“All right. That’s all I’m asking.” Killian sighed, his eyes dropping below mine. I didn’t care where his eyes were, just that our meeting was done.
I said nothing else as I stood and went for the door.
Killian had something more to say, for he was behind me suddenly, grabbing the door before I could. “You know…it’s my birthday tomorrow.”
Freezing, I wasn’t sure what I should do with this information.
“I know you have off, but…the others and I are going out for drinks. You should join us.” There was a pause, a bit too long of one, before he yanked the door open and let me escape.
As I hurried away, I knew drinks were the last thing I wanted, especially where Killian was concerned.
Chapter Two - Lincoln
The feeling of hot water on my skin was one of the best feelings in the world. It was right up there with fucking, hunting, and killing. Pure ecstasy. Almost like the water could really get me clean, purify the darkness in my soul.
Did I even have a soul? I guessed it didn’t matter much, because if I did, I definitely wasn’t going to heaven anytime soon. The bastard upstairs wouldn’t even look at me after what I’d done. What I still planned on doing, until the day I got caught.
Because all killers got caught, one way or another. The police, the FBI, or even old age. Sooner or later something would catch up with me, and I wouldn’t be able to escape. Not a pleasant thought. I should be thinking of happy thoughts, here in the shower.
Yes, happy thoughts, like our last kill.
I would be the world’s biggest liar if I said I didn’t get a thrill out of hearing the screams, the chains rattling as our latest prey of the night had tried to escape from our basement of horrors. It was funny in a way, because she’d been more than willing to get tied up on our bed, to be shared between me and Ed. Women were always the easier ones to finagle into coming with us. Men…the men were harder. Some took more convincing than others.
Ed and I had a system. It worked. For years it had worked. We were like brothers, him and I, only not really, because then things would’ve been weird. But we were alike in all the ways that counted. We got pleasure from the same thing: inflicting pain onto others.
I remembered watching Ed pound into her. He always wore a manic look on his face when his dick was in someone, a smirk he never wore when he wasn’t wet from cunt. Then, of course, my mind went to what had happened after. After we’d had our fill of the pretty blonde, after we’d choked her and brought her to the basement.
She’d been a bad girl, and someone didn’t want her coming home.
Ed and I never knew the details. We just…did what we had to. In the beginning, at least, I’d get the contact information, and we’d plan the kill, decide whether to stage an accident or bring them home and have some fun first. We weren’t assassins in the generic way, and it wasn’t so much a family business as it was family courtesy, because my family knew all about my urges, and Ed’s, too.
Even without the tips to who had a need for a knife against the throat, Ed and I would still find someone to sate our needs. One way or another, we would kill. We couldn’t do without it.
I killed my first when I was young. It was before my family had brought me into the business. It was a messy kill, blood was everywhere, and the cleanup was a bitch, but I will never forget the feeling of calmness that had swept over me after the deed was done.
I needed to kill, to fill whatever dark hunger was inside of me.
I felt my cock harden as I remembered my first. The blood, the thrill of pressing the knife against bare, soft skin, watching red ooze out in a thick line. There was nothing better than being in complete control, and conversely, nothing worse than losing it.
My hand went to grip my dick, and before I knew what I was doing, I was pumping along its length, jacking myself off in the shower. My eyes closed, and I breathed hard. It just wasn’t the same when it was me doing it; to have someone else’s hand, someone else’s mouth around it? The best, especially if that person knew what they were doing.
Hips starting to buck, to sway along with the movement of my hand, I felt the pleasure growing inside, and I didn’t bother trying to delay it. I knew Ed was probably in the kitchen, about done with dinner. Didn’t want to keep him waiting too long.
It wasn’t but two minutes later when I felt myself being pushed over the edge. Cum shot out of me, landing on the tile above the water spout, smudging as it seeped down onto the knob that controlled the temperature. I sagged back, washing off my hand in the water before turning it off.
