Simmer: An Inferno World Novella Page 9

  He tucks the pistol in his jeans, and with both hands, rips my dress from my body.

  “You don’t need this anymore,” he says as he continues to tear it into ribbons, tossing them onto the ground. “Get your ass inside.” He gives a hard jerk of his head.

  I step inside, the stench filling my nostrils.

  In deafening silence, he snaps the collar around my neck and works my wrists into the cuffs. He leaves no slack. I’ll be on my feet until they come for me.

  Until Mark visits me tonight.

  Elijah stands in the doorway of the shed staring at me. The gray light from outside casts him into a black figure.

  “I’m so sorry. Please. I’m sorry,” I beg him, but my voice is hoarse. The tears are choking me.

  “I loved you, Nicolette. I wanted to be a good husband for you. Your betrayal did this. Instead of being our loving wife, you’ll just be our breeding whore.” He shakes his head, and the door slams shut.

  “No!” I scream after him. He can’t mean that. He can’t.

  The snap of the padlock echoes in my ears, deafening me to Elijah’s steps as he leaves me in the shed.

  I cry out, begging for him to come back.

  “I’ll be good! I promise! Please!” I yell until my voice gives out.

  There’s just enough space between the planks near the doorframe for me to see them. My men. Those I was to obey. Those I have betrayed.

  I was loved.

  Now, I’m just put away.

  To be forgotten.

  Because I’m a bad woman.

  The porch door slams, and I know they’re inside the house. The tears don’t stop. The pain clenching my chest won’t ease.

  This is my lesson. My punishment.

  I’ve failed.

  Selena is crying in her crib when I walk into my bedroom, my hair still dripping from my shower. I spoil my little girl, not wanting her to scream herself sick when I’m away too long. Mark’s in the back with Papa getting things ready, so Selena stays with me.

  “She’s hungry.” Nicolette’s dry voice says from her spot in the corner. I ignore her and pick up my baby girl, cradling her in my arms. “Elijah, she needs to eat.”

  I turn toward Nicolette, where she’s sitting on the stool I’ve given her. She’s lucky she gets that much from me. Her hair’s too long now. It covers her tits.

  I bring Selena with me as I go to her. After I brush her long locks away from the pumps attached to her breasts, I squeeze each tit. “Almost done,” I say.

  “I can feed her, Elijah.” Desperation is there. Stupid girl. She should know better by now.

  “I have a bottle ready,” I say, grabbing it from the nightstand.

  Nicolette frowns. She’s going to start crying soon again.

  “Keep your tears,” I caution her. I don’t fall for her pretend innocence anymore. I should have listened to Mark sooner, but my softness made it possible for Nicolette to think she could leave us.

  She shifts on the stool. The chains from her cuffs jingle, distracting Selena from her bottle.

  “Sorry,” she says when I glare at her. “Can I hold her?” she asks as I sit on the bed, feeding our baby. “Please, Elijah.”

  “Not yet.” I lean back against my headboard. My jeans are sticking to my damp legs, but I don’t care.

  Nicolette nods sadly. She’s lost all the weight she gained while Selena was in her belly plus some. Her cheeks are sunken in, dark circles have formed around her eyes. I can see her ribs.

  It doesn’t matter. At least, it won’t.

  “Let’s go.” Mark appears in my doorway, knocking on the frame.

  I look up at him and smile. “Can you hold her a sec so I can get my shirt on?” I ask, standing up from the bed, Selena still sucking on the nipple of her bottle.

  We’ve been pumping Nicolette enough that we have breast milk to last five more months. By then, Selena won’t need it anymore.

  “Come here, sweet girl.” Mark takes our daughter and bounces her lightly in his arms the way he was taught.

  Papa’s been good to us during these hard months. Having our wife put away while she grew our baby girl was difficult. But he showed us all the ways we could still use Nicolette while she was getting bigger, and he offered us what was his when she got too big.

  I pull my t-shirt on and tuck it into my jeans. Nicolette flinches in the corner when my belt buckle jangles as I slide it through my loops.

  “Everything ready?” I ask Mark while I lace up my boots.

  “Yeah. Papa said to bring her,” Mark says, still bouncing our little girl in his arms.

  I walk over to Nicolette and flip off the breast pump. She winces as I remove the suctions cups from her tits.

  “Am I being put away again?” she asks, disappointment obvious in her tone. She keeps trying to find a way to make us forgive her. After all these months, she still doesn’t understand she can’t be forgiven. What she did…there’s no coming back from that.

