Bad Blood Ch. 02

Parking outside a very rustic-looking cabin, Andrews shook me lightly out of my quasi-sleep and handed me a new Pepsi.

"It doesn't look like much from the outside, but there's a bomb shelter built fifty feet into the ground beneath it," he smiled a little. "There are proximity sensors secured to trees for several kilometres in all directions."

Nodding, I sipped at the carbonated caffeine but otherwise stayed motionless. "Is it sound-proof?" I muttered between swallows.

"The interior? Yes, for the most part. The bedroom is a sealed entity to itself with reinforced steel walls -- not even a squirrel can be heard in the trees. The main room, however, you can hear only the major things like a falling tree or a vehicle coming up the road," he clicked the buttons releasing both our belts.

"Bedroom?" I repeated, emphasizing the singular.

"Unfortunately, yes. But it has been shown to decrease the likelihood of witness death," he blushed a little. "All agents are trained to wake at the slightest shuffle -- whether we have been drugged or not. The access panel to the subterranean bunker is also in the bedroom."

"Good to know," I sighed, reaching for the door handle.

"Let me get it. The ground in this area is covered in a thick layer of finely broken glass," he reached across the seat and stilled my hand; his arm pressing against my breasts.

"One quick question. Can I smoke in there?" I breathed shallowly, realizing just how thin the top Sharlene bought was.

"With a window open, yes," he didn't move his arm. "You still suck back Canadian Classics?"

"King size," I nodded. "How long do you think it will be before I can drink Rockstars again?"

"Impossible to say. A week at least," Andrews finally retracted his arm. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you when food's ready."

Nodding, I curled up in the seat and shut my eyes; sleep immediately sucking me back under. The world was soft and warm when something falling snapped the last vestiges of sleep from my brain. Bolting upright, a soft blanket fell off my shoulder and pooled on my legs.

"It's okay. I just dropped a pot," Andrews called over sheepishly.

"What time is it?" I asked, folding the blanket and standing.

"Quarter to seven," he looked over his shoulder at me. "Is tortellini okay for dinner?"

"Yeah, sure. I haven't had any since my grandmother's arthritis stopped her from hand-making it years ago," I smiled. "Do you know how good hand-made tortellini is?"

"My mother is purebred Italian. She and her mother made the best I ever tasted. Unfortunately, we're stuck with store bought tonight," he chuckled. "How do you like it topped?"

"Just some freshly grated parmesan if there is any," I took a seat at the little table.

"You're in luck," he put the pot by the sink. Turning, he placed a half-full bowl in front of me; cheese already dusting the top. Handing me a fork, he sat opposite me and kept his head tucked over his food. For store bought and factory made, it was pretty good.

Literally inhaling the food, I paused to grin at him over the salt shaker. Leaning over to the counter, he pulled open a drawer. Grabbing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, he handed them to me and smiled widely.

"Window over the stove is open. Feel free to blow the smoke in any direction," he speared a piece of tortellini.

"Even down your throat?" I blurted out, blushing as I realized I had actually said it out loud.

"I'll smile, nod, and take that as a side-effect of your poisoning," he averted his eyes. "Random loss of vocal control noted and ignored."

"I don't know why I said that..." I returned to stuffing my mouth with food. Setting my fork in the empty bowl, I pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it. Sucking in the initial plume of smoke, I held it and closed my eyes. Exhaling, I brought the cigarette back to my lips. The smoke was warm, almost hot, as it slid down into my lungs.

"How long have you been a smoker?" Andrews asked, putting his fork down.

"On and off since I was twelve, so about fourteen years," I shrugged, taking a breath of clean air before returning to the carcinogen.

"On and off?" he repeated.

"I stop and start. The more stressed I am, the more I smoke," I blew a ring into the air. "And no, someone who has just started can not blow smoke rings. Sometimes they happen by accident, but it takes a lot of practice."

"Good to know. Does your -- never mind," he shook his head.

"What? Did my family know? Yes. I was skimming out of their packs in the beginning," I inhaled. "They did their best to discourage me, but they realized cigarettes were better than the crack and meth being sold at my school. My brother eventually got tired of me sneaking his and bought two packs each time, giving one to me."

"Ah, the wonders of irritated older siblings. How much older than you was he?" he smiled.

"Seven years. Though it was one of his frat buddies who took my virginity when he came to visit one spring break," I stubbed out my cigarette in the little ashtray.

"How old were you?" Andrews's eyes were downcast.

"Still twelve. It was a week and a half before my thirteenth," I shrugged again. "I didn't even know what was happening. The guy was drunk and I woke up as he was pushing his dick into me. His only words were 'scream and die'."

"Did you tell anyone?" he growled, tensing in his seat.

"Sharlene, in grade eleven. We were playing Truth or Dare at a sleepover and I didn't want to do any dares," I lit another cigarette. "Other than that, I closed myself off from everyone and avoided all males except my family. Even then I stopped saying more than a few words to them."

"What happened to your brother's frat buddy?" his voice was dark.

"My brother said it was a suicide. By the way he smiled maliciously when he told me, I think he may have killed him and made it look like he killed himself," I smiled a little. "After that he spent more time with me. It wasn't until I graduated that he told me he knew what had happened that spring break."

"Knowing family, I wouldn't doubt it if he murdered the bastard. Though, as a cop, I can't condone it, I still applaud it," he smiled a tiny bit. "Did the pig at least use a condom?"

"Nope. I hadn't started bleeding once a month yet so I blocked it out for a while," I took a big drag off my cigarette. "Until, of course, I figured out that he had gotten me pregnant and that I wouldn't get it for another seven months at least. I went to a clinic and they agreed to help me abort without telling my parents."

