“More,” I command him through grit teeth as he continues to fuck me. He’s thrusting into me with conviction, fucking me harder than he ever has, his hand tightening just a little more as I let out a gasp of ecstasy.

  Luke lets out a loud moan and I can feel him spill his seed inside of me, but he knows better than to stop until I’m done too. I’ve nicked his balls with a knife before for thinking it was okay to just finish and let me fend for myself.

  Luke rests his head against my back for a moment before he pulls out of me, slapping his dick against my ass, then turns me onto my back.

  A delicious grin spreads across his face as he leans down and gently bites one of my nipples while he slides himself back into me.

  The way our flesh sounds as he rams his dick into me is enough to make anyone jealous, but he’s mine—all mine and no one else will ever have him.

  “You about ready there?” he asks me, leaning down to kiss my neck.

  I nod and reach my hands up, gripping his shoulders tightly.

  Luke nods, the grin still on his face as he leans his body down against mine, wrapping a hand around my throat again.

  My boy is so good to me and he loves me and that’s why I’m very proud of our relationship.

  No one will ever understand it and that’s not something I care to explain.

  “Wait,” I suddenly say, attempting to pry his hands away from my neck. “Luke … wait.”

  “No more waiting, Mom,” he breathes, pulling back and giving me a dangerous look.

  “Stop!” I screech, immediately regretting my reaction.

  My lungs burn.

  It’s hard to take in air and stars are exploding before my eyes, but my son continues to apply pressure. He pulls his cock out of me and uses his other hand, wrapping it around the flesh of my throat that the other hand didn’t cover, and pushes me deep into the bed.

  I know that look in his eyes.

  I’ve seen it in the mirror many, many times before.

  I knew I could never save Luke because I only ever wanted to love him.

  And now?

  He’s found a way to save himself.

  Epilogue

  It’s been a few years since Mom died and as I flip through her bible searching for answers, I have to keep focused on the task at hand. She was never right in the head after Trenton fucked her for the first time and I guess the only way she could keep what little bit of sanity she had left was to love me the way he loved her.

  It wasn’t a big deal to me the first few times, but when it became more of a demand than a loving moment between a mother and her son, I started to feel like I was being taken for granted.

  I sigh irritably as I scan page after page, book after book, looking for something that might tell me that I did the right thing.

  Nothing from the words that have been passed down for thousands of years from some great man in the clouds, but clues that

  I know Mom must have left in these pointless scriptures.

  Come on, goddamn it.

  I keep flipping with a rage in my heart. Not for the things she did to me because I know she only taught me how to love—how to truly love.

  Even on the days and nights that I tried to fight her off, I knew it was the only way for her to convince me that her love was the purest thing she could offer me.

  And I offered her nothing in return. Not a fucking thing I ever did was useful

  to the woman that gave me life and it’ll haunt me ‘til the day I fucking die.

  I think she spent so much time at that fucking restaurant because she hoped one day she would see Trenton again, and even Father Moore, but I’ll never understand what she would have gained from those “chance” meetings other than spiraling further into her self-loathing.

  With a sigh, I move from my knees and rest my back against her headstone, still searching for my answers on the flimsy pages of countless words that I’ll never take time to read.

  Trenton knew something was wrong the night he met us for dinner. When Taylee went to the bathroom, he asked me if there was anything he could do to help—to take me away from her, but I … I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave her alone in a world she obviously forgot how to understand.

  Did she deserve her end? I don’t know, and I try not to think about it, yet I can’t seem to feel proud of myself for stopping her before it became too late.

  She told me that something was growing inside of her, but she was so goddamn paranoid that it could have meant anything, and I honestly didn’t want to see what it was.

  I raise my eyes to the bright blue skies for a moment and watch a cloud lazily drift by wondering if she’s finally happy with her great man in the sky, before I look back down at the bible in my hands, ready to close it and give up.

  And that’s when I see it.

  When I’m ready to give up and throw the book into the garbage can near her grave, I finally fucking see it.

  It’s Mom’s unmistakable handwriting in the book of Revelation. Almost as if she knew that I would be looking for her to continue to guide me after she died.

  I take a deep breath and smile as I run the tips of my fingers over her last words to me. The ones that will stay with me for the rest of my life and the lives of those that I choose to create and love in the same special way that she did to me.

  You can be defined by this, or you can let it destroy you.

  INFERNO

  Acknowledgments

  My PAs, Lis Garcia and Linda Cotter, thank you for sitting through the headache that is Yolanda Olson and not quitting on me. You ladies kept me laughing through this entire thing when I doubted my sanity. You’re the best!

  Daqri Bernardo of Covers by Combs for this amazing cover that I knew I had to have the moment I saw it! Thank you for once again making my story come to life with the striking visual effect that only you can create.

  Evelyn of Pinpoint Editing. Thank you so much for your hard work on this! Your comments made this fun to read through!

