Mistress of the Undead Read online

  Mistress of the Undead© 2018 by Isabelle Drake

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  For more information contact:

  Riverdale Avenue Books

  5676 Riverdale Avenue

  Riverdale, NY 10471

  www.riverdaleavebooks.com

  Design by www.formatting4U.com

  Cover by Scott Carpenter

  Digital ISBN: 9781626010369

  Print ISBN: 9781620611779

  First Edition October 2018

  What They’re Saying About

  Servant of the Undead

  “You’ve seen slow zombies, and fast zombies. You’ve seen Haitian Voodoo zombies, Deadite zombies, and Vampire zombies. Hell, you’ve even seen radioactive mutant ghoul zombies. I’m willing to bet, however, you’ve never seen erotic sex zombies—and if you have, never quite like this.

  Servant of the Undead wasn’t quite what I expected, and it’s better for it.”

  —Bob Milne, Beauty in Ruins

  “I don’t think this book is going to be a book for everyone but if you like a little monster mixed in with your erotica it may just be the book for you.

  This book is something else. I cannot honestly say that I liked any of the characters with the exception of Rachelle, the cuckolded but good-natured girlfriend, because they’re all pretty despicable creatures who do terrible things and think terrible thoughts but I couldn’t put it down. It was all rather amusing in a dark, dubiously sexy sort of way.”

  —Barks Book Nonsense

  Dedication

  For Betrayal. I have known you.

  Chapter One

  “Talk first. Fuck second.”

  Sex cult zombies wearing camo shorts soaked with fake blood, mud smeared torn black T-shirts, ripped sequin tube tops and moth-eaten suits off the Goodwill racks packed the halls of the Boston convention center. None of them had it right. These people playing dress up were sexy and hideous, but they were nothing compared to the real things. Hayden Buchanan Thomas, wonder kid and tabloid reporter ought to know. He been fucked, tormented and used by the best of the sex cult zombie tribe that’d silently invaded the city. The creatures had arrived with the blizzard and taken advantage of the crippling effects of Snowmaggedon. He’d lost his girlfriend, Rachelle Daly, to one of them. He’d lost his pride and humanity to another.

  But those had been real ones, not these fake ass pretenders crowding the Sunday morning halls of the comic convention. If these cosplay wanna-bes knew the truth, what the so-called sex zombies really did to humans, they wouldn’t be so excited. They’d hit the snow-covered streets, head straight home, get drunk and hope like hell one of the things wouldn’t pick them for their next sexual servant. Hayden took another look around, watching the naïve faces rushing past. Then again, maybe they wouldn’t hide. Maybe they’d want to know firsthand how bad bad really was. After what Hayden had been through the past week, he understood there was no bottom to the pit of human, and inhuman, depravity. The more heinous, in fact, the more likely it was to happen.

  A tug on his arm stopped Hayden’s already too slow progress through the slinking mob. “Hello, pet.”

  That insulting voice, that bitter smell. He knew them as well as he now knew disgust and deep personal shame. Hayden wanted to keep moving, get back to cutting through the crowd as he had been, looking for his boss, but his muscles had already started to quiver. Matthew’s grip was unyielding.

  “Surprised to see me? You shouldn’t be. Your articles are making me famous. I’m making all kinds of new friends.” Matthew shoved Hayden sideways until they both collided with a wall. The guy made a point of grinding his crotch against Hayden’s thigh before rolling to his side, locking them both just out of the human flow. His disgusting smirk lingered, his mouth making a game of the forced contact. Hayden jerked his arm. After three tugs he managed to free his arm from the cold grip.

  Surprised wasn’t the word Hayden would’ve chosen to describe how he felt about being in the clutches of the zombie tribe leader. Shock would have been closer. Terrified, closer still.

