Page 29
Story: Seeing Red (The Codex #1)
Wake up, Hels. It’s not time yet.
My eyes flutter open, that voice muffled amongst the ringing in my ears.
“Dad,” I cough as the white dust around me settles. I want to shut my eyes again and sleep—even for a moment—-just to hear his voice in my head again.
But the nerves in my body fire off all at once, and pain explodes in my leg. My vision swims, shapes blurring, and for a second, I’m convinced I’m still dreaming. But then I see them—Baron and Castor—crumpled under all the rubble not far from me, bodies draped in shadows and dust. Unconscious.
The reality sets in, and I fall back, clutching my head.
The mine. It exploded. It’s destroyed. Rocks and metal collapsed in on itself, trapping me in a small cave of rubble. It’s crowded, and impossible to breathe in, destroyed from a single flare that was fired through the tunnels.
Except…I didn’t fire the flare and neither did Baron and Castor.
I blink hard, trying to swallow the pain long enough to pull myself up. Somehow, I’ve managed to keep myself from being buried alive or crushed by the tons of rock and stone. Castor is sprawled across the rubble, though the bastard looks barely scratched. I’m astonished, really, at how he’s not dead. Out of all the ways to die, he always seems to worm his way out.
I suppose being buried alive will have to do.
Baron isn’t similarly affected, his body buried along the wall under a mess of metal and rubble where I previously stood. It would’ve felt karmic, more than satisfying, if I wasn’t trapped in this hovel with them.
I’m not going to die in here when I’m this close to escaping. I’m getting out. Today.
Ignoring the throbbing in my leg, I claw my way out of the bits of rubble. Rocks shift under my weight, and I wince as a bolt of pain sears up my leg. The bullet wound from earlier is screaming at me and I’m sure it’ll be bleeding like hell from this, but I grit my teeth and keep moving, crawling over to the very far edge where the rocks are buried to the ceiling.
I clear away the rocks, ignoring the panic that creeps up on me every time the wall shudders. This has to be the way out, back into the tunnels where—-hopefully—-they’re still intact.
One rock, then another. The walls crumple and groan, and every rock I remove, it threatens to come down on me and seal me in my prison with these two men. The single light above me is broken, the protective glass shattered and casting a painfully white heat across the small space. It casts a shadow over me, small, frail and easily snuffed out—-a cruel reminder of what awaits me if I don’t move fast enough, I’ll be buried alive. I don’t know where I’m going, if this even leads to the inner tunnels or if they’re gone and I’m doing nothing but digging myself a grave, but I keep moving anyway, clearing them out, one rock after another.
One of them stirs and my panic flares. I move faster, the rocks tumbling to the ground instead of being set down quietly. Each rock moved makes the wall crumble a bit, and I force myself to move faster. My hands tremble and my nails crack as I dig into the cracks and force another free. Then another.
They stir again, groaning softly from behind me.
Faster. Work faster.
I dig into another rock, yanking at it with all the strength I have and it crumbles, causing the entire wall of rock to shift. It falls away along with several others that come crashing down on my head.
I shriek, shielding myself with my hands as the rocks crumble beside me.
They don’t hit me, instead hitting a man who has appeared in front of me, blocking the collision with his own body.
Castor.
“Going somewhere?” He says calmly.
I stare up at him, wide-eyed, my heart slamming against my ribs, but it’s not from fear. It’s because he took four small boulders to his shoulder without so much as flinching.
His eyes take me in with annoyance, and he brushes the rubble off his shoulders like he’s shaking off dust.
“I think I might’ve underestimated you,” he says.
“I didn’t do this!” I say frantically, but he doesn’t seem convinced.
He places his hands on either side of my head, caging me in and any hope of getting out of this is snuffed out when his lip curls into a snarl.
“Why do I find that hard to believe?” He bites out.
A groan cuts off my protest, and Castor turns away, to see Baron stirring, coughing as he comes to. “Fuck,” Baron mutters, his voice hoarse. “Silas!”
“I’m here, buddy,” Castor calls out over his shoulder.
“What the hell happened?!”
Castor turns back to me, his jaw tight. “According to Helena, it was an accident.”
