My bloody daydreams would get me through the day.
Chapter Thirteen – Edward
It wasn’t the same, sleeping in my bed without Stella in it. Whether she was tied up or not, I found I missed her presence, her body, her eyes. The sounds she made when I had her under me, helpless.
She was anything but helpless, clearly.
The way she’d gone to Destiny without a hesitation, how she’d cut into her, sawed into her with vigor—it got me hard, just thinking about it. A pity because she hadn’t been here at all yesterday, and she wasn’t going to be here today, either. Stella had some dress fitting to go to, which was fine enough, because I had work in the afternoon and evening. I did tell her to call when she got home; maybe Lincoln could go and get her, have her ready for me by the time I got off work.
Lincoln had the first shift, so he was already at work, and he wouldn’t get home until a little after three, and by that time I’d be gone.
If only Stella could be here with us constantly. Maybe I could ask her about moving in the next time I saw her, because I wasn’t sure how many more nights I could stand to be away from her. I needed her close by, wanted to feel her skin on mine. She was like a drug to me, no longer an obsession, as Lincoln had dubbed her in the past, but a desperate need. A need I would do anything to fulfill.
Destiny’s body was taken care of yesterday, and I’d spent most of my free time rinsing everything off. We were very adept at what we did, and it definitely did help that we had a drain on the floor in the basement. Washed everything right off, straight down the drain. Throw in a little bleach, a few other chemicals, and bye-bye, blood.
I was in the kitchen, making lunch for myself when I happened to glance at the clock.
Noon.
This day was crawling by, so fucking slow, almost like it knew I wanted it to be done and over with already. I was to be tortured before I saw Stella again.
Frowning to myself, I went to the fridge to put the bag of deli meat away—Cajun-flavored turkey, my favorite for a midday meal whose main course involved a pressed sandwich—but my ears picked something up, a sound I knew and instantly recognized.
The lock to the front door unlatching.
I let the fridge close on its own, quickly reaching for a large knife, sliding it out of its stand as I knelt behind the island. Whoever walked in wouldn’t see me. They’d see a half-made sandwich, and probably think whoever was home had made a fast dash to the bathroom. I held the knife flat against my chest, my breathing noiseless.
The front door was pushed open slowly, the person behind it stepping into my house with ease, which made me believe whoever it was was accustomed to breaking and entering almost everywhere he or she went.
My bet was a he. A man, a stranger.
The Angel Maker? If Stella’s precious serial killer was indeed stalking her, it wasn’t too far of a stretch to assume he’d found me. If he followed her, he would’ve found our house sooner or later since she spent a lot of time here.
I knew Stella adored her serial killer, but if it came down to me or him, I would choose myself every time; I hoped she would understand, if that was the case.
Turning my head, I heard the intruder head towards the stairs. Up, thankfully, instead of down. Although maybe it would be easier for me to get him downstairs, that way I could chain him up quicker. A little present for Stella.
Hmm…a present for Stella. Perhaps I should try to take him alive, if he was indeed the Angel Maker and not someone else. I would find out soon enough.
I waited until he was up the stairs before straightening out, tensing my arms, getting my body ready for whatever was to come. My feet drew me to the bottom of the stairs, and I stared up, waiting for the intruder to return after finding nothing in the rooms upstairs. It didn’t take long, and who I saw…was not who I was expecting.
“You,” I growled out, holding onto the kitchen knife’s handle as tightly as I could.
His green eyes sparkled as he met my glare and held it, giving me his own. “You,” he muttered, frowning deeply. The man didn’t like me at all,
He was indeed a he; wearing all black, leather gloves and all. The fancy clothes only drew my attention for a moment; it was mostly his red hair and freckles that made me realize I knew who he was. I’d seen him before.
This was Stella’s boss. The asshole who’d said some pretty rude things to her that first night. What did she say his name was? Killian?
Killian was about to meet his end.
