Blood Glyphs Read online

  Blood Glyphs

  by

  Cari Silverwood

  New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author

  Copyright 2014 Cari Silverwood

  Published by Cari Silverwood

  Proof reader Donna J.

  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.

  About Blood Glyphs

  This story contains graphic violence and adult content.

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

  My mailing list

  If you’d like to discuss Cari Silverwood’s books and the other books you fall in love with, you’re welcome to join this group on Facebook:

  Dark Hearts Discussion Group

  Contents

  About Blood Glyphs

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Afterword from the Author

  About Cari Silverwood

  Acknowledgements

  My beta readers came through for me yet again. Thank you forevermore, Emma Rose, Jennifer Zeffer, Shannon Wichman, Amy Mueller, and Lisa Williams.

  Chapter 1

  She leaned on the tiled wall and watched the grime from her body sluice down her legs then curl into the drain. When she stuck her head farther under the shower, a lump of pure dirt fell from her hair and plopped into the water. Jesus. Sleeping rough in parks and on the streets wasn’t helping. The dreams still came to her. The nightmares still stalked her.

  Her sister vanishing into that house. Men dragging her away. Beatings after beatings. Rape. Her imagination took her down the dark rabbit hole where she imagined everything possible. And the police had done nothing. Hadn’t they? Memories were so damn unreliable after a certain point of intoxication. She swayed and laughed, hiccupping and feeling her tears burn her eyes before they washed away. Try saying that out loud. Intoxi-bloody-cation.

  Crying for days made your eyes raw. Drinking for days made your brain raw.

  Some rust-brown dried blood leaked color into a trail of water running over her belly. She rubbed at the heavier scab it must have come from. Nothing underneath. She’d healed well from whatever had caused it.

  Her memory had gone to hell. Except for Suze. She remembered her. Baby sister. Fuck. She’d had a baby coming. A baby! All that shopping for prams and shit, useless.

  Life was just sweet. Not.

  The taps squeaked like a poorly adjusted phonograph as she wound them in. For a moment when she’d slid the money across to the attendant, she’d thought he’d not let her through. Sure, it was a public swimming pool but the look of frozen horror on his pimply teenage face had driven home how bad she looked. Dirty, bloody, and with clothes that needed throwing away and torching.

  As she toweled her hair dry, she cast an eye over the clean clothes beside her fabric bag. If the attendant had known what was in her bag, he’d have been even more worried.

  And she couldn’t even remember where she’d gotten it, or the new clothes.

  Shiny. Deadly metal.

  She rotated the gun, looking for things like safety catches and wondering how many bullets were in the magazine. She’d managed to slide the mag out before and counted them but the number eluded her. An automatic, so surely there’d be at least ten?

  She tucked it into the back waistband of the jeans and shrugged on the jacket. As long as she pointed it in the right direction, braced her wrist, and fired straight at the fuckers, she’d be right.

  They’d hurt her sister, her baby Suze, and they were going to pay. Her dreams were true. She knew it in her bones. Knew it, knew it. Nobody would stop her.

  Bad idea, came the familiar whisper inside her head. A male whisper.

  She shook her head, annoyed. Only she would have a male subconscious.

  *****

  The facade of the haunted house was as garish as when her sister had entered. Evening, so the lights were on. Red floodlights flashed and turned the two story front into a landscape of deep ruby with shadows so dark a gargoyle would hide with ease.

  The timber steps creaked under her flip flops.

  Enter at your own risk was written in fake dripping blood on a crooked plank sign. At the turn of the cold door knob, the door clicked, then sighed open onto a dark corridor.

  Bare timber flooring. Walls with old paintings hung crooked. Fake spider webs. Floating dust.

  In the background a soundtrack began to play – distant screams and maniacal laughter, along with creaking and chopping noises.

  The far end of the corridor opened out into a small space. There sat a booth which was boringly labelled Booth. The gun dug into the small of her back, as she walked forward. If this got any more classic haunted house, a ghost made of cobwebs would sweep down the hallway.

  This wasn’t an average haunted house, though. Their advertisements proclaimed it the scariest haunted house you’ll ever see, and to make a will before you come, because sometimes people don’t leave. If you came here you agreed to have the wildest things done to you, in the name of horror, and you paid through the nose for it.

  No one else understood how true the ads were.

  Suze had come in here and never come out. She knew it, even without solid proof. Sometimes you just fucking knew. And what a time for her stomach to want to regurgitate all over the nonexistent carpet. The floor between her feet shifted and spun. Swallowing down bile, she planted a palm on the ledge at the front of the booth. Were those her toes down there? Since when did she like black nail polish?

  “Hello there, sweetheart.” A muffled male voice.

  She raised her head, squinted.

  The face swimming before her was...not a face. A white plastic mask covered the lower half, over the mouth area, with a grill like a car. Hannibal Lector on the cheap.

  “Whatcha want, girl? Where’s your friends?” He peered past her. “We’re not really open tonight. Monday’s our closed day so we can tidy up. ‘Less you want to pay extra for a special appointment?”

