The Dead World Ch 17

Author's Note:

As usual I would like to thank

MediocreAuthor

for her keen eye as my beta-reader, and

LanaN

for offering her editing expertise.

The following Chapter and this Series overall, exists in a dark vein of a Post-Apocalyptic world overshadowed by fragmented morality, violence, survival and psychologically compelling scenes that may be unsuitable for sensitive audiences.

This Chapter contains elements of violence, coercive forced sexual encounters, and descriptions of sexual servitude.

I ask that you please read no further if you are triggered by these topics as described or simply find them unappealing. All scenes depicted are entirely fictional and penned for mature audiences for the purpose of dark entertainment with erotic horror in mind.

Reader discretion is advised.

Dove stirred from the depths of a nightmare by her own voice, caught in a scream. The phantoms of some abject horror caused sweat to glisten upon her brow and dampen her dark curls against her neck. As she ripped herself to the world of the conscious, her eyes went wide, struggling to free herself from the hotel comforter. She was quick to rise to her feet, trying to regain control over her breathing as she shifted away from the bed to peer nervously through the dark curtains covering the glass doors at the back of the suite. She wasn't certain what she was checking for. The sky was still angry, and growing darker. As her panic and terror subsided, her mind jolted and fed back the last forty-eight hours...

Her duty into the group flooded her mind front and center, along with the realizations of the events that had passed in the last few days... the fleeting moments of reluctance, when she had gone to Diablo, and even smaller yet moments of bliss after talking Dog down from certain foolishness. Her expression soured for a moment as she swiped a long sleeve along her forehead. Second to invade her thoughts was the very real truth, that she was now very much alone. That Daniel had now seemingly vanished, without so much as a word goodbye. She pressed the lingering sadness and anxiety from her mind, looking around the unfamiliar and cluttered room as she gathered her thoughts.

Where had she kicked her boots?

Her eyes searched the chaos in the dim lighting, shoving the heaviness she felt weighing in her mind away. She buried the fleeting emotions of fear from a nightmare she could no longer recall deep down right alongside the painful loneliness she was now looking forward to without the boyish teenager to help her through it. Dove's eyes searched hurriedly in the dimly lit room, snagging her leather jacket from the chair near the patio door only moments before the realization sunk in.

She was standing among a minefield of weapons.

Dove stopped entirely as she looked around her at the ample supply of firearms and open cartridge cases. Slash was either overconfident, or a complete fucking idiot to leave her here alone with a literal arsenal. Or maybe he was relying on the fact that despite every hellish turn of events and unfortunate hand she had been dealt, Dove only ever fought for her freedom, never for revenge. For a moment, Dove stared down at the items of violence. She didn't know the first thing about handling semi-automatic weapons. She had a chance to free herself, staring her in the face.

Her hands trembled. She swallowed hard, and her mind raced with a million and one possibilities. Sinful, violent thoughts battled wildly against her subtle morality and the very essence of her gentle soul. Dove had been through absolute hell in the last month. At least two of these men deserved a death sentence--a fate even worse than that--she had no doubt in her mind about it.

She reached down and hoisted the heavy, dark metal AR-15 into her arms and struggled with her inexperience to remove the magazine. Dove wasn't even certain she knew what she was checking for, or doing with the large gun in her arms, but why should she not figure it the fuck out? Why not kill Skully and Slash?

Why not kill

all

of them?

The complacency in her enslavement was worthy of death too, wasn't it? She gritted her teeth as hateful malice polluted her mind, testing her finger on the trigger.

This isn't who you are.

Her inner voice was a soft echo across a sea of turbulent thoughts. Sorrowful. Absolute.

She gritted her teeth hard and slowly angled the barrel to the ground. It wasn't a course of action she took lightly, but it was something she felt she

had

to do. The impulsive, violent decision was embattled against her conscience as her deep brown eyes shifted toward the door. Fragments of the living hell she had found herself in shifted through her mind, and her anxiety spiked. Slash would be back soon. She didn't have time to fight with her conscience over it.

If she was going to do this, she had to do it now.

