The Devil's Playthings Read online

  Part One

  The Girl

  Emma could barely see the vein in her arm as she tried to push the needle in again. She already took one hit in each arm, but it wasn't enough to dull the pain in her head. She pushed her matted blonde hair out of her eyes, and tried again. She felt sleepy, and her hands felt like lead, but she didn't get enough to make her forget, so she tried again.

  She couldn't count how many men she'd had sex with over the past month, no wait year, to get money for drugs. She didn't care about selling her body anymore; she just wanted everything to go away. Every night she sold her body on the street, and every morning she scored harder and harder drugs. She hadn't seen a mirror or a shower in weeks, and she couldn't believe men still wanted to pay to have sex with her. She viewed them with more disgust than she did herself, as they were obviously more desperate.

  Every time she took a hit, she dared God to take her life. She wanted to die, she wanted to disappear. She wanted to never remember her horrible existence. She couldn't help but remember she was 14 when she first had sex; it was when her grandmother died, and her grandfather finally had his way with her.

  Her eyes opened from dreams of her grandfather tying her down to her bed and brutally raping her, awakening to the sounds of her own screams. Her parents died in a car accident when she was three, and her grandparents took her in. Remembering it now, she could see how her grandfather had lurked in the background, watching her blossom.

  He made the comment of how she could finally start having sex when she first had her period; at 11 she didn’t even know what sex was. He would touch her hair or rub her shoulders, and she knew it wasn’t right. He never did any of this in front of her grandmother.

  The night of her grandmother's funeral he raped her the first time. He cried shamelessly, telling her the trauma of his wife's loss made him crazy. But he did it more and more, and when she threatened to tell a teacher, he told her he would kill her like he did his wife.

  After her third abortion, which he forced her to have, she was told she would never have a baby. She was 17. That was when she ran away. She took most of her clothes with her, which wasn't much at all anyway, but over the years she'd lost most of what she had.

  She wore the same thing every day, a short yellow skirt and a tight white tank top. At any other time the outfit would look cheery, but the clothes were dirty and stained, and winter was coming swiftly to New York City.

  The only clothing she had left other than what she wore she carried in an old messenger's bag over her shoulder. She had a pair of jeans that were ragged, and a sweater that looked moth eaten.

  She never wore underwear anymore; they were only in the way. And her small breasts didn't need a bra. At 20 she looked 14, and she could only assume that was why men wanted her.

  She stayed warm in stranger’s cars and the occasional hotel room while giving blowjobs or hand jobs, or whatever else they wanted. And when she slept outside she was usually so high she couldn't feel the cool autumn nights.

  This night, she decided, would be her last. She still searched for the vein to put in one last hit, finally finding it through the tears. She felt it like a wave whooshing through her blood toward her brain, knowing that this time could be the last. She laughed and screamed out, "why don't you take me now and take me away from all this!"

  Her eyes closed and she heard the rush of blood in her ears, drowning out the sound of traffic nearby, and after a few moments the rush sounded like a howling. She tried to tell her brain to open her eyes, but she didn't know how, so she laughed harder.

  She thought she saw herself, thin arms and legs spread out like a rag doll, long hair matted into locks, tears falling down bloodless cheeks with a spattering of freckles. And then she saw something else, like a large black wolf, stalking around her. Perhaps, she told herself, she was finally dead and the animals were coming to eat her flesh.

  She laughed hysterically now, thinking of her skinny limbs being dinner for the ravenous creature, how it would only chew on her bones.

  "Emma!" she heard from somewhere, and her eyes opened in slits as she saw a man standing in front of her.

  "Do you want something?" she slurred as she tried to move her hands to pull up her skirt, but they weighed far too much, like her eyelids.

  "Emma!" the voice said again. She couldn't tell if it was a yell or a whisper. She thought maybe she was hearing St. Peter calling to her from the pearly gates. Or maybe the devil was calling to her from hell. She tried to open her eyes, but couldn't. All she could see was black.

  She had the most amazing sensation of flying. She even thought she heard wings flapping, but she was sure it was the sound of the blood pounding through her veins.

  She imagined she was held by huge arms against a muscular chest, cherished and protected. She finally relaxed, for the first time in years. She felt safe for the first time since she was a child. She thought he might put her down, and she refused to allow it. She wrapped her arms around his neck, which seemed to be as big as a tree trunk, and held on for dear life.

  “Please don’t let me go,” she whispered.

  “I’ll never let you go,” the voice whispered. Or growled. She wasn’t sure.

