The Beast (7 page)

The moment her captor had closed the door, she reached for her phone. She slipped the blindfold up and tried to lock the door. Realizing it had no door lock; she knew she’d have to be fast. She couldn’t remember any numbers. She scrolled through Marco’s phone and none of them seemed familiar. She cursed herself for never remembering any of them; once they were in her phone she didn’t need to know them. Marco said Stuart’s number was in here, but she suddenly blanked on his last name, her brain freezing under the stress of her capture.

Reluctantly she called home. They’d had the same number since she was small, before the days of cell phones. She remembered practicing it
and memorizing it for her third grade class on safety. How could her kind teacher have known that it wasn’t the outside world she needed to be kept safe from, the danger in her life came from inside her house.

She punched the numbers in and waited with bated breath as it rang. On the fifth ring her father picked up.

“Hello?”

“Dad?” she whispered.

“Columbia, where the fuck are you girl? I waited for you…”

“I know, I’m sorry Dad but I’m in trouble.”

“Out slutting around? That’s the kind of trouble you brought on yourself.”

“
I need help. Can you call my friend Stuart and tell him I’ve been caught?”

“Call him yourself, you little whore. I waited for you…” he replied and hung up.

She held the phone for a second to make sure he wasn’t going to pick it up again, startled when the call ended at last. Her captor called to her and she replied, hoping to stall him. She was going to call back but she heard the door handle wiggled. She tried to hide the phone but he found her struggling to tuck it back under her bra.

He caught her and she ended up hit, but it was nothing worse than she’d taken at home a million times over the years.

She caught a glimpse of his face though, in the mirror before she had her blindfold back down. She saw beautiful blue eyes and a handsome man, just half of his face reflected to her. She had been startled by his looks, almost expecting him to be hideous because of his treatment of her. She supposed not all criminals looked like they lived a life of crime, and not all monsters wore their evil on the outside. Some people wore their ugly deep inside where nobody could see it. Those were the most dangerous monsters of all.

He demanded she strip and she froze. She had managed to avoid being naked in front of anyone for the last decade, always getting out of PE with a doctors note and never going swimming even on the hottest days during the summer.

She was humiliated that he was going to see her secret shame. She was a cutter. Only saying she was a cutter might be an understatement. She was a destroyer of beautiful things. Only her father’s warning to hide her terrible obsession from those outside the family had prevented her from doing it to her face.

She wanted to hurt herself, when
she was feeling stress or self-hatred or anxiety building, it felt so good to release it through the surface of her skin. She never talked about it with anyone, but a quick Google search brought up thousands of cutting websites. At this point she didn’t think she could be helped, all the rage and sense of helplessness she’d felt over the years was directed towards herself. It had almost become an artistic expression of anger and hatred.

She heard him make a joke about her shirt, but it hadn’t registered. What she had been waiting for was the inevitable, his voiced filled with disgust as he questioned her. He initially
thought she had been attacked; even this sociopathic criminal couldn’t comprehend the depths of her depravity, her madness.

What she hadn’t expected was his voice filled with kindness and compassion. She wished she could see his face when he spoke to her. She wanted to see his brilliant blue eyes when he t
alked about her body, she heard warmth there that didn’t match up with the man she assumed him to be.

When he took her from the bathroom and tied her again, she sensed how his touch had changed. He was
much more tender with her, more careful, as though she were a delicate beauty instead of a ruined, self-mutilating outcast. Stuart had recoiled in horror when he felt her arm, she couldn’t imagine how he would have reacted had he seen the rest of her body. Her father was disgusted and bewildered by her self-harming even though he was essentially the root cause of it all. This man, however, seemed fascinated by her.

The first time she had tried it had been in the fifth grade. She was ten and starting to develop the first buds of her breasts ahead of the other girls. The attention from the boys in the class had caused the girls to turn on her, calling her names and taunting her mercilessly. She didn’t have anyone to talk to at home, Eden was a toddler and her mother had already checked out of their lives by then.

She had been in the bathroom, after an evening bath. Her father had hammered on the door while she was drying off, screaming because she was never to deny him entrance to any room in his goddamned house. He had backed off when she didn't respond, but she knew he would be all her over the moment she opened it.

Her mother’s razor blade was lying on the edge of the
bathtub; she had picked it up and thought about cutting her wrists rather than face him. The thought of him finding her dead in a tub full of pink water brought her great satisfaction. Only her sister’s life had kept her hanging on, that house had been no place for a little girl and Columbia couldn’t abandon her.