She felt as if she was burning in this room despite the low temperature. It was steadily dropping as the sun disappeared, but that did not stop droplets of sweat from blossoming over her skin, her palms clammy and hot. Dove felt as if the walls were closing in on her; trying their hardest to suffocate her. It was hard to think clearly. She couldn't even remember the nightmare that had terrified her from her sleep, but she didn't doubt it featured her greatest enemy, and perhaps even his accomplice. Hands upon her body, lips upon her lips, fingers around her throat...

If you do something like this, there's no going back... and you

know

when you're standing there ready to pull the trigger that you're

not going to

. Don't even let that evil tempt you. Just put it down.

"I want to do it..." she whispered viciously into the silence of the room, arguing against herself.

You don't.

You won't.

Skully will take it right out of your hands... and then what?

The thought caused every muscle in her body to go rigid. The pulsating lust for violence subsided, overcome by something far more sinister...

her fear of that damning certainty.

It was something she knew would be true. He'd take the gun right from her hands before she had let her hatred consume her enough to pull the trigger... and then?

There was no doubt he would have something wicked, degrading, or absolutely humiliating in mind in retaliation. He would cherish the chance to punish her and feed off of her fear and crumbling resolve as he forced pleasure and pain on her. His determined intent on breaking her spirit and conditioning her to fear and obey won when pitted against her hatred.

Dove drew in a deep, frustrated breath and threw the weapon down. Terror quickly consumed her resentment, and gave way now to frustrated annoyance as she set her sights on the door. She cursed herself inwardly as she released the lock, the deadbolt and security bolt, storming out into the hall. She didn't want to sit and wait for Slash to return. With or without Dog, she already knew what to expect from him, and she had never felt so frustrated and conflicted.

The sickening churning of her conscience waging war against her malice only seemed to make her feel even more livid and powerless. The door of the suite swung closed behind her as she made her way down the hall, her angry gaze racing over the very crowded lobby. The men had assembled just about everything they needed to evacuate the resort.

She felt broiling anger at that, finding herself met with an impulsive and vicious desire to tip the diesel barrel over and set the entire fucking lobby on fire. Charlie stood there just at the mouth of the eastern hall, all but shaking as her rage flared, as her sensible mind tried its hardest to pull her back from the chaotic ledge. She could doom them all. She could take one of those walkie-talkies and call out over every channel and rain hell upon the group that had brought her nothing but suffering.

Then where would you be? A slave to a different bunch of fucking psychopaths--if Skully doesn't kill you first? Or is

that

what you're trying to do? Get yourself killed... to satisfy your hatred?

Her chiding conscience once again pulled her back from her impulsive desires to sabotage and lash out at the group in her anguish and sorrow. Slash would be back before long. If she were so fortunate, he would have Dog with him. The thought brought her the smallest sliver of peace, and soothed her weariness and anger.

Get ahold of yourself, Charlie...

She shut her eyes for a moment as she found comfort in something so simple as her name echoing in her mind. Charlie... She was still in there somewhere, wasn't she? She drew in a slow breath and exhaled from her lips as she regained control. She repeated the action again and again. Deep breath in. Hold. Deep breath out.

Finally, she nodded her head to no one in particular as she grounded herself and worked her way down from the amplifying thoughts of aggression. She felt her body relaxing. Her pulse slowed.

You're strong. You're not a quitter. You're going to figure it out.

The sudden shifting of the doors shook her from her internal struggle. She watched them being pried apart and closed promptly afterwards. Ruthless paused there in the wide foyer, realizing almost immediately that he wasn't alone. A beam of vibrant light from a strong flashlight shifted across the lobby and settled on her pretty face, and at that Ruthless gave a quiet sigh of his own before speaking in his typical brooding, gruff voice.

"

Dobryi vecher...

"

Dove was unsure of the meaning, but with the firm bow of his head in the dusky twilight glow falling over the quiet world beyond the glass doors behind him, she assumed he was greeting her for the evening. She nodded a greeting of her own and crossed her arms instinctively over her chest as she spoke in a tone barely above a whisper, "Hi, Ruthless."

