An invisible fist squeezed her windpipe. She couldn’t swallow, could barely breathe. Giving herself over to Luther’s dark gaze, she asked simply, “Do you believe I killed her?”
“No.”
Relief washed over her. “Then—”
“But I think you can tell me things. And Gaby?” He kissed her again. “You will. Right now.”
Oren watched the skinny girl and the tall man exchange money, whisper, and finally make off for their trick.
So she was a whore, like the others. Somehow, he hadn’t figured her for that type. She was too . . . off-putting to be in the flesh trade. And too skinny. Too plain.
In his experience, even the homeliest whores had curves. Big chests and bigger posteriors, welcoming smiles and tired eyes. They wore revealing clothes and painted themselves to advertise their trade.
Not that woman.
No, her eyes weren’t tired at all. They were laser sharp and she just watched everyone and everything with a hatred that cut clean.
Maybe it was a specialty of hers, that antagonistic attitude. Did men pay her extra for it?
Did she, like he, favor dominance?
Interesting. Oren smiled at the thought.
Perhaps later, when the need arose again, he’d take her and see just how well she fared as a supplicant. Breaking someone as strong-willed as her would last longer, and provide extra enjoyment.
But for now . . . yes, the youngest of the whores finally finished her duty with her most recent john and returned outside.
With the pimp otherwise occupied and the skinny watchdog off with her own trick, Oren finally had his chance. He waited near the corner, out of sight, until she strolled toward him.
“Excuse me?”
She looked up, tipped her head at the sight of him, and frowned. “Hello.”
Putting just the right quaver in his voice, Oren said, “Could you . . . you help me? Please?”
She looked behind her, fretted, and then came toward him. “Help you how? What are you doin’ out this time of night? You don’t look like you belong around here.”
“I don’t. I’m lost, and I’m scared.” He let his bottom lip tremble. “I want to go home.”
“Shhh, now. It’s okay.”
She started to touch the hat on his head, and Oren stepped out of reach.
Luckily, she read that as fear. “I’m Bliss. What’s your name?”
Oren thought quickly, and said, “Matt.”
“How old are ya, Matt?”
“Twelve.” He shuffled his feet, peeked at her from under the brim of his cap. “I was with my older brother at a party, but I got mad at him and decided to walk home. Now I’m lost and my mom will kill me if she finds out.”
The stupid cow melted with sympathy. “Well, we won’t let that happen, will we? If you want to come with me, we can call your brother and—”
“No!” Covering up, Oren said, “I don’t know his number. But he’s probably still at the party. If you walk me back there, I can pay you. I promise.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“But I want to. We’re rich. My brother throws away money. He’ll give you some, I swear. He doesn’t want my parents to find out that he let me leave, or he’ll be in trouble, too.”
Undecided, Bliss again looked around the building and down the street. She turned back to him. “I guess it’d be okay. Is it very far away?”
Oren pointed. “It’s down that way. I just don’t want to go back by myself.”
She held out her hand. “Okay then, Matt. We’ll go together.”
Grinning to himself, Oren slipped his hand in hers. “Thank you.” The anticipation sparked and ignited, making him giddy. He reached into his pocket with his free hand and fingered the syringe that made compliance so easy.
Not yet. Not yet.
He had to get her closer to the plain sedan he drove for just these occasions.
“You okay, little buddy?”
“Yes.” Excitement made his voice croak, and he bit his lip, trying to contain himself. His breathing deepened. His palms got sweaty.
God, he loved this part the most. He couldn’t hold back. He saw the car, was within a few feet of it. “This way.”
As they walked past the vehicle, Oren observed the surrounding area.
He saw no one. They were alone.
Empty buildings towered around them, ready to muffle the screams sure to come. Inflamed, aroused, he withdrew the syringe and flicked off the cap. It hit the pavement with a near silent ping.
Yes, yes, yes.
Shaking with excitement, Oren tugged on Bliss’s soft hand. “Oh, Bliss?” he teased in a singsong voice.
She turned to look at him. “Hmmm?”
Vicious, hard and fast, Oren jabbed the needle into the base of her throat, just above her collarbone.
With a high-pitched scream, she flailed back, staring at him in blank astonishment. She tried to look down at the needle protruding from her neck, then just as quickly began to stagger. “Wha . . . ?”
Oh, God, the look of utter shock on her stupid face.
The dawning horror in her big blue eyes.
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.”