Damned and Cursed (Book 2): Witch's Kurse (8 page)

Now for the person at the door.

Whoever it was knocked once again.
 
They weren't going away.

Martin grabbed his favorite knife from the kitchen as he made his way through.
 
He cast it a quick, loving glance.
 
It was an old knife, and he'd used it many times to punish his other girls.
 
Sometimes he'd punish them, ever so slightly, along the legs and arms, and then give the blade a rinse before cutting up steak or chicken for dinner.

He hid the knife behind him as he cracked open the back door.

His brow furrowed at the stranger on his step.
 
He didn't know the man from the neighborhood, never seen him before in his life.
 
Six foot tall with dark hair.
 
A simple pair of jeans with a white dress shirt, open at the collar.
 
A business casual type look.
 
Good looking guy with sharp features, a strong jaw.

"Hello, sir!" he said cheerfully.
 
"Wonderful day, isn't it?
 
I was hoping I could have a moment of your time."

A solicitor, was Martin's first thought.
 
A man wandering door-to-door, either selling a product or religion, neither of which he had any use for.

"Get the fuck off my property," Martin hissed.

He tried to shut the door, but the salesman managed to wedge his foot in between the door and jamb, holding it open several inches.

The salesman leaned forward.
 
His pleasant demeanor was gone.

"Let the girl walk out of there.
 
Right now.
 
Make this nice and easy.
 
And I promise, I
won't
mutilate you before taking you to the police."

Martin's eyes went wide, and wild thoughts mixed with his instinct for self-preservation.
 
Kill the man.
 
Hide the body.

He threw the door open and stepped forward with the knife, waist high.
 
The plan was simple.
 
Stab the man in the stomach.
 
Drag him into the house.
 
His begging and dying body would even serve as warning to Kara, with one simple message.
 
Obey.

The knife stopped along its path, much sooner than Martin expected.

He looked down.
 
The tip of the blade pinned the saleman's shirt against his stomach, but penetrated nothing.
 
Martin shoved harder, but it was like trying to push the knife through steel.

His eyes met the saleman's.
 
There was a sudden darkness across his face, a sick, twisted smile.
 
For the first time since Martin's father chained him up, along with his mother, he felt true terror.

"And he picks door number two," the salesman said.
 
"We're going to have us some fun."

Jack Kursed threw his shoulder into the door, catching the stalker he himself had been stalking by surprise.
 
The door flew open as Martin fell on his back in the kitchen.
 
He looked up, panic and fear in his eyes, as he scooted away.
 
The knife was still in his hand, and clanged against the floor as he moved.

"Mortals," Jack griped, shaking his head.

"Get out of my house!"

He stepped into the kitchen and turned to close the door behind him.
 
He also pulled the tiny curtains closed.
 
The house was relatively isolated in the neighborhood.
 
Close to the woods, and it was quite a walk up the driveway to make it to the front door.
 
Still, the house was going to be a bloody mess soon.
 
There was nothing wrong with covering the windows.

He turned to see the man on his feet, standing at the doorway between the kitchen and dining room.
 
The man reared the knife back and threw it.
 
It spun as it sailed, cutting through the air, and struck Jack on the cheek.
 
The knife fell to the floor.
 
The tiny cut below his eye healed before the blade bounced off the hardwood.
 
The pain registered only for an instant, and was gone, a reminder that Jack was unlike anything alive that walked.
 
The victim of a witch's curse, immortal.
 
Even vampires and werewolves felt pain.
 
Jack didn't feel anything past a half second.
 
Until recently, he didn't feel much of anything, besides anger.

"That was a nice shot there, Martin.
 
Good aim."

Martin gasped before disappearing into the dining room.
 
Jack laughed.
 
Of course, he would run.
 
Martin's behavior didn't surprise him at all.
 
A typical predator who exerted his will over women and children, but buckled when someone gave him a bloody nose.

Jack would do far more than give him a bloody nose.

"Do you mind if I call you Marty?" he called.

He picked up the knife at his feet.
 
His own blood still covered the tip.
 
Twirling it in his hand, he debated using it on Martin.
 
No doubt Martin had used it in the past with other victims.
 
It would carry a nice sense of irony.
 
It also had been a long time since Jack gave a mortal a good carving.

But this required a more personal touch.
 
He looked at his own hands, and smiled.

The knife wobbled as he slammed it into a wooden cutting board.

He examined his surroundings as he strolled through the kitchen.
 
It was a bachelor pad, but still well decorated.
 
The kitchen was bare and clean.
 
Scattered artwork in the dining room, with a table large enough to fit six people.
 
At first glance, it would be difficult to tell it was the home of a deranged mortal.

However, Jack was more perceptive than most people.
 
A result of occupying his awake mind for nearly two centuries, and, he liked to think, simply by paying attention.

There were pictures on the walls of the dining room which told a typical tale.
 
Pictures of Martin and his parents, and their expressions said it all.
 
Both Martin and his mother reserved, slightly behind the father, with forced smiles, while the father beamed with his arms around both of them.
 
The pictures went forward in time.
 
The fear grew and was easier to see as they aged.
 
The mother disappeared from the pictures first, and the first true smile Martin showed was in the woods when he was a teenager, posing with his father.
 
Probably around the time of his first kill.
 