"Good clinic. How did you get to it without alerting your family?"

"I went to visit one of my aunts out of town. She knew, the moment she looked at me. She drove me to the door and signed the releases, pretended to be my mother," I stubbed out the butt of the cigarette. "She was visiting my parents last weekend."

"I'm sorry," he reached a hand over the table and ran his thumb over my cheek.

"So am I. She was an amazing woman," I shut my eyes tight. "How many bodies were found?"

"Seven. The IDs said they were your parents, brother, and sisters. The only two unidentified ones are likely your aunt and uncle," he cupped the right side of my face in his warm hand.

Nodding, I stood and took my dishes to the sink. Running a little water in them, I turned and walked across the small cabin, curling up on the soft couch. Andrews followed and pulled me into his lap; more as an action of comfort than lust. His higher body temperature lulled me to sleep; no dreams assaulted me in the darkness.

The world was too soft when I woke. Rolling over, I curled up and tried to go back to sleep. Failing, I sat up and stretched, my clothes twisted painfully around my body. The floor was warm as my bare feet found it. Adjusting my clothes, I rubbed my eyes before sliding through the ajar door. The scent of cooking eggs and bacon greeted me; Andrews shirtless in front of the stove.

"Breakfast cooked by a half-naked, barefoot -- not going to finish that thought," I grinned, sliding up to the table.

"'Morning!" he was perky. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Don't have a preference," I opened the fridge. Grabbing a Pepsi, he turned, took it back and handed me a jug of milk instead.

"Let your body absorb a little calcium before you load up the sugar and caffeine," he smiled. "It goes better with eggs anyway."

"Glasses?" I asked, sighing at the lack of bubbly to start the day.

"Cupboard right above your head," he turned off the stove.

Reaching up to grab one, he turned and accidentally bumped into me. Without really realizing what we were doing, he had my shirt off and was laying me on the tile floor. He was pulling my pants off before I could exhale; his jeans already around his knees. In a fluid movement he had my hips in the air and he was jerkily pushing his erection into my body. Moaning, I wrapped my legs around his lower back and met him stroke for stroke as he pounded himself into me. Setting my hips on the floor, he placed his hands on either side of my chest; bringing his head down enough to kiss me as he continued to hammer his massive self into my comparatively small body.

His lips silenced my screams of ecstasy as each penetration brought me closer and closer to orgasm. Twisting my arms around his, I raised my hips and arched my spine as the pressure in my abdomen finally released with a scream. Clenching my muscles, it didn't really register in my mind as Andrews's cock was spasming within me; hot liquid splashing against the internal end of me. Panting, he carefully let his weight drop onto me; his body pinning me to the floor.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he gasped, sliding his arms between me and the tile.

Remaining silent, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and set my feet on the floor; my legs bent and raising my hips a little. The alteration in angle deepened the length at which he was penetrating me. A soft moan escaped my lips as he slowly, tantalizingly slid himself in and out of me. The pressure began to build again as his solidness caressed my insides, the head of him bumping against me every so often. Capturing my lips, he silenced my scream as he brought me again and again until he joined me; his cock jerking inside me with a muffled gasp.

"I think breakfast has gotten cold," he chuckled, slowly sitting up and easing out of me.

Pulling my pants back on, he handed me my shirt as he stood; waiting for me to slip it on before helping me to my feet. Leaning against the counter, I reached up to the cupboard and managed to grab a glass without anything going 'wrong'. Pouring myself a glass of milk, I stuck the jug back in the fridge and retreated to the bedroom. Locking the door, I curled up in one of the darker corners and drifted back to sleep.

My dreams were different -- no longer the repeat performance of the torture. Instead, it was a replay of my brother's frat buddy and everything he did to me. The smashing-in of a door jolted me awake; Andrews already pulling me into his arms and slowly rocking me until the horrid high-pitched noise stopped. Had I been screaming? Possibly. It wouldn't have been the first time. Really opening my eyes, I managed to notice his gun sitting on the floor beside him.

"Just a nightmare," I assured him.

"Sounded more like bloody murder," he chuckled, loosening his arms the tiniest bit.

"Oh, it will be," the phantom of my nightmares smirked, reclining in the corner across from us. "I'm going to have so much fun with you after the trouble you put me through. And finding you! I had to torture so many people that just weren't my type. You did get my gift, didn't you? That girl by the bay? She looked so much like you, before I opened her up that is. Though she screamed for me. One thing I regret is that you never did Melaney."

Screeching, I bolted upright and cracked my head against Andrews's. Punching wildly, he pinned my arms and held me to his warm chest until I calmed down.

"You're okay. No one knows you're here," he whispered. "I put a call through and everyone thinks I moved you out of the country."

Calming down a little, I stared blankly at the corner I had been curled in. "How did I get onto the bed? I remember falling asleep in the corner," I dug my nails into his back.

"I actually don't know. When I came in here you were already tucked under the covers," he frowned. "I haven't seen or heard anyone come in here. And the door was unlocked."

"I distinctly remember locking it. Maybe the mechanism is jammed?" I offered hopefully.

"Can't be. I checked it when we first arrived," he dashed my half-conceived hope.

"Okay, so was that sex in the kitchen another part of my fucked up dream?" I shook my head. "I remembered his face this time. I never remember his face."

"First part wasn't part of dreamland. Isn't remembering his face a good thing? We can identify him now," he held me a little tighter.

"It's not a good thing. He hasn't been caught because he's dead. He died last weekend," I shuddered. "It was my brother."