Give Me a Reason (53 page)

Unconscious, Toni’s mind had roamed free, taking her back to
times when she had smiled easily, riding horses though fields of heather and
jumping fences withered and broken by age. Memories filled her mind like
photographs, and in snapshot after snapshot, she saw her life...and then she
saw her love. Auburn hair brushing against her skin like butterfly wings, a
sexy laugh, a giggle, a blush...a promise. Toni had made a promise. Not yet
sealed and stamped, but it was a promise nonetheless.
‘Til death do us part.
Suddenly, the allure of
warmth was no longer tempting. The devil and his disciples dressed in prison
officer uniforms could all go straight to Hell, and when Stephen breathed in
again...she breathed out.

Toni raised her eyes and stared at the man dressed in a
wrinkled white shirt and brown trousers. She glanced at his belt of leather,
fastened with a polished silver buckle, and then back at his face as she tried
to place him in her Thornbridge memories, but he didn’t belong there. “I don’t
remember you.”

“Sweetheart, you never saw Bernard, but you heard him. That’s
what triggered all of this. It was his voice.”

“What?”

“He was one of the doctors they called in when they closed
Thornbridge. He was the one who examined you that day, so when you heard his
voice, you—”

“Wait,” Toni said, holding up her hand to quiet Laura. “Give
me a minute.”

Cocking her head to the side, Toni closed her eyes and waited
while the last piece of the puzzle slipped into place. What had been muddled
and clouded by near-death suddenly became crystal clear. Opening her eyes, she
turned and looked at Laura. In a voice void of emotion, she said, “It wasn’t
him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know that man,” Toni said, pointing at Bernard.
“I’ve never seen him before.”

“I know, Toni. You weren’t listening—”

“Laura, it was the other one...Cameron.”

Laura looked around the room and saw her confusion mirrored
on the faces of her family. Turning back to Toni, she placed her hand on her
arm. “Sweetheart, there isn’t anyone here by that name. Maybe you just need a
bit more rest.”

“Stop trying to placate me!” Toni shouted, jumping off the
sofa. “I’m not a bloody child!”

“I know you aren’t,” Laura said, getting to her feet. “But
Toni, you’ve been through a lot today. You’re just a little confused right
now.”

Exasperated, Toni turned her back on Laura and yanked up the
baggy sweatshirt, exposing the myriad of hellish scars. “Do you honestly think
I’d ever forget the face of the bastard that did this to me?” she screamed. “
Do you
!”

When Laura didn’t answer, Toni lowered the shirt and turned
around. For a moment, their eyes met, and seeing the doubt in Laura’s, Toni set
her jaw. “
He—is—wearing—the—fucking—belt
!”

He had watched and listened, and before the words had left
her mouth, William MacLeod knew the truth. It wasn’t hard to count to four, and
knowing that three of the men in the house were currently standing in the
library, he rushed out of the room.

Storming into the lounge, he saw Ron standing by the
fireplace while Alice sat quietly in the chair by the front windows. Pointing
in Ron’s direction, he shouted at his niece, “What’s his name?”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“I said…what is his name?”

“You know his name.”

“His full name, Alice! What’s his
full
bloody name?”

“Oh…um…it’s Cameron Wesley Thomson. I thought you knew that.”

Chapter Fifty

Born Finlay Ranald Cameron in one of the most impoverished
sections in all of Glasgow, he had grown up wearing tattered clothes and eating
meals consisting of porridge and potatoes. A bastard in the truest meaning of
the word, he was raised without a father, and even though his mother showed him
all the love she could, more often than not, she showed love to others as well.
They came and went from the tiny apartment he called home, simpering like fools
when they had picked her up at the door, only to return her a few hours later
with her clothes rumpled, her makeup smeared and her body smelling of sweat. He
hated them…but he hated her more.

Playing in the streets and alleyways with children no better
off than himself, he was relentlessly teased about his name. Even the destitute
neighbors with toothless smiles cackled behind his back at the haughty handle
he had been given, but the ridicule had made him strong, and genetics had made
him handsome.

With wavy black hair and eyes the color of cinnamon, he used
his boyish good looks and charm to his advantage. Using a wink and a smile,
he’d beguile store owners out of biscuits, and whispers of “
Please, can you help me
” convinced teachers to spend
their free time tutoring him. Day after day, he listened intently as they
taught, but he didn’t just study their lessons...he studied them. Their words
were proper and their manners refined, so when his mother was off scrubbing the
floors of office buildings, and his friends were outside playing football he
stayed home with a book. Reading aloud, he practiced until he could pronounce
each word without a hint of the dialect that proved him poor.

