing jade eyes bore into mine. How does his gaze cause such a physical reaction within me? Being under his focus feels like he has stroked my skin to set it on fire.

“Well, uh, no. He’s meeting me someplace else. And…I just don’t know that we’ll get along.” Locked in a trance, my eyes can’t look away from his face.

The air moves like a dart into my lungs when he smiles brightly, flashing white teeth. “What kinds of books?”

“Oh, classics,” I say with utter confidence.

“Which ones?”

Dazed, I manage to make a questioning sound. “Huh?”

“What classic books do you like to read? Or what kinds of movies do you like to watch?”

A literal “tee-hee” flees from my mouth as I bat my lashes. What kinds of books do I like? Or movies… My thoughts are as blank as the clear glass case I just dusted in circles for five minutes while he has been talking to me. “Hm…”

“You don’t remember what books you like.” Now the lightness in his demeanor is definitely gone. It’s cold in Cal’s shadow, almost terrifying.

“Of course, I do.” Clearing my throat, I ask, “What do you like to read?”

“People.” Walking a step back from me, he snorts a slight breath through his nose. As he retreats, my tingles dissipate and the longing for his nearness returns, despite how utterly petrifying it is. “Are you prepared for tonight?”

“Yeah! Yes! I am. You know me. I want to do a⁠—”

“Good job.” My teeth find my bottom lip when he finishes my sentence. We latch eyes for another twenty seconds, my clit thumping erratically, until his shoulders relax ever so slightly. Running a hand through his mocha brown waves, he waltzes in reverse away from me. “Good luck tonight.”

The pit of my stomach ties into a knot. Was that a warning, or a seduction tactic? I hate that I can’t tell the difference.

As soon as my shift ends and I lock up the store, I head to a gigantic bookstore I saw once on North Side. Glistening streets, clean and smoothly paved, greet me as soon as I cross the bridge into Strauss’s territory. Pulling into the oversized glass building, I find a parking spot near the back of the full lot and hustle inside. There are only a few hours before my first training begins, so I need to hurry to find something.

When I enter through the metal detector doors, I’m immediately overwhelmed by the sheer volume of bookshelves filled to their tops with possibly every book ever written. My head drops back as I stare up at the three, no, four stories built high with white gleaming everywhere, the ceiling lights illuminating every corner of the store. There’s nowhere to hide in bull territory.

“Ma’am.”

A large uniformed security guard sits on a stool near the entrance. Well, Strauss’s guards are more like trained fighters with weapons, but I’ll pretend like they are here for my security.

“Ma’am, you’re blocking the doors. You need to move along.”

“Oh, sorry.” I hadn’t even realized my mouth was hanging open, staring into the place, but I shuffle my feet toward the first section. An oversized sign hangs above several rows claiming ‘Biographies.’ Do I like biographies?

Meandering down an aisle, my hand trails along some covers mindlessly. Does Cal like biographies? He said he reads people, and I know he was joking, right? But maybe he also meant he enjoys memoirs. Swallowing, I stare back and forth down the first shelves.

There’re so many books to choose from… Like staring into an empty well, I cannot come up with anything. The covers swirl before my eyes: blacks, whites, splashes of red. My heart pounds harder, sweat forming around my hairline until I shove it away with the back of my hand, feeling as though I may faint.

“Excuse me, do you need help?”

A quick gasp leaves my mouth as the young employee wearing a large badge labeled “Darvius” peers around the corner of a bookcase. Spotting me, probably looking close to death, he shoves his glasses up his nose and strolls over. No words form when I try to respond. He repeats himself. “Do you need help, miss?”

Looking at the gray Berber carpet, I stammer, “Uh, what would tech geeks like to read?”

As if offended, he straightens his shoulders and flattens his lips into a line. “Geeks can like a variety of books. What does the guy you’re trying to impress like?” Is it that obvious? I mean…he’s not wrong.

“I-I’m not exactly sure.” Shoving the sleeves of my work sweatshirt up to my elbows, I pick up a copy of a famous scientist. Then, I put it back down. Not that one. It just didn’t feel right.

“You work at West Tech?”