“I didn’t do anything!” My limbs are fired up with adrenaline and a slew of protests sit on my tongue, only silenced when Castor gives me a dark look.
“I will tell you once,” he whispers, his voice tight with anger. “Keep. Your. Mouth. Shut.”
My jaw snaps shut.
He turns without another word, quickly working to free Baron, who’s struggling to free his leg that’s tightly wedged into the metal wall behind him.
“Fuck! It’s stuck.” he grimaces.
“Careful,” Castor mutters, shifting the weight of the boulder pinning him. “You’ll pull it off if you keep moving like that.”
“Just hurry up,” Baron growls.
Castor makes quick work of freeing Baron’s leg, moving shards of metal and rock with practiced ease. “Fucking Helena,” Castor mutters, just barely audible under his movements. “We should’ve gotten rid of her.”
Baron winces, shaking his head as Castor removes another piece. “It wasn’t her.”
“The hell it wasn’t,” Castor snaps. “That was a fucking flare, Baron. No one else knows we’re here.”
“It has to be one of Acacia’s sentries. Someone who could—fuck, can’t you go any faster?”
“Only if you want one leg,” Castor deadpans.
“Well, fucking hurry. It’s not broken, but it will be if you keep going slow.”
“Then it’ll match the scar on your arm.”
I inch backward as they argue, somehow none the wiser to my movements as I attempt to quietly clear the wall of rocks behind me. There’s a small gap now, just barely large enough for me to squeeze through if I’m quiet.
It’s now or never, Helena. Escape.
I glance over my shoulder, but they haven’t paid me a second glance. I slip my head through, pushing my torso through the roughened gap and slowly sliding through.
I inch my way through, my torso, then my legs scraping along the sharp edges, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from crying out in pain when it grazes against my wounded leg.
My arms find the other side and I laugh in relief when I find that the interior tunnel is almost untouched, leading down the way and bending around a curve on the corner.
I push myself through, inching one leg through the gap—
“I don’t fucking think so!” Baron’s hand clamps around my ankle, dragging me back. “You’re staying with us.”
I shriek in pain, immediately thrashing against the bloody grip around my ankle.
“Get off me! Get off!” My other leg slips back through, kicking him over and over again until his hand loosens and I jerk my legs through the gap. He curses my name as I sprint down the hall, my leg dragging painfully behind me. My breath is ragged and my lungs are battling for any form of breath among the dust and sharp smelling gas flooding the area, but I push myself forward more and more.
I turn sharply around the corner, only barely managing to skid to a stop as I come face to a dead end.
My heart drops, despair sinking into me, until a hand slides around my throat and whips me backward directly into the dead end wall.
“You’re getting on my last nerve,” Baron seethes.
“And whose fault is that?” I retort.
His grip tightens. “You were never supposed to be here to begin with. You were supposed to stay home . Away. If Castor and I don’t kill you, your stupidity will.”
Confusion litters my face, but the question on my tongue is snuffed out when he lifts me and slams me back again, causing the rocks behind us to shift.
“Then do it!” I snap. “Stop fucking talking about it and do it.”
Baron doesn’t react, his face like stone as he picks up a stray rock at his feet. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He mumbles. “That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Pissing us off so we kill you in rage?”
He waits for an answer, but I don’t give him more than a glare. He slams the rock next to my head and I flinch as the fragile stone crumbles beside me.
“I’m not going to make it that easy.”
His hand falls to the scar on my chest, the mark burning as if it were still fresh. He knows it too, because he smiles. He fucking smiles when I wince at his soft touch.
“You think you’ve seen Hell?” He says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You couldn’t even begin to imagine the suffering I can give you.”
His grip tightens painfully around my throat until my only free hand is clawing at his, desperately trying to free myself.
“We will break you,” he whispers. “That’s my promise. We will strip away every last bit of fight you have until you’re nothing but a shell. You’re ours now. Ours to own, ours to fuck, and ours to kill if we want.”
He loosens his grip suddenly and my head falls forward, taking in gulps of air.
He doesn’t stop me, instead lowering his head until his pale lips ghost along my ear.
“Choose your next words carefully.”
My eyes lift to meet his cold gaze and those icy blue eyes that send shivers down my spine.
