Bad to the Bones(46)

The master tipped his hand now because Knoxie had the balls to goad him. “That is not why I ejected Asanga! Children are a living, breathing part of life—why would I not want anyone to have a baby?”

“You reassigned Virginia to a shit detail, Shakti—that’s right, you f*cking gave her literally the shittiest work detail so you wouldn’t have to look at her belly getting bigger, knowing you’d done it!”

It was funny, looking back, how much fury could be contained in one eye. The rage rose in Shakti, coloring his neck, then his chin, then his forehead, flooding that one eye. His hand turned into a claw, and in a flash, like a wild cat, Shakti was upon him.

It was all so unexpected Knoxie didn’t feel pain at first. The twisted swami grasped his rib cage and bit at his nipple—no, he was biting the red jeweled pin he had going through his areola. He fell on Knoxie like a ravenous demon, snarling and biting. He tore at the crimson jewel with his teeth, spitting it across the shack in an arc of blood.

Knoxie was in such shock he didn’t react at first. It was all too horrible to comprehend, how deeply the demented leader’s kink went. Even worse, Bulsara was eagerly chanting,

“The Master is a boat. Once you cross the river, the boat is unnecessary.” He had a high, excited tint to his voice, as though he’d witnessed and enjoyed many scenes like this before.

Knoxie writhed, big blocks of alternating red and black sucking up everything within his peripheral vision. His instincts gathered, and he violently kneed the leader in the chest, but not before Shakti had smeared his own face in blood. Knoxie had seen some f*cked things in the Gulf, but it took the cake when the blinded swami staggered back, a mass of shockingly red blood drizzling from his chin. Knoxie nearly sobbed with frustration, overwhelmed with powerless futility at his situation.

“My dove!” the crazed ruler cried. An erection tented his loose lavender harem pants. “I will balance your chakras to make you clear and level, align you with the poles to make you whole again! The priests have not finished the work that needs to be done.”

It was strange, but dangling helplessly before the bloodied, insane swami like that, suddenly all Knoxie’s intelligence came into focus. Faced with the horror of what Shakti intended, suddenly Knoxie was thinking logically, clearly. He knew what had to be done—the only thing he could do to extricate himself. He’d been in strategic scrapes like this in the Gulf, and sometimes playing along, pumping up the enemy, was the only chance at freedom.

And even that was a long shot.

“Bond with me, Shakti.” His own words sounded foreign and remote, as though coming from outside the shack. Calming the swami was his only hope of catching him off guard. “Let your wisdom flow into me.”

The idiot was so carried away with crazy enzymes and bloodlust it didn’t seem to occur to him to question Knoxie’s sudden turn of enthusiasm. “Yes, yes! Your fluids, your essence, will mingle with mine!”

Knoxie wasn’t sure what that would entail—only that he was dangling from a f*cking rope and blood was running down his leg and torso. With Shakti still brandishing that crystal wand, Knoxie needed to encourage harm reduction, so he heard himself crying out,

“Suck me, o leader! Suck my dick and bond my essences with you!”

Shakti didn’t waste a split second in crashing to his knees and fumbling with Knoxie’s belt buckle. He humped Knoxie’s leg furiously like a frantic dog, his stiff little boner grating against Knoxie’s torn pant leg.

Knoxie glanced sideways at Bulsara. He literally held Knoxie’s life in his f*cking hands, but he looked as though he could be won over. His gleaming eyes were greedy with lust and he was massaging his own hard flesh twinkie as he gazed upon the bloody scene unfolding before him.

Knoxie tried winking at Bulsara. He was a C-list actor. He could do this. He mentally steeled himself. Focus. My mind is a sharp beam. Focus. I have one goal, one emotion to convey to the audience. Focus. My mind is so sharp I cut people with it. Focus. As Shakti revealed Knoxie’s dick, embarrassingly halfway hard, and fell upon it with zealous sucks, Knoxie lifted his chin at his jailer. He swiveled his hips, corkscrewing his dick farther into the swami’s mouth in a way he’d done hundreds, maybe a thousand times before in front of a camera.

“Hey. Don’t you deserve a piece of it too? Come on. Let me taste your essence. Let’s make a chain, Bulsara. A daisy chain. Don’t you want to taste my nipple, too? Come on. Let me suck on you, too.”

He thought Bulsara was buying it. His eyes glazed over and began to droop as he manipulated his mango, as his partner Adrian would say. Knoxie knew from the flared nostrils and the slack lower lip that the daimyo was on the verge of losing it, so he had to act fast.

“Come on. Let me kneel and service you. Don’t you want the pleasure? Don’t you want—”

All in one motion, Bulsara leaped for the wall. He nearly tore the cleat out of the wall, screws and all, in his mania to unwind the rope. The sleek nylon rope unwound vigorously under Knoxie’s weight, so unexpected he did crash to his knees, his bound wrists thudding against the back of Shakti’s neck.

That was a bonus to having succeeded in his tease, but he wasn’t home free yet by any means. Shakti continued sucking away voraciously at Knoxie’s boner, not seeming to care that he was nearly facedown on the grimy wooden floor. Bulsara was stepping up to receive his reward too, yanking down his clown pants and nearly slapping Knoxie upside the head with his ham roll.