Glancing at the employee, I shrug a shoulder. “Yeah.”

He walks over a couple of steps and picks up a different book, one with a man who wrote computer programs, and hands it to me. Dating Data: Coding Love for Those in Tech. “Then shouldn’t you know what tech geeks like?”

Taking the book from his palm, I stare at it. Then, shove it back at him and brush past him down the aisle. “I can’t do this.”

It’s just too overwhelming. I hate that I can’t just go in and pick a book like a normal person. But I’ve never been normal. At least…I don’t think I have. Besides, I need to get ready for the evening’s excursions.

By nightfall, I’m in my regalia and slipping through the side streets toward Gnarled Pine Park. It’s hard not to take shortcuts, but I do my appropriate helpless damsel distraction tactics for the cameras.

Oh, what does this street sign say? Ugh, it’s so difficult to read. All the words and numbers are so confusing. Hmm…yes. I believe I must be heading in the right direction, but may need a man’s help to guide me. Who will rescue me from my own stupidity?

After wandering aimlessly toward the woods, I skirt around the trees with ease. If the woods would let me, I’d make this my home. It’s far safer than an overstuffed bookstore.

Despite the frigid air crystalizing my breath, I’m cozy in my leather jacket and jeans. Now it’s simply a matter of how long I should wait before I just happen to stumble upon some Amanita. But the earth calls to me and I never get to spend as much time outside as I like.

Deciding to enjoy the crisp winter night, I lie on my back and gaze up at the sky. It’s starless, with hazy cotton clouds almost covering the moon. Staring into the void dome surrounding me, I feel weightless, matterless, and unrestricted. Part of me melds with space and land until the particles that make up my essence cease to exist as a separate entity.

At some point later, the snap of a twig shakes me from my meditation. Slowly, my body takes form: fingers and toes tingle, legs and arms, trunk so very heavy as I crash back to Earth with the weight of gravity. The knot I had forgotten about returns to my stomach and my pupils blow out to capture any light the darkness provides.

The sound wasn’t an animal carelessly wandering for an evening meal. It was purposeful. Measured. Meaning someone is here and wants me to know it. This someone either doesn’t understand what I am capable of…or doesn’t care. Could be good, could be bad.

Either way, I’m not taking the risk. With a swift motion of my torso, I flip into a crouching position, landing lithely on my feet. Wind surrounds my ears, telling me the person is on the move and I should be, too.

First step is to make it to the pines that stand thick and close together. The ash are in the way but will help as I dart in a zig-zag pattern between each. My shoulder brushes against a firm trunk, shoving me to the side, but I keep going, maintaining my balance after a small stumble. Leaves crunch about ten and a half feet behind me. Steps coming every two to three paces of mine.

Hmm, probably six foot two. Maybe two hundred pounds, someone solid. Sneakers, not boots.

Because I anticipated being seen, I hadn’t brought my handgun. Fortunately, my greatest weapon is held within. If they wanted me for the mushrooms or for territory violation, then they would have taken a shot already. This means their motive is something far more sinister.

Diving toward the pines, I squeeze around two oaks, but when I attempt to get a look behind me, my ankles twist into something tight, snaring me into a trap. Fuck! It’s a literal trap. He’s been guiding me to his snare. How did I not realize that?

I scream in a shrill shriek, “No!” The waves of the sound carry out into our desolate surroundings. The owls don’t care as they continue to hoot a banal reply.

Before I can fall on my hip, a gloved hand snatches my arm, the other gripping my neck, pressing me against the base of the big tree, as my leg slides from the netting surrounding it. My eyes squeeze tightly shut when I finally let the fear overtake me. Tears roll down my cheeks while his cool breath huffs over my skin, painting it with ownership. When I squirm, he presses his chest to mine and then joins me with his waist. An involuntary alarmed gasp leaves my mouth as his large, firm erection presses into my belly. The fact that it causes my thighs to flood with wetness is something I don’t want to analyze at this moment.

Fuzzy fabric scratches across my face as the man nears me and speaks in a robotic voice, “Who are you?”