  The skin under her hands felt rough, like cracked leather, but warm like an electric blanket. She curled closer into his body. He could only be male, she thought, as her head lay on pecs that felt chiseled from marble.

  She felt a slight jarring, as if they were in an elevator and it finally hit ground floor. The skin against her cheek changed; it felt as soft as satin. Her hand moved from his neck down over his shoulder. The skin seemed to change under her fingertips. He also seemed smaller, but the muscles were still rock hard.

  He held her closer still, both arms going around her. She knew she should be freezing, but she felt so warm in his arms. She felt her thigh against his, and she could tell he was completely nude. How could he be that warm, she wondered?

  But she didn’t care. She wanted this feeling; had been waiting for it. She felt like she was finally home.

  She fought to open her eyes, to see who held her so lovingly. His hand moved to her hair, and she was suddenly ashamed of her neglect of her appearance. But it felt like the more he touched her hair, the softer it became.

  Open your eyes, she told herself.

  “You’re safe with me,” he whispered and touched her cheek as her eyelids began to flutter.

  Open your eyes, her brain insisted.

  “Stay asleep,” his voice countered her thoughts.

  Her hand moved up from his shoulder, over his throat, and up his face. His cheekbones were incredibly high. His lips were much too soft. She felt him stand and take several steps in long quick strides. Where was he going naked?

  She heard a door open, and then he walked down a flight of stairs, and another. He walked so silently it was eerie.

  Open your eyes, her brain demanded.

  She heard another door open, then close just as quietly. She felt him deftly remove her clothes. Then she felt something as soft as a whisper fall over her shoulders and down her body. Was she standing? She had no idea.

  She felt him lay her on a bed. She felt silky cool sheets against her body, and she protested.

  “No,” she sighed. She didn’t want cool sheets, she wanted his warm skin.

  Then she felt him lay beside her. Greedily she pulled him into her body, holding him as tight as her drug induced weakness would allow. He groaned, or growled, and held her tighter still.

  She wanted to see the man who held her so close. She could feel every beautiful muscle against her. She could smell musk and wood and rain. He was perfection, she was sure.

  “Please,” she implored, and her eyelids fluttered again.

  She opened her eyes to find him staring back at her. She laughed softly, because the drugs made his eyes appear red. Bright red eyes stared back at her, judging her response.

  She smiled; a smile of innocence from a girl who was far from innocent. It was the drugs, she told herself. No one has eyes as red as a rose, as red as sunset, as red as blood.

  His skin was tan; no peach, she thought. His hair was black as night and lay in soft waves around his face. And his face; she shivered. He looked sweet and gentle. He looked tender and caring.

  And he felt as soft as a flower, as soft as a kitten. He felt as soft as silk and as warm as a spring day.

  She held him tighter. She wanted to touch and feel every inch of him against her. She wanted his warmth to radiate into her.

  If it was the drugs, she would definitely go back to the man who sold them to her. They were the best so far. They made her believe she was lying against an angel.

  “Sleep now, sweetheart,” he whispered.

  “I don’t want to sleep,” she complained. “I feel like I’ve been asleep my whole life. I’m finally awake.”

  “Rest, and in the morning you will see me again,” he promised, and placed a soothing kiss on her cheek. She felt more tired than she’d ever felt in her life. She felt sleepier than any drug had ever made her.

  “No,” she protested. But she could not stay awake. When she closed her eyes, she saw in her mind a pair of bright red eyes. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

  She thought she smelled coffee and eggs. Maybe she fell asleep in an alley behind a restaurant again. She opened her eyes, and for a moment she thought she was dead.

  But she couldn’t be dead, she told herself, because this had to be heaven. She lay in a real bed, a
bed made for a fairy tale princess. She was cocooned in white silk sheets, and a white silk down comforter. The pillows behind her head were soft and white. Her head practically sunk into them. The bed had a white canopy covered in white velvet and edged in gold embroidery.

  She lay there for several moments, staring at the opening in the canopy, afraid of what waited beyond. But she couldn't resist the smell of real food any longer; she couldn't remember the last time she ate.

  She reached out her hand and pushed open the velvet, and found a beautiful white bedroom. Everything was white with gold trimmings: plush looking white carpet, pretty white furniture with gold inlay, and white velvet window coverings with gold ropes and tassels, with gold embroidery around the hems.

  She finally noticed her hand on the velvet, and it actually looked clean. She pulled back the blanket too and saw a pretty white silk nightgown. She was almost as shocked to see she was clean as she was to be in this daydream of a room. She saw a full length dressing mirror in the corner by the windows, and she was almost afraid to look at herself. The last time she’d seen herself, she was a dirty, vile creature.

