Pure Hate (22 page)

Natasha trembled as she remembered
sex with Malcolm. His feral aggression had been exciting at first, intense,
then it had started to turn violent. He once choked her unconscious during sex.
He used to bite her so hard on the neck, shoulders, ass, and face that he drew
blood. He had only been seventeen then.

Now, he was a man and, more than
that, a killer. Then there was Rick, a sadistic bully who needed to humiliate
others to feel good about himself. Watching Malcolm touch her as she stood
there naked and vulnerable was obviously exciting Rick. He was grabbing and
tugging at his crotch, bouncing around as he watched the two of them and grinning
his wild, goofy, hyena grin. Again, Natasha shuddered and began to wish she was
already dead.

“Grab her. We’re going back to your
place. I don’t want us getting interrupted.”

“Yeah, man, but my lady’s there. We
can’t be doin’ this shit in front of her!”

“Fuck her. Just grab this bitch and
let’s go.”

All the madness drained out of Rick’s
eyes. He was seeing his meal ticket fluttering away on the breeze. He looked at
Malcolm and amended that thought; it was blowing away in a hurricane.

“Malcolm, it ain’t just that she’s my
wife. She takes care of me, man. I ain’t got to work. I don’t cook or clean.
Nigga, I’m set for life! And you about to fuck it all up bringin’ this bitch to
my house!”

“Look, nigga. Someone is gonna get
fucked tonight. Fucked, tortured, and put to sleep. And it don’t have to be
this
bitch,” Malcolm growled. “It’s all up to you.”

Malcolm stepped up to loom over Rick,
and turned his face downward to watch the smaller man. Rick cowered.

“Alright, man. Shit!”

“Yeah, nigga. That’s what I thought.”

Rick tucked the nine millimeter back
into his waistband and grabbed Natasha’s wrists.

“I can’t believe he’s got me involved
in this shit,” Rick whispered to Natasha. He walked her toward the door when
Malcolm stopped him.

“Fool, are you just gonna walk her
naked ass outside like that? Give her your fuckin’ jacket or something.”

Reluctantly, Rick handed Natasha his
jacket. She snatched it from him and quickly wrapped it around herself. It came
nearly to her knees, and only served to emphasize how naked she was beneath it.

They stepped out of the apartment,
slowly closed the door, and began walking down the stairs to the street.
Malcolm stopped Rick and Natasha on the stairs. He put both hands on Natasha’s
shoulders, squeezing firmly.

“You know me, Natasha,” Malcolm
purred in a voice so low and rumbling it sounded more like a tightly tuned
high-performance engine than human speech.

His eyes seized hers and held them.

“Scream, try to signal anyone, try to
get away, and you will die.

“I know what you’re thinking. You’re
thinking that I’m going to kill you anyway, and you’re probably right, but as
long as you’re alive, there’s at least a chance. A chance someone might rescue
you. A chance I might spare your life. But your chances can run out real quick
if you fuck with me, Natasha.”

Malcolm released her shoulders and
walked down the stairs. Natasha knew he felt certain she wouldn’t try anything.
She also knew he was right. She wouldn’t try to run. As long as there was a
chance to live, she couldn’t throw her life away.

Rick drove the Cherokee back to his
house, complaining the whole way about what his wife would say when he walked
through the door with this naked female hostage. Malcolm and Natasha sat in the
back seat. Malcolm seemed to be drawing inward. He stared at the back of Rick’s
head and gnashed his teeth growling, low and deep in his throat.

Natasha had seen him like this many
times during their relationship. It was never a good thing. She looked out the
window, watching the streets go by in a blur, watching the people rushing to
and fro on the sidewalk, oblivious to her peril. She wished she were out there
with them. She smelled the crisp night air and imagined herself hurrying along
the sidewalk on the way to her apartment but turning around at the last minute
and heading to a bookstore or a coffee shop instead, spending the night sipping
hot chai instead of being chaffeured to her own murder.

“Man, my fuckin’ wife is gonna fuckin’
kill me!”

Malcolm reached around the seat and
grabbed Rick’s windpipe, squeezing the Adam’s apple in his powerful fingers.
Rick thrashed about in a panic, trying to free himself from the crushing vise
around his throat, wheezing hoarsely as he tried to suck in oxygen.

