Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection (11 page)

But she noticed all of those things on the
way out, Carlos dragging her by the hair in a blind rage. She
didn’t know how he’d found her and it didn’t matter. Silas was gone
and couldn’t protect her, and while she’d fought as hard as she
could, even managing to stab her husband in the upper arm with a
meat fork—she’d been aiming for his jugular—hard enough to impale
it three inches, it had all been in vain. She was still locked in
his truck heading toward her death for the second time in a
year.

And she still regretted that she’d never
really loved a man who truly loved her back. Carlos had never
wanted or cared for her—to him, she’d been a trophy, something to
win and display. And Silas? Did he love her? The last time she’d
done this, she’d been full of thoughts of escape. This time, the
ride was shorter, and she didn’t have as much time to plan, but she
thought about Silas almost exclusively.

Would he believe she got lost? Or worse,
would he think she left?

Or would he realize what had happened and
come for her?

Even as the car bumped down the old familiar
two-track and she flashbacked to that day last winter, her pants
wet with fear, her heart hammering in her chest just as it was now,
she couldn’t help hoping for the latter.

* * * *

Silas should have paid attention to his
instincts. Miles from home, he thought he heard someone traveling
on the old two-track.
Too wet out there,
he thought.
Gonna get stuck.
The rain had been heavy this spring, making
everything soft and muddy. But he’d second-guessed himself as the
sound faded.

Besides, he was changed, everything was
different, his eyes just adjusting to a new light. He felt
off-balance and was trying to get his bearings. Or perhaps he
needed new bearings.

He’d buried Isabelle and now he was going to
see Jolee. And he was anxious to be home. Even if she walked away
after she saw his scars, he thought, stepping over a log and
running a hand over the rough skin of his cheek—and some part of
him was sure she would—he wanted to see her again, to tell her that
he loved her, to give her that much, at least.

He saw the tracks in the driveway in the
dappled afternoon sunlight as soon he stepped out of the woods, his
senses immediately awake, telling himself it was a trick of the
light and already knowing it wasn’t. The man’s footprints through
the driveway, up the steps and down again—a second set of smaller
tracks beside it on the way out—had his hunting knife unsheathed
and ready as Silas slipped silently into the house. She wasn’t in
there, he was sure of it, but he had to be ready just in case.

Silas’s assessment had been correct. The
note on the kitchen table, written in his brother’s handwriting,
confirmed that much. It was simple and wouldn’t implicate his
brother in anything, of course, but it was clear enough.

Meet me at the White Pine. Bring the
deeds.

And Jolee was gone. Her knitting was still
on the table, another mask, this one black with a white skeleton
face—for Halloween, she’d said with a grin, although he’d watched
her making it and realized it would probably be his death shroud
instead, because he didn’t plan on being around in October.

Excerpt now he very much wanted to be here,
and he wanted Jolee here beside him.

Silas worked quickly, not knowing how much
of a head start his brother had. He would take the four-wheeler
most of the way and then do the rest on foot, he decided. And he
took several things with him—but the one thing he didn’t take was a
deed to any of his land.

* * * *

Kicking her way out hadn’t worked this time.
Jolee couldn’t get the latch to pop and it did nothing except
making Carlos even more pissed when he opened his now very dented
trunk to drag her out. By the hair. She swore, if she got out of
this, she was going to get it cut off so no one could pull her
around by the stuff ever again.

“Fucking bitch! Look what you did to my
car!” Carlos threw her to the ground and she sprang up almost
instantly—the idiot had forgotten to zip tie her feet
together—heading into a full-out run. He swore again and took off
after her—he’d always been good about going to the gym and he was
fast—catching hold of her hair and yanking her backward. She fell
onto her back, hitting her head hard enough on the ground to make
her see blackness and bright stars instead of blue sky and sun.

