Vendetta
Note: This is the 6th installment in a continuous, multi-part story that concludes in the seventh book. If you have not read the previous five MASTER novellas, you will be up s**t creek without a paddle when you attempt to read Captive.
***
Mill Valley, California
October 2009
Three Hours Ago
Naomi awoke to Justus’ coppery breath in her ear: “Time to reunite with Raiden.”
A tremor passed through her. Justus had specified in no uncertain terms the reaction he expected from her: indignant rage. He wants me to take pleasure in hurting him.
“Getting cold feet?” Justus teased. “Don’t pussyfoot around it, love. The traitor’s ours for the taking.” He stroked her hair. “Aren’t you positively dripping with excitement?”
“Mm,” she grunted.
Naomi was prepared to act out the confrontation according to Justus’ yen for theatrics. In contrast with the public spectacle she would perform at his behest, however, she also was prepared to attempt a clandestine conversation with Raiden in her secluded mind-room. Over the past two weeks, she had practiced on some of her solo victims before administering her lethal kiss.
At first her method was clunky: one piece of prey wondered why she was playing “hypnotherapy recordings” in lieu of mood-setting music used for intended seduction. After repeated trials, she deduced the victims heard her mind-voice as if she were speaking outside their heads; in subsequent tests, she concentrated on drawing them closer toward the center of her mind-room to internalize their experience of hypnotic coercion.
The breakthrough had come a few moons ago. While Gabriel was on set, Justus picked up a hippy-dippy Pilates instructor; although once he introduced her to Naomi, she balked.
“Not into threesomes. Try the yoga studio in town—rumor has it they do it naked.”
Not that her change of heart mattered: after hog-tying the victim, Justus instructed his wife to persuade their short-term companion to change her mind. Since his appetite was particularly demanding that day, he decided to seek a second vic to add to the mix. Gabriel was not due back for another two hours, so Naomi had the house—and the prey—to herself. She experimented on the woman, wearing down her willpower with dogged persistence.
After what seemed like hours, the prim Pilates teacher ceased her appeal for freedom. “How did you do that?” She gaped at Naomi.
“Do what?”
“Talk to me inside my head.”
Naomi bit her lip. “What did I say?”
“That you would let me go if I didn’t resist.”
“That’s exactly what I said!” In exaltation, Naomi gushed, “Thank you for verifying.”
Within two seconds, she severed the girl’s spinal cord, paralyzing her, but refrained from draining her until after Justus returned with the off-shift garbage man he had collected to join their party. Her husband’s extraordinary displeasure with her failure to procure the teacher’s compliance (“I had my heart set on an orgy!”) was inconsequential compared to the revelation that she could telepathically converse without Justus’ involvement.
I’m upping my game. Since she was certain her isolated chamber was, at least for now, undetectable to him, she could speak to Raiden in private, perhaps formulate an escape plan using humans to their advantage. Once Raiden and I mend the fence and Gabriel forgives him, the three of us—
“Naomi, did you bloody well hear me?” Justus hissed, vampire low. “Shipshape!”
“Sorry.” She faked a yawn. “Dancing at Persephone wore me out.”
Justus scoffed. “You need to hit the gym more often.” He pinched her waist. “You know I don’t do fatties.” Slithering out of their sleeping bag, he added, “Careful you don’t turn into a tub of lard.”
Inwardly she seethed. “I wouldn’t dare.” Abandoning the warmth of the sleeping bag, she stretched her arms over her head and resisted the habit of scrutinizing her body for flaws. Though a weight gain was illogical since she had been eating less, not more—plus, she was fucking undead—she still felt the sharp sting of judgment. Don’t internalize it, she self-reminded. He wants to knock you off balance to pin you beneath him.
Justus generated his vampiric force to hastily round up their belongings. He did not allow her to use her full power (“Save it for the takedown, love”); he shooed her out of the tent so he could pack “without the obstacle of her presence.” Outside, she shivered in the nippy predawn air. Instead of returning to their Mill Valley home, they had camped a couple of miles away from Raiden’s place of confinement to await his post-drugged wakening.
After abducting Raiden from Persephone, Justus had stashed the unconscious vampire in a cavern he had claimed during one of his prey roundups along the rim of Mount Tamalpais State Park. This cave, nicknamed “Monster’s Maw” according to overheard hiker chatter, was off-limits to humans due to its sheer, treacherous walls; poor climbing conditions; and likely entrapment scenarios. Some speculated it was a man-made cave dug by fortune seekers during the California Gold Rush; others thought it was Mother Nature’s warning to keep out of her private parts, or else. Though it was only three stories deep, even the most adventurous of spelunkers steered clear. Located in the restricted section of the park, Monster’s Maw had nevertheless accrued a few victims when unlucky folks had stumbled upon (and into) it.
