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  Sliding Emma the big cup, Matt pours himself a shot of bourbon. Rising his shot glass to Emma's cup, he says,

  "Cheers!" Emma takes a sip from her drink while Matt slams his shot. Taken back from the heavy tequila flavor, she shakes her head, "I think you made this too strong, Matt!"

  "Non-sense," he remarks as he lights a cigarette. "You just need to get used to it."

  Fighting passed her scrunching face; Emma tries to pretend to enjoy the drink. She takes in a little more each time that she attempts to sip the strong concoction. Matt grins at her as he pours himself another shot, "That's what they call a Texas Margarita… heavy handed."

  Swallowing the shot with a slight shake of his head, he exhales, "Want something else?"

  "No, no… I'm fine. I think I'm getting' used to it now, really."

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  Taking one last drag from his cigarette, Matt snuffs it out in the ashtray in front of him. Exhaling the smoke, he moves around to Emma, standing closely behind her. He runs his fingers through her hair, pulling it over to her right shoulder.

  Slowly, he moves in and starts kissing the back of her neck, soft pecks and light nibbles. Shivers tremor through Emma, she closes her eyes as she arches her back, breathing out in soft pants. Matt's hands wander sensually up and down her yearning body, from her thighs to her breasts. Grabbing her by her curvy hips, Matt pulls her into him as he bites her neck harder.

  He turns Emma around and kisses her deeply, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her hands run down his back, feeling every muscle as it tightens with sexual passion. Matt pulls his lips away from Emma's and picks her up into his arms. Swept off of her feet, Emma stares at Matt as he carries her to his bedroom with ease. Opening the door he takes her into the dark room and gently lays her on his soft bed.

  Reaching over to his night stand, he pulls the string on his antique lamp, shedding a soft light onto their surroundings.

  Standing back, Matt lets Emma take a look around his small sanctum.

  Looking around in awe, Emma is taken in by the room's lavish yet strange décor. A small shelf hangs from the wall in front of her with beautiful daggers resting upon the black top.

  Beneath the shelf is another level which holds five different chalices, all equally elegant in their own ways. Various paintings hang from the wall, all depicting ceremonies of cannibalism and blood feasting. Matt moves in front of Emma, taking her attention from his abode as he looms over her seductively. Running hands under her chin, he asks her suggestively, "Have you ever desired human blood?"

  Looking into her growing eyes, he stares longingly into her gaze. He watches the transition from lust to uncertainty before him. Kissing her upon the lips, he brings her back to comfort. Holding her close, his body tells her that there is 65

  nothing to worry about; she is safe within his arms. She falls limp to him, giving herself in every way. Sliding his hands to the front of her shirt, he slides it off of her, stripping her down to her black lacy bra. Licking his lips at the sight of her soft flesh, he feels up and down her arms, following her veins for her pulse. Finding it he smiles at her with a slight grin,

  "You have nothin' to worry about… I won't hurt you, I'd never hurt you, I promise."

  Emma nods and softly whispers to him, "I believe you…"

  Matt pulls off his shirt and stares at Emma with a seductive glare. Emma runs her hands upon his muscular chest as he reaches over to his shelf. She runs her fingers along the paths of scars that ripple over his tissue. While Emma traces over the marks, Matt takes a dagger, pulling it away from the sheath. The gleam from the wavy steel catches Emma's eye, forcing her to look up at Matt. Looking into her eyes intensely, he makes a small incision in his forearm without the slightest flinch. Speechless, Emma watches the blood trickle from the wound, suspended in strange awe.

  "My scars are my learning curve, and they will be yours as well."

  He extends his spilling limb towards her, "Taste of me and know what's like to truly be alive."

  She moves closer to his running crimson stream and cautiously places her lips over the wound. Reluctantly, she starts to lick the blood from his laceration, looking up at his lusting expression with wide eyes. Matt grabs her by the back of head and forces her mouth harder onto his torn flesh. In macabre ecstasy, Matt closes his eyes tilts his head back with sigh. Emma sucks the essence from his open vein harder as he moans in joyous tones. After his fill, he pulls Emma's head back and looks into her eyes. Blood trickles from her lips as she looks back at him with a wanting glare.