With his other arm, Malcolm removed
the gun from Rick’s waistband and held it to Rick’s right temple. The Jeep
swerved as its driver struggled for air, bounced up on the meridian and then
back onto the road, narrowly avoiding a garbage truck heading down the street
in the opposite direction.

“Shut the fuck up. Do you hear me?
Shut the fuck up!”

He squeezed even harder bringing
tears to Rick’s eyes and causing him to see spots as he choked and gasped for
air. Malcolm released him and sat back still glaring at the back of his head
and with the gun still pointed at his back. Rick coughed and wheezed,
struggling to get air back into his lungs and coughing even more as the air he
inhaled seemed to burn his throat.

“And if you crash. I’m gonna kill
you.”

Rick was quiet for the remainder of
the ride. Natasha silently prayed for the first time in over a decade.

They stepped out of the Jeep. Rick’s
eyes were cast downward, avoiding Malcolm’s.

Malcolm barely noticed. He looked up
and down the block. The sidewalks were empty, and there were no nosy neighbors
peeking out of windows as far as he could tell. The lights were on in the
house. Rick’s wife was awake.

Rick pulled his keys from his front
pocket, and Malcolm noticed with amusement that the man’s hands trembled as he
used the key. Rick was losing it and quickly becoming a liability. Malcolm
would have to do something about that soon.

The living room was empty, but the
lights were on and the aroma of baked chicken and hot biscuits drifted from the
kitchen along with the sounds of pots and plates lightly clanking together.

“Uh . . . honey? Uh . . . we’ve got
guests.”

Malcolm stepped into the house with Natasha in tow. He
turned, locked the door, and pushed the naked woman down onto the couch as
Rick’s “better half” rushed from the kitchen. She ran to Rick, alternately
wiping gravy from her hands with a dishrag and smoothing down her hair. It had
started to frizz from too long in the steaming kitchen and was sitting up on
her head like she’d been struck by lightning. She turned her back on Malcolm as
she gave Rick his welcome home kiss.

Out of habit, Malcolm looked down at
her ass, and her ass was magnificent. Perched high on her back, bouncing and
jiggling as she moved. Even in the baggy sweatpants she wore, he could make out
the perfectly rounded outline of each buttock. Malcolm’s first thought was that
he couldn’t remember ever seeing an ass more perfect, then he corrected
himself. He could remember. He could remember exactly where he’d seen it. When
CC turned around, Malcolm was smiling . . . and licking his fangs.

It didn’t take CC long to figure out
who Malcolm was either.

“Oh my God, Rick! That’s the guy!
That’s the guy all the cops are after! The one who’s been killing those
families!”

Malcolm stepped closer to her, still
grinning. She recoiled, taking several steps backward and wincing as if
anticipating a blow. Rick made a move to shield her, and Malcolm gently, almost
casually, pushed him aside without even looking.

“The cops? Looking for me? Imagine
that. Oh, that reminds me. How is Detective Bryant?”

The guilt that colored her face
scarlet red confessed everything. Malcolm turned to Rick and waited for him to
put two and two together. Rick looked from Malcolm’s rather amused if still sinister
countenance to his wife’s guilt-ridden face and his jaw dropped open.

“Fuck is he talkin’ about, CC? Who da
fuck is Detective Bryant?”

“That’s the nigga she’s fuckin’
behind your bitch-ass back. The same muthafucka that’s tryin’ to hunt me down.”

With that, Rick slapped CC so hard that she spun
180 degrees and fell to the floor. He straddled her hips, punching her
repeatedly. She screamed and struggled, trying to buck him off and raising her
arms to shield her face. His fists struck her in the chest, shoulders, and
stomach. Malcolm noticed how, even in his rage, he avoided hitting her in the
face with a control that indicated he’d done this before. When Rick clamped his
hands around CC’s throat and began to squeeze, Malcolm reached over and pulled him
off of her.

“Don’t kill her. I think I can use her to get at
that detective. The nigga’s in love with this bitch.”

Rick’s chest was heaving and his eyes were wild
with rage and starting to well up with tears.

“Man, get your shit together and tie this bitch
up! You got any electrical tape?”