Eh. I’ll clean it up later.
Stumbling out of the tub, I grabbed a towel, drying myself off. My dick was still erect; it’d probably take a few minutes to get back to normal. I didn’t bother putting on clothes before stepping out of the bathroom, walking down the hall as I rubbed the towel on my head, drying my black hair.
My looks, I’d been told on multiple occasions, were extremely high on the scale of attractiveness. I was over six foot, tall, compared to some men I supposed. Muscular because I had to be—how else could I overpower our chosen ones? I was, basically, the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.
I dropped my towel on the backside of the couch, glancing to where Ed was in the kitchen, cooking some complicated dish that looked like it involved a million different ingredients. He wore clean clothes, and an apron above it all. Whatever meat he’d chosen to cook had been bloody, for his fingers were stained red.
Ed was not like me. A little shorter, along with having the looks of the stereotypical teenage heartthrob. You know the type—blonde hair, blue eyes, dimples that made girls and women of all ages swoon. Only now we were both in our thirties, and our skills involving manipulation had only grown.
“Had a fun shower?” Ed asked, glancing up over the island, where he worked to cut whatever meat into thin slices. He didn’t even blink at my nakedness; it was not new to him. More often than not I was naked in this house. Clothes were just so…restricting.
And another thing to take off.
I grumbled an affirmative, reaching for the remote and turning up the volume. The nightly news was on, and the pretty newscaster was busy telling the weather for the next week, an awfully out of date green screen behind her.
Ed paused in his cutting, using his elbow to tap something on his phone, which sat off to the side. The damned man actually scrolled using his elbow. I couldn’t even describe how stupid he looked.
“What are you doing?” I asked, not really caring.
“It’s Tuesday,” he said, as if it should be all I needed. It was not.
“What the fuck does it matter if it’s Tuesday? You got some stupid ass TV show on later or something?” Truthfully, Ed was more normal than I was, because there weren’t many things I enjoyed. Ed kept me grounded, kept me sane. Without him, I’d probably either be dead or in jail.
More like federal prison.
“Another article was released.” Ed went on, reading directly from his phone, “What makes a killer?”
I tried to listen as he read the entire article out loud, so wrapped up in his own imagination I had to roll my eyes. Ed and his fucking fascination with the journalist. Whoever she was, she probably had an army of people like Ed wanting to meet her—and wanting to kill her.
When he was done, I said, “You’ve been stalking her articles for months.”
“I know,” Ed said, shrugging as he got back to cooking. “I think it’s time.”
Okay, at that I had to look at him. “You want to meet her? Ed, she’s not a nameless woman on the street. She’s published and probably well known in her town.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to kill her, just meet her. Maybe she writes about people like us because she is like us,” Ed spoke, desperate hope evident in his tone. The bastard longed for another person to this duo, because apparently I wasn’t enough.
I stretched my arms on the back cushion, lifting my legs and resting my feet on the coff
ee table. My dick was fully limp now. “And if she’s disappointing?” I knew what the answer would be before I even asked the question. So why’d I ask? I couldn’t say.
“Then I brainstorm and think of a way to kill her,” Ed said simply.
Right. Because people like Ed, and by extension people like me, could never just leave someone alone.
“I have off tomorrow. I’m going to scope her out. Start at the Tribune, see if she’s there.”
I knew his ways. Ed was a master at finding people, even better at playing the normal card. Women and men alike flocked to his dimples and his charm, and once they realized they were in the spider’s web, it was far too late.
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“Stella Wilson.”
This Stella Wilson had no idea the shitstorm heading her way. Ed might look pretty, but deep down, he was just as psychotic as I was. Stella Wilson was in for a world of hurt.
Chapter Three - Stella
I started my day off by taking a bubble bath. A weird time for a bath, but on days off, there was hardly anything I could think of to do. I’d probably stay in the bath for an hour until I was a prune, then make my way to the couch, where I’d flip on the TV and work on my next blog post. I was in the middle of writing posts about the most famous American serial killers. My next one was about Ted Bundy.