I know it’s stupid, that he will punish me for what I’ll say, and goddammit, he knows it too. That mad gleam sparkles in his eyes, just waiting for the opportunity to hurt me.
If I’m going to hell, I’m taking him with me
“Fuck. You.”
His eyes darken and his voice drops into a growl.
“Attagirl.”
His lips crash against mine, his hand grip on my neck tightening to a punishing level. He squeezes tight enough until I gasp, chuckling before his tongue slides into my mouth, demanding and rough, while I’m helpless to stop him, not that my body would allow that.
I can feel it already—that burn between my legs that only happens when they touch me, a traitor to my mind, that I know he can feel. His chuckle vibrates on my lips as he pulls back suddenly, leaving me gasping and hopelessly wanting.
“Filthy whore,” he growls against my lips. “I haven’t even fucking touched you and I can already feel you begging me to own you.”
“I’m not your property,” I whisper, my confidence nowhere near forgiving the obvious heat in my voice. “No one owns me,” I say louder this time, but it only makes him laugh.
He steps back, allowing me a moment of reprieve, but it doesn’t last long when I see what’s in his hands.
My dog tags.
“I beg to differ,” he muses.
“That’s different,” I say, more to myself. “I was there by choice.”
“You never had a choice,” he scoffs. “You just switched one owner for another.” He dangles the chain in front of me, flashing me a mocking smile. “You think you’re any safer with Bane than you are with us?”
“I’d rather be tied to his corpse than trapped with a coward.” I square my shoulders, forcing myself to face him on despite the trembling in my body and the desperate linger of his taste on my lips. “If all you can do is mock me with my own tags and flash your baron at me, then you’re a long way from intimidating me.” My gaze drops to his knife, where he’s gripped it, his thumb teasing the hilt. “A soldier who can’t even use a gun,” I scoff. “No wonder Bane tried to kill you.”
There’s a brief pause, one where I see his smile fade instantly. He regards me with a quiet look that makes my blood run cold—-that same look that Castor signatures so well. Calm. Too calm.
Empty.
“Is that what you think?” He takes a step closer, and I can’t move. I’m pushed against the dead end, victim to him as he stalks closer, quietly pulling out the sleek black pistol from his waistband. He brings it to his face, dragging the barrel down slowly. “Do you think that Castor uses guns because I’m too scared? Too inexperienced?”
I open my mouth to speak until he turns the gun slowly towards my head, settling it on my temple as his head cocks to the side.
“What if I shot you again? Do you think I’d miss?” He offers a shrug, pursing his lips. “I might, you know, if I’m that inexperienced.” He drags the barrel under my chin, the gun cocking with a soft click.
My pulse jumps when he drags the cool metal along the curve of my throat. I jerk my head away but his free hand captures my jaw, forcing me still.
“How many times would it ricochet before it would hit?” He lifts the barrel to my cheek. “It could be empty, you know. It could be jammed.” His hand wraps my shoulder forcing me to my knees. “Or it could be loaded and your little attitude is going to get you into trouble.”
I glare up at him, but he just watches me with a sick fascination. I’m not surprised that he’s already hard. It’s impossible to miss while he has me trapped this way, and I’m sure that my defiance only makes it worse. He gets off on it, knowing that I want to fight, and I’ll lose only because the only thing I’ve had to eat was a piece of stale bread.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it, nor will I ever admit that I’m fucking vibrating from that psychotic look in his eyes. I’m hopelessly terrified, because he’s right. He could kill me, even accidentally. The mine could cave in on us both, and yet he’s choosing to taunt me about his choice of weaponry while he touches his own body with his gun, and my legs press together to stop the throbbing of my clit between them.
If I ever make it out of this, I owe my therapist an apology.
He drags the gun down his chest, tilting his head back in a low groan.
“I think I’m a little partial to that one,” he hums, slowing the gun’s descent until it rests just at the waistband of his pants. “A little…punishment.”
My eyes follow his movement, an equal mixture of disgust and heat settling low in my gut when it sits on top of his barely restrained cock. It’s only when the weapon brushes against my lips that it clicks in my head and makes my stomach churn.
“No,” I say in disgust.
He only laughs, his grip forcing my lips to pinch together. “I don’t recall asking for your permission, doll. You’ve done nothing but run your mouth since you got here.”