  I grab her arm and haul her to her feet. The heavy chains linking her cuffs to the metal collar sag across the front of her nude body. For so long, I adored her, wanted to give her all the pleasure I was allowed to dole out, but now, looking at her, I’m sickened.

  Her bare feet shuffle over the wood planks of my room. Mark leads the way, and I take her downstairs, through the living room and kitchen, then out the back door. She stumbles when I step off the back porch, but rights herself before she falls.

  “Elijah, where are we going?” she asks me when we walk in the opposite direction from the shed.

  “It’s time,” Mark says. He’s being cryptic on purpose, but I let him have it. She hurt him too. He deserves to punish her until he decides to stop.

  Papa’s waiting for us. When she notices him, she stops dead. I yank her.

  “Elijah. No. Please. Wait. Please,” she begs, sobs breaking between her words.

  “Let’s go.” I yank her harder. She’s not coming easily, so I settle into dragging her across the yard. She’s crying hard by the time we get to Papa.

  The shovel leans against the tall pile of dirt. Papa’s shirt is dirty. Soil covers his shoulders and his cheeks.

  “Nicolette,” he says firmly.

  “Papa. Please. Please,” she begs, but her sobbing is getting in the way. “Please. Selena needs me. She needs me.” She strains to reach for the baby sleeping in Mark’s arms, but he turns away from her, walking around Papa and glaring at her.

  “Don’t make it worse,” Papa says. “Climb down.” He points to the hole.

  “No!” She screams and tries to get away from me to run, but she’s weakened from all those months in the shed. We only let her inside to clean up enough that we could stand her smell while we used her holes or milked her. It’s left her too skinny and without muscle.

  I snatch her before she gets anywhere and drag her to the edge of the hole.

  “Get down there.” I shove her. She stumbles over her feet and falls down into the dirt bed. Flipping onto her back, she tries to scramble up to her feet.

  “Stay down.” Papa pulls out the pistol—the one we took from her lover—and points it at her. “Be a good girl and I’ll make it easier,” he promises.

  “Please, Papa,” she begs him again, but stays on her ass. “Please.” Dirt is smudged across her face. Her tears mingle with it, making her a muddy mess.

  “Lay down,” he says, cocking the hammer on the pistol.

  A broken cry rises from the hole. I grab one of the shovels and hand a second one to Mark.

  “Carrie!” Papa calls. Our wife runs from the chicken coop. Her breasts are heavy, swaying as she hurries to us.

  “I’m sorry, Carl,” she says to Papa. It’s still a little weird hearing his real name used again in our house, but she’s his wife too, so she’s allowed.

  “I told you not to run. I don’t want you falling and hurting my baby.” Papa gives her a stern look. She’s still learning everything she needs to know to be a good woman, but s
he’s trying. She puts in more effort than Nicolette ever did.

  She places a protective hand over the swell of her belly.

  “I’m sorry,” she says again, then rises up on her toes to kiss his cheek. His frown softens a fraction.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” he says, and we all know what that means. She’s not used to our sort of love, so we’re teaching her.

  “Okay, Carl.” She lowers her gaze in the submissive way he loves so much. He’s not soft on her, but he’s easing her into things.

  “Hold Selena for Mark,” he says.

  “Please.” A soft whimper floats up from the hole.

  Carrie takes the baby from Mark and steps to the edge, looking down at Nicolette laying in the dirt.

  “You were given so much from them. You should have been a good woman,” Carrie says evenly. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll take care of them.” She presses a kiss to Selena’s head.

  Nicolette cries louder, starting to beg again.

  Papa aims the pistol into the hole and fires one shot. Just the one. Nicolette screams and hunches forward, grabbing at the hole he blew into her stomach. Blood pours from the wound.

  “Go on, boys.” Papa tucks the pistol into his jeans, walks over to our wife, and kisses her forehead. “Put your sister down.”

  Mark picks up the second shovel, and we get to work. The hole is deep, but we work fast.

  Nicolette’s cries continue. Her begging gets muffled as the dirt falls over her face. It takes a dozen or so shovels of dirt before she stops blowing the soil from her mouth.

  It takes another half hour before the hole is filled in all the way. Mark and I stand at the foot of the grave, leaning on the shovels. I need another shower, I’m so sweaty.