My heart stops and the winter chill that I enjoyed now rips into my skin like icicle daggers from the unearthly sound. “Wha-what do you mean—” The hand around my throat tightens its hold, cutting off my words.

“Who. Are. You.” It’s a voice modulator. Voice modulator, think, think. He allows me some air, relaxing his fist. Slowly, I peek one eye open, then the other. Everything in me wishes I hadn’t.

Underneath a black hoodie, the man is wearing a bright white molded mask, giving him an otherworldly appearance, like a demon pretending to be an angel. Or a monster feigning human. He must be wearing some type of black cover because the eye holes are completely dark, the mouth only a tiny slit.

Steadying my voice, I squeak out, “I’m sorry, I was just enjoying the park.”

Long, trailing white puffs come out of his tiny nostril holes, until I think he’s as frozen as the land. With a buck of his hips, he rapidly shoves his hard dick into my stomach as he blocks my air. His masked face buries itself into the crook of my neck as he pants behind the molded plastic. A robotic groan escapes from him as I stand plastered to the bark in bewilderment. The man is rubbing his cock all over me and getting off on it.

“Why can I smell you?” The mechanical sounds vibrate my skin as his breath heats it, sending shock waves down my limbs.

“Wha-what?”

“Why can I smell your pussy?” And before I know what’s happening, the hand not gripping my neck shoves down the front of my pants as my tongue gets caught in the back of my throat. Grasping at his forearm, I try to peel it back from its venture, to no avail. He’s very strong and determined.

“What are you—” My air is cut off again.

The gloved hand rips its way between my thighs and my body decides to relax against the pressure two leathered fingers provide on my clit. He strokes arduously, yet gently on my nub before dipping his middle finger into my entrance. My hips follow the motion, gathering more of the digit inside. Wanton, that’s what I am. I’m reckless with need. As the clutch around my throat loosens, I let out a slow, calculated sigh.

The mask looks up at my face. “You’re slick. Why are you soaked right now?”

Despite the wetness coating my pussy lips, the racing of my pulse, and the desire to buck against his palm, I tell the figure, “I want you to stop.”

Plunging in repeatedly, he thrusts his erection on my stomach once more with a breathy laugh. “You don’t make demands. You’re not real.” With a few more juts of his hips, he emphasizes his point with the machine buzzing out, “You’re. Not. Fucking. Real.” But before I can protest with my body or let it lapse into ecstasy, he quickly rips his forearm from my jeans, holding up the hand and making a V with his fingers, showcasing strings of my juices between them. It’s thoroughly embarrassing to have the evidence of my body’s betrayal before my eyes.

“Open. Clean my gloves.”

Before I can refuse, he squeezes my neck until my mouth forms an ‘O’ and he plunges his fingers into my mouth, so I taste myself. It’s musky, sour, but with a hint of sweetness. Something I’d never tried before. Then, his mouth slit presses against my face and the tip of a tongue protrudes enough to lick what I hadn’t swallowed from my glistening lips. Two quick little inhales are heard in the stillness of the night, and his body shudders, the dick between us even more palpable.

His broad chest straightens and holds me to the tree, legs pinning mine by standing on either side. The robot groans inhumanly with its pleasure while poking repeatedly into me. He’s going to explode.

“Do you want me to come on you?” My skin tingles in terror at the sound escaping the machine. The mask so flat, so alien, it’s worse than if it were just a strange man.

“What?” My word lands in a squeal as his fingers surround my windpipe.

“Do you want me to come in my hand and shove it inside your mouth or your pussy?”

It almost comes out as a scream, only held back by the hand around my throat when I say, “N-no!”

His rapid, rhythmic pace halts and he returns to a statue, head still buried close to my carotid. Panting, I plead with whimpering moans but am too afraid to speak. The mouth slit edges up to my ear and the robot commands, “Then you better run.”

And with that, his presence is gone, three paces away from me. Without a moment’s hesitation, my legs sprint toward the pines, panicked sobs escaping my ribcage in a shattered vibrato. Satanic laughter haunting the forest, echoing off every ancient tree we pass, heightens my terror.

Come on, get it together. Instead of the skinny copse, I divert back toward town and the entrance of the park. I need people.

