Malleus Maleficarum 2.2 – Part 2

Malleus Maleficarum 2.2 – Part 2
 
AKA:  Hammer of Witches 2.2 - Part 2
 
“Witches were a bit like cats. They didn’t much like one another’s company, but they did like to know where all the other witches were, just in case they needed them.”  Terry Pratchett
 
 
Helena…
 
 
 
A dark-haired woman sat alone in a darkened corner of a small hole in the wall pub, too far from town to be of use to anyone, except to those who didn’t want to be seen, or heard, or better yet… disturbed.
 
Her thick hair was pulled into a sloppy bun atop her head with a black scarf, which matched her smoky eyes perfectly.
 
“Don’t bother her, not tonight,” a man at the bar whispered to a woman who looked like she was just about to do just that.
 
And then he shook his burly head to reinforce his words.
 
He didn’t repeat the sentiment a few minutes later, however, when a large man with a spectacular mustache came storming into the nearly empty establishment, bringing half of the December winds with him.
 
“Helena,” he said in breathy voice, as he brushed light flakes of snow from his large shoulders.
 
“We need to talk,” he informed her with a smile that looked more terrified than friendly.  Which made the woman smile a genuine smile.
 
Even he’s afraid of me, she thought, as she lit up a cig and then blew the smoke directly into his face.
 
“Helena, please,” the man with the molten eyes implored, but he didn’t dare sit, or do anything other than beg.
 
Because Daniel Lazarus had seen what the woman was capable of.
 
“Sit,” she instructed him, and then she took a stocking covered foot and pushed a chair in his direction.
 
The man sat, and then loosened the scarf around his neck.  But he relaxed no more than that.
 
“She has Jericho.”
 
“And?” the woman who looked no older than twenty-eight asked, obviously annoyed she had to dig.
 
Yet the man hesitated a moment longer before he looked about the room, and then he said under his breath, “Jericho has provided everything we could have hoped for.  More, really.  We even got information on two senators we didn’t have on the list.”
 
Helena was curious why the man had chosen such an unsecure location to disclose such vital information.  In fact, she was just about to call in her left-hand-man and have him escorted to a nearby holding cell in order to find out just that, when he went on – in a rush.
 
“They know about you.  They know about this… place,” he told her, his head almost in her lap.  “They have placed an airstrike on this establishment.  We have… minutes, ma’am.  Just… minutes, before this place is wiped from the map.”
 
That was always the downside to an out-of-the-way lair.  Much too easy to invade, or destroy in this case, without anyone asking too many questions.
 
“An airstrike?” Helena asked, and then she took a long pull on her cigarette.
 
I mean… it did sound completely beyond the scope… unless you understood the full ramifications of what was buried forty-nine-feet below where they were seated.
 
A second later Helena had her phone to her ear. 
 
“Back it all up to the satellite.  Everything, then wipe it.  Just in case their bomb doesn’t do the trick.”
 
“There’s a net in the way.  They’ve spotted our satellite.  We’re being jammed,” a feminine voice on the other end of the phone said.
 
Helena smiled.  At least she had her proof.
 
“Drop the doors.”
 
“You can’t be serious,” the voice on the other end of the phone said.
 
“Ma’am…” the man seated across from her prodded, as he squirmed in his seat, obviously anxious to miss the missile strike.
 
“Drop the doors.  Nothing can get past them.  Nothing.”
 
“But the people inside…” the voice on the phone began.
 
“They will be fine for seven days.  That’s plenty of time to get them out.”
 
Helena ended the call before the person on the other end of the phone could respond.
 
“Can we go now?”
 
“Sure,” the five-foot-eight woman in the six-inch heels said, as she climbed slowly to her feet.
 
“And the bartender?  The rest of the folks in here?” the man inquired, though the look on his face suggested he already knew what her answer would be.
 
“We don’t say a word.  Here… let’s go out the back door.  I have a bike,” she told him, as she led the man through a pair of old western swinging doors that hid a small hallway with a john, and a back storage room.  “We have to go through here,” she said, leading him into the packed storage room.
 
Once inside she quickly kicked off her shoes, and then stepped neatly into a pair of motorcycle boots, and she then opened the window and slid outside, as if she’d done it all a million times before.
 
Daniel was quick to follow her.
 
Outside they found themselves on the edge of the snow-dusted back parking lot, a jet-black Ducati 1098 F08 sitting just feet away.
 
“Get on,” she instructed him, as she slid a gun he hadn’t seen her grab into a holster she wore around her upper thigh.  “Do you know how to ride?” she asked him, and much to her relief he nodded his head.  “Good,” she replied with a grin.  “I’ll do the shooting then.”
 
A moment later the two were speeding away, down a poorly lit side road few even knew about.
 
A line of pines shielding them from view, as a single plane came into view.  It was flying silently, and only seemed to drop its payload once it was nearly on top of the small pub. 
 
