Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection) (5 page)

She might have no social life, but she was alive, and she wanted to stay that way.

Turning her back on the men, Evie turned her attention to the door. Yes, it was solid metal—however, the doorjamb was wood. She couldn’t get to the lock on the door side, but what about the jamb side? Could she dig out the bolt on that side?

There was only one way to know for sure.

Taking her tiny metal fragment, Evie began digging again.

* * *

Igor thought all of the flickering monitors were so pretty. He knew that they held a lot of information, but he didn’t understand it. Or maybe he didn’t want to understand it.

He liked it here. It was quiet most of the time. And warm. And no one beat him or called him stupid. His brothers didn’t pee on him here. He had very few responsibilities, which was good, because if he had more than three tasks, he usually confused them. He tried so hard to do better, but his mind became muddled if he thought too hard.

Which was why nearly every control had a small sticky note on it, detailing what it did and when to use it. The ‘Zard was very considerate, overall.

Like right now—Igor’s phone vibrated in his pocket. A text came through. “Hit the third blue button from the top on the second row.”

He liked how specific the ‘Zard was. It made things clear for him.

He liked things clear. He liked not being peed on even better.

His finger reached out, and without hesitation, hit the button described. The red light switched to green. The cell door was opened.

* * *

Clyde was half-asleep. He’d given up on watching the broad. She was boring. Crying and digging, crying and digging. Then the foot he’d propped against his cell door dropped down. Everyone thought he was stupid because he was from the south and had a thick drawl. And okay, maybe he wasn’t going to split an atom any time soon, but he knew how to prepare. As soon as the door opened, his foot fell, startling him fully awake.

He breathed in and out. Had anyone else heard his foot fall? He risked peeking around the corner. The chick was still working on the door. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed.

Silently, Clyde rose to his feet and slid though the open door. He looked to Darion’s cell. It was still locked. The prick had his eyes closed, but Clyde seriously doubted if the control freak was asleep. Esau was snoring on his bunk. Papa had tried to stay awake, but his head had lolled to the side, and drool ran out the side of his mouth.

Door lay with his back to him. His breathing seemed steady and regular. Back, of course, was wide awake. He gave Clyde a thumbs-up. Like he needed it from that perv.

Clyde found Andrew also wide awake. The kid went to open his mouth, but Clyde put his finger to his lips. Andrew nodded vigorously.

The last thing that Clyde needed was the kid to spoil his surprise. She was going to be so soft. So warm. So wet. She was going to have nice big nipples. The ‘Zard wouldn’t send in a chick with tiny tits, would he?

No, no the ‘Zard wouldn’t. Clyde could feel the hardening in his pants. It even became difficult to walk, but somehow he soldiered on.

The chick was so into trying to dig out the lock that she didn’t hear him coming until it was too late.

* * *

Evie more felt the attack than saw it coming. How could she have been so stupid? She swung around, slicing with the metal fragment, but missed wildly. Clyde grabbed her by the neck, hauling her off her feet with one hand. With the other, he smashed her hand against the metal. She couldn’t hold onto her only weapon. It fell out of her hand and skidded into the dungeon proper.

Then Clyde’s hands were all over her. Rubbing her bra, trying to get under her shirt. She screamed, but there would be no rescue.

“There you go, filly,” he said as the other men erupted in shouts and hoots.

“No!” she screamed, pounding her raw fists against his chest. The hick didn’t even seem to notice.

“Don’t you worry, darlin’. I’ll ride you long and hard before I put you back in your stall.”

Evie tried to knee him in the groin, but his thick thighs prevented it. The guy was buff for a hick. He backhanded her, hard. So hard that her temple hit the metal door. A loud crack, and her vision blurred.

Another punch and she was on her knees, struggling to stay conscious.

His meaty hands tried to tug her pants down. Evie squeezed her legs together as tightly as she could. He pawed at her like an animal.

Panic threatened to overwhelm her as the men piped up.

“Drag her out here!” Back screamed.

“We can’t see shit!” Door yelled.

“Clyde,” Papa demanded. “Don’t you dare hurt her.”

About the only one not giving Clyde instructions was Darion. Evie lost the fight with her pants, and they were jerked down to her ankles.