A knock on the bathroom door drew me out of my thoughts, and Callie walked in, wearing fishnet stockings, a short skirt, and a shirt that showed her midriff—which was flat, but still. I didn’t need to see it, especially from the position I was in. I didn’t need to know, for instance, she wasn’t wearing underwear beneath the skirt and the fishnets.
Plus, I was naked and in the tub. Hadn’t she ever heard of privacy? It was a good thing I had made enough bubbles to cover my private parts, otherwise I would’ve given her an earful about barging in.
Still, I did find it meaningful to say, “Why the hell aren’t you wearing underwear?” I averted my eyes as she bent over the sink and ran a tube of red lipstick over her lips.
Callie was my best friend, but sometimes she could get a little…strange.
I was jealous of her, in a way. With her salon-highlighted brown hair, cut in layers to frame her heart-shaped face, not to mention her brown eyes that were much warmer and welcoming than mine, she was every man’s dream. Plus, ever since middle school, when she’d blossomed and popped and grew every which way imaginable, I couldn’t help but feel a tad insecure. My boobs were nothing like hers, even if, she swore to me a lot more than once, men didn’t care as long they got boobs in general.
“I have a date today,” she said with a smile. “I’m meeting John for lunch, and then we’re seeing a movie.” Callie puckered her lips in the mirror, as if practicing her kiss me now face. She had the sultry, seductive expression down pat since she was fifteen. The way she was dressed, she planned on doing a lot more than kissing with this John guy.
“Doesn’t John have a job? Don’t you?” I joked. Was this the first time I was hearing about John? I couldn’t remember. Just went to show how good of a friend I was. Callie deserved better.
Callie put the red lipstick away, turning to lean on the counter as she stared down at me in the mess of bubbles. “What about you? You have any plans for today?”
Like a good friend, she always asked, and like a good friend, I always assured her I wouldn’t be bored without her. I knew I dragged her down, because I wasn’t as social as her, didn’t have other friends like she did. Definitely had no boyfriends. It hurt to lie to her constantly, but I didn’t want her worrying about me.
“Killian invited me out for drinks with the others. It’s his birthday today,” I said, not sure why I felt like sharing the whole thing. Now that I mentioned Killian’s name, she’d always find a way to bring him up. It had taken her three months after the Christmas party to stop talking about him.
Callie grinned. “Killian, huh? Finally giving the fuckup another chance?” She was a fan of drunk proclamations of love, so the whole coming onto me thing hadn’t nearly been as intense and frightening to her as it had been to me at the time.
“No, but it’s something to do, isn’t it?”
My friend couldn’t argue with that logic. “Okay, but just remember, be safe. If you need any condoms—”
I instantly wanted to plug my ears. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”
Callie shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you change your mind though, they’re in the top drawer of my nightstand. I’ll see you later. Feel free to text me updates—I’ll probably be staying over at John’s tonight, but I’m always down to crash a birthday party.” She giggled before leaving me alone in my bath, finally.
Shit. I couldn’t believe I’d spilled the beans to Callie. Somehow, my best friend always had a super easy time prying things like this from me. I wore everything on my sleeve when it came to her, and sometimes I wished I could be more of a closed book. Now I felt like I had to go tonight, so I wouldn’t be a liar—and I so didn’t want to.
After the water got cold and the bubbles popped, I got out of the bath and dried off. I called the office and got the address of the bar, along with the time. I was fully committed to going now, so after sitting and watching TV while typing out my next blog post, I chose my outfit.
A clean black shirt, sleeveless, along with jeans that were not ripped or discolored. I thought they were nice choices, but what did I know when it came to fashion? I was more of a lazy person when it came to dressing for the day. I was the one wearing yoga pants every day before and after work, even while running errands and going food shopping. Comfort over beauty.