  “My sweet sister told me where to find you.” Matthew gently cupped Hayden’s dick, then squeezed with a grinding laugh. “Since you have the privilege of being Mattie’s current favorite, you ought to appreciate that she keeps track of you. After all, the alternative… ” Instead of finishing the threat, he loosened his grip and stroked Hayden’s cock with his thumb.

  Even with the fabric between them, Hayden could feel the bitter intent of Matthew’s touch. He shoved the hand off and looked for a break in the crowd even though there wasn’t much point in breaking away. Matthew wanted something and wasn’t going to leave him alone until he got it.

  Fuck.

  Only about 10:20 a.m. and already the convention hall was packed and frenzied. The crowds had been waiting at the doors and flooded the center the minute the doors were opened to the public. Attendees milled past, laughing, phones bobbing in front of their faces as they documented their own cult-worthy awesomeness. A woman Hayden recognized from the zombie contest the day before trotted past, a wide-mouthed laugh making her whole body shake. Her boyfriend was trying to snatch a Coke out of her hand and she was doing nothing to avoid running into everyone around her as she kept it from him. Everyone around was so ecstatic, so unaware.

  Except Matthew. The guy was feral with awareness. As the attention of his slitted brown eyes raked over Hayden, he tried to block the memories of what the two of them had recently done together but couldn’t. Cold threads of fear and disgust wove themselves through his nerve endings, stitching into a nasty second skin, one hidden over the layer the world saw. No matter what happened, thanks to what he’d been through, the ugliness he’d found inside himself, Hayden would never be the same man again. This guy was a reminder of that.

  “What’s the matter?” Matthew propped his elbow on the wall and leered down. His sparkling white teeth shined in the fluorescent lights. “Pissed about Rachelle? You shouldn’t be. Don’t let those pearls and lace confuse you. She isn’t your… ” The leer turned into a tight assessment, then he finished with, “type.”

  Hayden’s stomach clenched. The night before he’d watched his girlfriend Rachelle climb into this guy’s banged up, green pickup, then down a thermos of the mind-numbing tea these things used to get what they wanted—needed—from the living. She’d left him behind without a single backward glance.

  Probably the treatment he deserved for dragging her in to this never-ending inhuman shitstorm.

  Matthew pressed his knee into Hayden’s leg, pinning him to the wall again. The gesture could’ve been playful, but Hayden knew better. The guy shrugged when Hayden recoiled, then said, “No point in playing games with you. Mattie tells me you’re smart. Are you smart?”

  Hayden’s reply was a glare. If you looked at his IQ score you’d think so. But if he was so damn amazing, why couldn’t he figure a way out of this fucked up mess?

  “Guess I’ll come right out and tell you why I’ve sought you out. I’ve brought you a gift.”

  The last time he’d been this close to Matthew, two of them had been in a cage with Rachelle, using her, fucking her in all possible ways while she squirmed, blue eyes glazed while she begged for more abuse. He’d gone along with everything that had been asked, even the things that were only suggested. In the end, he’d falle
n to a depth of depravity he hadn’t known he’d been capable of. Never even knew existed. He knew now.

  He understood.

  “Really.” Matthew sighed dramatically. “Stop thinking about your poor little rich girl Rachelle. She came to the camp willingly. Nothing’s happened that she didn’t want.”

  Hayden swallowed against the bile rising in his throat.

  “She likes our lifestyle very, very much.” The other guy laughed, reached up and stroked the row of rings outlining his ear. “You’re really going to have to let that resentment go.”

  If only it was resentment. That emotion would be easier to get through, rationalize.

  But it wasn’t only resentment. It was a collection of much uglier things. Those vile images he’d created were etched in his mind, along with the memories of what he’d done in that cage. Matthew had asked him for a show, to make it good. So he’d performed. Done horrendous things he hadn’t known he was capable of. “Fuck you,” was the only response he could muster.