For a moment, we just stared at each other, neither of us willing to make the first move. The stairs were an uneven terrain. It was best to fight him on flat ground. I noticed he had no weapon and wondered if he sought to overpower me by sheer physical force. I wasn’t as thickly-built as Lincoln, but I was stronger than I looked.
“Well?” I asked, tilting my head in a drawn-out way. Every move I made, including the way I breathed—heavy, dripping with anticipation—was a show. We were two alpha males, about to fight for dominance. “Are you going to stand there and stare at my pretty face, or do you plan on coming down sometime today?”
Killian did not find my words amusing, for he sneered. “I’ve seen a lot of faces. Yours is far from pretty.”
“Do you talk to Stella like that?”
He shot back, “Do you?”
I wasn’t certain where he was going with this. As I stared up at him, I put it all together. My mind did not particularly like what it came up with. “It’s you,” I said, more a statement than a question. “You’re her precious Angel Maker, aren’t you?”
He barely blinked at my accusation. “What I am is none of your concern. I’m only here to take back what’s mine.” Killian’s foot stepped down onto the first step, then the second. He was confident, I’d give him that. Too bad his confidence wouldn’t matter.
This was my house. No one was going to kill me in my own fucking house.
“I think you’re mistaken,” I said, stepping back, allowing him the girth to come down the stairs without fear that I’d lash out at him first. As monsters, as killers, we stood on equal ground. Sort of. “She’s mine.” Mine and Lincoln’s, but seeing as how the man wasn’t here right now, I kept him out of it.
“I’ve known her longer than you,” Killian said, fully down the stairs. His fingers flexed at his sides, the leather on his gloves tightening against his skin with the movement.
I chuckled. “That doesn’t mean shit. That just means she doesn’t like you, serial killer or not.”
Killian gave me a smile that was orchestrated and fake, though his teeth were straight and white. Without a flaw in every way. I could see how he’d skated underneath everyone’s radars. “You’re not funny, you know. You should stick with sandwiches.”
Okay, that was it. I was going to kick this fucker’s ass.
Before I could lunge at him, the bastard made a move on me. In a split-second he had his arms around my chest, tackling me to the ground. As my back collided with the floor, I swung my arm, ready to impale this prick in the back, but he grabbed my incoming arm by the wrist, stopping me instantly.
Damn. I might’ve been stronger than I looked, but Killian was a hell of a lot stronger than he looked. Still wouldn’t be enough to beat me.
My other hand curled into a fist, and while his attention was on the one with the knife, I rammed it into his side. Killian let out a grunt, for I’d struck him right in the kidney; it had to hurt. With the same hand, I landed a blow to his face, knocking him off me and causing him to lose his grip on my wrist.
I got to my feet slowly, as did he. A thin trail of blood left his lip; it had cracked with my punch. Too bad I couldn’t loosen some of those pearly whites.
We studied each other then, appraising each other in a new light. We’d both come into this expecting to win easily; we were both wrong, it seemed. My chest rose and fell with a heavy breath, and I glared at him, willing for him to choke on his own tongue. It was either that, or I cut it out.
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br /> He came at me again. I swiped the knife toward him, but he only dodged the blow. We were like dancers, caught in a choreographed fight to the death. Almost too equally matched. When one of us landed a blow to the other, the other followed suit soon enough. I managed to cut him across the upper arm, narrowly missing his chest as he sidestepped me.
Killian kicked me in the stomach, sending me staggering back, colliding with the island where my half-made sandwich sat. The pain of the granite counter on my lower back made me drop the knife, which he took full advantage of, charging at me like a bull, grabbing me and throwing me into the adjacent living room. I landed on the coffee table, breaking the cheaply-made table with my back.
I got up, snatched a piece of the table up, and swung with all my might, catching him on the side. With the same wooden piece, I caught his jaw, causing him to fall back. I had to give him a little credit, though: he didn’t bring a gun. He was my kind of killer. Doing it with your hands just felt so much better.
