Wicked Ways (Dark Hearts Book 1) Read online

  Book 1, Dark Hearts

  sometimes the bad men...are real

  by

  Cari Silverwood

  Copyright 2016 Cari Silverwood

  www.carisilverwood.net

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editing: Nerine Dorman find her on Twitter @nerinedorman

  Cover design: Cari Silverwood

  Acknowledgements

  I need to thank all my beta readers and my author friends who have helped me, as well as my other crazy friends who read this as I wrote it. You know who you are. I am so grateful, always.

  Carly O’Donoghue and Emma Rose, Jody Rhoton, Janine Gardner, Scribe Scarlett (erotic author), and Nicolette Hugo (BDSM author). I hope I haven’t missed anyone.

  Also a thank you to Sherry Lynn Wolfe for lending her name for a character.

  Your story is only beginning in this book. Be afraid, be very afraid...

  Wicked Weapon, Book 2, Dark Hearts, will be out late March to April 4th, 2016

  Buylink for Wicked Weapon

  Book 3, Wicked Hunt, will also be out early 2016

  To join my mailing list and receive notice of future releases:

  My mailing list

  If you’d like to discuss Cari Silverwood’s books with a group of other readers, you’re welcome to join this group on facebook:

  Pierced Hearts Discussion Group

  Chapter 1

  “Fate sits on these dark battlements and frowns,

  And as the portal opens to receive me,

  A voice in hollow murmurs through the courts

  Tells of a nameless deed.” - Ann Radcliff

  Zorie

  A few yards beyond my table, the beach sloped down from the wide patio. The sea lay before me, still and blue. Dining out under the stars at Pee Wee’s, at the East Point of Darwin, had to be the most romantic setting, ever.

  The barest shush of waves meeting sand reached my ears, above the clink of tableware and the laughter and speech of other diners.

  I smiled and took another sip of my chardonnay, leaving a wet, red, lipstick mark on the edge. The glass, when held high and jiggled, made a wobbly and watery filter through which to view the scenery.

  A pity I was here by myself.

  Fuck all the others and their nightclubs, binge drinking, and fawning over men. At least now I knew a coach tour with a bunch of other Australians was my ticket to Hell.

  Not that I wasn’t a little drunk and before my mains arrived too. A record, surely?

  A flock of birds made a V overhead, silhouetted against the yellow and orange dusk sky as they headed for some trees to roost in. I stretched back my neck to follow their flight.

  After this, it would’ve been great to go on a beach walk but a single female out strolling in the night would be like dangling my leg in a pool of crocodiles. I feared assault. Who wouldn’t?

  Tried being wild once and paid the price. Experimenting with kink meant opening yourself up to men who might not be all they appeared to be. Youth had equaled stupidity. Now I was cautious, thought ahead, but still tried to be myself, enjoy life, and avoid the wolves.

  Pee Wee’s was named after a local bird. The meals here were pleasant, delicious, and everything I’d hoped for. The setting stayed gorgeous. The evening settled into a sort of muted exhilaration as I sampled entrée, dinner and then dessert. Perfection, except for the four men at a table on the left. Bold-as-hell types. One of them seemed to be making jokes at my expense, which made my gut crawl. The sort of men who’d send me a cock picture online to introduce themselves.

  I sent guys like that a wet pussy picture – a cat in the middle of a rainstorm. Then I blocked them. Real life made it harder to block but the meal was great and so I thanked the waitress effusively when she brought the bill. Good karma cancelled out the bad.

  At the entrance, a shadow warned me, as did the footsteps. I moved in toward the maître d’ enough to let whoever it was pass by to reach the door, only to be shocked by a man’s hand on my bare neck.

  Weighty, warm, and the touch spread an inexplicable thrill through me, a shock wave of awareness.

  Everything stilled, silenced.

  The maître d’ looked over my shoulder, with a crease forming between his eyes.

  Fingers caressed my nape. It was a violation of my private space, an assault, but I’d barely opened my mouth when I felt lips brush my ear. Again, that thrill coursed through me and I found I’d closed my eyes.

  “I knew you were one. Come to me outside. The black Range Rover. Say nothing, to anyone about this.” The murmur was as riveting as his touch.

  This man, a man I couldn’t even see, he’d made me wet, instantly. I was alight with desire. My labia had plumped, my clit had swelled, and my nipples had tightened until they pointed into my bra as if made of aching, living rock.

  I craved the man behind me to the point of my brain shutting down.

  Walking outside was my only priority.

  I found the vehicle and the door opened for me.

  Alarm bells, there were alarm bells ringing in my mind, sirens, all that, but distant and irrelevant. I shut them down.

  “Did I not tell you? She’s here.” His voice was languid and deep, his laugh insulting. “Come, sweet girl, into my evil lair.”

  “Evil lair?” Someone chuckled.

  Their laughter didn’t deter me at all because he, his will, was inside my head, like a solid force calling to me.

