This new series centers on domination and submission, and includes themes within the BDSM sphere. This has slavery themes and has women who are put in submission reluctantly. If any of this is a turnoff, stop reading now.
This series will eventually tie into two of my others; Santo Diablo and Family Submission. These three series exist in the same universe, and will include characters from all three to build a bigger world and deeper story. This first part is a little longer than I usually post and acts as an introduction.
If you take the time to read it through; thank you. I enjoy writing and I hope you enjoy it as well. Let me know what you think.
Assassin Wolf
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise showed, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this story are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are over the age of eighteen, unless otherwise specified.
Crimson Pt. 1 A New Life
I awoke next to my beautiful wife, Amanda. The sun shining through the window of our apartment promised a nice day. She lay there, still sleeping on her back, and I reached over and touched her stomach. Eight and a half months pregnant, I couldn't believe I would have a son in the next few weeks. As my hand caressed her skin, she turned toward me.
"Damn, James, couldn't you let me sleep just a few more minutes?" She asked, yawning.
"I couldn't help it." I replied with a smile. "You looked like a dream laying there. I just had to touch you."
She was a dream; my dream. We knew each other since the second grade. Amanda was always in my class each year. While we weren't best friends, we were friendly with each other. At that age, girls were gross, but I always liked her. When we were in middle school and puberty hit, I was done. Amanda was the only girl I had eyes for. Luckily, she felt the same way. From the first time we kissed, we were inseparable. She was always my guiding light and my conscious.
I leaned over and kissed her.
"Oh baby, you need to brush your teeth." She said, making a face.
"Enjoy it, that may be the last kiss you get." I replied, joking with her.
"Don't say that." She exclaimed. "Never joke about that."
I laughed as she slowly rolled up out of bed and waddled to the bathroom. I walked in a few moments later and started my shower. Half way through my shower, Amanda was brushing her teeth when she called out in pain.
"James, I'm having a contraction." She grimaced and bent over the sink.
I practically jumped out of the shower. I put my arm around her to steady her and walked her back to the bedroom. She sat down in a chair, still in pain. Not a minute later, her nightgown was drenched. Her water broke.
I grabbed the first clothes that I could see and put them on. With the go bag we packed for this occasion, we walked out to my squad car. On the way to the hospital, I put on my lights and siren, turning a twenty-minute drive into ten. I called ahead and there was someone waiting at the entrance with a wheelchair. Being a police officer had some perks.
We went straight to a delivery room. The hospital had these rooms set up specifically for that purpose. They were peaceful, with comfortable lights, aroma therapy, and calming sounds pumped in. They told us to bring some items from home that made Amanda happy, and I set them up. We had pictures of us, of her family, and a large figurine of an angel her grandmother gave her years prior. The nurse hooked her up to the monitors as a precaution and told us to wait.
I sat there with her as she made it through a few contractions. Everything was going according to plan. Suddenly, she doubled over, and the monitors went crazy. Lights started flashing. The machines were beeping incessantly. As I was standing up to get the nurse, the beeping stopped. Amanda went limp, and a long steady tone was the only sound I heard. I ran to the door and yelled for help. People came rushing past me into the room. I was trying to get back to Amanda, pushing through the gaggle that surrounded her. Someone grabbed me and pulled me back, then pushed me out into the hall.
Twenty minutes passed, and I was beside myself. I paced back and forth, not knowing what was happening. More people entered the room. Some came rushing out just to run back in moments later. I asked them what was happening. I begged them to tell me. No one said a word.
When the door opened for the last time, I knew immediately she was gone. The look on the doctor's face said it all. He couldn't make eye contact until he started talking. He told me what happened, but I couldn't understand what he was saying beyond my wife and son were dead. My head spun. I stood against the wall, then slid down until I was sitting. I put my head down and cried.
