Read Online Fool's Ride (The Jenkins Cycle Book 2) by John L. Monk - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John L. Monk
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something indefinable, and I wondered if even she knew what it was.
She flourished a knife and grabbed my shorts.
“Hey, what are you doing?” I said.
With her tongue poking out of her mouth, she proceeded to cut my shorts and underwear away, leaving me exposed and a little colder than I had been.
“You’re going to have to raise yourself,” she said, a hint of exasperation in her voice.
“Hey,” I said. “Seriously, I’m fine. That thing with the shower was just … you know, after effects from last night. I’m ready to get back to normal.”
Lana threw me a curious look and said, “That’s what we’re doing, Ernest. Now lift!”
She flicked her knife near my nether regions, nicking my inner thigh and causing me to jump—then slipped in the bedpan.
“Hey!” I said. “Easy with the knife, okay?”
Lana stood up straight—posing for me, it seemed like, while leering at my nakedness. Then she frowned. “Do you want me to assist you?”
When it dawned on me what she meant, I shook my head and said, “I’d rather you get me a new pair of shorts.”
Lana’s eyes flashed dangerously. She stepped behind me, kicked the blockers open on the chair and jerked me angrily backwards, then forward, rolling me down one of the wings I hadn’t explored.
This was it—she was going to torture me. That’s what the bedpan was for, in case I messed myself. I’d never been systematically tortured by a psycho who got off on pain, and she could torture me until I got kicked—about three weeks from now—or until she screwed up and killed me, whichever came first.
My last ride had been a sick bastard who got off torturing dogs and posting videos of it on the Internet. Vile, heartbreaking stuff, and even though I hadn’t found any human victims in his computer files, I’d killed him for it anyway. Was this, now, my punishment? Because animals supposedly didn’t have souls?
We came to a closed door on the right—single, not a French door like the bedrooms all seemed to have. About fifteen feet down was another single door, also on the right.
Lana pushed open the closest one and wheeled me in. The room was muted, with fabric on the walls like they have in movie theaters to muffle the sound. Scattered in the room were three sofa chairs—the reclining kind, judging by the little levers poking out the sides.
Along the left wall, where the movie screen would be, hung dark red curtains.
Lana left me where I was, went over to the nearest chair and tugged it out of the way. Then she got behind me and pushed me into the previously occupied spot, facing the curtains.
“Are you going to torture me?” I said at last, unable to bear it any longer.
“Only if you want me to,” she breathed.
“I’d rather you let me go.”
She laughed. “Now why would I do that? What’s in it for me?”
“We could go have sex.”
Any port in a storm…
“Come now, Ernest,” she said. “Aren’t you a little bit curious about your muse?”
Lana walked over to the wall and pulled a rope, drawing the curtains wide, revealing another room separated from this one by a plate glass window. There was someone inside, naked on a gurney, strapped down like me except on her back—pitiful and afraid, and very alone.
“I’m disappointed in you,” Lana said. “All those demands: dark hair, big boobs, good teeth, young, and as requested— pregnant . Ready to burst. The boys worked very hard to find her. She’s a pretty little sow. Pristine. It was all I could do to keep Sean off of her, but he’s no longer a problem.” She laughed harshly. “The news is obsessed with her disappearance, which is why we simply don’t have time for you to get over whatever the hell’s wrong with you.” She walked up to the window. “We need Sliced 2, and soon, before they forget about us. And when we’re done, the world will weep with the certainty they never had souls.”
Still staring at the poor woman, feeling nothing but pity for her,
She flourished a knife and grabbed my shorts.
“Hey, what are you doing?” I said.
With her tongue poking out of her mouth, she proceeded to cut my shorts and underwear away, leaving me exposed and a little colder than I had been.
“You’re going to have to raise yourself,” she said, a hint of exasperation in her voice.
“Hey,” I said. “Seriously, I’m fine. That thing with the shower was just … you know, after effects from last night. I’m ready to get back to normal.”
Lana threw me a curious look and said, “That’s what we’re doing, Ernest. Now lift!”
She flicked her knife near my nether regions, nicking my inner thigh and causing me to jump—then slipped in the bedpan.
“Hey!” I said. “Easy with the knife, okay?”
Lana stood up straight—posing for me, it seemed like, while leering at my nakedness. Then she frowned. “Do you want me to assist you?”
When it dawned on me what she meant, I shook my head and said, “I’d rather you get me a new pair of shorts.”
Lana’s eyes flashed dangerously. She stepped behind me, kicked the blockers open on the chair and jerked me angrily backwards, then forward, rolling me down one of the wings I hadn’t explored.
This was it—she was going to torture me. That’s what the bedpan was for, in case I messed myself. I’d never been systematically tortured by a psycho who got off on pain, and she could torture me until I got kicked—about three weeks from now—or until she screwed up and killed me, whichever came first.
My last ride had been a sick bastard who got off torturing dogs and posting videos of it on the Internet. Vile, heartbreaking stuff, and even though I hadn’t found any human victims in his computer files, I’d killed him for it anyway. Was this, now, my punishment? Because animals supposedly didn’t have souls?
We came to a closed door on the right—single, not a French door like the bedrooms all seemed to have. About fifteen feet down was another single door, also on the right.
Lana pushed open the closest one and wheeled me in. The room was muted, with fabric on the walls like they have in movie theaters to muffle the sound. Scattered in the room were three sofa chairs—the reclining kind, judging by the little levers poking out the sides.
Along the left wall, where the movie screen would be, hung dark red curtains.
Lana left me where I was, went over to the nearest chair and tugged it out of the way. Then she got behind me and pushed me into the previously occupied spot, facing the curtains.
“Are you going to torture me?” I said at last, unable to bear it any longer.
“Only if you want me to,” she breathed.
“I’d rather you let me go.”
She laughed. “Now why would I do that? What’s in it for me?”
“We could go have sex.”
Any port in a storm…
“Come now, Ernest,” she said. “Aren’t you a little bit curious about your muse?”
Lana walked over to the wall and pulled a rope, drawing the curtains wide, revealing another room separated from this one by a plate glass window. There was someone inside, naked on a gurney, strapped down like me except on her back—pitiful and afraid, and very alone.
“I’m disappointed in you,” Lana said. “All those demands: dark hair, big boobs, good teeth, young, and as requested— pregnant . Ready to burst. The boys worked very hard to find her. She’s a pretty little sow. Pristine. It was all I could do to keep Sean off of her, but he’s no longer a problem.” She laughed harshly. “The news is obsessed with her disappearance, which is why we simply don’t have time for you to get over whatever the hell’s wrong with you.” She walked up to the window. “We need Sliced 2, and soon, before they forget about us. And when we’re done, the world will weep with the certainty they never had souls.”
Still staring at the poor woman, feeling nothing but pity for her,
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