Instead she had cracked the plastic casing and pulled the razor out. She had stared at the perfect, flawless white flesh on her inner arm for what seemed like an eternity. She felt as though she was hovering in between worlds, between childhood and something else. Not quite adulthood...purgatory perhaps, a forever after of waiting for something better to save her from the life she was trapped in.

The first cut had been painful, a shock of sensation for a girl who had learned to dull her senses against that which was happening to her in the moment. It was addicting, as was the beauty of the welling blood on her flesh, and the patterns it made as it dripped into the white porcelain sink. The entire experience had an otherworldly feel and for the first time in months she felt in control of her environment. She couldn’t keep her body from changing, and she couldn’t lock her doors at night, but she could carve herself into something beautiful.

After that it became her go-to for pent up emotions. As easy as drinking coffee for a buzz or taking a Tylenol when battling a headache, cutting herself offered relief for everything that ailed her. By high school she had learned to hide her body and knew what to say to their decrepit family doctor to get those notes out of PE. Her father had stopped commenting and her mother didn’t notice. Eden made a few cruel comments about them from time to time, but eventually lost interest.

Nobody else had ever seen the beauty in it though, nobody except this man who had captured her. His voice betrayed his feelings and she knew he understood the why of her body modifications. His brilliant, gorgeous blue eyes had scanned her naked body and found her worthy.

Something completely unexpected in a place like this.

She was still terrified of him and feared he would kill her, but perhaps it was better to be killed by somebody who saw her as beautiful than to be kept barely living by somebody who only saw the damage. He could be the one to finish the thing she had been working on all these years, her departure from this world. Suddenly the idea of death was no longer so frightening, Eden could take care of herself now and nobody else would blink an eye at her passing. It was time to let go and end her own suffering through the hands of a man who thought she was beautiful.

He had bound her to a chair this time, and left the room. She sat in the quiet and tried to accept the idea that she was ready to die. Death would be more a relief from her life.

As she contemplated these things, the spark of defiance that had kept her alive all these years started to flicker. By the time she imagined her death at his hands for the hundredth time, the flame was growing and gaining energy. And by the time she heard him coming back for her, she was ready to fight again. Whether he found beauty in her scarred patterns of cuts, she was ready to fight for her life. She wanted to leave this place in one piece and she wasn’t quite resigned to giving in any time soon.

Dimitri gave himself an out, time away from the girl. She confused him, and he needed to settle his thoughts. Since the big revelation that it was she destroying her own body, he had backed off a bit and let her have some time in the bathroom. He then tied her to the chair and left her alone. She hadn’t moved when he’d returned, which is exactly where he wanted her...anxious, exhausted, emotionally drained, and ready to tell him everything.

He
’d texted the concierge but was unable to tell him about her. They'd gone over small details of the next day's events, the menu and an expected delivery, but that was it. He didn’t know what he would say about her, and he was certain by now the concierge would suggest he kill her and give him the number of somebody to dispose of the body. Dimitri wasn’t convinced that was the best thing to do...he didn’t know if he could stand the thought of her limp body being dragged out of here by some base criminal.

When he returned to the room
, he pulled a chair over to where she sat, bound to her own chair. He positioned his in front of her and took a seat. She was still blindfolded and slumped against her bonds. Her white skin, even with the scars, almost glowed in the soft light of the room. Her head sagged and she looked defeated. Dimitri still hadn’t spoken to her, giving her time to worry.

He’d gon
e through the phone when he was out of the room, but had come up empty handed with any clues to her name. It apparently belonged to somebody else, a young man with a predilection for tall blondes, booze, and blowjobs...all caught on the phone’s camera.

He considered the fact that she might have stolen it, but that didn’t sit right with him. He wanted to call the last number she had dialed when she was in the bathroom, but the sick part of him didn’t want to make this easy. The dark part of his brain wanted to toy with her and draw the information out the old fashioned way, through mind fucking and torture. Perhaps he justified it by still classifying her as a possible threat, but once again, if he were being completely honest with himself, he would admit that he simply wanted to see her on her knees, begging him for her life and his cock, each having equal value in her world.

He cracked his knuckles and let his eyes move up the length of her body to settle on the valley between her full breasts. There were beads of sweat forming there; salty drops as a testament to her fear making her run hot.

He knew that there was a great probability that she posed no threat, this beautiful dark haired creature. She didn’t look the part of a trained killer, but Dimitri told himself better safe than sorry. One just never knows in cases like this.

