Cold Dark Souls : A Dark Reverse Harem Romance (Cruel Black Hearts Book 2)

by Candace Wondrak

  I went to grip her wrist, pulling them up by me as he positioned himself between her legs, pushing inside her without so much as a warning. Stella breathed out a sigh as Ed filled her up. And then Ed became the animal we all knew he was, wild and untamed, rough every which way.

  His thrusts were deep and hard, his expression one of anger and need. He needed to be inside of her, needed to fuck Stella like the world itself depended on it. In a way, I supposed it did, because it seemed Stella was his world now, which meant she was mine.

  Stella.

  Fucking Stella.

  Ed’s back arched, and I watched him squeeze his eyes shut. I knew his body almost as well as I knew my own, so it didn’t take me long to recognize the signs of his impending orgasm. He raked his fingers down her chest, grabbing Stella right beneath her breasts, holding onto her ribcage as his thrusts became desperate, practically begging her cunt to milk him dry. He let out a sound that was like music to my ears. Hearing Ed have his way with her was…stimulating, but now wasn’t the time for more sex.

  I had a feeling that would come later.

  What I wanted was to introduce her to Destiny. I wanted to see how she would take it, knowing I’d kidnapped her for her entertainment specifically. For her to experiment on, do whatever the fuck she wanted to.

  Ed sluggishly pulled his cock out of her, and I slowly released her wrists, allowing her to sit up. The cum on Ed’s stomach from his first ejaculation had smeared on her. She didn’t complain at all. In fact, she seemed rather…happy. Content. A strange sight on a face that hardly showed emotion, especially with those eyes.

  Those freaky, weird eyes that I hated. I hated how bright the blue one was, the dark ring around it. I hated how warm and deceitful the brown one was, set in a pale face whose skin held not a single blemish or scar. Those eyes—those fucking eyes…I was starting to like them, damn it.

  How the mighty had fallen.

  I couldn’t describe how strange it was to know this woman—with her blasted eyes—was ours in every way possible. Tonight, after sharing her body, we would take her downstairs and show her a part of us she didn’t yet know. It was true, she’d seen the body on my bed, but it wasn’t the same as coming upon prey who had yet to take their last breath. Finding a corpse was not the same as ending a life.

  How would Stella react to Destiny downstairs?

  Honestly, I couldn’t wait to find out.

  Chapter Seven – Killian

  I knew I probably shouldn’t have done what I did, but then again, it was far too late to turn back now. There was no rewinding time, no going back to fix any past mistakes. What was done was done. I had gone into Stella’s house, knocked her out, and then left her with Sandy.

  She didn’t know why I’d chosen Sandy, because she didn’t know I was the Angel Maker. Stella didn’t know it was me, otherwise she’d have a different outlook on this entire thing. She would know I chose Sandy as an apology.

  Yes, an apology for what had almost happened, for what had started to happen, on my birthday. I should never have taken a single sip of alcohol that night. Me and alcohol didn’t mix, and when we did, bad things always seemed to happen. I said things I didn’t mean, did things I didn’t mean to do…although I supposed some would argue that, subconsciously, I did mean it all. My words to Stella, accusing her of only liking killers. I’d meant it, because I was upset at her for not seeing what I was. For not liking me for me.

  How stupid.

  How ridiculously stupid of me, because she didn’t know me. The mask I wore around Stella ever since I met her was the same front I put up for everyone else, it just took me a while to realize how special she was. How different she was, deep down, and not because of her heterochromia.

  Stella would know me soon enough.

  I couldn’t believe my revelation at her house. I couldn’t believe what mystery I’d accidentally stumbled upon. Stella, it seemed, hid a lot of things from the world, but whether she did so out of necessity or because she simply didn’t know what was real was beyond me. I would make it my duty to find out.

  I stood in my basement, gazing down at a motionless, pale body. John, I thought his name was. Callie’s brother. Judging from his clothes—and the car I had to dump—he came from money, which meant Callie came from money. Which, of course, in turn meant it was only a matter of time before the hoity-toity parents came looking for their children.