“Are you sure we can’t move Raiden somewhere more … remote?” Naomi ventured. “Hikers use these trails even though they’re not supposed to.”
Justus waved away her concern of outside interference à la swatting mosquitoes. “That’s a hazard of the game. Besides”—he leaned in, grin splitting his face into a sickle moon—“I’m above the law … and by proxy, so are you.” When he licked her cheek, Naomi imagined it was with a forked tongue. “We’re untouchable, you and I. King and Queen of the Damned.” A wink: “See what I did there?”
His propensity for risk was true to form: her husband thrived on the threat of danger and reveled in the thrill of conflict.
“Tick, tick.” Justus blew on the smoldering remains of their late-hour campfire. The coals crackled like popcorn kernels as the odor of scorched oak permeated the crepuscular environs.
She checked her cell—he had prodded her awake at 4:00 a.m. The early bird catches the worm, she thought. But the worm eventually will devour the bird from within. She was waiting for the perfect moment to slay the beast that wore her husband’s face. It would come; first she would coordinate her efforts with Raiden and Gabriel. Teamwork. Her absent jealousy of their relationship struck her as odd, but she much preferred apathy to active conflict. She no longer desired Raiden (at least that was her working theory). All the same, it had been surreal seeing how he acted around Gabriel before their Joe-centric fallout. The costars’ shared lust and affection had been visible even from a relative distance. I have to salvage my bond with Raiden. But first I have to pretend I hate him.
When she flashed back to how he had murdered her, she thought it might not be such a stretch. Although Raiden was under Justus’ influence while he drained her, he had decided to cheat on her before realizing his handsome admirer was a vampire with an Adam and Eve complex. I’ll draw on that to fuel the rage I’m expected to feel, she thought.
“Daddy’s all done now.” Justus adjusted his backpack. “Let’s go.” He surveyed the spacious campground. “Shall we grab a takeaway breakfast? Maybe a wee bite or two …”
“Someone might wake up and sound the alarm.”
In the nearly six years since Justus had abducted her, he had neither compelled her to murder parents in front of their children nor taken their children as victims. She prayed he would never force that unexplored experience upon her.
“Right you are.” Patting her butt, he continued, “We’ll nosh after we visit Raiden. My appetite will be well worked by then.” He indicated the hiking trail that led away from the campground. “After you, love.”
They half speed walked, half manifested, the forestry blurring by as Naomi darted this way and that to avoid obstacles. Justus trailed slightly behind, monitoring her movements.
Five minutes away from Monster’s Maw, she veered off course to catch her breath. “It’s farther than I thought,” she panted. “Couldn’t we have camped closer to the cave?”
He wagged his finger like Santa Claus reminding her to ensure she ended up on the nice list. “Now, now. Turn that frown upside down or Daddy will have to fix it himself. Ever hear of the Glasgow grin?” His fingertips grazed the corners of her mouth. “Since you’re a vampire, you won’t have permanent scars, but I can cut you anew each day if that’s what it takes.”
Naomi lowered her eyes. “No, thank you. I’ll stop complaining.”
“Bloody right you will!” Justus fingered her teardrop pearl earring. “Children are to be seen and not heard, daughter-wife.”
She suppressed a shudder. “Yes, sir.”
“Ready to confront Raiden?”
Unable to speak for fear of betraying her reluctance, Naomi merely nodded.
“Good!” Justus clapped. “I’ll stash in you in a corner until he comes to.”
“What if he wakes up before you hide me?”
“He won’t. I dosed him with enough tranq to take down half a dozen horses.”
They traipsed through the sylvan terrain, pushing aside barrier branches and ducking under unwelcoming boughs until arriving at the cave’s mouth, a well-like opening partially concealed by verdant overgrowth. Justus stepped in front of her and peered through a lattice of wooden boards he had fashioned as a makeshift roof.
C’mon, then. Piggyback time, he telepathed.
It’s a straight drop down. How are we going to—
You’re not trained for this sort of strenuous activity. I, however, have centuries of energy and experience under my belt. He removed the boards and shoved them under an invasive crop of weeds. Not to mention, I did a dry run or two before depositing our cargo here. He reached for her. Saddle up.