He’s letting me get ahead, but he’s much faster. The masked man is enjoying his hunt, but he doesn’t know who I am. Is he a regular lackey? One of Ace’s men? The white mask could be a clue. A Von Dovish who was out mushroom hunting? They would be able to afford the technology of the modulator.

As the edge of the park grows closer, the lights from the city illuminate the four hundred yards between me and safety. It’s late, but there are crowds still strolling by on the streets between the buildings. The lights from the casinos and strip clubs bounce off the brick walls. If I can just get near enough, the drunks could hear my screams. Three hundred yards.

A swishing sound behind me indicates he’s sprinted up near my shoulder and I zig-zag away. Before I can get out of his reach, a leg sticks forward to trip my ankle. The ground moves closer and closer as I fall. Tucking into a ball, I roll forward, but he comes with me, landing on top of my back.

“No!” I shriek, but his large body’s full weight pressing into me deafens the sound. Clawing desperately at the almost frozen ground to try to gain some traction, I’m unable to move due to his mass. He doesn’t even have to struggle. Losing air, my vision becomes unfocused.

“Mouth it is.” The analog voice ripples in my ear until I feel ill. Worried I may vomit, I press my ass into him so I can give my stomach some room.

But when I do, one hand reaches up to gather both of mine above my head, holding them there. His cock has turned to stone and thrusts erratically between my jean-covered butt cheeks.

“I know you want it. You know how I know? Because when I come in my glove and stick it in your face, you’ll open your mouth just to get a taste.” Shaking my head rapidly, I try to tell him no, but my hips move to hump him back. A monotonous deep chuckle causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand erect. The ungodly moans seep from his chest, wailing into the night like a banshee. With a few more juts, he erupts, his hand then shoving between us before coming up and covering my mouth.

I hate that he’s right, but I shake my head as his fingers dangle in front of my lips. When I open them, he plunges the leather inside, and I suck and tongue and toy with each digit like it’s my own personal lollipop. The desire I had before escalates into a raving drive, and if he hadn’t come already, I may peel his pants down myself to use him like a dildo. His breaths heave in staccatos over my neck as I taste him. Salty, bitter. And intoxicating.

Pulling his hand away, he laughs maniacally. “You’re not real, puppet. You’re my little puppet.” Before I can ease away from him, a hard swat lands on my ass, jolting me up and back onto my legs as I sprint away as fast as I can. Lingering cackles dance in the open field as I near the exit of the park.

The closer he allows me to roam toward the city limit, the farther away he is. Just as I enter an alley, then burst onto a busy side street, my feet stumble into two couples walking out of a local bar. One man catches me and sets me upright.

“Whoa! Are you okay?”

Nodding, I brush him off, then place my hands around the back of my head, allowing my lungs to expand with much-needed oxygen.

Ambling toward home with a stitch in my side, I take in the sights of the South. Colorful neon signs, with tattoo and piercing shops on every corner, the sounds of horns honking only interrupted by the rumble of cruiser bikes roaming down the road in packs. Meat-on-a-stick vendors line the sidewalks and aggressively yell their wares at passersby.

Every few blocks, red light casinos and strip joints are interrupted by small alleyways. Sometimes the establishments combined into a convenient pay for play. Down narrow passageways are the dirty sex clubs advertised only by overly large men in suits, usually smoking or wearing sunglasses while appearing intimidating.

When I finally reach home an hour later, I head straight into the shower, turning it all the way to hot. After allowing the harsh droplets to scald my pale skin pink, I open my mouth wide, washing out any remnants of what I just allowed to happen. Focusing on anything else in the shower, the shampoo bottle, the instructions on the conditioner, I try not to let myself think about why I enjoyed myself as much as I did.

In fact, I try not to think about myself at all.

Once I comb out my red locks and brush my teeth twice, I roam into my room and pull out my fresh pajamas. With a tired sigh, I slide them on and then shimmy under my sheets.

As my arm reaches up to turn out the light, a hoarse cry rises from the acid knot in my belly. Clawing its way up my bare throat, it rips out, rattling the thin, white apartment walls.

A bloodied and severed big toe lays in front of my angled tissue box.