  A pair of furry white slippers lay under the bed, and she shoved her dainty little feet into them. She thought if the slippers were real, and the soft, thick carpet was real, maybe the rest of it was real too.

  She watched the nightgown slide down her legs and fall around her feet in a soft white bell as she stood. She tiptoed toward the mirror, still afraid of her reflection. But when she saw herself, her reflection amazed her.

  Her natural blonde hair hung in a shiny veil around her shoulders. Her eyes had to be playing tricks on her when she gazed at her own face. Her cheeks were pink and smooth. Her lips were full and red. And her eyes were wide and bright blue. She looked like a young lady. And she would have stared at her reflection for hours, but the smell of breakfast lured her to the door.

  She tentatively pulled it open, which led to a marble hallway. A few paintings decorated the walls, and she walked slowly past them, examining each one. They looked like they should be hanging in a museum, like they were created by famous artists.

  There were two doors on either side of the hallway also, but she wasn't brave enough to explore inside. The hallway led to a beautiful spiral staircase, which went down to a marble landing and opened up to floor to ceiling windows with an awesome view of the city skyline. It seemed like she was eye level with the top of the Empire State Building, and she felt like she was looking down on the clouds.

  She was even more astounded as she looked out the glass doors set into the windows to find an elegant pool and Jacuzzi with a glass roof. There were even palm trees and sand surrounding the pool to make it appear to be an oasis in the desert. Pretty rattan furniture framed the outer corners of the room, and a beautiful table and chairs sat in the corner opposite the apartment. She imagined one could sit in the tiny oasis and stare at the city below for hours. And for some reason, she felt the strongest feeling of déjà vu, like she’d been in this same spot before.

  A young woman, dressed in a black and white maid's outfit, appeared out of nowhere and asked her in an accented voice, "Are you ready for breakfast, miss?"

  Emma nodded, and followed closely behind her to an opulent dining room decorated in deep reds and dark wood. The plates were all black, and the silverware looked like real silver; not that she'd ever seen real silver before. Three crystal chandeliers hung over the table, a very large one hung in the center and two smaller ones hung on either side. The room was more formal than she'd ever seen, even on TV.

  The table sat twenty, and a place setting with cloth napkins adorned each end of the table. The maid seated her, and several young men in black suits carried in platters of food. Then the maid waited by the table with her hands behind her back.

  Emma didn't know what to do. She was starving, and the food on the table smelled so good. But obviously someone was joining her, because of the other place setting. She tried to be patient, and just when she thought she couldn't wait any longer, he entered the room.

  She couldn't contain her reaction to him. As soon as she saw him, her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. He glanced at her; then nodded to the maid who hurried over to pull out his chair.

  Her eyes hurried over his body before he sat down. The dark suit he wore had to be tailored to fit him. His physique or what she could guess at hidden under all the clothing, was perfect.

  His dark hair hung in long waves around his beautiful face. His eyes were nearly black, hidden behind almond shaped lids. His complexion was a light tan and with the shape of his eyes and his skin color, she could see he was Asian. His jaw line was strong but not overpowering. His cheekbones were angled perfectly, making cute little round apples at his cheeks. His lips were full, almost too full for his face, and a pale dusky pink. His nose formed a straight line, then flared only slightly at his nostrils. Basically, she'd never seen a man more beautiful. He looked like a soft, snuggly puppy. He looked inviting and at the same time untouched, and untouchable.

  He didn't look at her after he sat down, he busied himself with his napkin then poured a cup of orange juice from a crystal decanter. He knew she watched him intently. He knew she couldn't take her eyes off him. And he ignored her. He made a motion with his hand, and the maid began to serve him. Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, potatoes, and fruit and pastries overflowed from the trays. There was more food there than 10 people would eat.

  When a little of everything was served to the head of the table, the maid took Emma's plate, and filled it full as well. And when she sat the plate on the table, Emma dug in.

  She ate like she hadn't eaten in three weeks, and as far as she could remember, she hadn't. She concentrated on the food, forgetting the man several feet away from her. And when her plate was empty, the maid took it and refilled it. Emma feigned protest, until the plate filled with fresh fruit sat in front of her, and she dug into it also.

  And when she finally stopped eating, and looked up, she noticed that he watched her as intently as she had watched him. She took a moment to wipe her mouth with her napkin, and then stared at him again.

  His dark black eyes seemed to stare right into her. She wondered if he could read her mind. His expression didn't change, and she couldn't stand it any longer.

  "Do I have something on my face?" she finally asked.