  “Next time,” Matthew said with a wink. “But for now, come to Rod McKinon’s booth. What I have for you is absolutely to die for.” Not waiting for a reply, the other man pushed himself from the wall and easily cut into the crowd. Anywhere else the guy would’ve stood out, but there in the mix of comic fans and zombie wanna-bes a guy dressed in brown leather pants, black T-shirt and a long black leather coat fit right in. Shaved head, tattoos and an all-around disturbing appearance, it wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow. After all, it could be a costume, just something someone put on for the event. Or he could be a graphic novel writer. Or an editor. Or a movie star pretending to be a zombie, like Rodney McKinon.

  If only.

  But he wasn’t.

  The guy was the real thing—one of the newly infamous sex-cult zombie tribe infecting the snowy streets of Boston. A thing that feasted on sex with humans, took them for servants. This one was the leader of the undead dozens that existed in the same horrific way. The creatures stopped at nothing to get what they needed. Ruining lives was just another day for them.

  A gift.

  Doubtful. Another manipulation, more likely.

  Without even knowing what it was, Hayden knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant. He was damn sure he wasn’t going to want it, either. And now he had one more thing to deal with before finding his boss. The man had made him a promise, and he wanted to be sure it was still good. It had to be because Bob Keeler delivering on his end of the bargain was absolutely the only thing that was going to make this sickening week of his life worth living through.

  Hayden stayed flattened to the wall, watching Matthew’s bald head until he disappeared around a far corner, then dove into the flowing mob.

  Rod McKinon, the star of the just released horror hit, Zombie Rites, was in his booth flanked by two bald security guards, both with arms bigger than a normal man’s legs. McKinon himself was pretty average—not tall, not short, fit enough to get work in Hollywood, and alright to look at. The thing about the guy that made him stand out was his weird flexibility. He could bend himself into hideous positions that not even CGI programmers could think up. Or maybe those positions made him that much more appealing on the casting couches and that’s how he’d worked himself to the top of the horror movie world. No matter what it was, the guy was the It man right now. The just-released action horror film was selling out across the country and, thanks to Hayden’s coverage of the zombie tribe roaming the streets of Boston, even more so in his city.

  A growing line of groupies holding movie posters and T-shirts snaked away from the booth. Some of them were dancing to the techno buzzing from the speakers. Since the morning before, Rod had probably already signed thousands of posters and dozens of other things—like tits and ass cheeks. Apparently, if the rumors were true, he refused to sign cocks. Hayden spotted Matthew’s back in the far corner of the booth. From the movement of his arms, it looked like he was talking to someone but Hayden couldn’t tell if there was someone else back there with him or not. How exactly was he connected to the star of the moment? As he stood in the aisle, trying to decide what the best plan of action could be, the endless stream of bodies jostled him and the constant hum of chatter and shouts rumbled in his ears.

  “Hey man, you want to meet him, right?” Someone tapped Hayden’s shoulder. “I can set that up.”

  Hayden tried to side step the guy who’d planted himself right in his way. Now he really couldn’t see what Matthew was up to. “Thanks, but I don’t need anything.”

  The guy smiled, lifted his eyebrows. “You here alone?”

  “Yeah, but I—”

  Following Hayden’s movement, the guy held up some bright pink wrist bands. “These are for the dudes only after party.”

  The guy had one of those overly-macho shaved on the sides, slicked back on the top haircuts that just about screamed, I exist for microbrew beer and quirky short films. What was he doing there at the comic-zombie mash-up? Hayden looked the guy over, as though he might be able to find some answer hidden in the plaid of his pressed and tucked high-end flannel shirt but found nothing to answer the question.

  Being that out of place sucked. If he’d been in the right mood, Hayden would’ve felt bad for him. As it was, he wasn’t in any kind of right mood, so he dodged the other way. “Like I said, I don’t—”

  “No, man,” the guy smiled wider, flashing two rows of rich kid teeth as he held up one surprisingly calloused palm. “It’s not like that. It’s going to be cool. Sexy. These are special bands, a priority invite to an exclusive event. Just a $20 to me and you’re in.”

