Let Us Prey
Shannon Lawrence
A fan of the fantastical and frightening, Shannon Lawrence writes primarily horror and fantasy. Her short stories can be found in anthologies and magazines in addition to her collections. Her nonfiction title, The Business of Short Stories, and debut urban fantasy novel, Myth Stalker: Wendigo Nights, are available now. She also co-hosts and produces the podcast Mysteries, Monsters, & Mayhem and is a columnist for Rocky Mountain Reader. When she's not writing, she's hiking through the wilds of Colorado and photographing her magnificent surroundings, where, coincidentally, there's always a place to hide a body or birth a monster. Visit her at www.thewarriormuse.com.
The alley stank of piss and spoiled food, with an unnatural humidity that seemed to rise from the cracked pavement itself. Xenia crouched next to Maksim and wiped her damp palms on her denim-covered thighs. She lay her head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body through his flannel shirt. He tilted his head until it lay against hers. They sat this way for a time, listening to the monotonous drip of filthy water from the busted drain pipes.
They waited while the sun went down and the cold wind picked up. They waited until footsteps on the nearby sidewalk faded away into the night. They waited until the back door of the restaurant opened up to reveal a well-muscled young man of moderate height. His eyes sagged with exhaustion, a hairnet flattening his dark hair against his forehead. Grease and sweat darkened the front of his once white t-shirt. He locked the door then threw a dripping garbage bag into the dumpster, unaware of the couple watching him from the shadows beside it.
He pulled a cigarette from the pack in his back pocket and lit it, inhaling that first bit of smoke into his lungs with obvious relief. He sagged against the crumbling brick wall and closed his eyes. A slow, deep exhale created a cloud of smoke around him.
Xenia squeezed Maks’ thigh and stood slowly. With her usual stealth, she moved closer to the line cook and leaned against the wall a couple feet away from him, pasting a smile on her face. Maks told her she looked more feral than friendly when she smiled, but it always did the trick, all the same. “You have a spare?”
The young man jerked away from the wall and stared at her. “Where did you come from?”
“I didn’t mean to scare you, handsome. Just wondered if I could grab a smoke. The corner store’s closed, and I smelled a treat down this way.” Her eyebrows went up and she clasped part of her lower lip between her teeth.
“Sorry, you just surprised me.” He pulled the pack out, used one finger to press the top flap back, and held it out toward her.
She pulled a cigarette out and slid it between her lips. “Got a light?”
He fumbled at his pocket with the hand holding his own lit cigarette until he got the lighter out and lit it, a mild tremor in his hand when he held the flame to the tip. Both of them now relaxing with their cigarettes, he leaned back against the wall, discreetly pulling his belly in and straightening his shoulders. He jolted a bit and snatched the hairnet off his head, chucking it toward the dumpster. Instead of going in, it floated to the ground about a foot away.
She forced down the laugh that threatened to bubble up her throat. “Thanks. You have no idea how much I needed this.” In truth, she hated the smell and taste of cigarettes. She’d once been a smoker, but after she quit, the smoke had started to make her sick, swollen red eyes, sore throat, and all. Taking a drag, she willed herself not to cough.
They didn’t speak until he’d finished his cigarette, at which time he crushed it out on the pavement and turned toward her. “I’m headed home. Unless you want to grab a drink somewhere?” He cleared his throat and looked anywhere but at her.
“I’d love a drink, but I have to get up early. I don’t suppose you’d walk me to my car, though?”
“Sure. Where you parked?”
“Just by the corner.” Xenia dropped her cigarette with relief when he looked away again. It sizzled when it hit a puddle of water. She grasped his arm with both hands and leaned close. “I appreciate this. There were some pervs out there earlier. It’s the real reason I ducked into the alley.”
He hooked his elbow so she could adjust and interlace her arm with his. She dropped her other hand behind her to wiggle her fingers in a “see you in a minute” gesture to Maks. She felt his eyes on her and purposely put extra sway in her walk. He’d always liked the way her ass looked in jeans. Knowing he’d be enjoying the view excited her all the more for what was to come, and a bolt of erotic excitement pulsed through her. A little moan escaped her throat.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asked.
She coughed. “There’s my car; the blue one.”
