Sympathy For The Devil (29 page)

The hinges squeaked but the door opened easily.

The space was musty smelling and still. She stepped on a poured cement floor, which was dusty and grimy, stains streaking across it. A single bare bulb hung above, casting ugly, thick shadows over the walls.

And the walls weren’t empty. For a brief moment, it almost reminded her of the hippy shop owner’s dungeon; an array of tools hung on the wall, only there was nothing erotic about them. Rope, knives, gardening tools, but all had dark red around the edges.

In the corner of the room sat a folded, clear plastic tarp and Tash’s stomach threatened to heave up its contents as she realized where she was.

Her feet were stumbling backward before she’d told them to and her back hit the door. She spilled outside, spun around, and came face to face with Leo again.

Tash screamed and stumbled back, but he grabbed her by the throat, stifling her shriek. His brown eyes were cold, dark blond hair damp and twisted with sweat. He walked forward, thrusting her back inside the shed.

She choked, clawed, blinked against rising panic. Her fingers formed claws and she tore at his arm, reached for his face but her arms weren’t long enough. His lips were set in a grim line and he slammed her against the far wall of the shed. Tools rattled on the wall and the sheet metal roof groaned.

He leaned close and breathed her in, his hand tightening on her throat until she couldn’t draw in air. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

Her brain shut off but her body moved on instinct, knee driving up for his groin. He anticipated, dodged, and slammed his fist into her gut.

Though Leo released her throat, it did her no good; she slumped forward in pain, falling hard onto her knees. Tears burned in her eyes and she coughed, gasped. She heard his feet shuffling, scraping on the cement, but she was only dimly aware of it.

Beyond him, the shed door lay open.

Tash surged forward but this time his boot caught her in the ribs, tossing her back. She slammed into the wall, falling on her side.

Her insides were on fire, pain everywhere. Still she scanned everything around her, searching for any kind of weapon—anything to fight back with.

“So tell me, Tash,” Leo said calmly. “What is it with you girls liking pain?” He stood by the wall of tools and reached first for the rope.

Tash scrambled back, her hands scraping the cement floor. There was no way past him, nowhere to go, but she huddled in the corner, looking for any kind of opening—any way to get away or gain the upper hand.

Of course, as he stared down at her, dusty rope in hand, she realized every other girl probably thought the same thing. No one would just lie there waiting to die—all of them were bruised and cut. All had fought back.

No one lived.

She wondered, though, if any of them had talked.

Tash coughed to clear her throat and spit coppery blood to the side. She swiped hair from her brow and blinked up at him. “How long while Chelsea was married had you been fucking her?”

He paused four feet away from her, staring down, regarding her in silence.

Bingo
.

“A few months,” he said at last.

“Did she cheat on you too? Is that why you killed her?”

“No.” He started toward her again. “She wanted to go back to her husband.” Leo stretched out the rope and lunged for her; she had nowhere to go and though she fought and screamed, he had her wrists in seconds, knotting the cord tightly around them. A hook hung from the ceiling and he looped the rope over it, jerking her onto her feet.

Tash could feel the bruises blooming on her face and her ribs screamed with pain every time she breathed. Her arms were wrenched high over her head, straining her shoulders and forcing her onto her toes. “You were too vanilla for her.”

Leo cut her a dark look.

Fuck it, if he was going to kill her, he’d do it fast if she pissed him off enough. “She liked it kinkier than you wanted to give it to her, right? Of course she wanted to go back to her Dom. He knew what she needed.”

Three swift steps brought him face to face with her again and he grabbed handful of her hair, yanking her head back. Her scalp burned with the pressure. “You dumb bitches want pain? I’ll
give you
pain.” The tip of a switchblade touched her throat, dragging up and pressing under her chin. “You fucking dirty whores, thinking with your cunts, wanting someone to torture you. You’re sick and you need to be punished.”

Pot, meet kettle.
“All this to get back at Archer? Because Chelsea was leaving you for him?”

“No,
this
,” he pressed the knife harder under her chin and a trickle of blood snaked down her throat, “is because I like it. Archer’s an added bonus.”