  “No friends. Just me. Thought I’d see if this is as bad as people say.”

  She had money, had figured she’d have to pay.

  The leer was there. Even through that mask, she could hear the leer. Especially when his head dipped as if he studied her cleavage. That voice. This was one from the nightmares – her sister’s abusers. Cold crinkled across her bones and she shivered.

  How she knew this was...just not logical. Fuck fucking logic.

  “I want...” Her voice sounded rusty and she swallowed, started again. “I want to do that. Special appointment.”

  His thick blond brows rose then he pushed a paper across to her. “Fill that out. Two hundred and fifty for a special. You need to be aware of the possibility of dangers of our full haunted house special. Our insurance covers some things but read the small print. In particular...” He tapped the paper. “Be aware you may be tied up. You may be gagged, and you may be dragged across the floor by your hair. You may be threatened with weapons and made to eat foods that seem disgusting. You will be shouted at. If you make any threatening gest
ures back at us we will cease operations and no refunds will be given. None of our staff can be injured as a result of your actions. Clear?”

  What big blue icy eyes.

  This was why Suze wouldn’t have protested. Pretend, she’d thought, until it went ass fuckwards.

  She blinked back at him. “Yes. I understand.”

  “Good. Read the rest. Sign it and we’re good to go.”

  To make it look genuine, she read it all carefully before signing.

  Don’t sifted into her thoughts. Don’t. She frowned and ignored the man in her head.

  Clearly, she needed therapy but now wasn’t a good time.

  What would happen next? Somewhere in here she’d find evidence...or they’d try the same thing on her. Either way, she was ready to shoot.

  The man emerged from his booth by a side door and stalked toward her, his boot-clad steps as solid as a stone goliath. Big man, dammit.

  Bullets didn’t care about big.

  She crept her hand around to her back and touched the butt of the gun for reassurance.

  A memory swamped her. This man – slapping baby sis, then ripping her clothes off her, slamming her to the ground. Pain, spearing through her.

  Him.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” she whispered. How do I know this?

  “What?” His frown was gargantuan, but when she said nothing, he did a twirling motion with his finger. “Need to do a search, lady. Turn around.”

  “What?” Fuck no. Panic swirled up, reaching coldly for her heart. Not now. She wasn’t ready for this yet.

  He increased the volume, yelling hoarsely near her face. “A search! You can’t go in with weapons of any sort.”

  “I’m fine!” she yelled back. “I don’t have any.”

  His head shake was so slow and deliberate she could tell he wasn’t budging if the ceiling fell in.

  “No.” She waved her left hand out front and firmed that right-hand grip on her gun, folding her fingers around the butt, sliding it loose. “Just start the special.” A noise behind her sent her heart racing even more until she feared it would burst.

  Steps hurried toward them. “Joseph! She’s reaching for something under that jacket!”

  Even as she processed the meaning, she was pulling the gun. She could get them both. Muscle recall took hold. Homicidal rage came from somewhere deep and told her go!

  First this one, then... As the gun came to bear, she pulled smoothly on the trigger. Slow, too slow. Being drunk was altering her reactions.

  The bang jarred back her wrist at the same time as the man behind her grabbed her arm and flung her sideways, twisting her viciously to the floor. They yanked the gun from her hand, though another shot caromed off across the room and blew a hole in an ancient couch, sending up a puff of upholstery.

  A boot thumped into her stomach, spinning the room off into orbit, as she retched and tried to clutch at her stomach. Her cheek picked up a splinter, tearing fire over her skin. Her forehead banged into something and now her eyes didn’t work. Blackness.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Pain at her wrists and a zipping noise warned her they were tying them. One was done, encircled. Their big male hands clamped around her, holding her hands in place. No!

  She flailed, one arm free, getting her knees under her to launch herself away from them.

  “Stay fucking still!” A blow on her back flattened her.

  Someone wrenched her wrists behind her, again.

  Coughing, striving to find enough air, she found her neck hauled back as someone wove and tightened their fingers in her hair.

  “Fuck. She got me.” That was Joseph, incredulous and clutching his thigh. In the dimness she could see wetness on the jeans under his hand. “You bitch.”

  His hand whacked across her face, rocking her. Then he forced cloth between her lips until her mouth bulged and tied it on with a belt around her head.

  Air! The bunched cloth seemed about to slide down her neck and all she could think of was breathing.

  “Want her downstairs?”

  “Course.” Joseph cleared his throat. “Get her down there.” Around his eyes creased, as if he smiled. Tears blurring her vision, she blinked convulsively. He leaned in and murmured, “Good timing. We needed another bitch to fuck. You’re going to regret this, whatever your reasons.”

  “What if someone knows she’s here?”

  She panted, tasting blood, struggling in her mind to readjust. What could she do? She wasn’t a victim. No. Not her role. Not her.

  Her hope was shredding fast. How was she going to get free again, let alone get her revenge? This was wrong.