Rick went to get the electrical tape. As he
walked down the hallway, he punched a wall and cursed loudly. From the sound of
his voice, it was obvious that he was crying. Malcolm laughed, a horrible sound
somewhere between a witch’s cackle and a dog’s bark. He bent down to help CC to
her feet. She offered no resistance as he tossed her across the room like a
ragdoll. Natasha pulled CC up onto the couch with her. The two women hugged
each other and stared over at Malcolm. Malcolm stared back at them with a
massive erection in his pants. Natasha shuddered and turned away. CC continued
to stare. She appeared to be in shock.

Rick returned with the tape and immediately began
binding CC’s hands and feet. Tears ran down his cheeks and he muttered curses
under his breath. He slapped her twice more before he finished taping up her
feet, splitting her lip and causing it to bleed. Malcolm grabbed Natasha and
dragged her upstairs, leaving the unhappy couple to settle their differences in
private.

“We’re gonna use your guestroom for a while.
Don’t kill that bitch. I’m serious. When you’re done, come on up and we’ll have
some fun.”

Malcolm pulled Rick’s jacket off of
Natasha’s shoulders and ran his hands over her naked body. “I’ll save you
some.”

Natasha closed her eyes and tried to shut out the
pain while still pretending to be enjoy herself. Maybe if he thought she liked
it, maybe if he thought she still wanted him, thought she still loved him, he
wouldn’t torture her too badly. Maybe he might even let her live or at least
kill her quickly. Maybe he wouldn’t let Rick have his turn.

She tried not to show her fear, her
disgust, her anger. She tried to ignore the penis slamming in and out of her,
feeling as if it was pushing up into her guts. When the teeth clamped down on
her shoulder and the fangs punctured her flesh, she tried not to scream. But
she did.

Oh, God, it hurt so bad!

When he turned her over and she felt
his penis ripping into her anus, she couldn’t help herself. She screamed and
cried and begged and cursed. Malcolm only laughed and pounded into her harder.
His laughter sounded like something rumbling up from hell. She could feel his
penis swelling inside her as he approached an orgasm; she felt his hand clamp
around her throat and begin to squeeze. She couldn’t breathe. Everything went
gray and then it all went black. She was grateful for the escape—the peace of
oblivion.

When she awoke, Rick was on top of
her, inside of her. His tongue was lolling out of his mouth and his eyes were
wild. He was muttering something about CC fucking some other guy. She could
feel him thrusting inside her, but it was a dull distant pain, more like the
memory of a pain. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a huge shadow,
pregnant with menace, so dark it stood out against the backdrop of night. She
closed her eyes and tried hard to slip back into oblivion, but the pain kept
her wide awake. She opened her eyes again and looked back at the huge shadow
that filled the corner of the room. It was moving toward her, its fangs
reflecting the moonlight.

Malcolm bound Natasha’s arms and legs
to the bedposts and left her. He wasn’t finished with her. He wanted her to
suffer for a long time, and he wanted to derive as much pleasure as possible
from her suffering.

She had tried to convince him she was
still in love with him, hoping to be spared. Malcolm didn’t care whether she
loved him or not. Even if he still loved her (and he wasn’t sure he didn’t)
he’d still have to hurt her. He had made a promise to himself long ago that he
would repay every injury tenfold. He owed her pain, lots of pain.

When her hands and feet were firmly secured, he
kissed her once on the forehead, turned and left. He walked downstairs with
Rick walking closely behind.

In the living room, CC sat on the
couch, immobile. There were a just few more bruises on her than when Malcolm
left Rick alone with her. Tears trickled from her eyes down her bruised cheek
as Malcolm moved toward her.

“Congratulations, whore. You get to live.”

He grabbed CC by her hair and yanked
her up from the couch.

“We’re going to see your boyfriend.”

Rick made a sound like he was choking and punched
the wall again. Malcolm laughed and led them both out the door and over to the
Jeep.

Several police vehicles cruised by as they made
their way through Center City, Philadelphia. Malcolm was calm. He knew that,
slouched down in the back seat behind the dark tinted windows, he was almost
invisible and Rick was far too scared to start speeding or doing anything
stupid that might attract police attention and get Malcolm angry and himself
dead. CC was catatonic.

Malcolm had seen this before. CC had checked out. Her mind
couldn’t handle the stress and had simply shut down. Even if he were inclined
to let her live, he knew her mind would never reassemble itself. No amount of
psychotherapy could put the pieces back together. CC was gone.