His voice lowers and slows. He wants me to hear him. He wants me to be afraid, and I am. I am afraid. Not because of his threats or the fact that maybe he does know how to handle a gun.
Because he smiled.
“Suck,” he orders.
I hesitate. Is this that moment where he finally kills me? Right after he gets himself off watching me give his Beretta a blowjob?
He drags the tip of the gun across my lips, swiping slowly like he’s applying lipstick while giving me an impatient look. I can’t escape. I can’t fight, and when his finger laces over the trigger, I can’t beg either.
With a defiant look, I wrap my lips around the barrel. I recoil from the taste—smoke, oil and a thick metallic taste that I hope is from the gun and not blood. I let my tongue run down the length of the gun, only stopping when his free hand caresses the back of my head.
He fists my hair the second I stop and force my head down on the gun until the entire barrel disappears down my throat. I moan in shock and pain, but he holds me there, a bemused chuckle sounding from above me as I struggle and tears brim under my lashes.
“Come on now, you can do better than that,” he mocks, pulling me back and forcing my head down again. “You handled Castor’s cock. This should be nothing.”
I gag, my throat convulsing around the metal and the second I shut my eyes, he lodges the gun deeper.
“Eyes on me!” he growls.
My eyes snap open, watching him through the tears blurring my vision. His mouth curls into a smirk, watching me through half-lidded eyes as I gag on his own gun.
“That’s it, doll. Cry for me.”
Tears spill over when he thrusts the gun in deep, blocking my airway. My hands curl into fists and I throw several punches at his leg.
He just laughs, yanking my head back. “What’s the matter?” he says as I gulp in air. “Is there something you want to say? Come on now.” He shoves my head back down as I open my mouth to speak, forcing the gun down my throat over and over again while he mocks me.
“Go on, doll. Say it. Say what you want.” He holds my head in deep, laughing as I punch him frantically to get air into my lungs. “Talk back now, bitch. Fight.”
I’m thrown off balance as he fucks me roughly. I can’t fight anymore, gagging violently while I desperately try to keep my balance and avoid the gun accidentally discharging if I move too suddenly.
He bucks his hips in tandem with thrusts of the gun, laughing as I’m losing focus and fight. My mind is spinning and small black dots edge my vision when he suddenly pulls out. He only gives me a second to breathe before he replaces the gun with his cock, thrusting into my throat without warning.
The intrusion is suffocating and he gives me no moment to adjust to the change in girth before he starts fucking my throat hard.
“Come on,” he growls. “You can fight me better than that.” He punctuates his demand with a rough thrust, making me gag again.
His taunts spark a fire in me again, and despite the growing need between my legs, I ignore it. I’m not going to give him that satisfaction. If he wants me to fight, I will.
I close my jaw, allow my teeth to graze sloppily around his cock when he thrusts again. His hips stutter and his hand on my head falters only for a moment.
“There you go, doll. Now you’re starting to play,” he groans, thrusting in again, slower this time.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
I close my teeth around him, harder this time, but it only makes him moan and his hands tremble.
“Nice try,” he says in a breathy laugh. He forces my head down roughly, my moans of pain drowned out by his moans. He picks up the pace again, bruising my throat as he moves, despite my efforts to stop him, and eventually, I give in, gripping his thighs for balance and trying desperately to ignore the burning between my legs as he fucks my throat.
He laughs derisively, and his hand releases my head, giving it a pat like an animal. “That’s better. Greedy little cocksucker.”
I’d almost forgotten the threat of the gun until it appears again at my back, dragging slowly along my spine until I realize with a cold shiver, exactly why he’d fucked my throat with it first.
I push at his thighs, trying to force my way but his hand flies back to my head, holding me steadily as I shake my head wildly.
“I don’t think so.” he mumbles, drawing the gun against my ass. “Remember who’s in control here.”
“No…” I try to mumble around his cock, but he only responds with a cruel smirk. He holds me steady, leaning down to whisper in my ear as he nudges the barrel between my ass. “I’d stay still if I were you. I’m not very skilled with guns, remember? I’d hate for it to discharge by accident.”