  Stella didn’t have much time.

  I closed the freezer, blocking out John’s face. I still wasn’t sure what to do with him, but he wasn’t about to go anywhere. Turning, I faced the metal table resting against the stairs. A crumpled body lay atop it, still quite dirty. I did my best to dust her off and clean her, but the body was too old, too decayed. Rotten every which way. Maggots and worms and all. The smell actually wasn’t too awful, probably because most of the parts that would smell were gone by now, eaten away with time and the bugs in the dirt.

  Callie had definitely looked better, though I’d never seen her when she was alive, so I didn’t have much to compare her to.

  Moving closer to her, I tilted my head, studying her crumpled form. Stella had killed her, and by my best guess I’d put the timeline at least six months ago. It was difficult to tell, because the ground slowed decomposition a bit. If the body would’ve been left above ground, she’d be nothing but bones now, sun-bleached and dried.

  As I looked at the corpse, I wondered how it happened. Had it been on purpose? Accidental? I couldn’t picture Stella attacking anyone, but then again, maybe she wore a mask similar to mine. Maybe the world didn’t know the true Stella Wilson. It was very possible, and the thought made my heart rate increase—it only meant we belonged together.

  I sighed, moving around to the stairs, leaving Callie and her brother in the basement as I climbed my way back up. I really had to figure out something to do with John…I paused as I emerged into the hallway. Maybe I could do something with Stella, have a redo of our ill-fated date night.

  Yes, that night hadn’t gone over exactly how I wanted. I’d staged the body earlier, knew the police would be all over it by the time we were out on our dinner date. My thought process was that I would see her reaction, offer to take her to the crime scene again, watch her as she looked on with awe while not knowing her killer stood right beside her.

  All very romantic. At least I thought so.

  But that never happened, because as soon as she had a notification from a news app that another body was found, Stella had slipped out of the restaurant and taken off running, not even thinking to wait for me. Not knowing I was right beside her all along.

  Why couldn’t things be easy? Why couldn’t she see past my drunk come on at the last Christmas party? I’d been good since then, minus the night of my birthday. I’d tried to right my wrongs, but the only way I could get past her defenses was to show her my true face. The face of darkness itself. The Angel Maker. Make her see that I was her Angel Maker.

  I smiled to myself, shaking my head to try to push my worries away. Now was not the time for hesitation or anxiety. I would do what I had to do to ensure Stella would be mine, make her see her time should not be spent with that man from the bar.

  Oh, I’d deal with him soon enough.

  Going upstairs, I headed to the second floor of the house, where my room sat. I slid into my desk chair, glancing at the wall before me. Tons and tons of newspaper articles, cut and stuck to a giant corkboard, all with Stella’s name on it.

  I knew her work better than she did. The truth was I didn’t want her to stop writing about them, about me. The owners of the Tribune had told me to ask her—now, with the Angel Maker out there terrorizing the city, they surely had changed their minds. New serial killers were always the rage.

  Stella’s blog was different. I kept them somewhere else, in a makeshift binder that doubled for a type of scrapbook. I printed out each article and added them as time went on. The binder was growing pretty thick; she had a lot to say about killers.
And recently, a lot to say about me, only she didn’t yet know she was talking about me. To me.

  Soon enough, she’d know.

  While I was downstairs, Stella had posted yet another blog post to me. My eyes scanned it over once, twice, before I printed it out. As the printer spat out the paper, I read it a third time, feeling something warm in my chest.

  She wanted to meet me, wanted to see me for who I was.

  I wanted nothing more than that. It was all I wanted for Stella to see me, to really see me.

  First, though, I would have to deal with him. That blonde from the bar. I felt myself growing furious just thinking about it, about her leaving with him. I knew they’d spent more time with each other since that night, and I also knew I wasn’t doing a good enough job protecting her. There were people out there who would just use her and spit her out.

  Truly, it was a good thing she had me.