I threw on my chosen outfit, did just the barest hints of makeup, and waited. Yeah…I was actually a really boring person, deep down. Boring, hardly any social skills, and weird. But I was okay with it, because I’d been this way my entire life. My hobbies and interests had always been viewed as odd by my parents, other classmates, and my coworkers.
Ironic that my articles about killers were the highest ranking and most viewed articles on the Local Tribune’s website, wasn’t it?
Before leaving the house, I grabbed my phone and my wallet. Purses were useless. I didn’t have enough junk to lug around, so anytime I wasn’t going to work, I just grabbed my wallet—a man’s wallet, so it could fit in my back pocket—and my phone, which fit in the other. Having my hands free was not something I wanted to give up.
I locked the front door behind me with my key as I opened a new message. From my mom, asking if I was free anytime next week. Right. How the hell could I have forgotten? Bree, my little sister, was getting married, and I was the maid of honor. Cue the eye-rolling and the ugly dress montages. I had to meet them for the fitting, get measured so my maid of honor dress actually fit me. Not what I wanted to do, at all.
I texted back as I walked along the sidewalk. I’ll have to check my schedule and get back to you. With any luck, that would be that, and my mom would drop it. Not only was I forced to go to this birthday thing for Killian, but I was also forced to think about my younger sister and how she was everything our parents ever wanted. I, on the other hand, was just one big disappointment.
Couldn’t make it up, because it’s true. Our parents put all of their effort into Bree. The minute I moved out, it was like I didn’t exist anymore. It hurt, it hurt for a long time, because until then, I’d always thought my parents and I had a good relationship. I never got in trouble, always listened to their word like it was law. I got good grades and didn’t do drugs or get pregnant.
All of my accomplishments, all of my effort—it meant nothing. Bree was twenty-two years old, got in trouble for drinking multiple times before she even turned eighteen, and yet she was the golden child. Not me. Never me.
No one ever chose me.
It wasn’t like I wanted to be the center of their attention constantly. I wasn’t that selfish or stupid, but parents were supposed to love their children equally, weren’t they? How the hell did I
get stuck with a family like this?
It didn’t matter. I shouldn’t think about it. I couldn’t change it, so there was absolutely no point to it.
Sliding my phone into my back pocket, I swore to myself I would not glance at it again until tonight, when I plugged it into the charger before bed. I would not give my mom the satisfaction of knowing I was hung up on her reply, or her attention. I was my own woman, damn it, and I was going to start acting like one.
I was…over an hour early to the bar. I was so lame. So ridiculously lame.
I sat at the counter, ordered a pop, and munched on the nuts, starving. I didn’t eat today, I realized. I should’ve. It was funny how often I forgot to do the little things that kept you alive. Eating, sleeping. I was too lost in my own head and worries, I guess. Strange how some things were needed to survive, but so easy to forget.
The party, or whatever they were calling it, went as good as I expected. Once everyone showed up, it was all laughter and alcohol, everyone trading stories about Killian, who stood at the center of the group near the pool table, blushing—either from his strong drink or the stories his employees were telling. Right now, it was clear he was more like a friend than a boss.
I stood to the side of the group, sipping my pop. It was my…third refill? Alcohol wasn’t my thing. I liked being in control of all of my senses, and I did not need my head to hurt or the world to spin. Even so, the group was a bit too loud. Too rowdy. My head was starting to hurt regardless.
Sandy stood beside Killian, wearing a tight blue dress, showing off a bit of leg. Every time she spoke, she made sure to laugh, causing her chest to jiggle and every straight male’s eyes to move to her bouncing breasts, including Killian’s. She’d touch his arm when she spoke, lean over the pool table too far when it was her turn to shoot. I found her antics annoying and desperate, but the others must not have felt that way.
I was an outsider among everyone—family, friends, coworkers. There was no place for me to belong.
Cruel Black Hearts: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance Page 2