  Joseph glanced over her shoulder. “Haven’t you learned yet? Not even an angel could find us once we’re in. Because...” Gently, he swept aside some hair from her eyes. “Remember what He says. That place doesn’t exist here on this Earth. No one can find us...ever.”

  Then they dragged her away with a rope wound around her ankles. Another rope at neck and wrists was just tight enough to make it hard to breathe. The slide over floor scoured at her skin where the shirt and jacket rode up her back. At a clear area of timber, Joseph made some archaic gesture, as if he were a priest casting a benediction.

  A red rim crept along the floor and turned corners, oozing and smoking. When it was done burning, a square was outlined, with stripes of red melting across the middle. Long pointed teeth formed, zigzagged and gaped, then gnashed wetly. The red teeth pulled apart. The mouth opened, squealing.

  The men laughed as they hauled her to the edge and shoved her headfirst into the dark, falling.

  There was stone below but the rope on her ankles stopped her a few inches away from fracturing her skull. When they released the rope, she writhed on the cold stone, like a beached fish waiting for the killing blow, and her head thumped into a half open door. She heard them come down a ladder, boots on metal. Then they laughed again and grabbed her, took her into a room, and flung her on her back across a table.

  Chest rasping, she strived to suck air past the gag and her clogged and bleeding nose. She stared up at the men.

  She’d failed. She’d failed so badly. Who was going to rescue her?

  No one.

  “You can go now, Roy. I got this.” Joseph pulled off the mask, his short blond locks sticking to his face where sweat dampened him.

  His lips parted as he surveyed her darkly. Lust and malevolence were in every twitch of muscle and flare of nostril, and in the glimpse of his tongue poking at his mouth. She lay there hurting, mouth dry and heart thumping, pinned by this soul-baring study as much as by the ropes and zip ties.

  If it weren’t for the ugliness of his expression, he would seem normal. How did a man go this bad?

  “I got this bitch.” He grinned. “Don’t I, sweetie?”

  “You do?” Roy seemed doubtful.

  “Oh I do.” He reached to one side and metal rattled. He held up a handful of glinting metal. In the other hand appeared a hammer.

  “Oh shit. Not again. Isn’t this a bit early for that? You’ll wear her out before we all get a go.”

  Off to the side, she was aware of Roy wavering in her sight, but Joseph was the man to watch. A hammer...nails. What the fuck? Her chest squeezed in, as breathing became a forgotten thing.

  “Nooo,” she tried to say. Her tongue tangled in the cloth and all that came out was a grunt.

  “Fuck off, Roy. She owes me.” He near breathed those words, caressing each syllable as he spoke them, like they were precious.

  Roy exited left, out the door, as obedient as a hound.

  When he rolled her to her stomach to cut the ties at her wrists, she wriggled and screamed in a muffled way but he only laughed some more and wrestled her onto her back again. The man was fucking strong.

  The first nail in her palm seemed to nail her to the heavens. His arm rising and falling, rising and falling, in dire proclamations of the next agonizing thud of hammer. The table vibrated with the blows. Her screams were
on fire. Her throat burned with pain. He did both hands then tied her ankles to the table legs.

  “Now, I have you where I want you.” The evil in his words was thick. Joseph leaned over her, pulled aside the gag, and removed the cloth. Then he kissed her as he raped her mouth with his tongue.

  She couldn’t not see him. Couldn’t bring herself to not stare him down. Blood wet her palms, slick and slippery. Do it! He’s close. You can kill him.

  How?

  Screaming soundlessly, deep in her throat, she forced her hands up the nails.

  The metal slid in her flesh burn, burn, burn until something at the end of each nail hit her skin and stopped her hands from tearing loose.

  His eyes were near, dilating, staring down at her. They flickered amber-gold. From the tongue still invading her mouth, from his lips on hers, an awareness spread.

  Who was this? His face altered and slid. The same man but different.

  Fear subsided, though her arms shook crazily.

  He raised himself higher, his lips leaving hers just as she recognized a strange longing to touch him.

  Crazy. He’s about to rape you.

  Fear and hope wrestled and neither was winning.

  “Nefer?” he whispered. “You there?”

  His voice had changed along with his face – now a warm and resonant baritone instead of bastardized gutter talk.

  A name surfaced. “Paru?”

  Lion, she recalled. Paru meant lion. The hieroglyphic symbol for that emblazoned on a gold button...as gold as this man’s hair, it meant something.

  Then he coughed and ducked his head, shook it. When he looked at her again, the ferocity had returned and his eyes were once more blue. “What did you do to me?”

  The slap, this time, stung her lip and rocked her head so far over her neck hurt. She tasted blood.

  “Let’s get back to business.”

  The rasp of his zip being tugged down was followed by his hands on her, unbuckling her belt. That he had to undo the ankle bondage to get her jeans and underwear off barely registered. She was too lost in regret. Some chance had passed and was gone again, perhaps forever.