Chapter 7

NOW

God, I hope this works.

I took a deep breath, knowing the worst was over. His response to my opening indicated he understood I was in trouble. Now came the tough part.

Martin had taken great pleasure in spelling out his plans for Peter, including my part in them. I don't know why he had such a hard-on for my husband, but it was obvious from his tone earlier that he had nothing but contempt for Peter. It was also obvious he didn't just want to kill Peter, but to screw with his mind as well. My part in Martin's little psychodrama was to pretend I was in on the plot and rub Peter's nose in it. Martin had even written a little speech for me. Apparently, he hoped to insult and demoralize Peter just before killing him. Each time he mentioned killing him, Martin got a superior little smile on his face. He apparently his plan was so smart that no one would ever tie him to Peter's death. Still, he was tight-lipped about what would happen — he didn't trust me not to blab all to Peter, not even with Charlie and Chet as hostages. He never counted on having to kill Rose, but it wasn't her death that really bothered him... it was her disloyalty. He was family, and he had expected her to just do what he said and be okay with it — no matter that he was committing a crime and involving the rest of us at gunpoint. However, in his mind, I was already disloyal; his conviction and subsequent exile from Vegas had cemented what side I would be on if it came to a choice between Peter or him. That's why he blindfolded me and moved us to a cheap room somewhere off the Strip. I was sitting on the bed when he handed me a piece of paper and told me he wanted to rehearse what I was going to say to Peter when he phoned later.

After the first time, when I just read it through without even trying to hide my contempt for the words, he made it very clear how much his hatred for me might even go deeper than mine for him. He slapped me once, then again... and then, without warning, his fists were hitting me as fast as he could strike, hitting me anywhere on my body there was an opening. He got in a few solid strikes, especially on my face and chest, before I curled into a ball and started screaming at him to stop. He managed to do some damage to my back and legs before he finally stopped hitting me, but when I opened my eyes again, the expression of rage and madness on his face made me realize that, sooner or later, he was going to kill me... and he would take some pleasure in doing so.

And then he looked down at his crotch, and my eyes followed his, and I saw the bulge of what was obviously his cock of his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. He reached down with his right hand and unzipped, tugging aside the fabric of his jockeys, and started stroking the boner sticking straight out from the gap in his pants. He looked down at it with a mixture of wonder and lust, and I knew what was going to happened next before he even said a word. He looked up at me and, seeing where my eyes were focused, his face sprouted a very deranged grin.

"You know," he began, still stroking his cock lovingly, "when they sent me to juvie, I thought I was tough, that I could handle myself. And then, the first night I was there, the four toughest hoods in the place held me down and raped my ass over and over. Apparently, what had happened to you had spread through the grapevine; sister-raper, they kept calling me, as they spit on their hands and used it for lube before they fucked me again." He stepped toward me, still jacking himself, and I slid across the floor, trying to get away from him. "I fought, but not very well. They fucked me, and fucked with my head. When I got out and went into the service, I was so completely fucked up, I didn't even get hard when I saw a sexy woman. Guys would go to whorehouses or find some local talent, and I always begged off because I couldn't get it up." I backed into the wall, looking frantically from side-to-side in hopes of finding a way to escape him. He kept advancing until he stood over me. He seemed to be enjoying everything about this moment, and he bared his teeth at me in a very wolf-like smile.

"But you know what, Sherry? I could jack myself off just fine. Even though no other girls seemed to interest me, I could lie in bed and masturbate and shoot geysers of cum without a problem." He stopped stroking his cock, holding it tightly as his eyes tried to bore a hole into the top of my head. "All I had to do was imagine myself fucking you."

He started leaning toward me, and I tried to avoid him and move to his right, to put the small table under the window between us. He let me get about two feet before he grabbed my hair and yanked me backward, tossing me back against the wall. I was dazed from the impact, and felt more than saw him bend over me. "I imagined myself beating you down, just like I did now, and then fucking your mouth, your pussy, and your ass. And, every time I did, I'd get hard as a crowbar. It wasn't sex, dear sister... it was payback. It was power. I cum thinking I was pouring all my hate and rage into one of your holes, and my cum would explode out of me like it would never end." He leveraged my head up by pulling my hair, forcing me to look into his eyes. "I had plans to see what it was like to fuck you after I'd killed your husband. I thought maybe, after I get paid for this job, I'd take you down to Mexico and fuck you until I got tired of you... and prove to myself that I could fuck other women once I'd finally made it right with you." He pulled me forward, close enough to feel the spittle hit my face as he hissed the words through his teeth, still bared in that crazy grin. "I figured after a few weeks of non-stop beating and fucking, you'll just be my pliant little fuck toy again, just like you were when I sold you to the boys at school... just lying on the bed and taking whatever happened without a word. And then, once I'm tired of playing with you..." his voice dropped to a growl, "... I can finally get rid of you like the garbage that you are." He used my hair to whip my head back against the wall before letting me go. I sat there, stunned.