She braced for the knife to drive home but it never came; instead he stepped back, released her hair, and dragged the blade through her cotton T-shirt.

Tash’s bravado swiftly left her, cold reality descending. She might’ve pissed him off but not enough to slip up, not enough to even kill her quick. Instead he tore through her shirt and she’d read enough of the coroner reports to know what came next. He’d rape her, beat her, torture and kill her. It might last hours, it might even last days. And she couldn’t stop the sobs as they rose, shaking her entire body.

Movement caught her attention, a shadow in the doorway behind Leo. Her heart pounded, a flicker of hope rising in her again even as he tore through her clothes, fabric ripping loudly.

She wiggled her fingers, grasped the rope over her head, and heaved her feet up, using her last bit of strength to give Leo a kick. He stumbled backward but it was enough of a distraction—his angry, dark eyes focused on hers as he came at her again, knife raised and glinting dangerously in the light.

The figure behind him collided with his back, the two of them tumbling to the ground. Devin grunted as Leo sank an elbow into his side, then countered with a punch of his own. Blood sprayed across the cement floor in front of her as they fought, the knife’s blade finding a home in someone’s flesh. She tried not to think or worry, instead twisted and pulling at the rope binding her.

The hook was steady, locked in place and not moving at all. Her gaze followed the other end of the rope as the men fought—boards groaned, metal tools rattled on the wall, but she blocked it out. The rope ran along the wall just behind her where it was coiled around a ring.

Tash twisted again, raising her foot. Sweat poured from her brow and her arms screamed, the pain so intense she worried she’d popped them out of the joints. Still she fought until her foot was up, snagged on the rope, and she could give it a tug.

The ring rattled and the rope gave a little. Again she pulled her hands and gained an inch of slack, but it wasn’t enough to get it over the hook.

She hadn’t time to try again—the fighting drew her attention back moments before someone reached her. Leo grasped her by the hair and swing himself behind her, using her as a shield and holding the knife to her throat.

Devin was across the shed, panting, bleeding. An ugly bruise ran across the side of his face. His head tipped down, eyes flickering between her and Leo.

The tip of the switchblade bit into her throat and Tash held still, not daring to move at all.

“How should I cut her?” Leo dragged the knife along her neck. “Fast? Let her bleed out at your feet? Or...” The knife moved downward, well out of her view, but she felt the tip sliding across her chest to her bare abdomen, not deep enough to cut but still stinging. “...slow? Maybe you’ll carry her back in time for help?”

His grip on her hair tightened and she tried not to let it show on her face, but fire raced along her scalp and she yelped.

Devin shifted, rocking on his feet as if he debated darting forward. She had no doubt Leo would kill her in an instant if he tried.

“I did Chelsea slow,” he continued. “Made it last.”

Devin’s jaw twitched and she felt Leo shifting at her back, just waiting for any movement.

Tash grasped what she could of the rope over her head and swung back suddenly, knocking Leo into the wall behind her. Pain lanced her stomach and blood trickled but it was only a scratch; the knife clattered at her feet and she kicked it across the shed.

Devin moved, rushing toward them. Leo’s fist swung past her; she screamed, knocked him back again, driving her entire body into his extended arm.

Chaos erupted, her awkward position making it difficult to follow the scuffle taking place at her back. The rope suddenly slackened and the ring holding the other end banged against the wall as the men fought against it. She slumped forward, falling painfully on her knees. Her arms were nearly numb as they fell, her bound wrists coming to rest in front of her. She hadn’t time to think—she didn’t even pause to breathe with relief. Instead she fought onto her feet again, diving for Leo’s switchblade.

Her hands were swollen and falling asleep, the rope cutting off circulation. Still, they obeyed her command, grasping the knife’s handle. She twisted the blade, got it between her wrists, and sliced at the rope. It frayed, threads popping loose, and her gaze shot up again.

Leo was battered but not the way Devin was; her lover was bleeding, his blood painting the floor with every movement.

Tash abandoned her sawing through the rope and twisted the switchblade around again, then fought her way to her feet. She staggered forward, dove at Leo, and sank the tip of the knife into his shoulder blade.