However, once it did, it took only a few seconds before the entire thing was gone.  Fire engulfing the whole building.
 
And then the plane was gone too, speeding straight up, until it was invisible to the naked eye.
 
And just like that, the small pub (now formerly known as The Snake Pit) was destroyed in a brilliant display of multi colored flames.
 
“What the fuck kind of missile was that?” Helena demanded of the man, as she backed him against the bathroom wall of a cheap motel two-and-a-half-hours later, the barrel of her gun pressed tightly to his throat.
 
“I don’t know,” the much taller and stronger man said, yielding at once to her authority.
 
“I was told to tell you, by Christian.  I don’t know anything more than what I already told you,” he said again, for the millionth time.
 
But Helena hadn’t gotten to where she was by taking the first answers offered. 
 
Not even when she knew someone was telling her the truth.  Because details get lost, confused, mislabeled, at first.  And often it takes some prodding to extract all of the information required.
 
And Helena was an expert at just that, information extraction.  At least… that had been her listed specialty when she’d worked for the company.
 
Before she’d gotten too old for the part and had been retired.
 
“Did Christian tell you what they were going to do?  If their site or any of the other sites have been compromised?”  Helena asked, suddenly stepping away, her tone softening to an almost exhausted level of effort.
 
“No,” the man said, as he reached out a hand to steady her, and to take the gun from her hand.
 
Which Helena let him do, as she absentmindedly stroked the soft blonde hair that covered his thick forearm.
 
“I can’t believe it’s all gone.  Koran is gone.  Troy was in the office counting cash.”
 
The slender woman with the thick hips slid back out of the bathroom, almost stumbling over her own feet to do it.
 
“Helena… you’re exhausted.  Here… let me help you,” Daniel told her, as he pulled her into his arms just before she crumpled onto the floor.
 
“I… just can’t believe it’s all gone…”
 
And then he was kissing her, his soft lips crushing the words out of her.  Crushing the worry and the dread and replacing it with something else.
 
“Let me,” the man with the emerald eyes and the mustached face said, as he pulled her onto the bed.  “Let me,” he said again, as he tugged on one of her boots.  And at first, Helena looked as if she was going to stubbornly refuse.  But exhaustion got the better of her, and instead of complaining she slumped back onto the cheap motel room bed.
 
Of course, she was faking.  Helena could have boxed a bear just then, and then thrown a stellar party afterwards, for as shaken and as exhausted as she was.
 
What Helena was, however, was smart.  Because she knew how to press a man’s buttons.  Certainly, a man like Daniel’s buttons.
 
A man who longed for nothing more than to be the hero of the story.
 
“I should have told them,” she lied, and then she forced a tear, just to sink the dart in a bit further.
 
“Like you said, it would have made them question if we… if you… had gotten away.  This way they think you’re dead,” the man said, as he fiddled with some of the many buttons and belts that held Helena’s thick dress tightly closed.
 
“You must be hot…” he said, as a hunger Helena was extremely familiar with suddenly flooded the man’s eyes, and face.
 
“Oh… so hot,” Helena replied breathlessly, almost theatrically, as she really was annoyed at how this whole night was progressing.
 
Because there were five things Helena knew right in that moment; Daniel had turned up at just the right time, he was new and unvetted in the organization, he seemed to understand the severity of her rank, his weaknesses were unknown – at least to her, there was a mole in the organization.
 
“I can’t believe they’re dead,” she moaned, and then covered her face with her hands, as she tried to conjure up some quick tears.
 
But the man chuckled just then in such a way as to make her suddenly very wary.  Slowly she peered out from behind her fingers, only to see his smile widen by an alarming degree.
 
And then, in a deep, rich voice she hadn’t heard him use before he said, “Goddamn, are you bitches crazy,” and then he was on her, his large hands pulling her wrists together where he quickly bound them using the cord he’d ripped from the phone.
 
And then he was tying her feet – but not together.  No, her feet he tied spread wide open, each ankle fastened to a foot of the bed.
 
Helena smiled up at the huffing and now sweating man with a serene smile.
 
“You are fucking crazy, you know that?” he asked, and then he crushed his lips to hers, pushing his tongue into her mouth where he explored it, at his leisure.
 
And when he was done exploring her mouth, he began the slow work of removing her clothes, which he did with the help of a long thin bladed knife, which he had pulled from his boot.
 
“You know… I took this job just for this.  Just for this moment,” he informed her, as he dragged the blade along the now naked flesh of her belly.
 
Helena wiggled a bit, as the cold steel tickled the softest bits of her flesh.
 
“Everyone said how scary a bitch you are.  But you weren’t that hard to knock of your rocker.  Now, were you?” he asked, as he flicked the blade across one of her hard nipples, nicking it enough to entice a single drop of blood from under her skin.
 
The man, almost overcome with a ravenous desire, growled, and then sucked the nipple and the blood into his mouth.
 