Naomi leapt onto his back; her arms tightened around his shoulders. It would be easy to strangle him from this position, but she would not succeed: he was too powerful. She panicked when Justus lowered them feetfirst into the three-story-deep vertical tunnel. Clinging to him, she squeezed her eyes shut. I won’t die if I fall, but it’ll hurt like hell.
The descent was terrifying. There were multiple moments when it seemed Justus had lost his grip, only to regain it seconds before they plummeted to the bottom of the Maw’s jaws. At one point, Justus clutched a fickle chunk of shale; then they were a precarious handhold away from free-fall. She squeezed her eyes shut and reminded herself this adrenaline-activating situation did not compare with the consistent atrocities Justus had inflicted upon her and coerced her to commit alongside him. I’ve survived worse.
Cursing under his breath, Justus renewed his grasp. Pebbly fragments cascaded down the wall when he inserted his foot into a narrow chink. The mini avalanche was proceeded by the faraway smack of rock hitting rock. Naomi flattened her body against Justus’ back. He then paused to regain his momentum before resuming his rappel. Vaulting off the wall, he smoothly sailed through the air. Naomi braced herself for impact. When Justus stuck the landing with nary a jolt, Naomi gasped in astonishment. He had executed it with such aplomb, she wondered if he had practiced more than he had let on.
Jolly good show, innit? Justus boasted.
You’re a pro.
He plucked her off his back as though he were removing errant fuzz. On the contrary, love: I’m the master. Let’s all-caps that, shall we?
M-A-S-T-E-R, she recited, silently gagging.
Perfection.
As her heart rate calmed, she surveyed Raiden’s underground prison. Both craggy and featureless rock formations had merged over the eons to create a varied subterranean landscape largely composed of metamorphic and sedimentary materials. Weaved into the wall of dark-gray shale were crystalline ribbons of limestone. The asymmetrical floor had a scaly, waxy quality; Naomi’s nocturnal vision picked up veins of ebony, emerald, and goldenrod amid the uncut luster. Though she appreciated the grotto’s dank coolness, its intense echoing irritated her eardrums, and its relative economy of space (the square footage was no more than fifteen hundred feet, vertical measurements notwithstanding) heightened her accelerating apprehension.
Now to tend to our guest … Scanning the cave, Justus pointed out a centrally located, California-king-size stalagmite that resembled a platform elevated four feet off the sunken floor. There’s your sleeping Romeo.
She followed his finger to her former fiancé’s figure. The urge to protect him in his vulnerable state was instinctual. So young, yet so defeated … defenseless. In another life, she would awaken him with a kiss after slaying the dragon. But in this life, the dragon stood tall, rubbing his palms together in anticipation of committing a series of atrocities on her erstwhile paramour while she played second string to his Machiavellian symphony of psychopathy.
He’s like a sleeping child, she mentally remarked.
He was little more than a child when I nicked you from under his nose; you were little more than a child yourself. Did you know, darling, that you were the one I wanted all along?
Really? Just the other night, you looped his MV collection on repeat while you screwed me with a platinum dildo, she quipped, risking Justus’ wrath for the irresistible frisson of satisfaction achieved from her deadpan delivery.
I’m a fellow who follows my flights of fancy. Jerking her braid, he forced her to regard Raiden. When he sees you, I want him to remember his folly as if it had happened yesterday. I want him to quiver with terror at the apparition of his dead love and her intimidating husband. Ours will be an epic reckoning. That dirty trick he pulled on me in Japan has long needed punishment. I won’t spare the rod. He indicated a tiny alcove near the back of the cave. The ideal hidey hole for my surprise guest. Releasing her braid, he pushed her toward it. Run along and conceal yourself. I’ll have a few words with our naughty boy, and then I’ll reintroduce you. In the meantime, stay out of sight.
Reluctantly Naomi skirted around Raiden’s unconscious body and ducked into the secluded spot. It still offered a premium view of the scene: it was like sitting in the fifth row instead of the first.
Justus examined the singer’s body. “Oh! He stirs,” he said.
Manifesting to the alcove, he slunk inside and approached Naomi. The curtain opens upon our fourth-act revenge scene—the whole business is a bit King Lear, no? After tugging off her hoodie, he revealed the thin baby-blue undershirt that exposed her pale midriff. Let’s give him a peek of what he’s missing. He ogled her breasts. Braless and stiff nipped—just the way I like ’em. Eyeing her Levi’s, he criticized, An overall banal ensemble … I do wish you were wearing something more bride-like, but you’re nonetheless a vision in peasant wear.
