Part 19 (1/2)

”You can f.u.c.k right off. I have nothing to apologize for. They deserve it. Every f.u.c.king bruise. Especially Sheila. f.u.c.king worthless c.u.n.t. Can't even f.u.c.king wear clothes. At least I dressed her.”

I thought of the French maid outfit Sheila was wearing when I first met her. Falling out of it, was more like it. Three sizes too small for her. Some dress. But, I kept my opinions to myself.

”Evan? How many girls have you had here?”

”What the f.u.c.k is it to you?”

”Call me curious.”

”Seven. Counting the b.i.t.c.h over there, eight. Mostly hookers desperate to keep out of jail. What are you a f.u.c.king cop? A f.u.c.king FBI agent?”

”How many have you killed?”

He sneered. ”Seven.” I couldn't tell if he was lying or not. I thought I saw truth in his eyes, but I had a hard time telling. It was easier for me to tell if a female was lying.

Jane bent her head to my ear. She whispered, ”I think he's telling the truth.” She shuddered. Jane was pretty good when it came to these things. I believed her. Thus I believed him. I was dealing with a G.o.dd.a.m.n serial killer here most likely. And I now knew what Sheila's ultimate fate would likely be if I didn't intervene for her on the prime timeline.

I nodded. I turned Jane's head and whispered in her ear. ”Tie his ankles apart.” She looked at me questioningly but walked past him to the closet to get some rope.

I held the madman's gaze until he finally looked away.

”Sheila?” he called his former slave. I wasn't sure what he was up to. But I was taking Jane's warning seriously. Sheila might turn on me if she was afraid of Mayer enough. ”Honey? I didn't mean to hurt you. Truly.”

Sheila turned to me helplessly. Frightened.

”Awful big bruises for being unintentional,” I commented.

”Tell him, Sheila. Tell him that I didn't mean to hurt you. You fell down some stairs by mistake.”

I waited wondering what she'd do. I knew what had happened. If you renamed his feet stairs, then the descriptions might have been more accurate.

Tears were forming again in Sheila's eyes. I briefly debated the idea of getting her out of here, before he managed to get to her. If he managed to regain control of her, I would have a h.e.l.l of a time rea.s.serting myself as her master. I didn't particularly want to go through that. On the other hand, if she managed to resist him, she'd be well on her way to recovery. To usher her out, or have her stay and fight him.

Jane emerged with the rope. She paused as she processed what was going on. I could almost see her mind working. She was still behind him holding the rope easily behind her, out of his sight.

Jane spoke up, saving me from making the decision. Mayer turned and glared at her. ”Sheila. Sweetheart. Look in a mirror. That one over there.” Sheila's mind locked onto the female voice and obeyed. Looked at herself in the wall mirror. Cringing at the sight of herself. ”See that stain on the carpet?” Jane pointed to the remains of the b.l.o.o.d.y caesar. Sheila nodded mutely. ”When we found you, honey, he'd just kicked the h.e.l.l out of you because you brought him the wrong drink. You couldn't pick the right one. They were both b.l.o.o.d.y caesars. Or tomato juice. Or whatever the h.e.l.l he put in them. It didn't matter. That's the point. He'd poured the thing over your head, whatever it was, and kicked you until you fell. He raped you. You wanted to have s.e.x with him after that? Did he even ask? Then he slapped you silly. Look at your face darling.”

Christi had walked slowly over to the weeping girl. Gently touched her shoulder. She continued where Jane had paused, ”He did this. You think he didn't mean to hurt you? You honestly believe you fell down stairs? This is your chance to kick the h.e.l.l out of him instead of the other way around.”

I watched Christi and Jane in amazement. These naked women saying all the right things. Far better than I ever could have. They far better understood the workings of the female mind.

”You f.u.c.king little wh.o.r.e,” he hissed at Christi. ”Who the f.u.c.k do you think you are?”

Christi turned to face the judge. ”Your worst f.u.c.king nightmare. I'm going to make you wish you were never ever f.u.c.king born. It's going to be a pleasure to kick the s.h.i.+t out of you. You worm.”

Jane moved slowly in front of him. Still holding her coil of rope loosely in her hands.

”What the f.u.c.k do you think you are going to do with that, b.i.t.c.h?” he growled as Jane moved into his line of sight with the rope.

”I've been ordered to tie your feet,” she replied with hate in her eyes. She really didn't like this guy calling her a b.i.t.c.h. And he knew it. He was taking advantage of it. Trying to provoke her. She'd get her chance to get even. If she held on to her self-control.

”The h.e.l.l you will. b.i.t.c.h.”

”I have to.”

”You come within kicking distance and I swear I'll give you a kick that will make that c.u.n.t's ribs look normal.”