“Oh, the fun we’re going to have,” he said after he’d paused in his latest distraction.
 
And then his hand was sliding along the sheer fabric of her stockings.  With two fingers he pinched at the fabric, sometimes pinching her skin, making her jerk – with each sting. 
 
And every time she jerked, he smiled.
 
“I like the scary bitches best.  You see?  Scary bitches put up the best fight,” Daniel told the woman he’d been charged with saving.
 
And then suddenly his fingers were pulling at her stockings, tearing at them, pulling them in strips from her body.
 
“You can scream all ya like, darlin’” the man said, in a fake southern accent that made Helena suddenly want to punch him in the head.
 
Instead, she smiled and fluttered her eyes. 
 
Cuz she’d been to this rodeo before.
 
“Do your worst, daddy,” she informed him, as she watched him strip off his pants, his enormous cock (an obviously source of his enormous pride) springing instantly to life.
 
So, Helen indulged him.
 
“Oh!” she hollered, as Daniel forced himself inside her – all at once. 
 
“Oh!” she moaned, as he yanked a handful of her hair, and again, as he slammed his large cock deeper into her now saturated pussy.
 
“Stop!” she screamed, just as she told him she wouldn’t, when he forced his tongue deep into her asshole a moment later.  “Stop!” she screamed, as she writhed across the scratchy comforter. 
 
Her legs straining against their tethers.
 
“Oh, we’re not going to stop, until I have you every single way possible,” he growled into her ear, as he came up for breath, his fingers replacing his tongue for a moment. 
 
Harder and harder he berated her body with his own; his fingers, his tongue, his hands, and his cock.  Daniel finally untied Helena and flipped her over only after he’d already cum half a dozen times.
 
“You are nothing but a filthy whore,” he told her, as he tied her once again to the bed, arms and legs both outstretched to the four corners.
 
“And now you’re going to be punished like a filthy whore,” he said, as he yanked the cord from the back of the TV set.
 
Hunger and madness flashed together in the man’s verdant eyes, and that was Helena’s cue.
 
“Who say’s I’m a filthy whore?”
 
Daniel took a step back from the bed, his half-hard cock glistening with the fluids of sex.  And then he pulled back his arm and struck her with the plug end of the cord. 
 
“Ow!” the woman cried into a pillow.
 
Again and again the man struck the woman, along her back, her buttocks, the backs of her thighs.
 
“No!” she hollered, but never too loudly to call unwanted attention.
 
“Stop!” she begged, as he struck her until he was so hard, he could barely stand.
 
“I’m not a whore,” she cried into a pillow, even though they both knew it was a bold-face lie.  In fact, Helena had been such a successful whore she now owned several of her own.
 
“Andrew Knight and Davis Xavier both say that you are,” Daniel told his victim, because he liked to mentally torture them as well.
 
“Who the fuck are they?” Helena asked with as much indignation as she could muster.
 
“They’re on the senate subcommittee charged with dismantling The Ides,” the tall man with the large hands told her, as he shoved three fingers deep inside of her, and began shoveling out the cum he’d already packed her with.
 
“But how did they even find out about us?” she begged, as she gushed fluids out all over his hand.
 
Daniel Lazarus knew it’s not wise to show your hand to the enemy.  But when you don’t plan on letting your enemy live… he figured… what’s the harm?
 
“Diarmaid.”
 
Like a flaming hot knife, sliced right to the bone, the name called forth a cry of agony from Helena the likes of which the sadist Daniel had never heard before.  So rich and full of suffering he almost shot another load right there.
 
“Oh… did you actually think he was loyal?  How cute,” the man said, in a babytalk kind of way, just before he lowered himself onto her again, this time sinking his cock deep inside her ass.
 
But the wound Daniel had just inflicted had been more than anything Helena had ever experienced before, and so… quite frankly, she was done.  Just done.
 
“Thank you, for that very helpful information,” she replied dryly, in an exasperated tone.  And then, like a cat twisting in midair, she snaked both an arm and a leg free of the restraints and instantly locked them both around the man’s neck, his right arm in a tight armbar.
 
“In one second, I’m going to flex my thigh muscles and break your neck.  Do you understand?” the man, who suddenly could not speak, nodded and huffed as best he could to indicate an answer in the affirmative.
 
“I just wanted you to know, before you go… you just killed every single member of your entire family.  I don’t care how long it takes me, or how many children this will require me to kill.  You… by our deplorable arrogance - in thinking that you could have me - have sentenced them all to truly horrific deaths.”
 
A moment later the man’s vacant eyes stared up at the cheap motel room ceiling, at the numerous splatters of unknown substances he’d never see.
 
“I need a cleanup,” Helena said into her phone after dialing a familiar number.
 
“Send Christian,” she remarked with a wry smile, as she looked over at the lifeless body on the bed.
 
 


© Raena Exe 2022-2023

*All characters, places, and events are completely fictional.
*All rights reserved.


​

---

---