They’d emerged onto the sidewalk, the sky clear and dark above them. With the street lamps spreading their brazen light, only a couple stars powered through enough to wink down at them. Maks had purposely parked the car under a broken lamp, shadows jostling for purchase around the large sedan. Thanks to the 90s, people held an unconscious level of wariness when it came to vans, and despite what a certain someone had used, a VW bug was way too small. A good sized, older sedan, though, was both invisible on an average day and large enough to keep someone out of sight. The trunk space was abundant, absolutely roomy.
Footsteps approached from behind them, but the cook didn’t notice. He had a slight tremor in his arm that Xenia read as excitement, but might also be nerves. Probably a bit of both. She did a quick scan, knowing Maks would be doing the same behind her, and found the street empty. She drew the cook to the side of the sedan, just behind the back door. Turning to face him, she pulled him toward her and looked into his eyes, her lips parting in gentle invitation.
The cook licked his lips and leaned in, eyes intent on hers until the last second, when he closed them.
Instead of her lips, Maks’s large, rough hand met his mouth. The cook’s eyelids popped open, whites exposed all around. He struggled against Maks, but was no match for the larger, stronger man. Maks kept the other man’s mouth covered so only muffled yells could breach the seal of his palm.
Xenia yanked the door open, moving behind it so Maks could maneuver the cook into the backseat, where thick plastic crinkled beneath their bodies. As soon as both men were in, she shoved the cook’s kicking legs in and slammed the door. The men continued to struggle against each other in the backseat, but Maks held him down, covering the other man’s body with his own until he could use the detachable straps they’d added to secure him. Xenia ran around to the driver’s seat and started the car. The guttural engine of the old sedan covered the yells and whimpers of the cook.
They lived about two miles away, so only a few minutes passed before she pulled the car into their garage and pressed the button to close the door. As soon as it touched down and quieted, she popped out of the car and opened the door behind her own. The men’s faces greeted her, one utterly terrified, the other grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
Maks detached the straps and rolled off to the side to give her better access to the cook. Xenia checked that he was still well bound, hooked her arms beneath his armpits, and tugged him out of the car and onto the concrete. Both of them grunted, her with exertion, him with pain.
“Listen, sweetie, we don’t want to hurt you, okay?”
“Help!” he yelled. “Somebody help me!”
Xenia grabbed his jaw and turned his face toward the garage door. It was covered with soundproofing foam panels. “No one can hear you.”
He sobbed. “What are you going to do?”
“That’s a surprise,” Maks said, emerging from the car to look down at Xenia and the cook. She made a note to tell him his smile had to be far more feral than her own. He had a hunter’s eyes and a movie star’s grin, but there was something raw and ominous in the flash of his teeth. Hungry. Sexy.
“Help me get him up,” she said.
The couple got him to his feet. He’d stopped fighting for the moment. Like grief, self-preservation came in stages. The initial fight (sometimes preceded by denial), acquiescence, pleading, then usually more fight. Each person fought for survival in their own way.
“I don’t have a lot of money, but I can get you what I have. My bank is right up the street from the restaurant. I’ve been saving up.” Pleading.
“We’re set for money, lover boy,” Maks said. “We’ve got other needs.” He leaned over and kissed Xenia. His lips were soft against hers. It was a brief kiss, but it ignited the flame within her even more.
“I love it when you talk dirty,” she whispered.
“Are you guys swingers? You don’t have to kidnap me. I’m down. Just tell me what you want.” His voice had risen, desperation and hope making it high.
“Not those kinds of needs,” Xenia said, laughing. “Once we get you inside, everything will be clear.”
He struggled once again, arching one moment, bashing from side to side the next. He tried going limp, but they had a firm hold and merely continued forward by carrying him. They approached the two steps up into the house. This was often the hardest part, so Xenia relinquished her hold and went ahead to open the door.
The cook started yelling again, bellowing loudly. He tried to evade her hands when Xenia reached for him again. No use. She was an old hand at this game. Her grip was firm, but not hard enough to bruise, or so she hoped. No need to damage the goods.
Maks and Xenia lifted him as they reached the steps. They were taller than the cook, but not tall enough to keep him from making contact with the second step.
