Page 1 of Hollyhocks

Before Creed (In Honeysuckles, Book One) was able to break everyone free

I’m dying.

I never thought those words would play through my mind so soon. I’m so young. I have so much life left to live, but I won’t get to see it. The only thing I have right now is my imagination. I’m dreaming of the future I’ll never have as I’m strapped to a cold table, my skin burning as if kerosene is being pumped through my veins.

“I had high hopes for you.”

One of the doctors who kidnapped me from outside of the dance studio I own sits down on the edge of the table. From here, I can see his glasses need cleaning. Smudges are all over the frames from his greasy fingers.

I told myself I would never give these doctors the satisfaction of seeing me cry or beg. They want my tears to add to their little data collection, and I refuse to let them have it.

“You are magnificent. Such a beautiful creature you’ve turned into.” His fingers trace the horns protruding from my forehead. “These were created by the succubus DNA. Extraordinary.”

A new feature I didn’t have when I was human.

When I was human.

I never thought I’d hear those words from myself either.

“God, look at you.” Glasses, as I call him, grips the horns with both hands, stroking them with fascination.

I can’t reply. The group of doctors has covered my mouth with a disgusting leather strap, and by the taste of it, I’m not the only one they have used it on. They learned that because of the DNA splicing the doctors have done on me, my voice puts them in a trance and weakens them to my will.

I wish I had known that trick sooner.

Maybe then I wouldn’t be on my deathbed. Maybe then, I’d be able to fight for myself.

I can smell his desire as he traces the ridges of my horns. The putrid scent lands on my over-sensitized tongue, and I can taste the bitterness of his greed.

“You’re so stunning. It’s a shame, really.” He takes off the round frames he wears perched at the end of his nose, wipes the lenses with his shirt, then puts them back on. He smiles when he can see me again, showing me his cigarette-stained teeth.

I mumble behind the leather strap, “Fuck you” but it’s barely audible.

“What a naughty mouth.” With a sigh, he backhands me across the cheek. The slap echoes in the small enclosure of the room. “You need to remember who has the power here and it certainly is not you.”

I don’t whimper. I don’t scream in pain as my cheek burns from the harsh force. Blood fills my mouth. Iron floods my taste buds. Anger slips down my throat as the hatred for my enemy fills me.

My eyes swim with tears but I refuse to let one drop fall unless it’s over his dead body. By then, they would be tears of happiness.

He looms over me, his nose nearly touching mine, and his hand wraps around my throat. “It’s a good thing I can’t remove the strap from your mouth or it’s a hole I’d be desperate to fill.”

His finger slides down my chest and the touch hurts, igniting the nerves that are already on fire to a scorching, uncomfortable blaze that brings searing pain. I bite the inside of my cheeks, refusing to make one singular noise that sounds like pain.

“You probably have another few hours before your heart gives out,” he whispers, trailing his fingers under the curve of my breasts before gliding down my stomach. “You would have been a beautiful specimen, but your body is fighting the DNA too hard. You’re rejecting all the gifts we are giving you. Why are you doing that? Why are you not accepting all the strengths, all the wonders, and all the power?”

“I don’t care about power.” The words are, once again, muffled by the strap. My wrists are bound. Each ankle is confined to the table. I have no chance to move or protect myself from this monster.

They might have turned me into a creature I don’t recognize, but the real monsters here are the men who kidnapped me outside of my own business. The only thing I remember about my previous life was how I was a pole dancing instructor during the day and a bartender at night.

I loved seeing women build confidence in themselves and their bodies. I loved when my clients would come up to me with tears in their eyes saying how I saved their marriages. Itwasn’t because of pole dancing, and I’m sure that helped, but the confidence ignited a spark inside them again. A spark that had disappeared. I think a lot of people need to remember that. A spark might fizzle out, but it can always be reignited with a little effort.

The bartending was for a whole other reason. I loved being behind the bar, flirting, and eating up the desire men always gave me. Pouring drinks was an excellent way to make some extra cash. Who doesn’t love to receive attention? If someone says they don’t, I’d call them a liar. It always feels good to be appreciated in the right way and circumstances.

Don’t get me wrong, I hated being cornered to give attention to a man. I’d give my energy and desire to who I fucking wanted, when I fucking wanted, and if any man had an issue with it, I had a baseball bat and a Glock behind the bar I wasn’t afraid to use.

I miss that woman. The woman who would take no shit, stood up for herself, and wouldn’t allow herself to be in a situation like this. Now, I miss the spark I seemed to ignite in others.

I feel absolutely nothing inside. My spark is gone. My will to live has died.

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