by B. B. Hamel
“Breakfast downstairs. Coffee too. Come down when you want.”
“Thanks.” I step back into the bathroom and take a deep breath.
I have to get it together. I’m not broken, or at least no more broken than Noah is. And maybe he can help me. Maybe he can show me how to live with whatever is inside of me, whatever I woke up when I saw my father dying in that bathroom.
I brush my teeth, wash my face, and head downstairs for some coffee.
Noah is sitting at his kitchen table reading a newspaper. The scene strikes me for a moment, surprises me by its normalcy. He smiles at me and puts the paper down.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks.
“Great,” I admit. “Better than that mattress.”
He laughs. “Good. Grab some coffee if you want it.”
I walk over to the pot and pour myself a mug. I lean against the marble counter top and sip it as I look at him. He scans the paper then catches my eye and looks up.
“What am I supposed to do all day?” I ask him.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m free to roam around. But I can’t really go anywhere.”
“You can do whatever you want. So long as you don’t leave the property.”
I nod and look down at my coffee mug. “Okay. I guess I hoped you had some plan for me.”
He watches me for a second, leaning back in his chair. I’m not sure what I expect from him, but I do hope he’s thinking further ahead than he seems. I can’t just sit around his house all day and all night with no purpose and nothing to do.
He leans back in his chair. “I have an idea,” he says. “But it may be too soon.”
“What is it?” I try not to sound eager, but I can’t help myself. I have a pretty good idea of what he’s talking about, but I try not to get my hopes up.
“I’ll show you,” he says slowly. “But you have to promise me something.”
“What?” I ask.
“Promise you won’t look at me differently.”
I blink at him, surprised. I’m not totally sure what he means, but I walk over to him and sit down at the chair across the table.
“How do I look at you now?” I ask.
“You’re curious,” he says. “About what I do. You’re not afraid of it, though I’m not sure why. You also want something from me.” He smirks at that last part.
I blush and look at my coffee. “Okay,” I say. “I admit that I’m curious.”
“Why? Aren’t you afraid?”
“No,” I say, looking back at him. “I don’t understand it myself, but I’m not afraid of you or of what you do.”
“Good,” he says softly, and then stands. “Come on. Follow me.”
I take a long sip of coffee then get up. He leads me through the house and out the back door. We walk together through the early morning sunlight out toward a large barn that stands maybe fifty yards away from the house.
We reach a double door and he opens the right side. I follow him in, the smell of hay and horses assailing my senses.
“Just a barn,” he says. “Up here, at least.” He walks into the center of the barn and then stamps his foot.
I gasp as the ground opens up. He grins at me and gestures at the sudden hole on the ground. A staircase leads down into an inky-black room.
“After you,” he says.
I hesitate, but take a deep breath. I can already tell that this is important. He wouldn’t hide whatever this room is if it weren’t. It has something to do with his killing though I’m not sure what it can be.
Heart beating fast, I slowly walk down the steps. He follows close by, and as we descend into the darkness, the lights suddenly blink on.
The room looks like a normal basement at first glance. The ceiling is a drop ceiling with fluorescent lighting. There’s another cool, smooth concrete floor just like the one in my basement. Along the walls are tool benches with tools hanging up on peg boards. In the middle of the room is a table, a steel table, something that looks like it belongs in a hospital.
I walk down and start to look at the tools. At first, I thought they were normal tools. Drills, hammers, screwdrivers, stuff like that. But as I keep looking, I realize that there are knives, big, nasty knives, and lots of ropes. As I keep looking, realization hits me: this is the room where he keeps all of his killing tools.
This is his death room.
I turn and look at him. He stands near the stairs, arms crossed, watching me.
“Well?” he asks.
“You kill people here.” I say it simply and without judgment.
“I do,” he says. “Sometimes. If it’s cleaner and easier to bring them here.”
“People have died down here . . . “I trail off and stare at the drain in the middle of the floor underneath the metal table.
The drain must be for all that blood.