  I climbed in and arms enveloped me. The men began to remove my clothes. I came once before they were done, when he touched me, merely massaging my slit and touching me over my panties.

  The vehicle cruised, rocked, growled over the road, and stopped somewhere. Though removed from the car, I couldn’t register my surroundings. There was too much emotion raging, too much pleasure and torment.

  I’d focused down on my body and had stayed there, feeling.

  They played with me, poked me, pulled me onto their laps, bit and sucked on me, penetrated me with fingers and tongues.

  I was a sweaty, naked, panting, and annihilated thing before one of them even took off his pants. When he was poised above, with my legs bent at the knee and held as far apart by two other men as was physically possible, I shuddered at the thought of what was about to happen. His hard cock rested at my entrance. When I groaned out one long, throat-caught breath, the little movement of my body combined with my extreme slipperiness, and the head of his cock slipped inside me, a minuscule amount.

  My eyes rolled up as I whimpered and tried to squirm closer to him and impale myself.

  Then he shoved in, fucking me like a god. The orgasm, when it struck, was Armageddon and wracked me until my muscles seized up. I lay mindblasted, aching and shivering, while the men discussed what else to do with me.

  It seemed as if they’d decided the answer was everything.

  Afterward, I was left standing, shivering, in the alley beside my hotel, roughly dressed and kissed before they walked away. My mind was still coming down from the heavens. When I came to the realization that this, now, was real...with my hand propped
against the brickwork and sweat still cooling on my skin, heaven became Halloween.

  There was cum all over my stomach and thighs, sticking my dress to me. I had no panties.

  I was Zorina Brown, a lecturer in biology at the University of Sydney. Upstanding professional career. The world ahead of me. So why had I croaked out a yes when the man had told me he’d see me again tomorrow.

  It was one AM. Tomorrow was today.

  Had I gone insane?

  *****

  Mister Black

  Finding her after they left her was easy. I could sense my own kind, whereas they were oblivious of my presence. I watched the alley where they’d left her, from across the road. To keep her safe? Probably.

  She gave off that aura of sexual availability that susceptible women emanated. It made my jaw muscles tighten, my nostrils dilate, my cock ache to get inside her. Ten years ago, I would have snatched her up myself, taken her back to Greece and kept her awhile. Not now. That wasn’t why I was here.

  Ten years ago, I hadn’t realized there were other men like myself. Men who could take control of certain females. Twenty years ago, when my ability had surfaced, I’d been, as the British say, happy as a pig in muck. The power had brought with it an obsession with sex, and what young man wouldn’t exult in that?

  When I’d found there were other men like me, I’d been curious but left them alone. We were few and far between, distant predators on this immense planet, along with millions of similar human beings. Why should I care about the others?

  I ignored them, until the day I found my London colleagues. They were doing things that would put the devil to shame.

  There was fucking women.

  There was playing with them sadistically while making them feel pleasure – my favorite, of course.

  There was hurting them permanently and sickeningly.

  There was terrifying them, and there was killing.

  All this, beneath the pretty surface of London.

  They were professional at what they did, and I wasn’t an assassin. Neither did I want the attention of the law. I didn’t want to die while trying to be some sort of hero.

  My perverted morals were in a twist, and I had personal reasons for my hate. I’d given myself a mission, and I’d gone in search of a softer target. My little pet scientist, Dr. Maddie, had thought I might be ground zero, patient zero, the man who began it all. She thought I was spreading it. I’d reasoned that if that were true, I knew where there should be more of me. I’d haunted Australia and a few other countries, years before.

  I’d found Reuben at the restaurant, first, then I’d sensed her. Miss Zorina, or Zorie. I’d heard her tell the waitress to call her that.

  Reuben could be my test case, if he was bad enough to warrant it. Tonight he’d proven he was nasty. Even though I’d possibly done worse during my frenzied past, I was sorry for the woman.

  I turned that over, trying to see why.

  Like all acquired women, she was enjoying what was given her. She seemed attractive, nice...edible.

  I snorted. My instincts had a tendency to claw their way to the surface. A pity I had no one to fuck to get her out of my system.

  A man approached the alley but walked past. She emerged a minute later and made her way to the hotel entry. Though she looked disheveled, as a guest they’d allow her in. I waited anyway, to make certain. Most would try to be quiet about it, but not this one. At the steps, she smoothed her dress straighter, pulled back her shoulders, and walked in proudly. Was she pretending nothing had happened to her? I caught a hint of anger, of being pissed off, as they called it here.

  Anger would be unusual. Pretty Zorie had been tasted by a mesmer – my term I’d invented for us. She should be reeling from the after effects but not in that way. No ordinary man would get anywhere with her now. It was like trying to impress a woman who’d seen the moon, the sun, and the stars, with dull baubles.