  I knew precisely how I would take care of him, too. The man was big, muscled, but the bigger they were, the harder they fell. It was a saying for a reason. No one was safe from me, provided they kept Stella and I apart. I would do anything, anything to have and keep Stella as mine.

  No other man would get in my way.

  Grabbing the paper off the printer, I read the article again. Stella truly had no idea how much her life was about to change, for the better, of course. Soon she would see she belonged with me, that she was meant for me. No, not just that—we were meant for each other. I would make her see everything I did was for her.

  All the bodies. All the deaths. All of it in her name.

  Everything was for Stella.

  Chapter Eight – Stella

  I had no idea why the hell Edward and Lincoln wanted me to get dressed and go with them to the basement. A small yet strange feeling rose within me. Disappointment? I wanted to go upstairs, feel the rope around my wrists and my ankles, have them do whatever they wanted to me. There was a simple beauty in the way surrendering yourself felt, amplified now that I knew how much more alive I felt after seeing Sandy strung up and put on display.

  Call me a freak. Call me weird. I didn’t care. I’d been called names so much already in my life. What was a few more? I felt how I felt, and I wasn’t going to stop the feelings from bubbling over and erupting, even if it meant I had to smile constantly now.

  Smiling was…actually not as silly as it looked. I never really understood people who were happy and smiling all the time. I thought they were just really bad actors, putting on a front to the world. How foolish I was. This world could actually make me happy. Who knew?

  I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten dressed. Edward and Lincoln both put on their clothes before they brought me to the door leading to their basement. Edward was the first to walk down the steps, Lincoln right behind me. I was more than okay with being the meat in this man sandwich—a thought I never imagined myself thinking before now.

  Crazy how suddenly life changed.

  “Lincoln went out and picked up a surprise for you,” Edward spoke, glancing at me over his shoulder.

  That shocked me. Lincoln got a surprise for me? He wouldn’t have been the one I’d peg to do anything for me, let alone go out of his way for something specifically for me. Hearing it made the butterflies in my stomach erupt once again. Maybe the man cared more for me than he showed. I had no idea why I found the possibility so appealing.

  “I don’t want to take all of the credit,” Lincoln said. “It was Ed’s idea, too.” He set a warm hand on my back as we made it to the floor of the basement, rounding the corner. “It’s something we both think you’ll enjoy.”

  I had no clue what they thought I would enjoy, unless it involved all three of us naked and me tied up, but I found my breath catching in the back of my throat as I gazed around at their basement. Sterile white. Everything was so white it hurt my eyes.

  Of course, not everything was white. There were quite a few silver, sparkling instruments resting on top of a stainless steel table, not to mention a woman chained to the wall. A woman who, by the look of her clothes, was not modest at all. Her breasts nearly spilled out of her top, her thong showing on her hips above her skirt. Her face had probably looked better, considering how her heavy makeup now lined her cheeks, following her tears. Of which she currently had none, meaning she had been here for a little while.

  Since Lincoln had got her for me.

  I was…so very confused. This wasn’t like getting me a puppy or a fish. What in the world did these two expect me to do with her?

  The woman focused on me, rattling her chains. “You,” she spoke to me, “please, help me. They’re fucking nuts—” She didn’t stop there, but I tuned her out, having heard enough from her. I didn’t need to hear her disparage either of my men.

  Turning to Edward and Lincoln, I spoke, “I don’t understand.”

  Edward and Lincoln shared a look. Neither man said anything in response, but Edward did move to the table, picking up a small object. He handed it to me, and I slowly took it, tilting it in the basement’s fluorescent light. I’d seen the instrument before, on TV, in biology back in high school, but not once had it ever seemed so important, so useful.

  A scalpel.

  My questioning stare rose to Edward’s lively blue one. He told me, “She’s for you, to do whatever you want to. The basement’s soundproof, so no one will be able to hear her scream. She’s all yours, Stella.” Something twinkled in his eyes; excitement? Had to be. He was eager to see what I would do, how I would go about this.

  I probably didn’t respond like any normal person would’ve.