At night in the small, dingy flat, he listened as neighbors
screamed and yelled foul words at their spouses and children, and he decided
that was not going to be his life. He wouldn’t haul rubbish or sweep roads,
working for hours doing menial labor while being ordered about by a fat-bellied
man with beard stubble and no education. Finlay Ranald Cameron wanted
more...and
he
wanted to be boss.

Afforded only the most basic of educations, he realized that
he’d never be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, but when he saw an
advertisement for prison officers, he knew he had found his niche. While he
wouldn’t rule thousands, or even hundreds, he would receive the respect he
needed to feed his ego...and he
would
rule.
So, once settled on a career and having conquered the accent he loathed, he
began visiting a local gym to work his body until it was muscled and strong. He
had a plan. He had a goal, and while he was sure he’d have the prisoner’s
respect by simply putting on the uniform, he wanted more. He wanted them to
tremble at the sight of him.

Upon entering the prison service, he found himself assigned
to a prison just outside of London, but the minimum security penitentiary
didn’t house the prisoners he wanted to rule. Inmates convicted of insurance
fraud and corporate crimes were not dangerous and hardened. They were portly
and posh, and obediently followed all the rules as they waited for their
sentences to end. So, keeping abreast of positions opening in other prisons
throughout the United Kingdom, he applied for several, but his lack of
experience hampered his acceptance until a job was listed for a prison in the
north of England. Labeled as high security, his mouth watered as he read the
job listing, and when he realized that it was a women’s prison, he smiled and
bared his pearly white teeth.

For years, he had hidden his hatred for women behind a
demeanor worthy of a gentleman, and his portrayal had been flawless. Handsome
and strong, he had never had a problem getting dates, and pretending to listen,
care and sometimes even love, he had taken what he wanted from each and gave
little, if anything, in return. To him, they were a means to an end. A vessel
in which to empty his seed, and once that had been accomplished he had no
further use for them. They were weak. They were stupid. He was not.

Although always careful, choosing only blondes or redheads to
bring to his bed, more than once he crept away in the middle of the night,
fearing his hatred for the gender was about to take control no matter what the
color of their hair. Well aware of the punishment he would receive if he ever allowed
the beast to escape, he learned to control his disdain. Visiting the gym once,
twice or three times a week, he took his aggressions out on weighted bags until
his hands were bruised and his muscles ached. It was the only way to release
the animal inside and still keep his freedom...or so he thought.

He traveled twice to the prison hidden away in the north of
England to be interviewed for the position. Answering questions about rules,
regulations and punishments, he thought he had hidden his true self behind his
charm like he always had, but he was wrong...and the governor was delighted.
Six weeks later, Finlay Ranald Cameron walked across the gravel drive of a
prison called Thornbridge, and upon entering the stone-walled penitentiary he
breathed deep the smell of despair. It smelled marvelous.

***

With only a few years of experience in the prison system, he
had expected to receive the graveyard shifts that so many loathed, but his
first few months at Thornbridge were spent in the morning hours, awakening
women from their beds and watching as they shuffled sleepily to the servery. It
didn’t take long for him to notice how some of the convicts seemed more damaged
than they had the day before, and while he couldn’t have cared less, his
curiosity was piqued.

The days moved slowly for him, and just like he had in
school, he watched the people around him. He knew which prisoners were the
worst, and he tried his best to always be close when a fight would break out.
He loved being able to pull them apart, mindless of the strength of his grip or
the force of his actions. He knew he was leaving bruises behind, and it was all
he could do to hide the stiffness between his legs.

Late one afternoon, close to when his shift was ending, a
fight erupted in the courtyard. Women were screaming and cheering as two of the
most violent tried to kill each other. Forgetting himself for only an instant,
he unleashed the beast. Minutes later, the two women lay on the ground, bruised
and bloodied. Standing in the snow, he looked at what he had done and paled,
believing he had lost his job, but then another officer approached and patted
him on the back. With a knowing smile, the man shook Finlay’s hand, silently
congratulating him on his graduation to the night shift.

A few days later, on a cold winter evening under a black sky
dotted with stars, he trudged across the snow-covered drive leading into the
prison to begin what he had thought would be eight hours of listening to the
silence of a sleeping jail. He could not have been more wrong. He didn’t know
that the harsh realities of Thornbridge blossomed at night.

Under dim lighting, he walked with officers around the
levels, wondering why they would snicker by a door or pause as if trying to
decide something. Then, told to stand near the rail, he watched as they
unlocked a cell, woke the woman inside and proceeded to beat her. They didn’t
have a reason. They didn’t need one...and neither did he.

Three cells were unlocked and three times he watched, but
when they opened the final cell that night, they smiled at him and motioned for
him to enter. It was his turn.