"It's so much fun to think about fucking you that I feel like giving you an installment payment on what will be coming your way after I kill the motherfucker tomorrow. But..." he hesitated, stroking his cock faster, "if I do, I know that that's all I'll want to do, and you'll hardly be in any shape to help me with my plan. And I want that almost as much as I want my cock splitting your pussy. So we'll just have to let it be, for now." I heard his breath grow ragged, and realized what he was doing, but still couldn't move. "So to hold you in the meantime... here's... a... little... taste..." He gasped and then bellowed, sounding triumphant as the first spurt of cum hit me on the top of the head. Four more times cum came shooting out of his cock, and I could feel it dripping down my scalp onto my forehead. I didn't look up at him or move to keep his goo from slowly sliding down the rest of my face. He finished wanking himself, and then brought his cock close to my face. He may have given a moment's thought to putting it in my mouth, but instead chose to grab some of my hair, using it to try to clean off any spunk that might be left. When he was done, he tucked his cock back in his pants, zipped up, and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Just think about this, sister dear. I can think of a million ways to make your life hell once I'm done with your husband, and not all of them have to do with what I'll do to you. Think about what a good price Charlie and Chet would bring if I were to auction them off to some pedophile. Maybe you could even watch them being broken in while I let some migrant worker fuck you like a back alley hooker for a couple of bucks." The snide superiority was back in his voice now, as he regained control of himself. "There are a million different ways I can hurt you, and that's a long, long time before I let you die. Your husband doesn't know it yet, but he's messed with something that belongs to me... and I'm taking it back." He looked down at me, sneering. "Go get yourself cleaned up, whore. Then you and are going to make sure that what comes out of your mouth convinces your husband that you are the most conniving, black-hearted slut he could every imagine." I didn't say anything, and made no move to get up. "I... said... GO!!" He kicked my leg for emphasis. I slowly pushed my way to my feet and headed to the bathroom. Before I could get past him, he grabbed my arm. "Already falling back into your old habits, huh?" he said, squeezing my arm tightly. I didn't flinch and didn't say a word. He held his grip for a moment, then chuckled as he let go. "Good. Do as you're told and just let it happen. Things will work out much better for you in the end. Now go." He swatted my ass to get me moving again.

When I got to the bathroom, I stripped down, hanging my slacks and blouse over the hook on the back of the door. I turned the taps on and sat down on the lowered toilet seat to wait for the water to warm up. I could see bruises beginning to form in the places where his fists had struck me, and knew my face would be a mess when I finally looked in a mirror after showering. That was the least of my concerns.

I knew the asshole had a gun, and he was stronger than me, so unless he got really careless, I knew there was no way I was going to get away from him. He also knew where Charlie and Chet were, and Peter and I would need that information to try to get them back. While all I really wanted to do was cut his dick off — or bite it off if he gave me the opportunity — I knew I needed to play the silent, passive sister until I at least had the chance to give Peter what information I could.

As I climbed into the shower, one thing Martin had said kept running through my mind. "As soon as I get paid for this job," he'd said. He kept saying he was going to kill Peter out of anger, but... what if someone put him up to it? Someone who wanted Peter dead, and was using Martin to do the dirty deed? The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Deranged asshole brother kills his family and new brother-in-law, and then winds up dead himself. Police look at his background, especially what he did to me, and then say he was likely looking for revenge or some other nonsense, and the case is closed without another word... just another set of dead bodies for the Vegas morgue.

But who? That's the question that kept gnawing at me as I practiced Martin's little speech. By the time he was satisfied with it, I'd begun finding places that I could change a word or a line here or there, shade the meaning a little, and give a few hints as to what was happening to Peter. Obviously, Martin wasn't going to be in the room when I was talking, which meant I would have some leeway to improvise. I could only hope that it might give Peter some edge, some way to act that would keep him from getting killed. Then maybe the rest of us would have a chance, too.

Once Martin was satisfied, I feigned sleep while he watched television. I kept hoping he would go to the bathroom or get some ice or something, but he only moved to check his watch, which happened every few minutes. About two hours passed before he finally got up and went to the telephone beside the bed, dialing a three digit number. It apparently took a few rings before anyone answered on the other end.

"Yeah, she's here. It took a little persuasion, but she's ready to play her part. When are you coming over?" He checked his watch again while the other person spoke. "Good. That'll give me enough time to get over to the house and be waiting for the motherfucker when he drives up." He listened to the other voice, then laughed loudly. "You're paying me to kill the man, but you don't want me to call him names? That's rich! You'd think he was still family from the noise you're making! Why don't you just go over to the house and give him a hug and drink some wine!" The voice at the other end of the phone grew louder. "Just make sure you're over here on time. And make sure my cash is ready when I get back... I'll be leaving for Mexico with my 'family' as soon as the job's done." He slammed the phone down angrily. "Fuckin' dagos." He sat heavily on the bed beside me.

I ran the conversation over in my mind until I thought I had a clear picture in my head of what must have happened to get us all into this mess. Martin, you have truly fucked everybody this time! I could just see Martin getting his information about Peter and deciding on some cockamamie blackmail scheme. However, before he can decide how to make contact, Peter starts dating me. Now, it's personal. Instead of going after Peter for money, he now has a chance for some revenge, on me and, because he sees me as his property, on Peter as well. So he goes to the family and lays the whole thing out... including how he and I are related. Suddenly, Peter is a walking corpse just looking for a place to fall. Whatever Martin's plan is, the family likes it well enough to put it into action... and why shouldn't they? If Martin kills Peter but gets caught, he's a rapist who killed his sisters and Peter in a deranged rage. He'd likely end up dead before he could even be arraigned. If he succeeds and somehow kills Peter without raising suspicion, he'd still be dead... only he'd just disappear, along with me and the kids. And if Peter survives, Martin will still be the one to blame, so there'd be no reason for him to look for revenge elsewhere. Very neat, all thanks to her asshole brother... and Peter's asshole brother.