  And it was because I didn’t automatically say no that the woman on the wall shouted, “You’ve got to be kidding me—you’re all sick fucks. I hope all three of you burn in hell.” Her voice trembled only a bit, and I could easily imagine trading places with her. After all, it wasn’t so long ago Lincoln had tried to kill me.

  He’d tried to kill me, and now he brought me someone I could do whatever I wanted to. I could kill her, if I wanted to. I could peel the skin off her back and listen to her screams of agony as I sawed away at her. Pluck out every single tooth in her mouth until she gurgled and drowned in her own blood, cut out every single organ until there was nothing left inside of her.

  Oh, the things I could do to her.

  “What’s her name?” I questioned, cocking my head as I watched her. She watched me back, trying to act tough even though everyone here knew she held no cards in her hand. The deck was mine.

  “Destiny’s her street name,” Lincoln answered. “But call her whatever you want.”

  Edward moved beside me, setting a hand on my hip as he asked, “Do you like her?”

  I thought long and hard about my answer. This was not what I’d been expecting as the two brought me downstairs, and yet—yet there couldn’t have been a better surprise waiting for me. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to kill Destiny; I hardly knew her. It was more like a sick, dark curiosity rising inside of me, refusing to be full until I knew what it was like to draw blood from flesh.

  Hmm. I supposed I was more like Edward and Lincoln than I thought.

  A slow smile crept along my lips, and I moved the scalpel to the side, leaning on my tiptoes to place a single kiss on Edward’s cheek. “I love her,” I said, a strange sense of exhilaration sweeping through me, utterly different than how I felt when I let Edward and Lincoln have their way with me. Totally different than being controlled.

  I was in control when it came to Destiny. I was the one who said bleed and her body the one who asked how much.

  Facing Destiny again, I took a step toward her, watching the way her body quivered, shaking because she was scared of me. I wanted to laugh, because I was the least frightening person in this basement, but I didn’t, because I was the one with the tiny, sharp blade.

  “Touch me with that thing, and I swear to God I will haunt you in your fucking sleep,” Destiny whispered, her voice breaking over the final words. She had fight left in h
er. If anything, it made me feel even higher than I did before, like I was flying in the sky, a druggie relishing her high.

  This was not a high I’d ever experienced before. It was a high I was not about to back down from. This was going to happen, and as much as my parents would hate me if they ever found out, I had to admit I suddenly looked forward to it so very much.

  I stood before Destiny, less than a foot before her. She was taller than me, but chained to the wall, it evened us out. I met her eyes as I lifted the scalpel, watching them widen as I inched closer. Less than half a foot away, and she abruptly turned her head, whimpering, trying to do her best to avoid the blade.

  Lincoln would have none of it. He stormed to my side, his hand grabbing the side of Destiny’s head, forcing her to turn back to me, holding her still so she couldn’t turn away again. New, fresh tears pricked the corners of her eyes, which were really a lovely hue, but I wasn’t so much focused on the color as I was the expression inside of them.

  After glancing up at Lincoln, meeting his dark stare and wordlessly thanking him, I moved in on Destiny. I never thought I’d wind up here, with a scalpel in my hand and a woman at my mercy. Not a woman. A victim. My very own, as if I was just like the Angel Killer, just like Edward and Lincoln.

  In a way I was. I was just like them, even if I’d never actually drawn blood before. My kill count was a resounding zero, but that didn’t change who I was, what I felt inside. I was just as murderous and cruel as the two men beside me, and I’d found my home with them, Angel Maker aside. He might be killing for me, but Edward and Lincoln were going to let me do the killing. The difference couldn’t have felt greater.

  I brought the tip of the scalpel to Destiny’s cheek, ignoring the high-pitched sounds escaping from her throat. An exhale left me as I dug the metal into her skin, the pale soft flesh puckering and giving way easily, like a knife through butter. I lifted the scalpel after drawing a line about an inch long, watching, completely rapt, as blood oozed out, coming into a drip at the bottom of the cut.