Little Stranger: A Dark Taboo Romance, page 1
Little Stranger
A Dark Taboo Romance
Copyright © 2023 by Leigh Rivers
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted or resold in any form or by any means, including photography, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or stored in any database or retrieval system without the prior written consent of the author, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are created by the author or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
Edited by Laura at Ten Thousand Editing and Book Design
Proofread by Kendra Taylor and Shawna Peak
eBook Formatted by Leigh Rivers
Cover by Avery at Averyxdesigns
First Edition 2023
This standalone is written in American English.
PLAYLIST
Dark Things – ADONA
Sick Obsession – Landon Tewers
Twisted – MISSIO
One Way Or Another – Until The Ribbon Breaks
Archangel – MEJKO, Rose Ghould
HEARTBEAT – Isabel LaRosa
Scars – Boy Epic
In Flames – Digital Daggers
Vendetta – UNSECRET, Krigarè
Hotel Drive – VICE MONROE
M3rry Go – VICE MONROE
Young And Beautiful – Lana Del Ray
Wildest Dreams – Taylor Swift
Find the Little Stranger playlist on Spotify HERE
Content Warning
Don’t be fooled by Part One, this book is one of the darkest I’ve ever written and contains a lot of triggering content that some readers may find unsettling.
If dark and taboo books aren’t for you, then this isn’t your jam. Really, if anything listed triggers you, I beg you to stop now, think about your mental health, and send this book back to where you found it in the pits of hell.
The characters are foster siblings, not blood related, but are raised together.
If you are comfortable with heavy somnophilia, CNC, dubious consent, drugging, branding, choking, with other kinks like brother-sister kink, knife play, primal play, blood play, pain, screwdriver, fear, light breeding, anal and spider play, Malachi Vize—my new favorite mute psychopath—is waiting for you.
If a masked stranger presses a screwdriver to your throat and tells you to run, what do you do?
Contents
Part One
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
Part Two
10
11
12
13
14
15
Epilogue
About the Author
Part One
Olivia
1
Olivia—Aged 7
Mommy holds my hand as I bounce on my sparkly pink dolly shoes excitedly. The airport is very noisy from all the people rushing around, crowds running with their suitcases ready to go on the big plane!
“Is he here yet?” I ask with a huge grin, pulling Mommy’s hand and bouncing some more.
“Not yet, sweetie,” she replies, glancing at my daddy. He doesn’t seem as excited as me and Mommy, but I did overhear them talking this morning, and he’s looking forward to finally meeting him.
My new brother. He’s a year older than me, and from what I heard by listening in to my parents, he’s been abused, a word they used when they adopted me too.
Daddy places a hand on top of my head to stop me from jumping up and down. He doesn’t like it when I do that. He usually hits my butt then sends me to my room.
“Stop being erratic. Do you promise to be on your best behavior, angel?”
I nod enthusiastically and grin, raising my pinkie. “I promise.”
He doesn’t hook his pinkie with mine, and I drop my hand and pout.
But then my mommy squeals and leans down to me. “Sweetie, this is your new brother. Remember when me and Daddy rescued you from that evil place? We rescued him too!”
A boy walks towards us with a plastic bag—where is his suitcase? He’s taller than me, with black hair and the bluest eyes—like the color of my favorite doll’s hair.
The lady holding his hand rolls her eyes and mouths, “Good luck,” to Mommy then hands some papers to Daddy. “Sign all of these. The last page is about his therapist—please keep that one and scan it over once you’ve read it all and agree for him to attend each session.”
Daddy huffs. “Are you sure about this? Have you considered his report?”
He’s looking at Mommy, who narrows her eyes at him. “Yes, Jamieson. You’re the one who showed me his case in the first place, so either put a smile on your face or I’ll do this myself.”
Daddy smiles.
I flap the tulle of the princess dress I wore to surprise him. I want him to be as happy as I am, but he isn’t grinning or clapping like me. He looks… sad. Mommy said I cheer her up when I talk to her, so I step forward.
“Hi!” I say with a huge smile. “My name is Olivia. I’m seven!” I hold up seven fingers. “Do you think I look like a princess?” I gesture to my dress.
The boy stares at me, taking one step closer, making me look up at him. He’s like the fireman who took me out the burning house—a big, walking, human tower!
Why isn’t he saying hello? Doesn’t he like my dress?
Instead of speaking, he tilts his head a little—watching me.
My smile drops. “You don’t like my dress?” It has pink sparkles to match the ribbons in my hair. Mommy even let me wear some of her juicy lip gloss to make my lips sparkle like twinkling stars.
He does something with his hands, and I narrow my eyes then look at Mommy. She’s talking to the lady, and my daddy is writing on pieces of paper. I turn to the boy, and he does the thing with his hands again.