He walks toward me and I nearly jump at his approach, but I keep myself under control. I can’t let him see how surprised I am. I’m not scared, which should be a little scary in itself, but I am definitely uncomfortable. This is a place I never thought he’d bring me, or at least never imagined he’d bring me alive.
I know he’s watching me, waiting for me to give him some kind of sign. He wants to know if he can trust me. He wants to know if I’m going to be afraid of him now.
But he can trust me. I turn away, trying to buy myself some time as I run my fingers down the blade of a particularly large knife.
“Careful,” he says directly behind me. I can feel his hot breath on my ear. I slide my finger faster down the edge of the knife and feel the sting of skin getting cut.
“Ouch,” I say, pulling my hand back.
“These are very, very sharp,” he says. He turns me around and take my hand, inspecting the cut. “You’ll live.”
“Good.” A small bead of blood wells up. He takes my finger and puts it in his mouth, sucking it away.
“I brought you here to see this place,” he says, “but also for another reason.”
“You want to know if you can trust me.”
He smiles. “That’s right.”
I stare into his eyes. “You can.”
“Prove it.”
“How?”
He presses me back against the tool bench, his body against mine. My heart begins to beat fast as he pins me there and a brief spike of fear rushes through me.
“You know what you can do,” he practically whispers. “Does it excite you, being down here?”
“Yes,” I say honestly.
He reaches up and takes my hair, tipping my head back. I gasp as his lips find my throat, gently kissing my skin. “You’re very bad, you know that? Getting wet in a place where people have died.”
“I can’t help it,” I say, surprising myself. “The thought of what you do . . . it excites me.”
“Good,” he says, and then he presses his lips against mine.
Cold fire courses through me as I wrap my arms around him, falling into his kiss. I’ve been craving this, needing it so badly. A kiss is such a simple thing but it means so much more than we even realize. It can change two people entirely, make everything they say and do completely different.
His lips are soft as his tongue caresses mine. I can feel his cock getting hard against me as the kiss continues. I’m dimly aware that I’m making out with a serial killer in his lair, but it doesn’t bother me at all.
I push back against him. He stumbles a step back as I pull away from his kiss. I savor the surprise on his face as I drop down to my knees and begin to unbuckle his belt.
“Is that how you’ll convince me?” he asks as I pull his belt open and unzip his jeans.
“Maybe,” I say. “Will it work? Do you think coming down my throat will make you trust me?” I stare up at him as I say it.
He lets out a soft, low moan. “Maybe,” he grunts. “You’ll have to find out, you filthy fucking girl.”
I pull down his jeans and his boxer briefs before taking his thic
k cock in my hand. I’m surprised at his size as I slowly stroke him in my hand. For a second, I wonder how I’ll even get him into my mouth, but that doesn’t matter.
I start at his tip and suck him as I stroke his shaft. He groans as I move faster, head bobbing up and down along him, taking his cock deeper and deeper into my mouth and throat.
I moan as I suck his cock. I’m dripping wet and losing my mind. I can’t believe I’m sucking Noah off in the room where he murders people. So many bad men have died in this room, and now I’m practically choking on the cock of their murderer.
And I really, really like it.
He presses my head down, hands laced through my hair. I gag but do as he commands, taking him into my throat. I slide back, gasping for air and jerking his cock with my spit. He pulls my chin up and kisses me as I keep working his long shaft.
“You think that’s going to make me trust you?” He smirks at me. “You can suck that cock better, Amelia.”
I take him into my mouth and begin to suck him faster. I work his tip, not afraid to get sloppy, jerking his shaft with my other hand. I know I’m being such a dirty slut, sucking the cock of the man that murdered my bastard father and kidnapped me, but I’m beyond being able to question any of it.
I want him, pure and simple. There’s nothing else for me. I want him and I want to help him. I want to kill with him. I want to suck his cock, choke on it, swallow his cum. I want to stalk bad men and take their lives.