He shoved against the step with his feet, which caused them to stumble backward slightly. Maks almost lost his grip, but he regained it and they forced the man into their kitchen, the first room off the garage. Bright metal glinted back at them, a cheery welcome home. Large blades had been laid out on one of the counters, over which a leather and metal harness hung. They’d ordered it from a sex toy catalog, excited for its usefulness and the straight-forward reason for the purchase.
The cook’s brow furrowed. “I thought you said it wasn’t that kind of party.”
Xenia clicked her tongue and waited while Maks swept the other man’s feet out from under him. Together, they lowered him to the ground, their eyes meeting over the man’s head.
I love you, mouthed Maks.
I love you, too, mouthed Xenia.
When she released the cook, she let her right hand wander over to drift over Maks’. He had working man’s hands, rough and scarred. She loved the feel of his skin against hers.
She stood up and pulled the harness toward her before pushing it down toward the floor. When it was as low as it would go, touching the cook’s back, she knelt with her knee in his spine and held him while Maks removed the straps already binding him and finessed the harness around the other man. The cook flopped like a fish, throwing all of his energy into this escape attempt. His head came up and hit Xenia in the chin. Her teeth clacked together, but she shook off the bolt of pain that shot through her jaw. Following the sharper bolt, a wave of hot, radiating pain rolled through her jaw and up to her temples. Something warm and wet dripped down her lip.
Anger and concern warred in her lover’s eyes, but she smiled and shook her head. She wasn’t angry. It wasn’t his fault. They all fought. What kind of a man would the cook be if he didn’t do what he had to in order to free himself?
Maks nodded and went back to work, his face grim. He pulled a little too hard, fastened the buckles a little too tight. The sight of blood in their victim would excite him, but her blood had the opposite effect upon him.
This time it was Maks who stood up. He waited until Xenia removed her knee from the cook’s back and stood herself, then he finished attaching the cook’s ankles to the harness. He used a crank to bring the harnessed cook back up to swing over the sink. The harness pulled the man’s limbs back so that his elbows nearly touched behind him, his head arched backward, and his legs elevated above his body. He looked like a fish breeching the water, glorious in his own way.
The cook finally saw the cutting implements lying on the counter and tears ran down his face. “Please, please, please, I’m sorry. What did I do? Tell me what I did. I’m sorry.”
Xenia put her face in front of his and cupped his cheek. “Sweet boy, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s our anniversary. You should feel flattered we chose you for tonight.”
He cried harder now, sobbing and begging, his words running together so none of them made any sense. It was as if he spoke in tongues. Saliva spewed out, dripping down his chin to splatter into the deep, metal sink. His fingers worked behind his back, turning purple as he lost circulation in them. His face reddened from the blood flowing into his head.
Xenia ignored the snot, tears, and saliva now running together over his mouth and kissed him gently. A thick string of mucous stretched between their mouths when she pulled back, her own blood lending it a tinge of red. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, which she then wiped on her pants. Her lips stretched into a savage smile as she looked down at the cook, her blood a stamp upon his mouth.
Maks took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her head back. They gazed into each other’s eyes again, speaking volumes without a word.
Xenia took in his handsome face, decorated with light, end-of-day stubble. He was as gorgeous as the day they’d met. More so. A few new lines branched out from his eyes and mouth, a light, jagged frown line between his brows. He was tan from time spent outdoors for work, the light green of his eyes a stark and intriguing contrast. She ached for him as she had every day since they’d met. Every moment without physical touch was torture for her. She knew he felt the same way.
She leaned into him, wrapping her arms behind his neck and kissing him deeply, ravaging his mouth the way she wished he’d ravage her body.
His fingers slipped away from her chin. Distantly, she felt them wrap through her hair instead. He formed a fist and pulled her hair tight, returning the violent hunger of her kiss.
Not wanting to, but knowing it was time, she released his neck and placed a calming hand against his face, cupping it much as she had the cook’s only a moment ago. “Let’s do it together, like our first time.”
Maks’ adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he nodded, pupils expanding until they stole all color from his gaze. He moved over to the counter and picked up a heavy-bladed chef’s knife, holding it up to the light, where it flashed. He put it against the cook’s throat and waited, the blade pressing into the flesh, which wrinkled around it in defiance, a mere second from splitting.