She was cursing the length of her hair again
as he grabbed another handful and stalked off, forcing her to
follow, bent over and panting, still struggling in spite of the
pain and searching the ground for a weapon. There had been no jack
or even a tire iron in the trunk, but her hands were zip-tied in
front, not the back, and she could grab something if she could find
it. She wondered, considering how sloppy he’d been, if her husband
had ever really done this by himself, or if he’d always gotten one
of his guys to do it for him.

“Carlos, please,” she begged, trying to
appeal to the part of him she knew must be in there. “Don’t do
this.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He shoved her through a
door and threw her to the floor, kicking her in the ribs to leave
her breathless and deter her from running. It worked—her side
exploded, a bloom of pain, and she clutched it, groaning. “You
don’t tell me what to do. Nobody tells me what to do.”

She looked up at him, seeing a gun in his
hand, and she had a moment of panic, thinking of Silas, wishing he
was here, at the very least so he could be the last thing she saw
before her husband pulled the trigger. But when Carlos just stood
there, her eyes skipped away from his hand, around the room, taking
in her surroundings. A factory? There was a heavy, metallic smell
in the air and it hung around them. It smelled like blood. A
slaughterhouse?

She looked for an exit but the only one she
found was between her and Carlos. He’d even left the door propped
open and the light called to her like a beacon. The place was huge,
full of strange looking machines with thick ductwork, heavy steel.
She could get lost amongst them. That would be a start. She
struggled to rise and he kicked her again, the other side this
time, making her scream in pain.

“You were always way more trouble than you
were worth,” he snarled, unslinging a bag from his shoulder and
dropping it down by her head. She saw the blood seeping out of it
and screamed again, backpedaling from the sight.

He snorted, squatting down beside her and
opening it up. “You think my brother’s the only one who knows how
to hunt?”

He pulled out a muskrat by the tail, its
head half-gone from the shot that had killed it, and Jolee rolled
away, shuddering. It wasn’t the animal that made her sick, it was
Carlos, the sneering smile on his face, the glint in his eyes.

“Wanna see something cool, chickie?” He
grabbed her upper arm, still holding the muskrat with the other,
and dragged her to her feet. She was doubled over in pain, looking
around with blurry eyes for another exit, but she was forced to
follow around the huge machine in front of them, down an aisle
way.

It was dark back here, although the light
coming from the doorway reflected against the ceiling, giving her
some ability to see. Could she crawl under? Get into a small space
and hide? But Carlos had a gun. He’d slipped it into his belt, but
it was still there. Could she reach it? It was worth a shot. She
took a step toward him, knocking him off balance, reaching for the
butt of the gun, but he turned, shoving her backward onto the
floor. She sprawled, hands thrown over her head behind her, hitting
her head again, the other side this time, leaving a lump she could
practically feel.

“Whoa!” He slammed his foot down on the zip
tie across her wrists, making her howl in pain. He’d just broken
her finger, at least one of them, maybe more. It hurt so bad she
thought she might pass out, the world fading to gray. “Careful.
Wouldn’t want to fall in there. That would be nasty.”

He squatted, turning her chin toward him and
looking down at her. His face filled her vision, upside down, like
a storm cloud. She tried to move her fingers under his foot and it
brought more bursts of pain so she held still, letting the tears
roll down her temples. Carlos was still holding the half-headless
muskrat by the tail and she could smell its decomposing body. It
made her gag, but not as much as what he did next.

Using his other hand, he yanked her t-shirt
up, exposing her bra, his gaze burning over her flesh. Then he
yanked her bra down too, his teeth showing in a sneering smile as
he squeezed and kneaded her flesh. She turned her head away again,
more in reaction to his mauling than to the smell of the dead
animal, wanting to scream, knowing it would do her no good.

“I forgot how beautiful you are.” Carlos
tweaked her nipple and then twisted it, making her wince, but she
didn’t cry out. “And we’ve got time for lots of fun before we get
down to the dirty work.”

He had to stretch to reach her crotch,
cupping and grinding his hand there. “I’m gonna fuck you so
good.”

“That would be new,” she gasped, trying to
twist away, the pain in her hands increasing enough to make her
still. “Besides, your brother’s been doing the job much better than
you ever could.”