  Matt grabs her arm and tugs it closer to him, "Now it's my turn to taste you."

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  Emma does not resist psychically, but in her mind she questions why she is being turned on by these actions. Her inner most fantasies being with a vampire surge within and charge with bestial cravings. With Matt holding the dagger to her arm, she cannot look away as the blade draws nearer to her soft flesh. There is a slow puncture that pushes Emma to a slight flinch. Through squinting lids, she watches her blood bubble from the fresh opening. Matt licks the stream from her arm as she closes her eyes and tries to relax and give in to her inhibitions. He starts off with gentle sucking and slowly works his way to sinking his teeth into her, taking from her more aggressively with each taste. Lying back, Emma simply grits her teeth and lets Matt feast. No matter how painful it is, she uses this as a potential test of her love for him.

  Once he has his fill, he pulls away from her tender appendage, "This is the essence of life… of love."

  Licking his lips clean of Emma's blood, he crawls on top of her and starts kissing her passionately. She runs her fingers through his hair, gripping clumps in the heat of their moment as their copper laced tongues flicker upon one another. Matt runs his hands between her legs and slides her lacy panties off as she squirms out from behind the lacy barrier. Emma reaches between her legs and fights to unbutton Matt's pants.

  The button tears loose and the zipper slides down as she forces them down while deeply kissing him. Moving closer to her yearning body, he slips his temporary extension inside of her.

  Dragging her bleeding wound to his mouth, he resumes feasting. While he slides in and out of her, he places his cut in front of her face. Embroiled in their twisted passion play, Emma energetically sucks the blood from Matt. In the throes of limitless desire, two become one—entangled. The couple comes together in ways that would lead normal people to a series of therapy sessions. Drenched in sweat, blood, and cum—a sexual release so carnal it leaves the flavor of one another burning upon their tongues. These are the outskirts of 67

  the karma-sutra; this is the realm of the Marques De Sade.

  They bring to illuminate the things that very few of us fantasize in our darkest moments.

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  CHAPTER 9

  While Donnie and Parker face off in their bowling match, Kelly sits in the background as she sneaks shots of rum into her soda. Being the under aged cheap drunk that she is, she has mastered the skill of being invisible to employed prying eyes. A giant flask barely appears from her purse as she empties its contents for her leisure. With her trusty purse, she can smuggle anything into any place without being questioned.

  Parker looks over her in mid pour, "Someone's gonna catch you doin' that…"

  "Not if you keep your mouth shut and play with your balls."

  With a chuckle, Parker replies, "Fair enough."

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  The two meet eyes and give each other a playful smile.

  Parker has had little bit of a crush on Kelly since the first time he laid eyes on her. He has kept his distance because he knows Donnie likes her, but the more that she tags along, the more he can see that they will never be anything than just friends. In Parker's eyes, Kelly is his dream girl. She is smart, quick lipped, and she is sexy—the total package in a girl. At every turn, she challenges him to be quicker and more intelligent, and Parker is never one to back down from a challenge.

  For the men that have ent
ered Kelly's life, they have felt that she was either too smart or too smart assed. Kelly's intelligence has acted like a deflective shield against those who cannot keep up with her mentally. Using alcohol as a lover and a friend, she tells herself that no one is good enough for her. Unlike her sister, sex for her really does not mean much. She finds mental stimulation to be far better than physical touch. Loneliness does not affect her like it does for others. Surrounded by history and recent politics, she hardly ever yearns for a human touch.

  Donnie rolls his bowling ball down the lane, the ball spins into gutter territory as Parker wares a grin, "Oh, nice…

  keep goin'… keep it goin'!"

  The ball swerves into the gutter and Parker jumps for joy,

  "Hell yeah!" he says with a howling cackle that echoes through building. Walking back in shame, Donnie attempts to play it off, "Yeah, Fuck you asshole… let's see what ya got for me?"

  Kelly sips from her spiked soda, taking glances at Parker any chance she can. The more she drinks, the more she feels her attraction for him growing. Every time he takes a peek at her she notices, becoming more aware of his interest in her.

