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Authors: Riley Rollins
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trashcan halfway. It bubbles and reacts, and within five minutes the body starts to slip down, dissolving. I pour in more acid and repeat the process.
Nobody bothers me in the dark alley, and within a half hour, there's nothing left but a trashcan full of reddish, clear liquid.
Tipping the trashcan, I let the mixture run out and down into the sewer grates, employing the utmost caution not to let any splash onto me. This stuff isn't approved for sewer disposal. Fuck no. It probably degrades the pipes something fierce. But I don't really give a fuck.
As the last of the liquid splashes down below ground, I think of Penny.
How I'm going to get any sleep with her in my house, I don't know.
17
Penny
H andcuffed to the bed , I lie there staring at the rough, textured ceiling in the dark, my mind searching for recognizable shapes. I'm trying to find something to hold on to, to restore some sense of normalcy and order to my fractured world.
When you first stay in a new house, it takes time to learn all the sounds. What the garage door opening sounds like. What the front door creaking open sounds like. I don't know any of the sounds of Havok's house, and so I lie there listening intently for every creak and bump, wondering if it's him coming back.
And what's more, a dark sexual energy rolls through me. I should feel mourning for Brock, but instead I feel powerful arousal at the way Havok ended his life.
Havok was ruthless. Intense. And he did what I couldn't—ended my five-year long nightmare with Brock.
With no remorse.
Now I'm a prisoner here, but hell. It's hard to say that I'm any worse off now than I was before. And there's no way I'm making it to work tomorrow, so I guess this marks the end of my stripping career, too.
Maybe Havok is good for me after all.
I want him to take me, to ravage me, to release all of his rage and tension inside me. To give me what I've wanted for so long.
Eventually, my exhaustion begins to overtake me as I wait for Havok to return. I reach for my purse, grab my pill bottle, and take a couple. Then, I carefully hide the bottle in a secret zipper pocket at the bottom of my purse. I don't want Havok finding these.
When I finally run out of pills, I don't know what I'm going to do.
The opiates start to swirl in my bloodstream, and I fall into sleep. I dream about Havok crushing his lips against mine.
* * *
" P enny ."
I wake to the sound of his voice, my eyes opening slowly. When the room comes into focus, he's standing over me, looking down at me with his gorgeous green eyes. Eyes that I could get lost in.
"Yeah?"
"Wake up. Dinner."
I look at the alarm clock on the nightstand, and it's only 9:30 p.m. My nap wasn't as long as it felt. I rub my eyes with my free hand.
"You like Chinese?" he says.
* * *
T he Chinese restaurant is a surprisingly short drive from Havok's house. The scenery changes from natural to man-made very quickly, and before I know it, we're driving through the quaint one-way streets of a small downtown.
Most of the restaurants are closed already, but the Chinese place, a small family-looking restaurant, has a glowing sign that says "Open until midnight."
We park, and I marvel at the small-town feel of the area as Havok opens the passenger door for me. "It's been forever since I had a nice sit-down meal," I say. "This isn't what I expected my first night as a prisoner."
"Come on," he says, rolling his eyes. I notice him looking up and down the small streets. He seems surprisingly stressed out for such a low-key evening. Like he's looking for someone.
Or watching out for them.
Inside, the restaurant is simple but lovely. It's decorated with the usual Chinese decor: a big carved red archway at the entrance, smiling ivory cats, and lots of gold accents. I like it. It reminds me of a restaurant my dad used to take me to when I was little. We always went on Christmas, when everything else was closed.
We're seated, me across from Havok in a secluded booth. It's
Nobody bothers me in the dark alley, and within a half hour, there's nothing left but a trashcan full of reddish, clear liquid.
Tipping the trashcan, I let the mixture run out and down into the sewer grates, employing the utmost caution not to let any splash onto me. This stuff isn't approved for sewer disposal. Fuck no. It probably degrades the pipes something fierce. But I don't really give a fuck.
As the last of the liquid splashes down below ground, I think of Penny.
How I'm going to get any sleep with her in my house, I don't know.
17
Penny
H andcuffed to the bed , I lie there staring at the rough, textured ceiling in the dark, my mind searching for recognizable shapes. I'm trying to find something to hold on to, to restore some sense of normalcy and order to my fractured world.
When you first stay in a new house, it takes time to learn all the sounds. What the garage door opening sounds like. What the front door creaking open sounds like. I don't know any of the sounds of Havok's house, and so I lie there listening intently for every creak and bump, wondering if it's him coming back.
And what's more, a dark sexual energy rolls through me. I should feel mourning for Brock, but instead I feel powerful arousal at the way Havok ended his life.
Havok was ruthless. Intense. And he did what I couldn't—ended my five-year long nightmare with Brock.
With no remorse.
Now I'm a prisoner here, but hell. It's hard to say that I'm any worse off now than I was before. And there's no way I'm making it to work tomorrow, so I guess this marks the end of my stripping career, too.
Maybe Havok is good for me after all.
I want him to take me, to ravage me, to release all of his rage and tension inside me. To give me what I've wanted for so long.
Eventually, my exhaustion begins to overtake me as I wait for Havok to return. I reach for my purse, grab my pill bottle, and take a couple. Then, I carefully hide the bottle in a secret zipper pocket at the bottom of my purse. I don't want Havok finding these.
When I finally run out of pills, I don't know what I'm going to do.
The opiates start to swirl in my bloodstream, and I fall into sleep. I dream about Havok crushing his lips against mine.
* * *
" P enny ."
I wake to the sound of his voice, my eyes opening slowly. When the room comes into focus, he's standing over me, looking down at me with his gorgeous green eyes. Eyes that I could get lost in.
"Yeah?"
"Wake up. Dinner."
I look at the alarm clock on the nightstand, and it's only 9:30 p.m. My nap wasn't as long as it felt. I rub my eyes with my free hand.
"You like Chinese?" he says.
* * *
T he Chinese restaurant is a surprisingly short drive from Havok's house. The scenery changes from natural to man-made very quickly, and before I know it, we're driving through the quaint one-way streets of a small downtown.
Most of the restaurants are closed already, but the Chinese place, a small family-looking restaurant, has a glowing sign that says "Open until midnight."
We park, and I marvel at the small-town feel of the area as Havok opens the passenger door for me. "It's been forever since I had a nice sit-down meal," I say. "This isn't what I expected my first night as a prisoner."
"Come on," he says, rolling his eyes. I notice him looking up and down the small streets. He seems surprisingly stressed out for such a low-key evening. Like he's looking for someone.
Or watching out for them.
Inside, the restaurant is simple but lovely. It's decorated with the usual Chinese decor: a big carved red archway at the entrance, smiling ivory cats, and lots of gold accents. I like it. It reminds me of a restaurant my dad used to take me to when I was little. We always went on Christmas, when everything else was closed.
We're seated, me across from Havok in a secluded booth. It's
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