I heard a faint beeping sound that continued to get louder. When it reached the point of hurting my ears, I raised my head and saw Amanda in front of me. She was no longer pregnant, but looked like she did on our wedding day. She appeared angelic in her white dress. It flowed around her, shimmering in the light. She bent down and I could smell her lavender body lotion. She took my face in her hands and said, "James, it's time to wake up." My eyes traveled through the open door beyond her to the angel figurine I set up an hour prior.
I opened my eyes and sat staring at the same angel figurine from that morning, sitting next to my alarm clock. Fuck, I hate that dream. That was twenty-one years ago, the day I lost my wife and son. I felt a tear running down my face. The emotions from that day were as vivid to me laying in my bed alone as they were that morning.
To no one in particular, I said, "I can't wait for this life to be over."
That was all I wanted. I was not, however, someone that could take his own life. Amanda didn't believe in that, and I continued living for her. I stood up and stumbled into the bathroom, running over the aftermath of that day. Almost the entire precinct attended her funeral. My lieutenant told me to take a few weeks off, and I complied.
That gave me time to pick up a nice alcohol dependency, which I have to this day. I returned to work, but my enthusiasm disappeared. I was a decent cop. Well, I thought so. Truth was, I barely put in any effort. After so many years of service, I made detective. I do not know how. Someone probably felt sorry for me. Along with the way I worked vice, and I came to know many of the women who worked the streets. I felt a connection with them; my life was just as screwed up as theirs.
As I moved up and transferred to another department, I never lost touch with those women. They knew me, and they knew I wouldn't hassle them. I did what I could. I brought them food and often had something hot for them to drink on chilly nights.
My career finally brought me to where I am today; missing persons. You may ask why not homicide? That department is for the dedicated detectives, the golden children of the force. I was nowhere near that. My reputation was as a lazy drunk. It was accurate, so I couldn't argue with it. Some days I didn't know why they kept me. That's ok, it brought a paycheck, and that's all that mattered.
I climbed out of the shower and dressed. I chose the least dirty of my shirts and thought it might be a good idea to do laundry later. While I walked to the kitchen, I vainly attempted to smooth the wrinkles out and put on my tie. I needed something to eat, but the only thing that greeted me was a single bottle of beer in the refrigerator. Well, add shopping to my list of things to do.
I grabbed the beer and what remained of an almost empty bottle of bourbon on the counter next to it. Barley, Hops, Wheat, and Rye. That sounded like the breakfast of champions, so I downed both and left my apartment. As I closed the door, memories of walking through that same door with my wife came flooding back. I could see her anticipation and excitement the first time we walked in. It was our first and only place together. It might be my last.
The neighborhood had seen better days, and the building looked like it should be condemned. My rent actually went down, and most people wondered why I still lived there. I didn't have a choice. My wife was there. I put my head down and walked out to my car.
I needed to lose weight. Over the years, I gained a few pounds. While I wasn't fat, I certainly wasn't in shape. I climbed into my police issued vehicle, a black sedan, and drove to work. After parking it near the precinct, I walked across the street to the neighborhood market. It was larger than a bodega, but smaller than a grocery store. It had a decent selection of fruits and vegetables, along with everything else you would expect. It was my primary source of food, and conveniently, the liquor store was right next door.
As I walked up, I saw Brenda walking in. She was one prostitute that worked the streets around that area, and I knew her well. I always thought she looked out of place. She never had the telltale signs of drug abuse, nor had I ever witnessed her drinking anything alcoholic. She was twenty-eight years old and looked to be in good shape. Larger C cup breasts and wide hips combined with a small waist gave her a stunning hourglass figure. She stood 5'8 inches tall, but in her three-inch heels, was only two inches shorter than me. She wore brunette hair that hung down to her upper back. Her heels were off this morning and she now wore a pair of flats.
"Good morning, Brenda." I called out. "I hope you're having a splendid morning."
She turned around quickly and smiled. "Oh, good morning, Detective Greene. Yes, it looks like a beautiful day."