“Was it scary on the plane? I always cry when it goes really fast and shoots off into the sky! Daddy always makes us go on one. He’s your daddy now too!”
He just stares at me, lifting his hand to the back of his neck then messing up his curly black hair.
I go to turn to my parents again and gasp when the boy takes my wrist, making my eyes snap back at him. He’s moving his hands again, and I blink at him.
Confused, I tilt my head like he did a minute ago, making my brown hair cover my eyes.
He points to the revolving doors then offers me his hand. Mommy and Daddy are still talking to the lady, so I let him take my hand, and we run towards the door. Maybe he wants to play hide-and-seek? I’m really good at finding great hiding places.
I giggle as my dolly shoes hit the ground, my hair flying around crazy.
When I was at the other house, the girls and boys always played games—the boys would chase us, and if they caught us, we had to go to jail. There were so many of us. I had loads of friends! But then Mommy and Daddy came and found me and brought me to their home.
It’s so big, and my mommy said I could get a dog for my birthday if I behave. It will be my first birthday with them, and I can’t wait to get my first ever present.
“Where are we going?” I ask when he keeps pulling me through the airport, dodging all the busy people way taller than us. I trip up, and I squeal as I tumble forward, but the boy catches me, dragging me back to my feet.
We run again, and I start to laugh again. The boy stops at a door and looks around us, then pulls me inside. I gasp and try to get back out when I see we’re in a bathroom full of boys.
Grabbing me to make me look up at him, he does something with his hands again then points at himself. When I still have no idea what he’s doing, he points to his mouth and shakes his head—then points to my mouth and nods.
“You can’t talk?”
He shakes his head again, and my eyes widen. “That’s okay. I couldn’t talk for so, so long! I can teach you.”
Annoyed, he rolls his eyes. That’s so rude!
He points at me again then presses his palm to his chest, and there’s something scary in his eyes as he comes closer to me; I want to go back to our parents. But before I can ask what he’s doing or scream real loud, Daddy throws open the door, and my mommy snatches me up into her arms.
“I told you not to be trouble!” Daddy yells at me.
My eyes shut, and I wait for him to yell some more, but he doesn’t.
“And you,” he snaps at the boy. “You’re on a strike, little man. Two more, and your ass is going to another new home. You’re Malachi Vize now, and the Vizes don’t step out of line, so get used to it.”
My lips curl into a smile. I’m a Vize too. We aren’t afraid of anything.
Except spiders—they creep me out.
The boy lowers his head and circles his fist against his chest.
“He’s saying he’s sorry, sweetie,” Mommy whispers to me. “He communicates with sign language.”
“What’s that? I want to do it too!”
She chuckles and kisses my forehead. “I’ll teach you. We’ll teach the whole house.”
“Even the house helpers?”
She nods and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Yes. We’ll ensure the chefs, mai
My new mommy is nice. She never yells at me or scares me like my daddy. She always braids my hair and paints my nails and sings with me in the car.
I like my mommy.
In the car, Malachi sits next to me and stares at me the whole drive home. It’s a little weird, and he’s making me a little nervous. I smile at him anyway, but he only slants his head, as if he’s studying me. He keeps staring at my hair. Maybe he likes my ribbons?
When we get to my room, the one we now share because our mommy thinks it will be the best way for us to “bond,” he sits on his bed opposite mine and watches me show him my new dollhouse. He doesn’t laugh when I make a joke, or when I make my Barbie talk to him, and when I give him one of my dolls so he can play with me, he pulls the head off and makes my eyes widen.
“No!” I yell, snatching it from him. “You don’t do that, Malachi!”
He points at me again then lays a palm on his chest.
“What does that mean?” I ask, popping the doll’s head back on and hiding her in the wooden house. “Can you teach me?”
All he does is smirk, then he reaches for a strand of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers.
“Do you want to smell it? It smells like strawberries!”
He brings my hair to his nose and inhales, closing his eyes. I freeze when he pulls me in for a hug. It’s a big hug. He’s holding the back of my head to his chest and sniffing my hair. I giggle when he brushes his fingers through it.
He pulls back and does something with his hands again, and I grab some paper and hand him a pack of crayons. “Can you write? If not, I can teach you that too.”
I watch him take the black one and write down one word that makes no sense.
Mine.
2
Olivia—Aged 11
“And when you press the keys together, you get this.” The piano sounds as my tutor shows me how to play “Happy Birthday.” She’s been teaching me for the last two weeks, and I asked if she could show me how to do that song, so I can play it for Malachi.
He’s twelve today, but he doesn’t want a party or to go for a family day out. If anything, he seems sad. My hugs usually make him feel better, or when I lie next to him in bed and we watch movies, but he said no when I asked earlier.