His shaft grew rigid as he stepped inside, and removing his
thin black belt, he kicked the bunk to make sure she was awake before lashing
it across her back. She was one of the crazies. A demented woman with blonde
wispy hair and a wild look in her eye, and she cried out when the belt marked
her skin. In a cockney, nasally voice that caused his lip to curl, she pleaded
for him to stop, but what she wanted didn’t matter.

A short time later, as the other officers returned to the
lounge for coffee and a smoke, laughing whole-heartedly at what they had done,
he trotted quickly to the restroom. Standing in a stall under flickering
fluorescents, he groaned as he held himself in his hand and released into the
stained porcelain toilet. He had never felt so alive.

***

Answering with a quick and definitive “Yes” when asked if he
wanted to work only the night shift, during the day he spent his time searching
for the perfect belt. It had to be wide and thick, able to withstand the force
of his blows and the buckle...the buckle had to be strong and sharp. Spending
his afternoons visiting nearby towns and villages, he finally found a shop that
suited his needs. Tucked down an alleyway, behind a weather-beaten wooden door
was
Servitude
, a shop for those who enjoyed a
rougher lifestyle with obedience being the forefront. When he walked inside and
smelled the leather, his mouth watered. He scrutinized dozens of belts until he
found what he desired, and then he spoke to the artisan...and together they
designed the buckle.

One week later, he returned to pick up his treasure. The
gap-toothed craftsman crooked his arthritic finger and ushered him into the
back room, and smiling a smile filled with stained teeth, he placed his
creation in Finlay’s hands. It was as he had ordered. Larger than a business
card, rectangular and brass, the edges were rounded and smoothed while the hook
on the back was long and filed sharp, but he was puzzled by the weight, and his
bewilderment showed on his face.

Noticing his client’s confusion, the artisan took the belt
and revealed its true glory. Bending the buckle away from the leather strap, he
pushed in the center and easily slipped out the false back which he reversed
and slid into place. Now, instead of one hook, there were three. Small and
deadly, like the poisoned hatred that pulsed in Finlay’s veins, two more curves
of steel had been welded to the plate to the right and left of the center
sharp. Staring at the hooks, he smirked as he imagined the pain they would
inflict.

He used it sparingly at first, noticing that the damage from
even the simplest of strikes wreaked havoc on their skin, but the feeling it
gave him was beyond anything he could have dreamed. With it in his hand, he
felt like a god, and more times than not when he left the prison in the early
morning hours, he would be hard and erect and in need of something more.

Traveling for miles, he visited the towns where he knew he
could find whores eager to open their legs, and he would take them again and
again and again. Slamming into them with a fury fueled by thoughts of screams
and blood, he would feed the beast until it was satisfied, and then he returned
to his flat where he would sleep away the day...dreaming about the night.

***

He had seen her a hundred times. Tall and slender with jet
black hair, she reminded him of the mother he abhorred, and he thirsted for her
like no other. He yearned to beat her until she screamed, but the senior
officers were the ones who chose which cells to open at night, and they kept
her all to themselves. He would stand just outside the door, listening as their
belts and boots hit her skin, and while his peers could bring her to cries,
muffled by the pillow on which she buried her head, he knew he could do better.
With his belt, he could bring her to shrill shrieks and screams that would echo
through the halls for hours.

His attraction for the gaunt prisoner with sunken eyes and a
learned past was well known, and the other officers dangled the possibility of
him visiting her cell for months, so when his birthday arrived, they gave him a
present. Led to the block, to the cells buried deep in the bowels of the
prison, they handed him a key, and while they stood in the corridor and
listened...he did what he knew he could do.

Entering the dark concrete hole, he left the door open enough
so that light streamed in, and waiting until she awoke, he pulled the belt from
his trousers and fixed the buckle properly. The first strike grazed off her
shoulder, and his manhood came to life when he heard her yelp in pain, but when
the next got snagged on her clothing, he took two quick steps and began
grabbing at the tatters she wore. He was brutal and unyielding as he tore away
the fabric, exposing her body to his eyes, but her nudity wasn’t what he
needed. He needed her pain...so he picked up the belt and started again.

Her arm stopped the next strike from landing, but undaunted
he swung again and again until she was too weak to fight back. Watching as she
turned her back on him, he licked his lips and then struck her with a force
that sent her to the wall. Grasping at the rocks, she screamed for the very
first time. His trousers tightened at the blood-curdling shriek, and lashing
out again he watched as her back began to flow blood like a river. It poured
from her skin, covering her arse and legs in crimson that seemed almost black
in the light, but the beast needed more...so he hit her again.