  Guzzling her liquid courage, she tells herself that tonight is the night that she finds out if he is hers to have. Even with a blurred third eye, Kelly can see things clearer than she does usually. As she sees it, the alcohol aids her in making better 70

  choices, adding to her already cunning intuition. Driven by a deluded arrogance, she cannot think of a time where the hair of the dog has ever steered her wrong.

  Parker gives Kelly a quick glance, as his eyes meet hers he quickly jumps back into game mode. He grabs his ball and walks up to the line as Kelly grins at him the entire time.

  Donnie notices the look on her face and hangs his head. As much as he wants her he knows he will never have her in the way that he craves. Standing at a cross road between friendship and humiliation, Donnie takes her friendship over the risk of complications. As it would be, he is reminded with a jab from the knife of rejection whenever he sees the way Parker and Kelly look at one another. It is a painful reminder of something he can never have.

  As Donnie weeps at the scoreboard, Kelly attempts to pour more rum into her soda. Her glance around the bowling alley was not proficient enough; the minute she goes to pour she is stopped by an Assistant Manager.

  "Excuse me, young lady."

  Startled, Kelly looks up at the annoyed bald man's face as he continues, "I don't know what's in that flask, and I don't wanna know… you just get your things and you leave here now."

  Looking over at Donnie and Parker, he adds, "You two…

  you’re with her, you're gone too. Let's go."

  Parker nods, "Alright… we're leaving."

  Donnie is highly irritated, but he keeps his comments to himself as the three shamefully walk out of the establishment.

  The Assistant Manager does not say they can never come back, regardless, Donnie knows it will be quite awhile before he can show his face in there again. Walking through the parking lot, Kelly hangs her head while sipping from her spiked beverage, "Sorry guys, I…"

  "You know what, Kel?" Donnie snaps, "Just save it, a'ight?!"

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  Parker steps in, "Hey Donnie, chill out! It's just a fuckin'

  bowling alley. We'll go back next month and no one will be the wiser. What the fuck is the big deal?!"

  Shaking his head, Donnie tries to explain, "The girl's a fuckin' drunk and she needs…"

  Cutting him off, "And you're a fuckin' pot head!" Kelly fires back. "Who the fuck are you to judge anyone else? What makes you so high and mighty?!"

  While the two bicker, Parker notices a police car entering the parking lot. He quickly turns his attention to the argument and interjects, "You're a stoner and you're a lush… that's a police car and I'm not going to jail." Donnie and Kelly watch the nearing cruiser as Parker casually walks to his car with a subtle amount of speed in his steps. Kelly takes a queue and follows Parker with Donnie not far behind. Unlocking the doors to his coupe, Kelly lets Donne in the back and quickly takes her seat in the front. Parker fires up the engine and backs out of the parking space unsuspectingly.

  Leaving Vero Lanes behind, Parker asks, "So, where to now?"

  Kelly looks over at him and says with a shrug, "Can we chill at your house?"

  “Sure.”

  Donnie sits forward and asks, "Hey, can ya just drop me off at home? I think I've had enough excitement for one night."

  Parker looks at Donnie through his review mirror and taunts him, “Pussy…”

  As the sun descends making was for the coming of night, Ophelia leaves the comfort of her bedroom. Sliding down from her high, she reaches in the fridge for a cold bottle of beer. With a yawn, she twists the cap off and tosses it into the garbage can. As she takes her first swig, her cell phone starts ringing from the pocket of her bathrobe. Pulling it out, she 72

  looks at the caller ID to read "unknown number" across the screen.

  Stumped to who it could be, she answers, "Hello?" and a voice from the other end asks, "Ophelia?"

  A look of horror morphs upon her face as the tone sends chills up her spine. Her mouth hangs open as she turns to place her bottle on the counter.

  "How did you get this number?"

  "Never mind that… I want to see my daughters."

  Collecting herself, Ophelia answers with a stern voice,

  "They're not your daughters."

  Angered, the man replies, "The hell they aren't! I took care of them when that no good fuck of husband of yours left you cold! I'm as much of a father to them than the other saps you've conned into her sheets!"