The gun pushes past the resistance and slips inside, a sob wrenching free from my chest. It’s humiliating, the way my body clenches around it, the way it so easily slides in and—oh my god—the way it sends a bolt of pleasure straight to my clit.
I moan when he pushes it deeper, the sound muffled around his shallow thrusts in my mouth. It’s too much, the coolness of the metal only adding to the sensation of the new intrusion as I dig my nails deep into his thighs. The gun isn’t even that big. God forbid, either of them try to fuck me with anything other than this.
Finally, he stops, tilting my head back until I’m forced to look at him.
“I think I might make an ass slut of you tonight,” he whispers before thrusting back into my throat. “Rock yourself against me.”
I wasn’t prepared for what would happen once I did, but when I reluctantly pull back on the gun, a grotesque pleasure electrifies deep in my gut. My body trembles as I move, each motion making my body tense.
“Relax, Helena,” he urges. “You’ll hurt yourself if you don’t.”
I’m not sure if I’m grateful or concerned that he’s helping, but the knowledge of the gun going off and ripping through me makes me listen, much to his amusement.
“Are you going to be good now?” His words are condescending but I nod anyway, either to persuade him to remove the gun before it goes off, or to satisfy the desperate need that’s clouding my judgment.
His hand moves off the grip in my hair, trailing down between my legs. I cry out the second his hand finds my clit, circling it punishingly slow. “Look at this cunt crying for me,” he murmurs between shallow thrusts of his hips. “Tell me how much you hate this now, you fucking liar.”
I bite back a sob. It’s all too much—-the gun, his cock gagging me while he tortures me by caressing my clit painfully slowly that seems to careen me violently towards that peak I’m desperately chasing now.
I whimper when the rocks behind us shift, dust snowing on top of us both.
“Better come quickly,” he laughs, his thrusts quickening in time with the movement of his fingers. “The mine might take us both out if you don’t.”
I shake my head, refusing to give him the satisfaction, but he cocks the gun, and my eyes fly open.
“Eyes on me!” he demands, and I obey, locking onto his gaze as the tension in my body snaps. “Would you look at that, an ass slut that likes being scared.” He thrusts the gun in time with his hips. “Is that why you like us so much, doll? Does it turn you on, knowing we could kill you if we wanted to?”
I can’t answer, but the last thrust sends a wave of pleasure too hard for me to ignore. Baron shudders when I tense up and his thrusts turn shallow and erratic as throws his head back in a soft moan.
His cum spills down my throat, his fingers plunging inside me that forces me over the edge.
I cry out around his cock, my body tensing painfully as I come and it only makes Baron tremble above me as he grinds out his orgasm against my face.
“Fuck…” he whimpers as his thrusts grow shallow. He pulls out slowly, chest heaving as some of his cum drips down the side of my mouth.
He pulls the gun out and I fall back, catching my breath while he leans against the rock above me, panting.
“Pretty little slut. I think I’ll keep you,” he breathes. He leans down, drawing up his cum with a finger and forcing it into my mouth until I lick it off.
He glances behind us both, his voice hoarse but stronger.
“What do you think, buddy? Is she worth keeping?”
My head snaps up and I see Castor leaning against the wall, watching us both impassively.
He steps forward, his eyes locked on me.
“I think,” he begins slowly, “if she tries to run again, we’ll need to put a leash on her. Is this the only tunnel that’s clear?”
Baron nods, turning back to the clear path, opposite of where I came. “The east tunnels were sectioned off,” he says. “This is our best bet.”
“Then let’s get moving. Flare-guns are short range weapons.”
Baron pulls me to my feet. “I expect a thank you.”
“For what?” I spit. “Not dying?”
He laughs, low and mocking. “I’m still debating that, but for now, we’re going to let you come with us.”
“As a partner or a prisoner?”
He leans in, looking me up and down “How about a personal cocksleeve?”
“Try me,” I growl, but the words die when Castor takes Baron’s place. I shrink away until the wall is at my back again, but he cages me in with his arms, giving me a silent look.
My mouth opens to apologize, but it’s cut off when he raises his hand to me. I flinch, but he simply plucks out some rubble from my hair, his voice calm.
“Let’s get to work.”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
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- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29 (Reading here)
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