Ritual Sins (30 page)

She wanted this. She wanted him. She knelt at his feet, naked, and took him in her mouth, and everything around her faded. It came down to pure sensation, to need and longing, taste and pull, reaching and clawing, and she could feel the power build inside him, and she knew her own was beginning to match his, and when he tried to pull away from her she clutched at his hips in a desperate attempt to keep him there.

“No,” he said in a hoarse voice, stepping back.

She didn’t move from her position on her knees. “I want you to come in my mouth.”

“No,” he said, and she could see the ripple of reaction sweep up his strong, beautiful body. “Next time. If there is a next time.” He hauled her up against him, lifting her, so that her feet dangled off the floor. “That’s not the way to make a baby.”

The bed was soft beneath her back, and he was on top of her, leaning over her, his long hair a curtain around them. She caught it in her hands and sucked it into her mouth, she pulled him down to her with it and kissed him. He put his
hands over her breasts, and a tight, furious spasm of response shot through her, an unbelievable sensation that shocked and shook her. He squeezed her nipples lightly, and she cried out, convulsing, reaching for him, needing more, her body suffused in longing, in trembling, aching need as she tried to wrap her legs around him.

“No,” he said again, a faint thread of laughter and despair in his voice. “You do it.” And he rolled over onto his back, waiting for her.

She wanted to scream in frustration. She didn’t move, and he caught her arms and dragged her body across his, so that she straddled him, her knees on either side of his lean hips.

She was shaking, whipped by a longing so fierce she thought she might dissolve. “Help me,” she said, trembling. “I can’t … I don’t know …”

He caught her hips in his big hands and lifted her so she was positioned over his cock. He was huge, and she knew it. She’d taken it in her body, in her mouth. He was hot and pulsing against her, and she needed him so badly she thought she might fly apart.

“Take me,” he said in a harsh voice. “Slowly. Don’t rush it. Don’t hurt yourself. Just sink down on me. Let your body lead you. Just slide down over me, like that. Yes … like that. Slowly … slowly now. Yes … that’s it. All the way. So
deep that you can feel me in your throat. More, Rachel. Deeper. Push. God, yes!”

She was panting, trying to control the reactions that surged through her body. She shifted, taking him in deeper still, sinking down fully onto him, and he was huge, filling her, possessing her.

For a moment she couldn’t move. All she could do was tremble. Her body was dripping with sweat, and she could hear his words. It wasn’t about battles and fear, it was about hurt and longing and an aching that had to be filled. About love and a deep dark joy, and she needed more.

His hands were still cradling her hips, and she could feel the strength in them, the tension of a fierce control that threatened to break free. He moved her hips, lifting them, then letting them sink back, so that she began to feel the rhythm of it, the sleek, sliding joy of it. “You can figure out the rest of it. Ride me, Rachel,” he whispered. “Make me come.”

She moved carefully at first, afraid of pain, afraid of making a mistake. But she was wet, sleek, and even though he felt larger still as he filled her, she took him with an ease that made her tremble inside. As if she were made for him. Her movements were meek, tentative, but he made no effort to hurry her. In the flickering light of the television monitors he lay back with his eyes closed, absorbing the feel of her.

He put his hands on her breasts, and she grew more adventurous, faster now, harder, trying to force a response from him. She couldn’t catch her breath, her skin was burning, and she leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of him, pushing, taking him, needing more, always more.

He slid his hands down her body, cupping her hips again, as if he could no longer restrain himself. He surged up into her, slamming against her, hard, and she welcomed it with a glad cry, needing him so desperately, meeting his thrust, enveloping him, again, and again, tiny strangled cries bubbling out of her throat as she began to shake. She wanted him to touch her, to put his hands between her legs, to help her, when suddenly there was no need. Her entire body convulsed—her breath caught, her heart stopped, her skin burst into flames, and all she could feel was the pulse of him, flowing into her, through her.

He caught her hands in his, entwining her fingers with his long ones, braiding them together in a fierce, strong grip that couldn’t be broken. She cried out, but she didn’t know what she was saying. She didn’t care. It lasted forever, an endless spasm of lust that shattered into love, and when it was over she collapsed on his strong, sleek body, too lost this time to even weep.