Xenia placed her hand over his on the handle of the knife, excited by the skin-to-skin contact, and the hardness of the blade beneath her lover’s hand. She held up one finger to ask for patience, bowed her head, closed her eyes, and said, “Let us pray.”
Backed by the tired, desperate sobs of the cook, the couple intoned, “Dear Lord, we thank you this day for the meal we’re about to enjoy…”
They waited while the sun went down and the cold wind picked up. They waited until footsteps on the nearby sidewalk faded away into the night. They waited until the back door of the restaurant opened up to reveal a well-muscled young man of moderate height. His eyes sagged with exhaustion, a hairnet flattening his dark hair against his forehead. Grease and sweat darkened the front of his once white t-shirt. He locked the door then threw a dripping garbage bag into the dumpster, unaware of the couple watching him from the shadows beside it.
He pulled a cigarette from the pack in his back pocket and lit it, inhaling that first bit of smoke into his lungs with obvious relief. He sagged against the crumbling brick wall and closed his eyes. A slow, deep exhale created a cloud of smoke around him.
Xenia squeezed Maks’ thigh and stood slowly. With her usual stealth, she moved closer to the line cook and leaned against the wall a couple feet away from him, pasting a smile on her face. Maks told her she looked more feral than friendly when she smiled, but it always did the trick, all the same. “You have a spare?”
The young man jerked away from the wall and stared at her. “Where did you come from?”
“I didn’t mean to scare you, handsome. Just wondered if I could grab a smoke. The corner store’s closed, and I smelled a treat down this way.” Her eyebrows went up and she clasped part of her lower lip between her teeth.
“Sorry, you just surprised me.” He pulled the pack out, used one finger to press the top flap back, and held it out toward her.
She pulled a cigarette out and slid it between her lips. “Got a light?”
He fumbled at his pocket with the hand holding his own lit cigarette until he got the lighter out and lit it, a mild tremor in his hand when he held the flame to the tip. Both of them now relaxing with their cigarettes, he leaned back against the wall, discreetly pulling his belly in and straightening his shoulders. He jolted a bit and snatched the hairnet off his head, chucking it toward the dumpster. Instead of going in, it floated to the ground about a foot away.
She forced down the laugh that threatened to bubble up her throat. “Thanks. You have no idea how much I needed this.” In truth, she hated the smell and taste of cigarettes. She’d once been a smoker, but after she quit, the smoke had started to make her sick, swollen red eyes, sore throat, and all. Taking a drag, she willed herself not to cough.
They didn’t speak until he’d finished his cigarette, at which time he crushed it out on the pavement and turned toward her. “I’m headed home. Unless you want to grab a drink somewhere?” He cleared his throat and looked anywhere but at her.
“I’d love a drink, but I have to get up early. I don’t suppose you’d walk me to my car, though?”
“Sure. Where you parked?”
“Just by the corner.” Xenia dropped her cigarette with relief when he looked away again. It sizzled when it hit a puddle of water. She grasped his arm with both hands and leaned close. “I appreciate this. There were some pervs out there earlier. It’s the real reason I ducked into the alley.”
He hooked his elbow so she could adjust and interlace her arm with his. She dropped her other hand behind her to wiggle her fingers in a “see you in a minute” gesture to Maks. She felt his eyes on her and purposely put extra sway in her walk. He’d always liked the way her ass looked in jeans. Knowing he’d be enjoying the view excited her all the more for what was to come, and a bolt of erotic excitement pulsed through her. A little moan escaped her throat.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asked.
She coughed. “There’s my car; the blue one.”
They’d emerged onto the sidewalk, the sky clear and dark above them. With the street lamps spreading their brazen light, only a couple stars powered through enough to wink down at them. Maks had purposely parked the car under a broken lamp, shadows jostling for purchase around the large sedan. Thanks to the 90s, people held an unconscious level of wariness when it came to vans, and despite what a certain someone had used, a VW bug was way too small. A good sized, older sedan, though, was both invisible on an average day and large enough to keep someone out of sight. The trunk space was abundant, absolutely roomy.