“Now let’s not spoil the surprise party,” he mouthed.
I’ll be as silent as a Roman Catholic at Mass, she telepathically retorted.
Cheeky! Justus’ amber orbs gleamed with zealous effulgence. Don’t forget your entrance cue.
Worry not, she encouraged, I’ll make sure to hit my mark.
Justus bared his fangs. That’s my girl.
Delete Created with Sketch.
Sunrise provided a natural spotlight. Listening to the subsequent verbal exchange between Raiden (groggy, deeply confused) and Justus (condescending, Caligulan), Naomi hypothesized about knocking her husband unconscious and attempting escape with Raiden in tow. It never would work. Despite her supernatural strength, she was not confident she could scale the unstable walls while dragging along a debilitated Raiden’s deadweight.
With the dread of identifying a body in the morgue, she listened for her cue.
“Darling! We were just talking about you. Do come say hello.”
Naomi’s heart battered her rib cage as she entered stage left. “Ohisashiburine, Raiden-kun.”
“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Justus simpered.
The remaining color drained from Raiden’s already pallid complexion. “No.”
“Not happy to see me?” Although she recited the line without stuttering, tears rose to her eyes all the same. Flashbacks of their human coupledom assaulted her: kissing Raiden under the sakura, playing him Rachmaninoff on Mistress Fiddle after making languorous love, winking at him during the LA tour as he graced the stage.
“No,” she echoed his statement of disbelief. “I suppose you’d rather I’d stayed dead.”
“How does it feel to lay eyes upon your old flame again, boy?” Justus placed his hand on the exposed small of Naomi’s back. “She’s as fuckable as the day you killed her, no?”
“How?” Raiden managed to choke out. “How?”
He looks terrible was Naomi’s first thought after the shock of seeing him in person began to fade. Strung out. She empathized with that state of mind—wretched despair numbed by substance abuse—entirely too well. An hour before Gabriel had captured Raiden and handed him over to Justus, she had popped two quaaludes and washed them down with Tanqueray to brace herself for the continuation of her husband’s nonstop torture-porn. He as the sorcerer-cum-ringleader, she in a dual role as both the magician’s fearful assistant and the unwitting volunteer who gets sawed in half: it was an unending nightmarish drama.
“Don’t be rude, Naomi.” Justus pushed her forward. “Give our guest a warm welcome.”
She understood what he meant. Even so, she did not expect to inflict violence upon Raiden until the sudden act was underway. Manifesting in front of him, she punched him above the belly button, careful not to hit his solar plexus. At least Justus didn’t make me aim for his junk.
Wheezing, Raiden held his stomach. He could not speak, but she tapped into his mind with the lightness of a chisel. As he cracked, she glimpsed the exposed yolk of his defenseless thoughts.
I deserved that, he self-flagellated.
You’re damn right. Though a half-hearted agreement, it was rooted in truth.
Justus whooped. “Delightful! I knew this beatdown would be worth the price of admission.” He cupped a hand around his mouth as if speaking into an empty paper towel roll and projected, “I’ve kept your ball ’n’ chain for all these years and molded her into a proper sadist; honed her talents like you never could.”
“Fuck you,” Raiden croaked, still curled in a slug-like ball.
Naomi spoke the lines Justus wished her to recite. “Thank you for sparing me the indignity of stiffing me at the altar.”
“Naomi, I—”
“Keep my name out of your mouth.” With a grimace, she stooped down and bashed Raiden with the flashlight strapped to her wrist. Raiden sank to the floor like a sandbag underwater.
Again, Naomi peered into his pain-entrenched thoughts.
I deserve it.
She knelt and grabbed Raiden’s face. “Don’t tell me what you deserve.”
His eyes met hers. The live-wire jolt of recognition: we loved each other when we were human.
Justus yanked her away from Raiden and unstrapped her flashlight. Holstering it to his hip, he muttered, “Are you having an intimate moment without Daddy’s permission?”
Naomi realized her mistake: she had spoken aloud in response to Raiden’s private thought. Scrambling to lock her vulnerable mind, she distracted Justus by guiding his other hand to her breast.