  Even as he was trying to look past the guy’s shoulder to see what was going on in the booth, Hayden’s reporter curiosity kicked in. He pointed toward the booth. “Thought you said I could meet McKinon?”

  The blond’s eyes lit up. “Right man. It’s his thing.” The guy leaned in. “It’s at The Southie.” He lifted his other hand and circled it in the air. “Starts after this circus ends.”

  No way in hell this guy had ever been to The Southie. That place had a reputation. Instead of pointing the hypocrisy out, Hayden mimicked the guy, circling his index finger. “A circus, huh?”

  The guy didn’t catch on that he was being made fun of.

  Hayden kind of liked him for that. “Why’d you pick me to sell the band to?”

  The guy’s smile disappeared. “Buy the band and find out.”

  Hayden slipped a $20 from his wallet. The guy’s calluses scraped Hayden’s skin as he wound the band as tightly as it would go, then snapped it on. “Good luck,” he said, backing away, his shoulders looking broader and more solid as the guy unwound and straightened to his full height.

  The bright band, a new dark promise, cut into Hayden’s wrist.

  When he turned around, Matthew was there, right in his face, breathing on him. He grabbed Hayden’s arm and yanked him through the crowd surrounding McKinon’s booth. A couple people in line shoved them both, yelling fuck you and assholes loud enough to be heard over the music and general noise. Hayden jogged along feeling the cut of each of Matthew’s fingers into his arm as he rammed into people crowding around McKinon’s booth.

  When they reached the far side of the booth, Matthew swung behind and shoved him in. The back of the booth was dark, crammed with cardboard boxes and steaming with a stench that soured Hayden’s lungs.

  “Here you are, college boy. My gift to you.”

  Hayden took two steps forward, then reeled back.

  Matthew folded his arms across his chest. “I’m glad you recognize it.”

  Last time he’d seen the thing there had been two of them. He’d watched Mattie carry them out of his apartment, one over each powerful shoulder. Her bringing them back to the tribe was supposed to make her some kind of hero. Why was Matthew so anxious to get rid of one?

  “That’s’ right.” The tribe leader leaned into a crate and crossed one ankle over the other, staring hard. Watching Hayden’s response. “One for you and
one for me.”

  He couldn’t possibly take it. Where would he put it? How could he explain it? “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

  “Like I said, Mattie keeps telling me how clever you are. How you’re going to get some information and figure something out. Guess I want to see what it is you’re going to figure out. I want to know what you’re so clever about.” Matthew lifted the thing off the ground. “We might as well start with this, right? See what you can do with it.” Matthew forced the thing into Hayden’s arms, said, “Don’t disappoint me,” then backed him up to the edge of the booth, shoving him through the beige curtain and back out into the ever-flowing sea of people.

  * * *

  The information Hayden needed wasn’t anywhere on the coffee table in front of him. It wasn’t scribbled on one of the loose papers crammed in his backpack sitting on the floor of his borrowed apartment. Nor was it in either of those articles he’d written for The Boston Weekly. It sure as hell wasn’t hiding somewhere in the back of his mind. His head was filled with humiliation, dread and fear. That was all.

  Days ago, his only worries had been fucking his girlfriend and finding better ways to pay his student loans. Getting a respectable job, he’d wanted that then, wanted it even more now.

  Once Matthew had put that burlap-wrapped bundle into his arms, he’d had no choice other than to return to his apartment. There he sat, reading and rereading. Once a person joined the tribe, was there a way out? What was he missing? All Hayden had to do was deliver. That and find a way to get rid of the thing lurking in the shadows of his life, appearing when it suited her to use him for sex and to manipulate him into getting the information she was after.

  How could he have ever imagined that his life would be taken over by one of the undead, a mini-skirt wearing thing that looked like it a teenager’s video game fantasy. Torn fishnets, heavy black boots, tits popping out between the makeshift sweater made of bands of red wool…