She slept. With his arms around her, she slept.

* * *

She was awake, and she didn’t want to be. The room was dark, only the flicker of the television monitors disturbing the darkness. She was alone.

She rolled over on her back, slowly, taking stock. She felt achy. Sticky. Strange and sensuous. And then her eyes focused on the one screen that held any movement beyond the flickering of black and white.

It took her a moment to recognize the front room, the room he’d dragged her through. With the sparse decorating most of the retreat tended to look the same. She could see Luke, dressed only in the white drawstring pants she’d taken off him ages ago, leaning over a bundle of clothing on the floor. There was a river of darkness around his feet, and her eyes narrowed as she sat up, focusing.

On the black and white monitor the dark river was blood. And as Luke stepped back she could see the huddled figure of a body. A corpse—no one could live with so much blood flowing around them.

She scrambled out of the bed, pulling the sheet around her body, and stumbled to the door. It was locked, and she had no idea what the electronic combination was. She punched at the buttons in hysteria, banging at them, and in the monitor she could see Luke lift his head, turning toward her. His face was absolutely expressionless. And there was blood on his hands.

She had no choice but to watch. She was trapped in that room, imprisoned, with nowhere to look but the mesmerizing flicker of the television monitors. She watched in numb horror as Luke simply stood there. And then she began to hunt for her clothes, scrambling into them in desperate haste, ready to take the first chance for escape she could find.

She was still struggling with the ties of her tunic when Luke came back into the room, the door skimming shut behind him before she could leap for it. In the dim light of the room she could see the deep red of blood on his hands, his feet, soaking into the hem of his pants. She could smell it.

He looked at her, still that strange, expressionless caste to his beautiful face. “Dressed already?” he said calmly. “I thought we might manage a replay. Unless you have an aversion to blood.” He moved over to the bathroom and began to wash his hands, not bothering to shut the door. Not that she had any chance of escape.

“What did you do?” she asked in a sick voice.

He looked up at that, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t kill him, Rachel. I was too busy being gloriously fucked by you. Someone else did it and left him as a little present for me.”

“Who?”

“Who did it? Probably Bobby Ray. He has a
talent for such things, and I kept him from getting to you. He was waiting for you in the garden, and he was probably pissed as hell when you didn’t show. So he took it out on Calvin.”

“Calvin?” she echoed, stunned.

“I’m not sure I made the right choice between the two of you,” he said casually, stripping off his bloodstained pants. “Calvin was probably the best friend I ever had. He shouldn’t have had to die for me.”

He yanked on a pair of black jeans that had been hanging in the bathroom, then came back into the room. “I’m getting the hell out of here,” he said. “I’ve got more than enough money to keep me happy, as long as no one catches up with me.” He pulled a black tank top over his head. The wreaths of thorns stood out clearly around his wrists, and his long hair flowed down his back. That quickly he’d gone from a saint to a devil, and Rachel could do nothing but stare at him in shock. He began to stuff clothes into a black leather duffel.

“You can’t go,” she said finally.

He paused, looking at her. “Why not?”

“Because they weren’t going to stop with killing you. They’re going to kill everyone. It’s going to be a bloodbath, like Jonestown or that cult in Switzerland or Waco.”

He didn’t look even vaguely curious. “How do they intend to do that? And who are they?”

“Catherine. Bobby Ray. I don’t know who else. They’re going to put cyanide in the water system.”

“Bullshit.”

“I saw it in the storage room. Canisters of the stuff. Why would a place that believes in organic gardening have high-powered, cyanide-based insecticides?”

He didn’t move for a moment. And then he shrugged. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

She stared at him in disbelief. “Stop them.”

“Easier said than done. I suppose I can call the police and give them an anonymous tip once we’re out of the state.”

“That will be too late.”

“Maybe. But that’s not my problem, is it?”

“Isn’t it?”