As Killian recovered, I threw down the piece, going straight for him. He went for the stereotypical punch to my face, but I caught his arm. I caught both of them, wrapping mine around his in a roundabout, vice-like grip he couldn’t escape from. The bastard used my own move on me—he headbutted me. He headbutted me so fucking hard I lost my vision for a second, a migraine splitting my skull immediately.
I released him—not because I wanted to, but because I had to. Before I had the chance to regain my vision and power through that ferocious headbutt, I was again knocked to the floor. Straddling the line between the living room and the kitchen, I saw that my knife was within reach, but before I could get to it, Killian wrapped an arm around my neck, jerking me back. A chokehold no normal person could get out of.
It was a damned good thing I wasn’t normal, that Lincoln’s family had taught me how to get out of a position just like this.
Although, the glimmering knife on the floor made for some terrible temptation. If I could reach it, maybe I could just stab him and be done with it…
I strained against his arm, reaching out for the knife again. We both breathed heavily, our bodies torn and beaten. Sweat coated my brow; this was the first time in a long time I’d gotten such exercise that didn’t involve another person under me and naked. My fingers touched the edge of the knife, and I was just about to grab it when the front door opened and Lincoln walked in.
Killian froze, his grip around my neck loosening a bit. My eyes met Lincoln’s dark ones, and for a moment, none of us moved. I knew Lincoln looked intimidating; he was the tallest out of us, the widest, definitely the strongest. Plus, he wore his police uniform, so there was that.
“What the fuck is this?” Lincoln asked, slamming the door behind him.
Slowly untangling himself from me, probably because he knew he couldn’t best both me and Lincoln, Killian got to his feet. I coughed, snatching the kitchen knife—finally—and moved to stand near Lincoln. Not like I needed backup, but I may have underestimated the freak.
When no one said anything, Lincoln said, “Who the fuck are you, and why should I not empty this in your chest?” His hand rested on the gun on his side, a small pistol that was the precinct’s, not his.
Killian was unafraid of the threat, of him. He said, “Because that weapon is catalogued, every bullet accounted for. And I can assume you don’t want your fellow men in blue swarming this house…” He waited a moment before adding, “Do you?”
“Okay,” Lincoln conceded, taking a single step towards him. “Then tell me why I shouldn’t break your arms and let Ed gut you.” When Killian said nothing, he looked at me. “Who is this guy?”
“That’s Killian,” I said, wincing. “Stella’s boss, and the Angel Maker.”
“Bullshit,” Lincoln said with a shake of his head. “I call bullshit.”
“On what? Does your caveman brain think I’m not capable of carefully-thought-out murders, or do I not look like enough of a boss to you?” Killian spoke with a frown. Blood coated some of his gums, his lower lip still cracked and bleeding.
Lincoln practically growled beside me. “Who are you calling a caveman, you fucking ginger?”
“Oh, yes. Real original,” the redhead remarked. “Haven’t heard that one before.”
A beat passed before Lincoln muttered, “I’m going to kill you.”
Killian studied him. Whether it was out of self-preservation or something else, he said, “I think we should all sit down and have a chat about our common interest.” When Lincoln and I said nothing, he added, “Stella. About Stella.” The venom dripping from his tone, you’d think he thought he was talking to two idiots.
Lincoln and I were far from idiots.
The only reason I said “Fine” was because I was starving. And my head hurt like a bitch.
It didn’t matter. I’d kill this fucker eventually.
Chapter Fourteen – Killian
The one who was a cop was busy staring at the broken coffee table, a deep frown lining his face. Lincoln, I thought I heard the other one call him. Edward and Lincoln. Sharing a house…and apparently lots of other things. He sat on the couch, only looking up when Edward came into the room with two plates. One for each of them.
I was in the recliner in the corner, watching them with a frown. “I don’t get one?” I asked. My question caused Edward to sharply look at me, and Lincoln to turn his black gaze to me in a glare. Figured. It would be my luck that the second man of the house would come home for lunch on the very same day I came to kill his roommate. Or his lover. Or whatever the fuck they were to each other.