Well, he signed “no” because he still doesn’t talk. Mom said it’s selective—he chooses not to speak, and hasn’t since he was five years old. I’m not sure why; my dad said he’d explain when I’m older.
Sometimes, when we lie in bed or the tent we pitch in the living room, I’ll try to coax him or trick him into talking, which only makes him mad—he’ll ignore me for days when I do that. My friends think he’s weird for not talking and laugh when he signs to me, but I tell them to shut up.
We still share a room. Mom wanted to move him into his own one, but he begged her to let him stay. He’s scared of the dark and sometimes sleeps beside me. And I don’t think he likes Dad very much. Malachi ran out of his office with a black eye the other day.
I look up from the piano as Malachi walks in. He’s wearing a black hoodie, the hood up, nearly covering his curly black hair. He sits on the sofa in front of the piano and watches me while I finish my lesson.
My tutor goes to speak to Mom, something about having to reschedule my next lesson, and they get into a discussion. I hear them talk about Malachi’s birthday, that my dad won’t be here since he’s intentionally working late.
Malachi comes to sit on the stool beside me. He signs, Teach me?
He watches my fingers as I play to him what I just learned, and his eyes light up when he realizes what it is. I grin and shrug. “Happy birthday,” I say quietly. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”
He signs, Thank you, then gestures to the piano again. Play.
This time, I mess up, and he silently laughs at me when I huff and cross my arms—then he starts to press the keys in front of him, higher-pitched, and I try not to giggle at his terrible piano skills.
“Did you like the present I got you? Mom helped me pick it.”
He nods then kisses my cheek, signing, Thank you.
I turn my cheek and point at the other one. He kisses that, then I point at my forehead, and he kisses that too. When I point to my nose, he kisses my lips, and I freeze.
Pulling back, I stare at him, wide-eyed. “Mom told me not to let boys kiss me! You’re a boy!”
I’m your brother, so I’m allowed.
“Really?”
He nods, his eyes flashing. He watches me for a long second then turns his body, pressing the piano keys again.
I glance over my shoulder and notice my mom standing in the doorway, looking concerned as she holds Malachi’s birthday cake—the candles already melting.
Later that night, Dad comes home and drags Malachi out of bed, and when I try to ask what’s wrong, he yells at me to go back to sleep.
When Malachi comes back to our bedroom hours later, he’s visibly shaking and apologizes to me using his hands, and I hug him until he falls asleep.
3
Olivia—Aged 16
I brush my hair in the mirror, pull it into a high ponytail to keep it out of my face, swipe on some mascara, then hunt for my favorite lip gloss. If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late for cheer practice, and as the captain, I need to be responsible and try to be there at least twenty minutes before everyone else.
My vanity shakes as I slam the little drawer, and I let out a long, annoyed breath. “Where is it?” I mutter, searching through my makeup bags again. I pull my school bag across the floor then scan the rest of my room.
I bend down to look in my school bag again just as a knock sounds on the room door.
Malachi stands in my doorway, holding up my lip gloss.
“Why do you have that?” I ask him, frowning. Then my brows soften. “Did I leave it in the kitchen again?”
He nods and silently steps in, closing the door behind him. He tosses my lip gloss to me then pulls off his cap, turning it backwards to tame his wavy hair.
Over the last year, Malachi has changed from a boy to a young man. For seventeen, he looks twenty with a chiseled jaw, long lashes, and bright, diamond-like blue eyes. He has muscles that are starting to become noticeable through his clothes, and he loves to run. He once signed to me that it helps clear his head.
Sometimes, we run together. We’ll listen to the same song—usually Taylor Swift if I choose, or Bad Omens if he does—then we’ll sit by the lake and watch the sunrise before we go home and get ready for school.
All my friends want to kiss him. He’s the quiet, mysterious Malachi Vize that everyone wants a piece of. It sickens me—especially when they go into detail in the group chat about things I’d rather not read. He’s not popular—he’s the “silent weirdo,” yet they say things behind his back because they’re too scared to say anything to his face.
Malachi leans down and sniffs my hair, just like he does every day, then sits on my bed and signs, Where are you going?
“Abigail’s having a sleepover. Dad said I could go.”
His eyes darken a touch, and his jaw tightens.
He does that a lot too.
“Are you going out?” I ask him, and he shakes his head.
By going out, I mean on the motorbike Mom got him for his seventeenth birthday. He drives around like a lunatic, and he thinks our parents don’t know he smokes, but we can all smell it coming from his room on the other side of Vize Manor.
Mom moved him into his own room after he kissed me on the lips in front of them. It was innocent. We’d just won a board game together and were celebrating. Apparently the wrong way.
Watching them empty his side of the room was the worst day of my life—and probably his. I’ve never felt lonely, not since Mom and Dad adopted me; Malachi was always here, keeping me company, especially on stormy nights.