"You are to be staying safe, da? Dog, Diablo? Oz?" The older man's heavily accented words were powerful, but not too difficult to decipher now that she was accustomed to hearing him.

Dove nodded her head in solemn agreement despite the fact that it felt farthest from the truth. Even when Skully was no longer around her, he was tormenting her still, even in her sleep. The sudden appearance of another man on her list churned thoughts most troubling as her eyes flitted away from him, down to the tiles of the floor beneath her boots.

"I'm not sure where Diablo and Oz are... I... I just woke up a little while ago. Dog has been missing since this morning. Slash went out looking for him," Dove murmured.

Ruthless scoffed at the mention of the mechanic, and gently let the semi-automatic rifle sweep slowly from his arms. He closed the space between them slowly, mindful of the fact that Charlotte was easily startled, and that he was much larger than she was by comparison. He stopped at a distance and lowered the light from her with concern over his usually stoic, strong features.

"You are well, and fed? Come. You are to stay safe." He did not linger in front of her for very long, beckoning for her to follow as he started off at a swift pace down the western hall. She hesitated, but only for a moment, before hurrying after him. Dove had to nearly jog to keep up with his pace as he made his way to the end of the dark hall and turned right at the very end.

They were swift to pass the gym, and the double doors leading to the indoor pools as they traveled down into the depths of the resort. The scent of char and smoke was still heavy further down the hall, off toward the industrial kitchen, from the fire that Dog had set as a distraction weeks back. But once they entered a set of double doors to the left side, the smell of burning vanished. The tall space of the Oasis Palms restaurant and bar stretched high above, and the polished marble flooring could serve easily as a ballroom once cleared of tables and restaurant decor.

Twilight shone through the floor to ceiling windows to the far left of them, but that didn't stop Ruthless from moving to lighting the pillar candles that had once decorated the many tables of the dining room now lined up along the bar. It seemed almost ritualistic, the way he brought light to the room now. She realized quickly that when not posted up in the lobby or in his room, Ruthless was likely spending his time here, and that was why she saw him so rarely compared to everyone else.

"I nearly forgot this place existed. I almost never came in here when I was here alone..." A small smile tugged the corners of her lips as she ventured around the open room curiously. She moved to the grand piano in the far corner, her fingers skipping over a few dusty keys before Ruthless beckoned her over. She didn't ignore him as he rummaged through a large backpack placed on one of the bar stools, offering to her bits of the gathered rations stored inside; MREs, and dried strips of venison one of the men had placed into the dehydrator before they cut the power. Likely well before Dog set fire to the kitchen, too.

Dove was certain she could have done a better job drying and curing the venison, but beggars certainly couldn't be choosers. She moved to the bar just beside the tall, muscular man who so graciously offered what he deemed the better half of his rations. Given her state of hunger that seemed constant these days as tensions ran high and winter fell into full swing, she didn't think to complain as he activated the flameless heating elements and made the best of the packaged spaghetti in beef sauce. She leisurely made her way behind the bar to tease the dusty glasses with amusement, taking one of the tall glasses and filling it with water, one for herself and the other for Ruthless, as he prepared supper for them in silence.

She had hardly noticed his eyes on her, not until she looked up as she passed his glass across, the clear shade of blue a touch more gentle than that of Colton's piercing gaze and slightly less worn than that of Oz's deep blue eyes. His eyes were pretty, like robin's eggs. Dove felt her face flush ever so slightly, and as he placed the hot ready-made meal before her she forced a smile over her lips with twinges of guilt tickling her subconscious as she played back her earlier hellish fury inspired by a nightmare she could no longer recall. Not all of them deserved to die.

Some...

but not all.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"You are welcome." The heavily accented words came with the slightest touch of amusement, as if the formality of manners was some great and impressive thing. She turned around and hunted for a set of silverware, running the dusty pieces beneath the tap, her eyes slowly shifting over the contents of the bar, row upon row of bottled spirits in various stages of use. Many of them were unopened. She couldn't help but to grin, offering a fork first to Ruthless before snagging a bottle of sweet red wine and turning to offer it to him as a bartender might display a lovely vintage.