The only thing I knew was they were too close to Stella.
That, and they had no idea who Stella really was. I did. I knew what she hid from the world, and I had planned on telling her I knew—still wasn’t sure how I was going to do it, though. Eh. Callie’s body wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was her brother’s.
What would be difficult would be explaining my injuries to the staff of the Tribune. How could I say I left for lunch and returned looking like I got the shit kicked out of me? That Edward was wilder than I had him pegged for. I guessed it said something about Stella, the kind of men she attracted.
It didn’t matter, because I wasn’t about to lose her to these guys, as strong and menacing as they were.
Plus, talk about rude. Didn’t even offer me a pressed sandwich.
“If you don’t start talking, you won’t be getting shit,” Lincoln muttered before taking a bite out of his sandwich.
I leaned back in the chair, knees spread. “What do you want to know? Why I’m here? That much should be obvious already. I came to kill you.”
“Why? So you could have Stella to yourself?” Lincoln prickled, while Edward only scoffed, as if the thought of me keeping Stella was something too outlandish, too far out there. “Is that why you’re going around killing people now—to get her attention?”
Ugh. The way these two spoke of me, as if they thought nothing of me. I hated it. “I’m assuming I’m not the only one in this room who’s killed before.” The silence from the other two men was the only answer I needed. “In that case, you know how it feels. Sometimes you just need to…release the beast.” I shrugged. “Lately, I’ve been releasing him for Stella.”
“Stella doesn’t like you,” Edward spoke. “She hates you, and I don’t blame her. The things you said to her at the bar—”
“Alcohol and I never mix well,” I cut in, well-aware it wasn’t a good excuse. I should never have said those things to her. I regretted my words, not to mention my actions with Sandy shortly after, immensely. “It was a mistake. One I intend to fix.”
Lincoln had wolfed down almost half his sandwich already. The man was voracious. “She’s with us now. Not with you. She’ll never be with you.”
I hated his words, and I let my vehemence lace with my words, “You don’t know her like I do. There is a part of her you haven’t seen—” Before I could finish, both of them erupted into short fits of
laughter, which only further irritated me. What the hell was wrong with them?
“I think we’ve seen more of her than you have, Ginger,” Lincoln spoke with a smirk. Yes, a real-live, God-forsaken smirk that I wanted to punch off his face. “We’ve seen every part of her. Every part. Use your imagination.”
Not a single part of me liked what they were insinuating, even if I had a feeling about it before. Knowing Stella had given herself to these two made me so very upset, I nearly lost my cool. But I held back, knowing these two could take me together. One on one, I had a chance; not against them both.
“Stella belongs with us,” Edward said, to which Lincoln gruffly nodded.
“And I say, despite what you may have seen of her, she belongs with me,” I spoke, leaning forward, resting my hands on my knees as I glanced between them. They were two very different men. Light and dark. One blonde, one black-haired. One with startlingly blue eyes and the other with a stare of pure blackness. Two men with beasts similar to my own. Mine just had a bit more infamy now. “Tell me, have you ever met her roommate?”
Honestly, I was curious to know whether she’d told these men the truth, or if she hid it from them as well. She was better than I thought if she could hide it from men like Edward and Lincoln.
The looks on their faces told me enough. All I needed to know, actually.
They had no idea Callie was dead, no idea what Stella did.
“She was never home when I was there,” Lincoln spoke, eyebrows coming together as he thought the wrong thing. “You didn’t do anything to her roommate, did you? Stella cares about that woman. If you hurt Stella by doing anything to Callie, I swear to God I will break every bone in your body and feed you to pigs.” A colorful threat that was more like a promise, I knew.
“There are things about Stella you don’t know,” I spoke slowly, unable to keep the triumphant tone from my voice. I was glad I knew something about her these two didn’t; it meant we shared a secret. Still…in order to leave this house alive, I might have to share that secret.
Cold Dark Souls : A Dark Reverse Harem Romance (Cruel Black Hearts Book 2) Page 9