Quickly ,Clyde unfastened his own pants.

“Come on, baby. Tell me how big it is.”

Evie shut her eyelids, refusing to look at him. He kicked her so hard that it lifted her up and out into the dungeon proper.

“Bitch, you
are
going to tell me how big it is.”

A glint of steel caught her eye. Her metal fragment. It was just out of reach.

As Clyde held down her arms, Evie realized there was no way she was going to beat him physically. But mentally? Mentally, she had him beat.

“It’s so big,” she whispered and scooted back an inch.

“What?” Clyde said. “I didn’t hear you.”

“It’s so big,” Evie said louder, gaining confidence as he focused more on her words than on mounting her. “Too big. It might not fit.”

Clyde reared up, seeming incredibly proud of himself. It gave her the opportunity to scoot back a few more inches.

“That’s right, Darlin’,” Clyde crowed. “I’m a big fucking buck. That’s what they called me on the outside. ‘Buck the Fuck.’”

Good to know. Unfortunately, Clyde grabbed her thighs, forcing them apart.

“Time to let your big, fat buck in.”

It would only be a matter of moments before he had her. She gulped, going all in on her strategy.

“Don’t you want me to beg for it?”

“What?” the hick seemed confused.

“I mean,” Evie said, trying to keep him talking rather than raping. “Do you want me to make it that
easy
for you?”

She scooted a few more inches into the dungeon. Close enough that she could feel Back’s breath as he praised her.

“That’s right, bitch. Keep this up and I might let you live out the night.”

Evie ignored him. Her goal was at her fingertips. The cold metal fragment.

“Don’t you want me to beg?” she purred, trying to keep Clyde distracted as she grabbed the metal fragment.

Unfortunately, Clyde seemed to have a fairly limited repertoire.

“Tell me how big it is,” Clyde said, grabbing her hand and forcing it down into his crotch. Evie couldn’t have planned it better.

* * *

Clyde screamed like a little girl as blood pulsed from his crotch. It shot all the way across the dungeon and hit Door in the eye.

“Cowabunga!” Andrew exclaimed. This night was living up to the hype. At the last minute, Evie had sliced “little Clyde” right off. The big hick was cupping his crotch, screaming incoherently.

His severed penis hit the floor and rolled rather pathetically over once, then lay to rest.

“Hey,” Door said, pointing at the amputated genital. “Why don’t you ask her how big it is now, huh, Clyde?”

The other man laughed heartily.

“You fucking bitch!” Clyde shouted. “You’re going to pay! You’re going to pay!”

Buck the Fuck might have done something about it, until a cell door clicked open. Darion’s.

Evie spun around, her eyes dilating as she realized what had just happened. Pointing the metal strip she’d just used to whack Clyde’s penis off, Evie walked toward Darion’s cell. Darion rose from his cot.

* * *

Evie’s hand was shaking, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. Adrenaline, fueled by the terror that was coursing through her body. She could feel it with every hammer beat of her heart.

She stopped at the threshold to Darion’s cell and wiped the blood from her tiny, but effective, blade.

“How about we renegotiate that arrangement?”

Darion cocked his head to the side. “Which arrangement would you be speaking of?”

“You protect me. I’ll be grateful,” she said, hating that her voice shook. “As in, the Webster definition of grateful. Period. No quid. No pro quo.”

Darion took a step toward her, his eyes bright and intense. “I never asked for quid.” He took another step closer. “Or pro.” Another step and they were face to face. “Or quo.”

His eyes slid down her body. Her hand tried to go to her collar again, but she didn’t let it. She needed to prove to him that she wasn’t afraid of him. His gaze lingered at the hand that held the metal fragment.

He turned away, leaving his back exposed. “Besides, Latin is a dead language.

He sat down on his cot. Evie felt suddenly weak. Exhaustion hit her as hard as Clyde had. But she needed to get safe. Or at least as safe as she could in this hell hole. With the last of her energy, she stepped into Darion’s cell and closed the door behind her. She heard the lock click closed.

She kept the metal fragment pointed toward Darion. “I mean it, The
Webster
definition, or…”

Brave words. Too bad her hand was shaking so badly that she nearly dropped the metal.