  “Well, boys,” Papa says, bringing Carrie and Selena over to us. “We’ll bring the stone out tomorrow and mark her new home.” He takes Selena from Carrie.

  “I milked her one last time. It’s up in my room,” I say.

  Carrie smiles over her shoulder as she walks in front of us. Papa lets her wear leggings for now, but once the baby comes, she’ll start wearing dresses for us. I think he just likes the way the material hugs her round ass.

  “I’ll get it and clean up the pump.”

  “Don’t you dare run,” Papa snaps.

  “I won’t,” she promises, and walks ahead of us to the house.

  I sit on the back porch with my brother and my papa. We watch our daughter sleep in Papa’s arms.

  “I think Carrie’s going to give us a son,” he says, breaking the silence. “Our family will grow stronger.”

  I nod. “He’ll make a good husband for Selena.”

  “We’ll all make good husbands for her,” Mark says.

  Papa looks up at him, a smile cracking his serious expression.

  “Yes, we will.”

  ***

  I truly hope you enjoyed SIMMER and will introduce the family to all the people. If you’re still in the mood for the dark and depraved, check out DOLLY another of my dark stand alone novels. Just turn the page for a glimpse.

  Want to stay in the Inferno World for a little longer? Check these out:

  Flagrant

  by Ally Vance

  Desiccate

  by Charity Bailey

  Cognati

  by Elizabeth Gray

  Scorched

  by Yolanda Olson & Jennifer Bene

  DOLLY

  Chapter One

  A blast of light drowns me in my cell. I scramble to the corner, as if that will keep them away. Huddling in the corner, dirty, naked, cold, shivering against the cinderblock walls…it’s not a turn off—not to them.

  “There’s a good girl,” a familiar voice cracks through the silence. I cover my ears, pressing my hands to them as though it will drown him out.

  It never has.

  Not the other dozens of times he’s come for me.

  “Come now, Dolly. It’s time to play for the camera.” The cell door creaks as it opens, and my body stiffens. The casual slap of his boots on the concrete floor sends ice through my veins.

  I can’t do this.

  Not again.

  Please.

  Begging doesn’t work.

  It only makes him mad.

  Still, I scream the pleas in my head, over and over again.

  Maybe God will hear this time.

  Maybe he’ll send help.

  Maybe I’ll simply die and this will finally be over.

  “Up you go.” His clammy hand wraps around my upper arm. “Someone needs a bath first.” He sniffs my hair. It’s tangled and matted from last night. The man made a mess, and no one cleaned me up.

  “Let’s go.” He drags me to my feet and hauls me from my cell.

  “No!” The words fall out before my mind blocks them. I yank and pull, kick at his fat shins, but I get nowhere.

  “Enough!” he yells.

  Another bright light blinds me. Stars and sunrays dance in my vision, the sharp pain in my jaw lost among the aches of my muscles.

  I crumble in his grip. The fight, what pathetic amount I had, is gone.

  I’ve been here too long to be so stupid.

  My feet shuffle along the floor. I let him shove me into the stall.

  “They’re wanting a little girl today. Your specialty,” he says as he turns on the water. Ice cold drops hit my face. A shudder breaks the tension in my back. “A few bows, some pigtails—you’ll do real good.” He shoves a bar of soap in my hand. It’s filthy, just like everything else here, covered in the dirt and grime of those who came before me.

  “Won’t you, Dolly?” he presses for an answer, like I can make my throat work to produce anything other than a sob.

  “Won’t you.” His hand rests on the coil of rope he keeps hooked to his belt.

  I don’t want the rope.

  “Yes. I’ll be a good dolly,” I promise. “A good dolly,” I say again as I run the bar of soap over my aching breasts and between my legs.

  Tears well up in my eyes, but they get lost in the spray of the shower.

  Clean and pure.

  It’s what sells.

  It’s what keeps me alive.

  So far.

  AMAZON

  About the Author

  USA Today Bestselling Author Measha Stone is a lover of all things erotic and fun who writes kinky romantic suspense and dark romance novels. She won the 2018 Golden Flogger award in two categories, Best Advanced BDSM and Best Anthology. She’s hit #1 on Amazon in multiple categories in the U.S. and the U.K. When she’s not typing away on her computer, she can be found nestled up with a cup of tea and her kindle.

  Check out Measha Stone:

  www.meashastone.com

  Sign up for Measha’s Newsletter: https://www.subscribepage.com/measha

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