It was her howls of agony that finally brought them into the
cell, and seeing what he had done, they pulled him away and closed the battered
steel door to lock her inside. Admonishing him for going too far, they told him
to leave for the night, and he eagerly agreed. Barely able to make it to his
car before ejaculating in his trousers, he drove to a place he normally only
visited in the early morning hours. Finding a dark-haired whore, he pulled her
into an alley, paid her a few quid and then punished her with his staff, but it
wasn’t enough for the beast. Feeling like a magnificent being that held all the
power of the world in his hands, he opened his wallet again and pointed down
the alley, and eagerly the prostitute followed. A few hours later, shadowed by
the darkness of the night, he walked to his car, and the few people still on
the street never noticed the stains on his clothes.

After what happened on the block, he was never allowed to
visit her again. The death of a prisoner could easily have been hidden, but
they all enjoyed her a little too much to allow that to happen. So, while his
colleagues entered her cell on occasion in the middle of the night, he would
visit others, and while she would cry, his would scream.

One year faded into the next, but he didn’t notice. He didn’t
care. He had the life he always wanted. Administering pain during the night,
ridding his body of need during the morning and sleeping on sheets, bleached
and white during the afternoon became routine. And on weekends, he would
satisfy his needs by reading bondage magazines and surfing the Internet for
sites filled with black-haired beauties. He knew the beast would never be
tamed, but controlling it had become easier; however, on one crisp day, his
life...his paradise...crumbled around him.

***

It happened a few minutes before his shift was to end, and
like locusts, they swarmed Thornbridge. Shouting their titles and their orders,
they shoved prison officers as if they were the inmates, and stunned, he
watched as his friends turned into blubbering fools. Screaming their innocence,
they were handcuffed and hauled away, so when it became his turn, he did just
the opposite. Standing tall, and catching the eye of the man in charge, as the
shiny shackles were clamped around his wrists, he suggested that perhaps they
could strike a deal...and they did.

For hours, he sat in one of the rooms used for prisoner’s
adjudications and grassed on his fellow officers. Names and times, dates and
details were given without blinking an eye, and in exchange, they gave him his
freedom. He handed them back a badge displaying the name he abhorred, and they
gave him a new one to hide behind. The men and women he had worked with for
four years would spend the next several years of their lives behind bars, but
he would not. He would walk free and start a new life as Cameron Wesley
Thomson.

Returning to Scotland, he took a job as a laborer with a
construction company, and having never been afraid of hard work, it wasn’t long
before he was promoted to crew leader and then to foreman. The physical labor took
its toll on the beast and many a day he returned home too tired to even open a
magazine, but when the urge returned, so did his habits. He would spend hours
surfing the Internet for photographs and videos of bondage and brutality until
his body craved release, and then he would leave his flat in search of a whore
to satisfy his need, but it wasn’t long before his desires outweighed his
income. While most were cheap enough, the first didn’t always quench his thirst
and he would have to prowl the streets for another or answer to the beast.
Hunger would turn to anger if not fed properly...this much he knew.

One night he decided to try his luck at a neighborhood pub in
hopes of persuading a woman to give him what he normally paid for, and after
priming himself with a few hours of porn, he walked down the street to the bar.
Noticing a woman sitting alone in the corner he went over and turned on the
charm. Flashing his best smile, a minute later he was sitting at her side and
ordering another round of ale.

Alice Burns was not what most would consider a raving beauty,
but she wasn’t unattractive either. Fair-skinned and freckled, she was a bit on
the plain side, but just a bit, and after a short conversation, he felt himself
at ease with her. She seemed innocent enough. Hardly worldly, therefore, hardly
smart, and after learning she had just gone through a nasty divorce, he was
ready to pull out all the stops until she told him about her daughter. His plan
was for a lover, not a family, so when he left the pub that night, he had no
intention of calling the number he had asked for, but a few weeks later he
changed his mind.

After visiting several pubs in the area and browsing the
selection of single women, he decided that a plain woman with a child seemed
safer. What better way to appear normal than strolling through town with her on
his arm, and the child, if he had his way, he’d deal with as little as
possible. He thought his strategy was perfect, except one night he made a
mistake.

Spending his usual pre-date time viewing videos, he ran
across one that turned his blood so hot he knew he needed to release the beast
before he met Alice that night or his plan would be ruined. Jumping into his
car, he sped to the next town and looked for his victim. Spying a hooker on a
street corner, he could hardly contain his excitement. She was perfect. Tall
and slender with hair the color of onyx, he opened his billfold and invited her
into his car. Driving to an abandoned building, they walked inside and made the
deal, but little did she know she was making a deal with the devil.