He’d made that mistake once before, in Vienna. A stunning blonde, willowy and elegant, had begun making small talk at the Naturhistoriches Museum. He had been in the Austrian city for a clean up job, hunting down three snitches who were on the run from Sergei for talking to the police in Moscow. He had already killed two, taking them down as they sat in their apartment drinking vodka and playing chess. The remaining man was at his job, a caretaker at the museum, so Dimitri was killing time before he killed the man.

She had approached him in the confined space of the Venus of Willendorf exhibit. He never would have suspected she was there to kill him, this was before the accident and women still found him undeniably attractive. It wasn’t unusual for him to be propositioned in this way.

They’d made plans for dinner that evening and she’d gone on her way. He had found the target in the sub-basement, rendered him unconscious and slit his throat on the banks of the Danube. The body barely made a sound as it hit the water, just the smallest splash and the man was gone from this world.

Dimitri had time to tidy up, meet the blonde,
charm her over dinner and take her back to his hotel.

She had been a feisty little cunt from the get go. She’d sucked his cock on the low settee, but had fought him when he’d held her head down and tried to cum in her mouth. He’d ended up releasing his seed onto his own abdomen, assisted by her hand and hurried along by the fiery anger in her eyes.

He’d gone to the washroom to clean up. As he’d stepped back into the room, she’d come at him. Naked, she was stunning. An incredible fighter, she’d given him a run for his money but ultimately he’d come out the victor. He had ended it by breaking her delicate neck, his hands gripped tightly around her throat as she choked her last breaths.

He never knew who had sent her. Looking back on it now,
perhaps Sergei had been trying to dispatch of him for longer than he though. He’d left her body in the room, called his contact in Vienna to clean up for him, and taken his flight back to Moscow.

He never made that mistake again, and he wasn’t planning on repeating it now.

“So,” he addressed her and she jumped at the sound of his voice, “this is where you tell me your name.”

“Does it matter at this point? Why don’t you just fucking kill me and be done with it?” she said as she straightened her back and tested the ropes.

“It does matter, and I won’t kill you until I get what I need to know from you,” he replied, keeping his voice low and calm.

“I won’t tell you anything, then you can’t kill me!” she said, still pulling at the ropes.

“It doesn't work that way, little dove,” he said with a grim resolve. “I wish it did, but it doesn’t. I need to know your name. I need to know who sent you.”

“I already told you, I am here about your development at Main and Twelfth,” she told him. “I brought myself. I mean,
the group encouraged me, but it was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t deserve to lose my life over it.” Hysteria was starting to creep into her words, but he could see her struggle to keep it at bay. Her resolve was admirable.

“What if I told you that I don’t believe a word you say?” he replied. “What if I told you I believe you were sent here to kill me?”

“I would say you’re insane, do I look like a fucking killer?”

“You look like a woman filled with desperation,” he said. “And that is a dangerous thing. So, once again, I am asking nicely...what is your name?”

“Fuck you,” she said and spat at him.

“I told you not to try my patience,” he warned, leaned towards her and slammed his fist into her stomach. The air left her body in a drawn out oomph sound and she sat, hunched over, with her mouth moving wordlessly.

When he was sure she could talk again, he repeated his question. “What is your name?”

She had a stubborn set to her jaw and he knew she wasn’t going to answer. The though
t repulsed and excited him. He was repulsed because he knew what he could do to her, he could tear her small body apart with his hands if she pushed him, but he did not want to. He was excited because this was the kind of thing that got his blood pumping and his cock ready to attack. He thrived on this kind of physical expression of lust and primal animal urges.

“What is your name?” he asked again. His voice was calm as though he had just asked her the time while they waited for the bus together.

She didn’t respond so he punched her jaw this time. Her head snapped back and the blindfold pulled up with the force, her eyes were squeezed shut underneath. Tears sprang anew from them as she let her head drop back down.

“Tell me your name,” he demanded.

“I am nobody,” she replied. Her voice was low and hoarse; blood foamed at the edge of her lips. She must have bitten the inside of her mouth when he struck her.

Dimitri stood up and walked behind her. He swept her up in one smooth motion, lifted her from the chair and carried her to the platform. He
r arms were tightly bound in front of her and her legs were expertly lashed together. He laid her on her side and grabbed a riding crop. He was determined to break her spirit and strip her to nothing until he was certain she was not a threat. He had to know what she knew. He could feel madness rising in him like gorge at the back of his throat.