Footsteps approached from behind them, but the cook didn’t notice. He had a slight tremor in his arm that Xenia read as excitement, but might also be nerves. Probably a bit of both. She did a quick scan, knowing Maks would be doing the same behind her, and found the street empty. She drew the cook to the side of the sedan, just behind the back door. Turning to face him, she pulled him toward her and looked into his eyes, her lips parting in gentle invitation.
The cook licked his lips and leaned in, eyes intent on hers until the last second, when he closed them.
Instead of her lips, Maks’s large, rough hand met his mouth. The cook’s eyelids popped open, whites exposed all around. He struggled against Maks, but was no match for the larger, stronger man. Maks kept the other man’s mouth covered so only muffled yells could breach the seal of his palm.
Xenia yanked the door open, moving behind it so Maks could maneuver the cook into the backseat, where thick plastic crinkled beneath their bodies. As soon as both men were in, she shoved the cook’s kicking legs in and slammed the door. The men continued to struggle against each other in the backseat, but Maks held him down, covering the other man’s body with his own until he could use the detachable straps they’d added to secure him. Xenia ran around to the driver’s seat and started the car. The guttural engine of the old sedan covered the yells and whimpers of the cook.
They lived about two miles away, so only a few minutes passed before she pulled the car into their garage and pressed the button to close the door. As soon as it touched down and quieted, she popped out of the car and opened the door behind her own. The men’s faces greeted her, one utterly terrified, the other grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
Maks detached the straps and rolled off to the side to give her better access to the cook. Xenia checked that he was still well bound, hooked her arms beneath his armpits, and tugged him out of the car and onto the concrete. Both of them grunted, her with exertion, him with pain.
“Listen, sweetie, we don’t want to hurt you, okay?”
“Help!” he yelled. “Somebody help me!”
Xenia grabbed his jaw and turned his face toward the garage door. It was covered with soundproofing foam panels. “No one can hear you.”
He sobbed. “What are you going to do?”
“That’s a surprise,” Maks said, emerging from the car to look down at Xenia and the cook. She made a note to tell him his smile had to be far more feral than her own. He had a hunter’s eyes and a movie star’s grin, but there was something raw and ominous in the flash of his teeth. Hungry. Sexy.
“Help me get him up,” she said.
The couple got him to his feet. He’d stopped fighting for the moment. Like grief, self-preservation came in stages. The initial fight (sometimes preceded by denial), acquiescence, pleading, then usually more fight. Each person fought for survival in their own way.
“I don’t have a lot of money, but I can get you what I have. My bank is right up the street from the restaurant. I’ve been saving up.” Pleading.
“We’re set for money, lover boy,” Maks said. “We’ve got other needs.” He leaned over and kissed Xenia. His lips were soft against hers. It was a brief kiss, but it ignited the flame within her even more.
“I love it when you talk dirty,” she whispered.
“Are you guys swingers? You don’t have to kidnap me. I’m down. Just tell me what you want.” His voice had risen, desperation and hope making it high.
“Not those kinds of needs,” Xenia said, laughing. “Once we get you inside, everything will be clear.”
He struggled once again, arching one moment, bashing from side to side the next. He tried going limp, but they had a firm hold and merely continued forward by carrying him. They approached the two steps up into the house. This was often the hardest part, so Xenia relinquished her hold and went ahead to open the door.
The cook started yelling again, bellowing loudly. He tried to evade her hands when Xenia reached for him again. No use. She was an old hand at this game. Her grip was firm, but not hard enough to bruise, or so she hoped. No need to damage the goods.
Maks and Xenia lifted him as they reached the steps. They were taller than the cook, but not tall enough to keep him from making contact with the second step.
He shoved against the step with his feet, which caused them to stumble backward slightly. Maks almost lost his grip, but he regained it and they forced the man into their kitchen, the first room off the garage. Bright metal glinted back at them, a cheery welcome home. Large blades had been laid out on one of the counters, over which a leather and metal harness hung. They’d ordered it from a sex toy catalog, excited for its usefulness and the straight-forward reason for the purchase.
The cook’s brow furrowed. “I thought you said it wasn’t that kind of party.”