  This was the third mesmer and the fifth acquired woman I’d found in this country. She felt different. Describing why or how was beyond me, except she seemed like a pointy rock in the middle of a floor of smooth pebbles – a vulnerable, sexually interesting sharp thing.

  I smiled at my analogy as I leaned my shoulder against the building, staying in the shadows.

  Was I her guardian angel? Probably not. Guardians didn’t want to feed their charges to monsters, or use them as instruments of death...

  Or screw them until they screamed.

  Chapter 2

  “How do you run away from things that are in your head?” - Anon

  Zorie

  I made it to my hotel room and let the door close behind me, walked robotically to the bathroom. Everything went in the rubbish bin. Dress, underwear. I could see the stains, even some smears of blood, but refused to look in the mirror.

  Fuck this. What a fucking night.

  The heat of the shower only fogged up my head more. Tired, so tired. I could barely keep my eyes open. So nauseated. My stomach roiled with heaviness.

  So overwhelmed.

  What they’d done to me...

  It had been magnificent. Eyes shut, with the warm water cascading over my head, I remembered being held against a wall, somewhere. They’d alternated finger-fucking me, both vaginally and anally, then taking me in both places. My orgasms had shattered me, shaken me to my soul. Simply thinking about that made a little frisson rock me.

  My lips had parted and I was panting.

  I closed my mouth and swallowed before opening my eyes, staring through the splatter of water at the polished granite of the shower wall. Condoms, he’d made them do that. Thank god.

  You’re mine now. When he’d carried me to the alley, he’d said that. I shivered, my nipples peaking as I clasped my arms about myself, beneath my breasts.

  After drying my body, I wrapped myself in the towel and wandered out to the bed area.

  I didn’t know if I knew who I was anymore. There was something within that wasn’t me. Not a parasite or a creature, no. It was his presence. His words. His wishes. They were twisting me out of shape into something ugly.

  I fell to my knees and leaned down until my forehead met the rug, then stayed there, rocking. In a minute, I’d have to think this through, think everything through. That was going to devastate me.

  Lying on the carpet was tempting but I revived enough to go to the bed and curl on my side on the quilt instead.

  Most of my memories had blurred together. Faces were absent because I’d never looked. Had my eyes even been open? The men at the other table. Could it have been them? Yes. But...I buried my face in my hands...I didn’t know. It might have been any of the men at the restaurant.

  Had all this been the result of my own desires? Maybe it was me? Maybe I was really that wicked? Blaming someone else was wrong, except, what men did that to a woman they’d just met? A woman who wasn’t a paid whore. And really even a whore deserved better.

  No. It wasn’t me. Couldn’t be. I must believe that. Must.

  Why did that man have such a hold over me? Every time I thought of him, I wanted his hands on me again. And yet I didn’t know his name.

  I am not a whore.

  I drifted, my thoughts a jumble, having decided nothing, because I had no clues as to who it had been except for vague assumptions. No way of even knowing why they’d chosen me to be their fucktoy. That disgusting word, if ever it could be applied to anyone, it was me, this night. My depravity made me despair as did my cravings for more of the same.

  I put my hands between my legs to amplify the ever-present throb of my pussy, the sting of their scratches and bites, and even the ache in my asshole. I’d never had anal before but had been so aroused...

  I shook my head. So dirty. “Fuck. Why did I let this happen?”

  Everyone said fuck, but everyone did not let themselves be the star of an impromptu gangbang.

  His cock inside me, fucking me, that pivotal moment was what was going around and around in my head when sleep m
ercifully overcame my loop of insanity.

  Chapter 3

  “I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.” - William Ernest Henley

  Zorie

  The trill of the phone penetrated my daze and I jerked into a sitting position, horrified by something unknown lurking in the room.

  Reality arrived and it was worse than any nightmare. I had done bad things. Clamping my eyes shut, I thrust away the memories and summoned some calmness. Then I lunged for the bedside phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Ma’am the tour organizer wishes to advise you they will be leaving in five minutes for the scheduled day trip to Kakadu.”

  “Oh.” I blinked and cleared my throat. There was no possibility of me going. “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well. Please tell him I’ll not be coming today.”

  There were people out there who thought the world was the same as it had been yesterday. Not me. I’d broken through a barrier into some alternate time and place where I wasn’t Zorina, the respected lecturer; I was a broken sexual thing.

  “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll pass on that message. If there’s anything I can help you with?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  When I hung up, I stayed there, propped on my elbow, staring at nothing across the room. The urge was there. In full force. Today, he’d said. But sleep had brought some clarity, some newness, and some distance. I could feel an edge of uncertainty and resistance. It was a weird, but there, like a solid object, like a piece of paper I could lever off the ground at my feet if I wanted to do it enough.

  What if...

  I switched gears and thought elsewhere. My forte. My strength. Thinking outside, around, anywhere else but inside the box. Stay away from the nasty.

  Be me.