  My Darkling Little Beta Team. I know I was driving you guys crazy, so thanks for putting up with this story in pieces. I appreciate it more than words can say!

  To my readers...

  I have no warning for you this time. Go in blind and come out on the other side with the light shining brightly in your eyes.

  Good luck.

  Prologue

  Everything makes sense now.

  Why I’m here.

  Why it had to be me and no one else.

  I’m okay with it; as okay as I can be, anyway. I don’t want anyone else to have to go through what I am enduring, so I’ll gladly take everything he has to offer and praise him the way he tells me to.

  Things are easier when I just comply with what he wants. He doesn’t do me harm that way, and I even get food when I’m good.

  I shake my head as I bring my dirty, bruised knees up to my chest and hug them close. He says when it’s over I’ll be canonized and that I’m doing this for the greater good, but I’m convinced he doesn’t know what good is. It’s so misconstrued that I sometimes wonder if he can tell the difference between reality and fantasy.

  But it’s okay.

  I’m okay.

  I’m used to the way things are and I’ll make sure that, no matter what happens, he’ll be happy. And in turn, I’ll still be of use. Not that I really do much but stand and kneel when he tells me to. He says it helps him with what he needs to achieve and I don’t question him. I just do as I’m told, and you would too if you could see his eyes go dark and cold when we enter his special rooms.

  I’ve never been afraid of much before him, and I can honestly say that after being here for the years he’s chosen to keep me, the only thing that scares me is telling him no.

  That brings the worst kind of repercussion, and the weight of having disappointed him. Solitude and darkness for seven days and seven nights until he’s had time to cleanse himself of my negativity. That’s how he explains it: a cleansing.

  Being alone was something I used to love and look forward to; now it’s something that terrorizes me more than anything he could ever say when he puts on his displays.

  I think I’m on day six of darkness now. I can’t remember because everything just blends together after a while; time, tears, blood. Each time I’m dumped into this fucking hole, I come closer to losing the will to live. But I come out stronger each time. I don’t want to disappoint him, and if I just lay down and died, it would be the biggest disservice in his eyes.

  Besides, I haven’t come this far, survived this much, just to fucking fall down dead. I don’t have it in me to quit, and I have to make him proud.

  The gate at the top of the makeshift dungeon opens and, shortly after, a shaky ladder made of rugged rope drops in. It must be the seventh day if I’m being presented with this gesture of freedom.

  But I know that this is a treason punishable by death unless Pater has given permission for any of us to be removed from the oubliette.

  Pater.

  That is not his name but rather a title that he requires we address him by. He’s earned it, he says, for putting up with us, for choosing to care for us in his own special way, and for all the years he spent studying his rituals.

  I know his real name because he’s whispered it into my ear during nights of unwanted lust and pain. I’ve survived as long as I have because I know that pleasure for him is not just physical; seducing his thoughts is the only way to stay alive, and even on nights when I wished that Hell would open and swallow me whole, I refused to leave the boys behind. I’ve stepped into their pain more than once to save them from things they shouldn’t understand at such young ages, things they should never have to experience unless it’s something they want, and he sees me as a prize for doing so.

  I fear the day he gets bored with me though, because then there will be nothing left I can do to keep them as safe as I can. It’s why I try my best to please him, to keep him happy any way I can, because nights spent down in the oubliette leaves them free to be tortured and fucked against their will.

  With the strength I’ve managed to hold onto, I get up from the dirty, cold rocky ground, and walk over to the ladder. It’s only being anchored by the strength of whomever is holding it, and I pray that it’s the older of the two. He’s the only one who can bear the strain of someone bigger than him, and if he doesn’t hold on, the ladder will fall and send me back down toward a sure death.

  If it were just me in this situation, then fine; let the ladder fall, let me die, but goddammit. I have to keep them safe and I have to get the fuck out of here to do that. I have to watch my mouth, I have to not speak back to Pater, and I have to do as he wishes at all times. If I don’t, I’ll know that the next time I’m in the oubliette, the others will suffer terribly, and it will be on my soul.

  I refuse to die a failure. I refuse to allow them such a fate alone when I know that my part in this is simple and I just have to learn to accept it.

  When he took me from my previous life, he told me he’d chosen me to be his wife; he’d even preformed some kind of ceremony to solidify this in his own mind, because I know that nothing we do here will be seen as such in the eyes of the law or anything above or below.

  A hand firmly grips mine as I reach the top, shaking me from the thoughts of what I know I must do, but have so much trouble abiding by. In a matter of seconds, I’m looking into the solemn, brown eyes of Vaughn. He’s lost a lot of the light and luster he had when he first arrived here and I can understand why, but beneath the solemnness I can see a sense a urgency, and I know that my early freedom was not orchestrated by Pater, but rather out of necessity.