"A glass of wine with your meal tonight, sir? It's half off." The grin upon her lips accompanied a giggle, and she watched perhaps for the first time ever Ruthless' lips push into a smile.

"I will have

Stolichnaya,

neat, little bar keeper... and also, to complain to your manager. The service here is... very poor." He arched a brow in amusement as Dove giggled again, playing along as she went to shift through the various assortments of alcohol. She pulled a tall red labeled bottle from among the gathering of them and turned to present it to Ruthless with wicked delight.

"We're a little understaffed tonight, sir, my humblest apologies--I am also the manager, so you'll just have to fucking deal with it." Dove grinned cheekily and ran a set of shot glasses under the tap, placing them on the bar before dragging one of the stools positioned back behind it to sit just across from him, filling the tall shot glasses for them both. "I didn't know you spoke English so well. The others made it seem like you only knew a few words."

"When you are living the end days... you learn quickly. I say what is needed and only that.

Vashe zdorov'ye."

He lifted the shot glass, inspiring Dove to do the same, clinking her shot glass against his before tilting back her head and swallowing down the cool liquid. The rush of fire she exhaled caused her to cough gently, her nose wrinkling, and Ruthless couldn't help the boisterous laughter that escaped his lips to her response as he nodded to her meal. "Eat, da? Oh... leave the bottle."

Dove didn't complain in the slightest over the meal, nor the company. She couldn't place her finger on it, but Ruthless, for as large and intimidating a man as he could be, seemed to exude a sense of calm and security to him that his companions lacked. She had felt uncomfortable around everyone but Dog, now more than ever. This man of very few words, however? She hadn't the smallest inclination to be fearful of him. She saw no dark, predatory essence in his eyes when he looked down on her. He seemed almost too eager to keep his distance from her, and had only ever spoken to her kindly and with concern. For that, she was grateful.

Ruthless had poured himself another shot, taking his time in leisure to eat, before Dove reached for the bottle. He arched a thick brow curiously before nodding his head to her. She had downed a glass or two of water well beforehand, and as she refilled the shot glasses, she rose again to toast.

"Vashe zdorov'ye."

He raised his glass.

"Vashazrovya!" Dove grinned wide as she butchered his native 'cheers'. Ruthless chuckled deeply at her thought to at least attempt, shaking his head before they tossed back the shots and Dove sighed aloud and crossed her arms over the bar top, drawing swirls in the layer of dust over the black marble bar top.

"What do you miss the most... about before?"

"The most? My family... and then

Borscht."

He smirked as he opened the packaged venison jerky, and offered the bag to her across the bar top as an uneasy silence settled between them for a moment. Small talk was rare in the world now. The silence was not so deafening anymore, but it was expected.

"What... happened to them?" She wasn't certain what inspired her to ask such an awfully personal question. It could have easily been the alcohol already working its way into her system, and she watched his expression grow solemn in the candlelight. He leaned back on the bar seat that seemed dreadfully disproportionate to his large frame, and he shook his head slowly.

"Married... two daughters." His brow furrowed slightly. "They would be a little older than you. We are visiting to California, to my wife's mother and father. When things went badly, we were taken to 'safe area.' The military began to execute... My wife fell to the bullet. We fled to the water and there... gunfire, infection, the crowd panic... many people fell. The ferry would wait for none." His tone was like stone as he described his loss, and again fell silent. She swallowed hard, and her eyes shifted to the bar top, nodding her head in dreadful understanding.

It was a horrible thing to survive... losing your family in such an awful way. She didn't dare to press for further detail as she quietly brought yet another full shot to her lips and tilted back her head. Before the end of the world, she'd have never thought to drink much more than a glass of wine, let alone straight shots of liquor. But now? Dove was far too content to drink her troubles into oblivion. She welcomed the warmth that spread through her and the haze which clouded her mind, so full of troubles and fears.

"I... had that feeling." She was quiet as she sought to nibble a few bits of dried venison. "You remind me a bit of my dad. He'd have humored me playing pretend even with... well, with things so fucked up like they are."