He roared with pain, elbowed her in the face, and she went down, losing the knife in the process. Her hands were slick with blood, slippery as she weakly plucked at the rope again and tried to twist out of it.

The wound was at least enough to slow Leo; as he turned toward her, glaring down, Devin grasped the opportunity and slammed into the other man. He tossed him forward, onto the hard shed floor, and grasped the knife. As Leo surged to his feet, blood pouring from his shoulder, Devin thrust the knife up.

The blade hit home, sinking into his heart. For a moment Leo froze, blinking, and staggered backward before falling. The shed rattled again as he struck the wall and stared unblinking up at the ceiling.

Every single part of her body ached and the pain rushed at her suddenly from all directions. Tears fell freely and Tash’s shoulders slumped, her adrenaline high fading.

Arms came around her and she sank gratefully into them. Devin pulled at the rope until he had it free from her wrists, and blood rushed back to her hands.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispered.

“I’m okay. The police are coming. I called them a second time when I saw the shed—they know where to go. It’s okay.”

She clung to him and they both stared at the body, unwilling to look away even as the authorities at last arrived.

Epilogue

Fresh air blasted through the farmhouse’s master bedroom.

The heat hadn’t really let up but a strong breeze tossed the summer air about. Curtains fluttered in the open windows, the panes rattling restlessly like old ghosts.

Devin stood in the doorway, surveying the mostly-empty bedroom.

The closet was cleaned out and packed up, boxes stacked in the hallway. Mattress stripped, bedding discarded. SALVATION ARMY was written in bold black marker on the sides of all the boxes except for two. One contained personal items of Chelsea’s he didn’t feel it appropriate to keep but couldn’t part with. They’d be buried deep on the edge of the property, his way of parting with them respectfully. The other were items of hers—of
theirs
—he felt it okay to keep. A couple of her favorite books, dog-eared and cracked-spines. Photos of them she’d tucked in a drawer.

And her wedding ring, which she’d stopped wearing upon his moving out—he’d tuck that in a box with his. It would probably sit in a closet, collecting dust and mostly forgotten, but he was okay with that. Because he had loved her. He’d made vows to her. And while the past was gone, he could still honor that memory. It wasn’t something he’d let plague him day to day, but he wouldn’t ignore it either.

His shoulders were lighter, and the painful pinch in his heart hadn’t entirely abated but didn’t sting quite so badly. The room was cleaned out. He felt like he should be crying, staring at the last place she had felt “real” and alive to him, but strangely he didn’t. Maybe it was because years had passed and, despite denying it, he’d been ready. Maybe it was because he finally accepted that keeping her room intact wasn’t bringing her back. He couldn’t even picture her there any longer.

With a sigh, Devin turned back to the hall. He had tons of shit to drop at the secondhand store, and paint for the master bedroom to pick up, and all of it was taking twice as long with the healing stab wounds in his side and his leg. Just a few stitches, nothing dangerously deep, but a pain in the ass when he had shit to do. He collected a stack of boxes and headed downstairs with them. Steps creaked beneath his boots, the sound familiar. He wouldn’t hear it too many more times now—the house was almost ready. He wasn’t convinced he could sell it, still. Even with his name cleared and realtors tentatively sniffing around, Stirling Falls was a real small town. Few would want to live in a house belonging to a murder victim.

Regardless, it was out of his hands. The land was good. Whoever bought it could tear down the house and rebuild if they liked. Create something new.

He was done with it.

Devin trudged across the hall, turned so he could back out the screen door with the boxes, and stepped onto the porch.

Past the high-stacked cardboard, he glimpsed a car next to his and a woman leaning against the hood.

His throat constricted but he continued on, past her, to toss the boxes in the bed of his truck. He gave it a few extra moments, arranging the boxes just so, before he turned to face her.

Natasha looked fantastic, as always. The sun must’ve been hot on her black tank top and dark red cropped pants, but the strong breeze stirred her curly black hair. Dark sunglasses hid her eyes from view. Bruises were dark on her face, but they would fade and heal.