  With a final grunt, he pulls me over the top and begins to roll up the ladder as I start the long sprint back toward the house. I won’t wait for Vaughn; I can’t. If I do, Pater will know I was helped out of my prison and that will put Vaughn in danger. Instead, I’ll just tell him I clawed my way out when he asks. I’ve been known to make it halfway to the top before breaking my nails as I slide all the way back down again.

  He’s seen me do it with his own eyes the first time he lowered me into this sensory deprived hell. But Pater is a complicated man and likes to see things as they are presented in the moment.

  He’ll believe me.

  He has to believe me.

  Because if he doesn’t, we all die.

  Chapter 1

  What I stumble upon when I enter Pater’s home as I’m trying to frantically control my breathing is not what I expected from the urgency in Vaughn’s eyes. The waiting room is empty, the living room just as hollow, and there are no trails of blood or anything hinting toward punishment on his dusty wooden floors.

  So then why set me free ahead of schedule?

  A silent answer is my reward when I turn in time to see him running up the long walkway toward the still open door. He puts a finger to his lips before leaning down and attempting to collect himself. I know he’s scared, and I know that this must be important.

  He tosses the neatly gathered rope toward the door and beckons for me to follow him. I trust him enough to blindly fall into step behind him, though I can’t help but feel uneasy about where he’s leading me.

  Vaughn never has much to say these days. He lives in his own world most of the time, and he usually only ever comes to life when I’m around because he knows of my need to protect them. He does the same for me in his own way. Whenever I’ve been tossed into the little part of the world where Pater can forget about me for a week at a time, he sneaks out and drops scraps of food through the small cracks of the door.

  It’s not much, it never is, but it’s enough to keep me alive and from starving to death as I think Pater wants for me sometimes. I don’t know why he would want such a fate for someone he’s taken as his "wife”, but he has his reasons.

  Maybe one day we’ll find out what they are. Or maybe we’ll die in the dark, confused as to what this all truly stood for.

  As we near the opulent kitchen area where Pater eats like a fucking king, Vaughn turns to look at me and presses a finger slowly to his lips. A few steps later, we’re both peeking around the door frame and now I understand why I was taken prematurely from my punishment.

  Pater is leaning against the counter, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, with Eloy sitting in a stool. I roll my eyes at how pristine he looks and how we always look like we’re mired in shit.

  Eloy is the youngest of the three of us. He’s thirteen and, for the moment, he’s dressed as cleanly and beautifully as Pater. I hear the voice of someone I don’t recognize and crane my neck to see if I can get a better look, but Vaughn pulls me back just as Pater’s eyes start to wander in our direction.

  “Get cleaned up,” he whispers in his soft voice. “We have to go in and speak to that lady.”

  And as he walks into the kitchen, leaving me in the hallway, it’s the first time I noticed since being pulled out of the pit that he’s dressed like a prince, too. I’m the only one who looks like I’ve been through Hell, because I have.

  A wide smile stretches over Pater’s face as he sees Vaughn entering the room.

  “And this is my other son,” I can hear him say. I cringe at those words. My other son. If only this person who we’re being presented to knew what kind of man Pater is, what kind of woman he forces me to be, she would take Vaughn and Eloy and run.

  I could tell her.

  I could weave a powerful tale of the horrors we face here, the things we’re forced to endure, the evil man that Pater is, but I won’t. If she doesn’t believe me—and who would believe such a fantastical story—I go back into the oubliette permanently.

  I sigh as I run toward the other end of the house. We are not allowed upstairs unless Pater requests our company because it’s his home, and he deems that his personal space. It’s how he keeps us separate from what he calls his ‘normal’ life, though there are times when he’ll invite me upstairs, but never the boys.

  That I know of, anyway. The only thing I ever pray for anymore is that they have never been forced to go with him into his room. They know they can trust me and tell me if they have, but I never broach the subject because they’re afraid of me. Not as much as they’re afraid of Pater, but they’re still afraid.

  I don’t blame them.

  I would also fear the person that’s supposed to be like a mother to me, who instead decides to carry out painful and sometimes erotic punishments as directed to her in the most terrible ways.

  This is why I know I never want to bear children of my own. If this is what I’m forced to do—to actually be capable of putting them through—then the only thing I truly deserve is a slow death at their hands.

  But they fear me and will never raise a hand against me because I’m the only person who knows their pain and torture. I’m the only person that would believe them, and I’m the only person that can keep them as safe as possible from Pater.

  I take their places as often as I can, but there are even nights when I’m so physically and mentally exhausted from the constant torrent of abuse that I can’t save them. I believe that those are the nights that their hatred for me grows and the fear begins to slowly drift away.

  If they did end up killing me, I would not blame or despise them for the deed. I would only hope that they allow me the opportunity to send Pater to Hell before me.

  What do I wear? I don’t even know who that woman is.

  Pater, Vaughn, and Eloy were dressed casually but a little more presentable than normal when we have guests, so I assume she’s of enough importance for me to wear a dress.

 

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