He shook his head. “If you’d paid any attention you’d know that everyone’s responsible for their own shit in the Foundation of Being. Their own life, their own karma. If they’re supposed to die from poison administered by a kindly old woman, then so be it. We can call the police once we’re out of here but that’s the end of it.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

She didn’t expect tears of disappointment, but
the absolute blankness of his expression was somehow more devastating. “Suit yourself, sugar. You gonna stay here and fight the good fight?”

“Yes.”

He hoisted the leather duffel to his shoulder. “All right. I’m outta here. No one ever gave me a goddamned thing in this life, and I figure I don’t owe them anything in return.” He started past her, paused, and leaned toward her. She tried to jerk away, but he caught her arm in a grip that hurt.

“You’re a monster,” she said.

“So you’ve told me. Let me just give you a little hint.” He paused. “Don’t drink the water.”

The door slid shut behind him, silently, and it took Rachel a moment to realize she was still trapped. She looked up at the television monitors, only to watch them flicker and then plunge into darkness. The room was inky black, with no light from any source.

She wanted to scream, but she didn’t. Instead she sat down on the low bed, her fist in her mouth, trying to still her panic. She remembered the stories, the television reports, the newspaper accounts. She could see the pictures, the piles of bloated bodies, the flames destroying the buildings, the charred remains. She didn’t want to die. And she didn’t want to burn to death in this tomblike room that so recently had seemed like a haven.

Don’t drink the water
, he’d said, his voice light and mocking. If she could feel the flames coming to get her that was exactly what she would do. She had no idea whether death by cyanide was a gentle one or a painful one, but nothing could be worse than burning to death.

She scooted up to the head of the bed, pulling a pillow against her for some sort of creature comfort. The bed smelled of sex. It should have made her sick. Instead it made her weep.

How could he have left? How could he have turned his back on everyone? He would have taken her with him, and maybe the Rachel she used to be would have gone. She hadn’t considered that she owed much to the people around her—she’d felt just as used and abused as Luke did.

But she couldn’t stand by and let them be murdered.

She lost track of time. It was possible she slept, she wasn’t certain. In the pitch-darkness and unending silence she could feel death moving around her to swallow her in a black embrace, and she slowly came to the conclusion that her noble stance had been a waste of time. There was nothing she could do to stop what was happening. She had simply offered them another helpless victim.

It was the pounding that woke her from her nightmare-laden sleep. The splintering of wood, and suddenly she was blinded by a pure shaft of
light, pinning her to the bed. She covered her eyes in an instinctively protective gesture.

“There you are,” Catherine said in her elegant, motherly voice. “I’d wondered where you’d gotten to. I suppose Luke’s taken off?”

There was no other answer. “Yes.”

“Well, not to worry. It would have helped if he’d been around to cooperate, but we can always go on to plan B.”

“Cooperate?” Rachel echoed. “Cooperate with his own murder?”

“My, my, you have been a busy little girl, haven’t you? Bobby Ray said you’d overheard something, but the boy’s brain has been so addled by years of drugs that I’ve never been quite certain what to believe. Which makes things difficult when you’re planning something as complex as this.”

Rachel’s eyes were slowly adjusting to the pool of light cast by the high-beam flashlight. She could see the gun in Catherine’s hand, and there was no comforting tremor.

“I’m sure you could rise to the challenge,” Rachel said sarcastically.

“That’s what I like about you, Rachel. You aren’t one to underestimate a woman’s ability. Though it does surprise me that you managed to crawl into bed with Luke. I thought you weren’t interested in sex. Of course, Luke could manage to seduce an
eighty-year-old mother superior if he set his mind to it. Come along, Rachel. The others are waiting.”

“The others?”

Catherine sighed audibly. “The timing is off, of course. But it will have to do, I suppose. I had Bobby Ray dismantle the generator too soon. It’s still quite early and this place is damnably dark. I was almost going to leave you trapped in here but I couldn’t resist. I’m afraid I do like an audience. One of my little weaknesses.”

“A minor failing,” Rachel said faintly.

“I’m afraid I’m also troubled by an unhealthy addiction to money and power. Though that’s not that unusual. After all, aren’t they what rule the world?”