  "You no good piece of shit… if they knew what you did, you…"

  Interrupting her, the man calmly tells her, "Ophelia, I know where you are…"

  Ophelia is left speechless, her body tights as fear grips her from the inside out. She looks around in worry and quickly makes her way back to her bedroom. The silence carries on both ends of the phone as the man lets her stew in what he just told her. Shaking, Ophelia tries to light one of her cigarettes.

  "I know what city you're in, I know your address. Now, you can either make this easy on yourself or I can come down there. If I have to come down there to fight with you… then it's not gonna be pleasant. You know me, Ophelia… you know what I can do."

  Hanging on every potent word, her eyes fill with tears as she begs, "Please, just leave us be… you are the past for us and…"

  "So, this is the way it's gonna play out?"

  "Please," she pleads. "Just leave me and my girls alone!"

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  After a short pause of Ophelia trying to keep her nerve, the man says, "See ya soon…" and hangs up.

  Dropping the phone, her emotional levy gives way and Ophelia breaks out into a river of tears. She drops her cigarette into the ashtray and falls into her bed. Grabbing a pillow, she releases her pain into the soft object. Crying loudly, she begs and prays to god for some kind of divine assistance. She screams for this deity to protect her and her babies.

  For so long Ophelia has been running from her past demons, constantly moving along so that nothing could catch up with her. The longest she has stayed in one place is when she moved her daughters to Fort Lauderdale. Unbeknownst to Emma and Kelly, they suddenly had to move away again for no apparent reason. Ophelia promised them that they would have it better in a smaller area due to the recession, but that was just a lie. Keeping her daughters in the dark, she has been on the run from this man for ten years.

  This man is Dillon Mitchell, a violent drug dealer and a sleazy pimp. The two met when Kelly was five years old, and they were only together for two years. Their relationship was volatile due to Dillon's savage ways and chosen trades.

  Ophelia did not want to raise her daughters around him, but the sex was good and he showed to be some kind of provider.

  Struggling with her bouts of guilt, it all finally came to a head when she tried to break i
t off and Dillon reacted by beating her to a bloody pulp. Blackening her eyes and swelling her face, Dillon had her right where he wanted her. He convinced her the next day that she needed to provide for her children herself and gave her an outlet—prostitution.

  At first, the battered Ophelia was reluctant but after Dillon gave her that first taste of heroin, she agreed. As Dillon's niece watched the girls, he would drive her around to his clients in need. Ophelia would be so doped up that she would not know what was going on. She would simply give her body to these men while her mind was suspended in a 74

  tranquil state. When those nights would come to close—she had enough money to pay her bills, rent, and feed her daughters. Taking his cut and giving her free heroin, Dillon was more than pleased with their relationship.

  As time went on, Ophelia became more aware of her situation and came to the conclusion that Dillon was just using her. She caught him playing around with other women, sometimes before he would come to see her. Finally having enough, she attempted to end the relationship for a second time. Confronting him, Dillon put a .375 handgun to her head and threatened to kill her and her daughters if she thought about leaving him. In fear for her life, Ophelia packed up what she could and moved from Panama City to Tampa Bay.

  They would settle in a trailer park outside of the city where Ophelia quickly developed a client list and several connections for her addiction.

  After two years of living in Tampa, Dillon found her, forcing Ophelia to move her and her daughters again. This time they would relocate to a small town outside of Orlando named Gibsonton. For a short period of time they had lived Gibsonton with hardly any issues. When Dillon contacted her again, Ophelia was tired of running. She contacted the police and told them about Dillon but to no avail. The police told her that there was nothing they could do unless he tried to harm her in some way. Knowing what Dillon was capable of, Ophelia moved her and her daughters to Greenacres, a town in West Palm Beach.

  Continuing with her destructive ways, Ophelia opened up shop in Greenacres immediately. Within a year she had someone else looking for her—the West Palm Beach Police department. As it would turn out, one of her clients was a neighbor who was married to a secretary at the police department. Her drug connection warned her from someone he knew on the inside and Ophelia had to leave town. Thanks to her connection, she was able to move to Fort Lauderdale in hurry without any problems.