The father disappeared next, and the rest were just of Martin.

Jack noticed the clip hooks scattered close to the floor in the dining room.
 
He wondered how many mortal girls he kept chained like animals.

"This could have been easy, Marty.
 
But no, not you mortals.
 
You have such weak little minds.
 
Your daddy pushes you around, chains you up as a kid, and instead of simply killing him, like a normal person, you just snap."

"You don't know anything about me!" Martin shouted.
 
"How do you know my name?"

"I've been following you.
 
While you've been following that girl, I've been following you.
 
How does that make you feel?"

"Shut your mouth!"

Jack was halfway through the dining room when he saw a flash of movement in the living room.
 
He saw tan legs from the knees down, feet bound together, a white pair of socks, and two sneakers.
 
The legs disappeared from his limited view, and he knew what he'd see.

He leaned in the doorway, putting his hands in his pockets.
 
Martin had dragged the blond teenager to her feet.
 
Her hands were handcuffed behind her back.
 
He hugged her from behind.
 
One arm was around her waist while he pointed yet another knife at her bare belly.

The teenager was terrified.
 
Red eyes, swollen cheeks, struggling to breathe.
 
The blade dug into her skin just enough to draw blood.
 
The blood trickled down her navel onto her blue shorts.
 
She nearly stumbled once, having a difficult time keeping balance, but Martin held her up.
 
Despite the situation, he kept his nose near her hair, to smell her.

"So," Jack said.
 
"You like to kidnap little girls?"

"You don't know what you're talking about.
 
You don't know me.
 
You don't know…us.
 
This isn't like the others.
 
Kara and I, we love each other."

Kara shook her head violently, indicating
no
.
 
Martin laced a hand through her hair and drew her head back, exposing her neck.
 
He put the blade to her throat.

"Honey, please.
 
I love you.
 
I don't want to hurt you.
 
But so help me, I will kill you if I have to.
 
Do you hear that?" he shouted to Jack.
 
"If I can't have her, so help me God, no one can!
 
I will
kill
her!"

Jack rolled his eyes.
 
He sat on the arm of the couch, strategically in front of a vase on the end table.

"Oh no, dear me," he muttered under his breath.
 
"However will I go on?"

Martin heard the comment, and blinked in surprise.
 
His knife hand trembled.

He was in the middle of making the same mistake every living person, mortal or supernatural, made when dealing with Jack Kursed.

Overestimating Jack's compassion.

"I-I mean it!" Martin stammered.
 
That imposing presence, the strong will he used to break his girls was slowly disappearing.
 
"I'll—"

"Yeah, yeah.
 
I know.
 
You'll kill her.
 
And how exactly does that affect the rest of my day?"

Martin's jaw dropped.
 
He didn't know how to respond.
 
Even Kara was surprised.
 
She kept her eyes locked on Jack.

"Let me explain something to you, Marty.
 
Tonight, I'll have me a nice dinner.
 
I might play with the iPad a little, watch something on TV.
 
I might even see if I can pull off some sexy time with my girlfriend.
 
After that, I'm going to sleep for six glorious, blessed hours.
 
Now, all of that will happen whether the cell-phone-queen there is breathing or not."

The silence stretched.
 
Martin simply stood there, Kara and he both dumbfounded.
 
Jack noticed the TV was on, the audio barely audible.

"Oh, shit," he said, and grabbed the remote from the cushion next to him.
 
He turned the volume up.
 
"Judge Judy is on."

He watched one of his favorite shows for a moment while letting Martin chew on his words.
 
He loved how the good judge would cut down the idiot mortals before her.

He glared at Martin.
 
"In case that was too much for you, let me make it simpler…"
 
The smile left his face.
 
"I don't care."

Martin was trapped.
 
Killing the girl wouldn't benefit him in any way.
 
He knew it, and Jack knew it.
 
It was Martin's move.
 
Jack waited patiently.
 
There were times Jack's patience was stretched, such as the time his best hope for a cure to his curse, Kevin Mishnar, told him he would have to
wait
.
 
But for the most part his patience was extraordinary.
 
After being awake for two centuries, patience was a necessary trait.

There was only one course of action left for Martin to take.
 
Jack simply had to wait for him to make his move.
 
He studied his body language, the twitch under his eye, the shake of his shoulders, and could see the wheels turning in his head.

"Ooh, the pain I'm going to give you, Marty," Jack said.
 
"I told you, if you let her go, you'd be fine.
 
I didn't want the distraction.
 
But now, the gods above will
wince
at what I do to you."

Martin finally caught up and came to the same conclusion Jack had.
 
There was no point in keeping Kara around.
 
She would only hinder his escape.

He shoved her forward.
 
Jack was already on his feet.
 
Kara couldn't keep her balance.
 
She tumbled shoulder and head first into the end table on the opposite side of the couch.
 
The table broke under her weight, and there was a loud popping sound as she crashed to the floor.
 
Perhaps Martin thought Jack would tend to her, but he couldn't have been more wrong.

Jack threw the remote at Martin as he ran for the front door.
 
It struck him in the back, and was just enough to slow him for a second.
 
Then Jack reached for the vase next to him and chucked it across the room.
 
The ceramic object shattered against Martin's head, and he fell to the floor.
 
The knife flew against the wall.