I nodded to Jane. It wasn't necessary to force her to endure one of those kicks. She paused just outside what she judged was his kicking range. She silently gazed at him, almost rage smoldering behind her brown eyes. Waiting. I rose from the chair and walked over to him until my face was centimeters from his. He didn't try to kick at me. Knew better. ”I'm getting real tired of your mouth.”

”Too f.u.c.king b ... oooooooooooooofffff.” The air collapsed out of him.

My right fist crashed into his stomach. I drove my left into his solar plexus. He looked a little like a fish out of water. Trying to convince his paralyzed muscles to breathe. Mouth silently opening and closing. I smiled and motioned for Jane to continue. I walked slowly back to my chair.

Jane knelt by his feet as he was far more interested in trying to breathe than to worry about what she was doing. Jane had wrapped cord around both ankles and tossed the ropes to the side before he could draw breath. She had scampered well out of range before he had recovered sufficiently to even think about kicking out at her. She bent to tie the cords off to spread him, as ordered, but I signaled to her to wait. She padded over to my chair.

”He'll resist you tying them off anyway. Wait until he's a bit weaker. Just tie them off loosely so he can't get an effective kick at you.” I turned to Sheila as Jane moved off to tie off the ankle ropes loosely to the eyebolts set in the wall. Sheila was still gazing at her battered body in the mirror, tears silently tracing down her face. ”Sheila? You want the first shot at this guy?”

She was still crying a bit. She shook her head. She'd join in when she was ready.

I motioned Jane and Christi. They didn't need to be told twice. He was still shaky from my punches, and his face actually registered some fear as the two girls approached him. It briefly crossed my mind that I was really glad I wasn't in his place. I knew these girls.

Chapter 81.

Mayer weakly aimed a kick out at Jane, but being unfettered she easily danced out of the way. His ankle actually didn't get very far or have any real strength, being brought up short by the ropes Jane had attached to him. I thought I even heard her stifle a laugh. My mind flashed back to Sheila desperately trying to avoid that same foot. Her knees and hands bound. Unable to simply dance away. She wasn't laughing at the time.

Mayer simply wasn't all that coordinated. I actually had my doubts if he could have mounted any kind of offense or defense against Jane. Even if he'd been unbound. She was more in shape and faster than he was. h.e.l.l, even Sheila was probably a match for him despite the size differences. His style was to use blackmail and treachery to wear the girls down. Bully them. Then, when they were bound, and defenseless, he'd break them. Batter them physically while they were unable to fight back until they no longer believed in themselves. Believed that he was bigger, stronger, more powerful than them. Sheila hadn't been completely broken yet. But she was well on her way. The technique, while not elegant, would work. I had to give the b.a.s.t.a.r.d that.

Jane sauntered up to him, behind the kick and whispered something in his ear. All I caught was the word ”b.a.l.l.s”. He paled at whatever she had said to him and tensed. She casually balled her fist and swung it in an wide arc. It hit him under his ribs. Not quite hitting his solar plexus. He grunted and then incredibly he grinned.

Jane had struck out at me once. Granted she wasn't really trying at the time. Just hammering her small fists into my chest in an expression of female frustration. I remembered after her marathon in the mall. It hadn't actually hurt all that much. She simply didn't have the strength to seriously hurt him. Not with her fists. But I wasn't even sure she was trying to hurt him at this point. Just getting out her frustrations.

Christi stepped in and let her right hit him in approximately the same place. This time his eyes registered a bit of discomfort. After all, I had softened the area already. Jane got the idea and again drove her fist into his midriff. She grunted as she felt the force of the blow in her hand and arm. Christi followed with another strike. Alternating, the girls used their small fists, always aiming to hit him in the same place. Just below the solar plexus. Finally, he began to break under the constant pounding. I suspect that the girls were hurting themselves more than him, but I wasn't really sure. I could still see the hate smoldering in their eyes and his.

Finally Evan began to breathe a little harder and grunt as the small fists continued to rain down on him. Quant.i.ty was making up for quality. At least that was the theory.

Jane suddenly stepped back, cradling her right hand. She managed a weak smile in my direction.

”I think I softened him up for you,” she managed to get out. She was breathing hard. Her hand obviously in pain. You could hurt yourself if you didn't know how to throw an effective punch. I doubted Jane knew how. I was tempted to teach her.

”You okay?” I asked her.

”I'm alright. I'm feeling a bit better now.” I a.s.sumed that she meant that her anger was fading. Punching someone tended to be a good release for anger. Even if it wasn't particularly effective and hurt the puncher more than the punchee. Pure stress relief.

Christi threw a couple more weak punches at him and stepped back as well. Knowing that she wasn't being particularly effective. He felt them, but it wasn't hurting him to the degree these girls wanted. Christi rubbed her knuckles as well.

Evan recovered his breath faster than the girls.