CHAPTER 6

Jake stood behind the irritated and groggy apartment manager. His beer belly spilled out of his robe. He grunted as he searched through his keys for the right one.

Knocking on the door, Jake did his best to ignore the manager’s rather ripe odor. “Ms. Montgomery?” Jake called out, but no answer. Exactly as Nancy had described it.

“Open it,” Jake ordered.

“Are you sure you can go in there without a warrant?” the manager asked.

“Do you want to take the chance, and the legal liability, that she’s in there unconscious with a subdural hematoma?” Jake pressed. Usually with these guys who’d watched one too many
Law & Order
episodes, you just had to remind them they could get sued and they caved. Just like this one.

“A ‘yes’ would have sufficed,” the manager said with a roll of his eyes.

The man went back to sorting through the keys, cursing under his breath. Then he noticed the water streaming from Jake’s jacket. He looked to Jake with a scowl.

“What? Haven’t you ever had to protect blood evidence at the risk of your own personal health?”

The guy didn’t seem to have an answer to that. Jake jerked the keys from his grasp, found the right one, and put it into the lock.

It gave easily. He opened the door and called out again, “Ms. Montgomery?”

The last thing Jake wanted to do was walk in on a young woman pleasuring herself. Okay, maybe not the last thing, but it would be rather awkward with the manager hot on his heels.

Jake took a quick survey of the room. It was neat, but not overly neat. It looked lived in, in the best way possible. The girl liked her comforts. She had a light blue Snuggie on the couch and a pair of sheepskin slippers at the foot of the couch.

The manager pointed an accusatory finger at a small Habitrail on a table under the window. “Hey! She’s not supposed to have that! It is very clear in the lease.
No
pets.
None.”

“An illegal rodent is the least of my concerns,” Jake stated. “Which way to the bedroom?”

The manager grunted, glaring at the hamster’s house, but pointed up the stairs.

Jake went up the staircase to find a door. He knocked loudly again, asking, “Ms. Montgomery? Are you home?’

When there was no answer, Jake opened the bedroom door to find more of the same. A tastefully decorated room. The only thing truly unique or personal was a small collection of antique glass perfume bottles. He picked one up and inhaled.

“White diamonds.”

He crossed the room and opened the closet. It was full of business casual work clothes and more work clothes.

“So, Nancy was right. You really didn’t have much of a social life, did you?”

“Yeah,” the manager grunted. “You done, or what?”

“Such concern,” Jake said as he exited the bedroom and went back down the stairs. The manager followed and picked up the Habitrail.

“Yeah, well, I’m taking the hamster.”

Jake shook his head. “Oh no, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” the manager said, moving toward the front door.

“Look, just put down the hamster, sir,” Jake encouraged. “I’m too damned tired to draw down on you.”

The guy looked confused. His big, bushy eyebrows pulling together into a Neanderthal unibrow.

“Let’s just pretend that I’ve got my gun up right now,” Jake said.

The manager finally seemed to get the hint, and put the hamster back down on the table. He huffed loudly as he headed to the door. Jake put his hand out.

“Leave the key,” Jake said. “I’ll lock up when I leave.”

With a frown and a barely suppressed lasagna burp, the manger handed over the key and headed out.

Once relieved of the man’s onerous presence, Jake headed over to the hamster. There was plenty of water, but no food. The little furry brown and white guy was hitting the food bowl, turning it over, looking for dinner.

“Well, I think that confirms that she hasn’t been home tonight.”

Jake scanned the room for hamster food, but no go. He went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. The shelves were nearly bare.

“And Evie, you don’t seem to be a big cook.”

He could see some carrots and fresh broccoli, though. He didn’t think they were for Evie.

“But this is exactly what the discerning rodent palate desires,” he said, bringing the veggies to the hamster cage.

“There you go. That should keep until your mom comes home,” Jake said.

He picked up the keys from the table. There wasn’t much more to do here.

Jake was about to walk out when he noticed a photo album on the coffee table. He couldn’t help himself as he sat down and picked up the album. The first picture was of a young girl at a family picnic. Another was of a college-aged Evie at a college football game. Then a series of pictures with a young man, obviously smitten with her.