The first orgasm hits and my back arches, a strangled scream in my throat. “Tolyan,” I say, my eyes squeezed shut as I try to survive the tsunami of unimaginable pleasure.
He grunts with satisfaction against me, but he isn’t finished. Not even close.
He pushes me again. Relentless. Merciless.
I scream endlessly, my senses spinning out of control as more orgasms crash over me, piling one after another, until I can’t think, just feel.
I vaguely feel something hot and wet hit my back as I come for what feels like a hundredth time. Only then does he relent.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Tolyan
After taking the muscle relaxants the doctor prescribed, Angelika breathes evenly next to me in bed. No matter how much I cajoled and tempted her, she absolutely refused to do anything more than oral sex. I wanted to be inside her. Badly. I didn’t expect, however, that she’d still have the control left to say no, to ensure I didn’t re-injure myself.
I wish I’d hurt the third guy more. I didn’t realize she’d be this worried about a minor cut. But there will be time enough for that. Tonight there is work to do.
I pull the sheet up over her, get dressed and slip out of the room. The dogs are still out on the rooftop, so I let them back in and give them some food.
Afterward, I climb into my SUV and settle in for a long drive. The roads are more or less empty once I get out of Los Angeles proper. I hum as I drive along to the special place I’ve set up for Roy Wilks.
After a couple of hours of speeding, I reach a crumbling hut up on a large hill. Too big to be a hill, really, but too small to be a mountain. It has some growth of vegetation. Despite California’s regular wildfires, the plants always grow back.
The hut is something I built away from civilization. People think of Southern California as a bustling urban sprawl, but there are pockets of forested wilderness and solitude if you know where to look. Not to mention a lot of desert.
I reach into the back of the SUV, then put aside the cargo cover and reach under the rear seat to get to the false bottom. You never know when you’re going to need one of those. Or the body bags I’ve stowed. I could teach the Boy Scouts a thing or two about being prepared.
Roy’s still out cold in one of the bags. I don’t want him dead yet. Just enjoying the effect of tranq mixed with a few other chemicals designed to keep him quiet and limp for several hours. Like his dick.
I haul the bag over my shoulder and carry him into the hut. I turn on the flashlight I’ve left next to a rough wooden chair. A shovel and a box are on the dirt floor next to the chair, which, in turn, is next to a pile of dirt. A two-foot-wide, six-foot-deep hole waits in the center of the hut, like a predator’s open maw. Digging it was a cumbersome task, but it’s been ready for weeks now.
I take Roy out of the bag and lay him on the ground with his knees on the edge of the hole and his feet hanging into it. Straddling him, I grab him by the lapels and lift him partway up. His legs slide in. I lower him to the other side, so that he’s lying on his face with his hips on the edge, and arrange his arms so that they’re alongside his body. Another lift, this time from the back, and he slides the rest of the way in.
He’s out on his feet, but it’s fine. The hole holds him upright. I use the shovel to fill in the empty space between his body and the hole, tamping it down tight every foot or so. When I’m done, the dirt comes to his chin.
He’s still out of it. He struggles to open his eyes, but fails.
I don’t want to wait too long. I don’t want Angelika waking up to an empty bed. The muscle relaxants knocked her out, but they won’t make her sleep that long.
I grab a bottle of water from the SUV, then squat down and splash his face and slap him lightly a few times. He expels a rough breath, then shakes the droplets away.
His bleary eyes take some time to focus. When they finally do, he says, “You!”
I smile. “Yes. Me.”
“You fucker!” His head jerks spasmodically, as though he’s trying to throw a punch. His sluggish brain seems not to realize that he can’t move. “What the fuck…?”
“You’re stuck.” I get up, pull the chair around and sit in it. “How does it feel to be overpowered by a better man?”
“Older, maybe,” he says. “You know I’m gonna kill you the second I get out of here, right?”
Hope isn’t the only thing that springs eternal. The fact that he thinks he can get out of this alive is delusional. Or outright stupid. But then, if he were a smarter man, he wouldn’t have killed Lyosha’s mom, or played that messed-up game with the little fawn. “And how are you going to do that?” I say softly. “Someone coming to rescue you?”
He pauses for a second. The gears in his head must be turning extra slow. Even though he’s been drugged, shouldn’t adrenaline have kicked in by now? “You fucked up, man. You’re sitting there dead on that chair and you don’t even know it. I have lots of people looking for me!”
“Ah. Like Courtney Young, perhaps?”
“Her and a bunch of others.”