He rolled her to her back and slammed the crop against her pale flesh, a red welt rising immediately against the already scarred skin of her abdomen. She grunted and flinched but her mouth stayed shut. He saw this as a challenge and laid into her with a series of hard blows. He wanted to force her to react.

“Fuck you, you fucking animal,” she screamed in pain at last.

Rage filled him in a
red-hot wave. She had defied him; her refusal enraged him and urged him to push her further, past her limits.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked as he slapped her bare flesh again. She whimpered and didn’t answer.  “You continue to defy me,” he continued, “thi
s means all bets are off, little dove.”

He reached for a knife and cut the ropes binding her legs. His only focus was on the girl in front of him, her deception and stubborn refusal to give him what he wanted.

He pulled her arms above her head with one hand and moved to cut her bra with his knife. He slid it between her breasts and jerked the blade upwards. The bra popped open, exposing her soft curves and delicate pink nipples. She was panting lightly and had a sheen of sweat glistening over her skin. She was beautiful, and she struck some cord in Dimitri, some part of him that was not a monster, some sliver of humanity that had survived in his hardened heart. She was tragic and gorgeous and he had to have her. He wrestled the humanity down and continued to her panties.

“You are going to tell me your name,” he said as he pulled the blade up the side of her underwear and tore the fabric. He dragged them off her and spread her legs open. She was like a deer caught. She was breathing heavily in small shallow gasps, but seemed to have lost the ability to move.

He dragged the knife across her throat with the soft touch of a lover and said, “You are going to tell me your name, or I am going to slit your throat while I fuck you. Do you understand?”

She nodded and with a dry, cracked voice
she rasped, “Yes.”

“What is your name?” he asked again.

She didn’t reply, she didn’t move. She was silent in her terror; just the rapid rise and fall of her chest belied the fact that her body still housed a living soul.

Dimitri tied
her hands to the restraints above her head but left her feet unbound. He ran his hand along her body, the scars adding a dimension of sensation under his own flesh that set his nerves on fire. He wanted this perfect creature, but he wanted information even more.

He picked up the riding crop and ran it along
her thighs. She was completely naked to him now, and the sight of her body enflamed his urge to control her. “You can make this easier on yourself by telling me your name,” he said and hit her legs with the crop. She winced and shook her head. He reached down, dragged the rope off her ankles and pulled her legs wider.

He took his finger and pulled it along her belly to her upper thigh. He
traced the scars there and sought her heat. He pushed a finger inside of her slit and found her wet and hot. Ready for him.  Her hair was short, trimmed but not shaved smooth. He preferred this. He wanted to feel like he was fucking a woman, not a little girl. He didn’t understand the North American obsession with hairlessness.

He had to find her weakness. If threats and abuse wouldn’t work on this girl, he would try another approach. He heard her gasp as he grazed her clit with the top of his finger, felt her involuntarily push against his hand. He rubbed her gently and dropped the crop, reached up with his other hand to roll her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She gasped again and whimpered, not fear this time but pleasure. He imagined if she cut herself so severely, she must be tolerant to pain. He pinched her nipple hard and twisted it while applying more pressure to her clit.

She moaned and bucked against his touch. He had been right, she liked some pain with her sweet pleasure, so he pinched harder and rubbed her clit with more force. “Are you going to tell me your name yet?” he asked with a mocking smug tone. “Or are you going to make me work for it? Because from this position, I have to say I don’t mind working for it.” He emphasized his final words with a hard thrust against her clit and a tight pinch of her nipple. She responded by crying out and exhaling a soft groan.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked as he slid another finger between her soft folds and moved them towards her entrance. She was hot and slick and pushed her hips against his hand as he did so.

She shook her head and panted. “Then you know what you have to do,” he said as he thrust two fingers into her tight heat, “tell me your name.”

“Col-” she gasped and tilted her hips to allow him full access to her sweetness.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that,” he said, bemused by her rapid acceptance of his body inside of hers. He pulled his hand from her breast and pushed her thighs open farther to accommodate his talented fingers.

“Columbia,” she cried out as he slid his finger back inside of her rapidly and thumbed her clit. He growled his triumph and fucked her hard with his hand, rubbing her clit in quick succession. She pushed against him and he felt her pussy tighten around him as she reached the brink of her orgasm. His cock was raging hard and wanted inside of her more than anything he could think of at that moment.

With an iron will, he pulled his hand away just before she reached her peak and said, “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He ran the tip of his finger up her thigh to her stomach, traced the scars around her belly button and added, “Columbia.”