“Just a bad habit—a holdover from the past.” She directed the next statement at Raiden: “Always got your way, didn’t you? Knew how to make me bend over backward.” To Justus: “He sought control during our whole relationship. ‘Naomi, don’t tell anyone we’re a couple or I’ll lose my job.’” Her chest heaved beneath Justus’ questing touch. “‘Naomi, lie to your family if they suspect we’re dating.’” She worked herself into angry tears. “‘Naomi, we must do things my way because I’m the famous one.’”
“There, there, darling. Daddy knows how to rectify it. An old-fashioned dose of cruel and unusual punishment should do the trick.” Justus flicked her nipples over her threadbare tee. “Do you reckon the pretty boy fancies a peg?”
She sneered at Raiden. “I wouldn’t touch him with a victim’s severed hand.”
“Shame. I’d love to see you have a go.” Justus waggled his eyebrows. “When you finished fist-fucking him, he’d be little more than a skid mark on skivvies.”
“Justus!” Despite the creeping claustrophobia that wound itself around her cognizance like a malignant vine, she choked out a giggle. “That’s appalling.”
“Ain’t it just?” He winked at Raiden. “You have no idea what my little woman is capable of. She’s being modest right now. Wait till I really let her rip into you. And she’s just the warmup. Before we’re through, you’ll beg for slaughter.”
“Never beg,” Raiden whispered. His eyes flashed at her—the hurt was visceral. “Never again.”
“Let’s revisit this topic in a week or so. We’ll see how hunger makes you change your tune. Until then …” Justus wrapped his arm around Naomi’s waist and whisked her across the cave as though he were leading her away from the dance floor. “Toot-a-loo!”
You were pretending, he remarked in the public mind-lobby, to take pleasure in his pain.
Startled, she jumped on Justus’ back and clamped her thighs around his torso. You said to play it up.
Justus scaled the walls of the cave as nimbly as a mountain goat. Though I’m disappointed you didn’t relish brutalizing him, it was convincing enough.
Naomi craned her neck to view Raiden’s shrinking figure. I’ll come back for you, she promised without telling him.
Did you say something? Justus asked.
No. She called upon the waves to protect her confidential thoughts. But one day soon, I will kill you.
It certainly is echoey in here. Grunting, Justus gripped the cave’s lip. Humid too. I need a different kind of wetness. A warm, wet wife. You follow?
Yes, leader. In her isolated chamber: He can only hear me in the lobby.
Quelling instinctive triumph, she rested her head on her husband’s wiry frame. Can we stay in a hotel tonight? Gabriel’s bound to give us the third degree when we come home without Raiden.
That’s not a bad idea. Justus heaved himself onto the dew-chilled forest floor, Naomi still clinging to him. “Get ourselves a fuck pad, order room service, and toast to our vendetta,” he declared to a captive audience of none.
Your vendetta, she did not say aloud. My beef is with you.
“I’ll text Gabriel and say we’ll meet him in LA on Monday.” After sliding off her husband, she reached into her back pocket for her cell phone.
Justus snatched it before she could use it. “Don’t bother. He needs to wonder where we’ve gone. Lately he’s been a wee bit disenchanted with our charms—I thought for sure he’d turncoat at the last moment when I tasked him with procuring the pretty boy. Gil’s a bit soft, like you. Peas in a pod.”
“Gabriel’s learning how to harden his shell.”
“Right you are.” At warp speed, Justus replaced the slats. “We’ll have the golden boy fully debauched in a jiffy.”
“He’s already well on his way.” With embarrassment, Naomi recollected the night Justus had blackjacked her into fucking Gabriel with a strap-on while the actor was under her husband’s coercive influence.
“Shame he doesn’t crave pussy, despite my best efforts to convince him it’s an acquired taste.” Justus sighed. “Encouraging him to forget who was doing the drilling took more concentration than I wanted to expend in flagrante.”
Naomi nodded. “One and done. Let’s not and say we did.”
“I notice we’re only a ‘we’ when you get your way.” He swept her off her feet like Dark Superman about to take flight with Lois Lane as his hostage. “Despite your abhorrence of strong-arm tactics, did it not feel fucking fantastic, punching your ex in the guts?”
“Not really. I pity him.”
“And isn’t it lovely to arrive at the point in your maturity where you pity a pathetic monster such as himself?”
Naomi stood on tiptoe and suckled his frigid earlobe, eliciting a growl of commendation. “Mm-hm. I don’t think I’ll change my mind about cutting him into pieces, though. Which parts may I start with, Master?”
His fingers brushed hers. “Lady’s choice.”
She squeezed his digits in return. When I carve you up, I’ll take these first.