He growled, bringing his fist down on her
pubic bone, making her scream and curl up, turning fetal in spite
of the pain in her hands. The hurt between her legs far outweighed
that of her fingers. They were going numb, but her pelvis was on
fire all the way to her bones.

“Cunt!” He stood, yanking her up again,
dragging her by her mangled hands, keeping his grip on the zip tie
between them. “Want to see what I’m gonna do to you?”

He let the muskrat drop, and Jolee heard a
splash. In spite of the pain radiating through every part of her
body, she turned her head to look. There was a vat sunk deep into
the floor beside them, the liquid a good ten feet down. She saw
something—a lid?—on the floor next to the hole, like huge manhole
cover, that had been taken off.

Carlos sighed, looking down at the hole.
"Would have been more effective if it had still been alive I
guess.”

“What?” Jolee glanced down again, still
dazed and in pain, seeing something white floating in the liquid.
She could hear a hissing noise, like steam escaping.

“Sulfuric acid.” He grinned, meeting her
eyes. “Gonna eat you right down to your bones.”

She looked down again at the muskrat
skeleton floating in acid and the realization rolled through her
like thunder. She struggled, trying to get away from him, she
didn’t care how much pain she was in. She finally understood that
he was going to put a world of hurt on her that she could never
have even imagined—and that was all going to be before her sulfuric
acid bath.

“Stupid bitch.” He grabbed her, crushing her
mangled hands between them as he tried to kiss her. She turned away
and his lips mashed against her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and
she tasted Wintergreen Lifesavers. “Why did you have to find out? I
would have given you everything.”

“You don’t have anything I want.” She spat
the words out with his attempt at a kiss.

He had both arms around her and he squeezed
her so hard she couldn’t breathe. “Another few months and I’m going
to be the richest man you’ll ever meet. You know what’s in this
mine?”

She shook her head, letting out a little
squeak of response, but she did know. She’d identified the smell,
that thick bloody smell—it was copper.

“Silver!” he hissed, eyes bright with glee.
“Do you know what silver is worth in today’s market? Do you know
how much it’s going to be worth?”

She shook her head again, the world fading
from gray to black and back again. She literally couldn’t
breathe.

“Millions!” He laughed, squeezing and
twirling her around like they were celebrating something.
“Billions!”

She caught a breath, her lungs burning, her
side, both sides, aching with the expansion. “I hate you.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked down at her.
“Good. That will make dying easier.”

She went on, in spite of herself. If she was
going to die, she wanted him to know the truth. “I never loved you.
I love Silas. He’s more man, in every way, than you will ever
be.”

“We’ll see about that.” He shoved her
backwards, grabbing hold and tearing at her bra. It wouldn’t give,
the hooks on the back holding fast. He frowned in frustration,
redoubling his efforts, and Jolee saw the sudden widening of his
eyes before she realized what was happening, the way his mouth
dropped in surprise, jaw working with unspoken words.

Carlos tried to say something, but he just
gurgled, his grip on her loosening. That’s when she saw the arrow
sticking out of the side of his throat.

“Silas,” she whispered, pushing her husband
away from her without thinking, already searching for her rescuer
with her eyes. Carlos stumbled back, one hand reaching for the
arrow sticking out of his neck, the other blindly grasping in front
of him, and she saw that he was going to fall. There was no
stopping his momentum—he was going to fall into the hole in the
floor.

“Uuuhuhh!” Carlos choked, blood running down
to stain the collar of his white button down shirt, blooming on the
front like a rose. He had one hand on the arrow and was trying to
pull but the pain was clearly too much. He pawed the air with his
other hand and managed to hook his fingers through the front of
Jolee’s exposed bra again.

And she was falling.

His momentum became her own, and they were
both going down together, falling into the darkness toward a
roiling death. She heard thunder behind her, felt something hit the
floor, but there was no time to turn. She could only see her
husband’s wide, frightened eyes and the white skeleton of the
muskrat bobbing below.