Xenia clicked her tongue and waited while Maks swept the other man’s feet out from under him. Together, they lowered him to the ground, their eyes meeting over the man’s head.
I love you, mouthed Maks.
I love you, too, mouthed Xenia.
When she released the cook, she let her right hand wander over to drift over Maks’. He had working man’s hands, rough and scarred. She loved the feel of his skin against hers.
She stood up and pulled the harness toward her before pushing it down toward the floor. When it was as low as it would go, touching the cook’s back, she knelt with her knee in his spine and held him while Maks removed the straps already binding him and finessed the harness around the other man. The cook flopped like a fish, throwing all of his energy into this escape attempt. His head came up and hit Xenia in the chin. Her teeth clacked together, but she shook off the bolt of pain that shot through her jaw. Following the sharper bolt, a wave of hot, radiating pain rolled through her jaw and up to her temples. Something warm and wet dripped down her lip.
Anger and concern warred in her lover’s eyes, but she smiled and shook her head. She wasn’t angry. It wasn’t his fault. They all fought. What kind of a man would the cook be if he didn’t do what he had to in order to free himself?
Maks nodded and went back to work, his face grim. He pulled a little too hard, fastened the buckles a little too tight. The sight of blood in their victim would excite him, but her blood had the opposite effect upon him.
This time it was Maks who stood up. He waited until Xenia removed her knee from the cook’s back and stood herself, then he finished attaching the cook’s ankles to the harness. He used a crank to bring the harnessed cook back up to swing over the sink. The harness pulled the man’s limbs back so that his elbows nearly touched behind him, his head arched backward, and his legs elevated above his body. He looked like a fish breeching the water, glorious in his own way.
The cook finally saw the cutting implements lying on the counter and tears ran down his face. “Please, please, please, I’m sorry. What did I do? Tell me what I did. I’m sorry.”
Xenia put her face in front of his and cupped his cheek. “Sweet boy, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s our anniversary. You should feel flattered we chose you for tonight.”
He cried harder now, sobbing and begging, his words running together so none of them made any sense. It was as if he spoke in tongues. Saliva spewed out, dripping down his chin to splatter into the deep, metal sink. His fingers worked behind his back, turning purple as he lost circulation in them. His face reddened from the blood flowing into his head.
Xenia ignored the snot, tears, and saliva now running together over his mouth and kissed him gently. A thick string of mucous stretched between their mouths when she pulled back, her own blood lending it a tinge of red. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, which she then wiped on her pants. Her lips stretched into a savage smile as she looked down at the cook, her blood a stamp upon his mouth.
Maks took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her head back. They gazed into each other’s eyes again, speaking volumes without a word.
Xenia took in his handsome face, decorated with light, end-of-day stubble. He was as gorgeous as the day they’d met. More so. A few new lines branched out from his eyes and mouth, a light, jagged frown line between his brows. He was tan from time spent outdoors for work, the light green of his eyes a stark and intriguing contrast. She ached for him as she had every day since they’d met. Every moment without physical touch was torture for her. She knew he felt the same way.
She leaned into him, wrapping her arms behind his neck and kissing him deeply, ravaging his mouth the way she wished he’d ravage her body.
His fingers slipped away from her chin. Distantly, she felt them wrap through her hair instead. He formed a fist and pulled her hair tight, returning the violent hunger of her kiss.
Not wanting to, but knowing it was time, she released his neck and placed a calming hand against his face, cupping it much as she had the cook’s only a moment ago. “Let’s do it together, like our first time.”
Maks’ adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he nodded, pupils expanding until they stole all color from his gaze. He moved over to the counter and picked up a heavy-bladed chef’s knife, holding it up to the light, where it flashed. He put it against the cook’s throat and waited, the blade pressing into the flesh, which wrinkled around it in defiance, a mere second from splitting.
Xenia placed her hand over his on the handle of the knife, excited by the skin-to-skin contact, and the hardness of the blade beneath her lover’s hand. She held up one finger to ask for patience, bowed her head, closed her eyes, and said, “Let us pray.”
Backed by the tired, desperate sobs of the cook, the couple intoned, “Dear Lord, we thank you this day for the meal we’re about to enjoy…”