I take him deep down my throat, gagging again, but still jerking his shaft. I can’t fit all of him inside of my mouth, but I sure as hell can try. I pull back then slide down, up and back, into my throat and back out.
He groans loudly, pressing me down. “That’s right,” he groans. “Suck me off, you fucking dirty girl. You’re mine now, Amelia. You’re all mine. Every inch of this pretty throat is mine.”
I begin to jerk his shaft with two hands while sucking him faster, faster, moving back and forth. I can tell from his groans that he’s close and I want it so badly. I want to taste it so badly. I want him to come down my throat because he can, because it’s his to do whatever he wants with.
“God damn, girl,” he groans, pushing me down. “Swallow this cum.”
I feel him orgasm into my throat, hot and hard. I have to work to keep up, sucking him and swallowing every drop as he groans and grunts through his orgasm.
Finally, he finishes, and I pull back. I’m sweating with a pooling heat between my legs, but I feel a strange sense of satisfaction. He lifts me to my feet and kisses me deeply, hands in my hair. Finally, he pulls back and smirks at me.
“That’s a good start,” he says.
“What else do you need?”
“You don’t just suck my cock and suddenly I trust you.” He kisses me gently and I feel a thrill run down my spine. “But it’s a damn good place to start.”
“You asshole.”
He grins at me. “It doesn’t freak you out, this room? You know what’s happened here.”
“No,” I say honestly. “It doesn’t. I feel like I understand better, if anything.”
“Good,” he says softly. “Maybe you’re ready for something else.” He steps back and dresses while I watch him. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go back.”
I take one last look at the room before following him back up the stairs. He shuts the trap door and it disappears seamlessly back into the floor, almost as if it were never there.
But I know it’s down there, and I want to know its secrets. I want to know everything that room has to tell me, even though that might be impossible.
Noah is starting to let me into his world, small pieces at a time. I want more though, I want everything. My heart is beating fast in my chest as I follow him back to the house, hoping that we’re going to take this to the next level, and soon.
15
Noah
We walk down the street together, Amelia slightly behind me. I can’t decide if I’m making the right decision bringing her out with me like this, but I need to stop holding back.
Nothing will be accomplished if I just keep her hanging around. She reacted incredibly well when I showed her my secondary kill room, and the memory of my cock deep down her throat keeps coming back to me. She’s so fucking sexy, so god damn gorgeous, and she’s giving me something I never thought I needed.
It’s a big risk bringing her into the city. She knows her way around here and can escape very easily if she wants to. I took off the ankle bracelet when we left my property, and all she needs to do is run up to the nearest cop and beg for his help. If she does that, I’m screwed.
This is the real test. Walking the street with Amelia is the real proof. If she doesn’t run, I can trust her. She must know how easy it would be to get away at this moment.
Part of me wants her to run. This life I have isn’t for the weak of heart, and I can’t decide if she’s strong enough to handle all of the darkness and difficulty. I don’t even know if she understands what it means when she agrees to come with me. She seems to like that I’m killing bad men, which is good, but she doesn’t yet know how much work goes into that.
Still, she’s with me, and she’s not running as we continue down the street. I want to show her the pedophile’s house, but that’s not the mission today.
We’re in the city to meet with Ryan. He’s been following that pedo fuck for me, since the bastard made me the other day. I hired a few more homeless people as well, and they’re all reporting back to Ryan. If anything has happened, he should know.
“That’s him,” I say to Amelia, pointing. Ryan is propped up against a wall, a change jar in his one hand. He’s begging half-heartedly, and really he’s just waiting for me to show up.
“How did you meet him?” she asks.
“I’ve hired many people like him over the years. Ryan just happens to be one of the best.”
She nods, watching him as we approach. “Don’t they know what you do?” she asks.
“Some of them have figured it out.” I shake my head. “Truthfully, I don’t think they care what happens to these guys. They’re bad people.”
“So they look the other way? How many informants do you have?”
“A lot,” I say. “Hard to count how many. It’s always changing. I pay them well and they need the money, so yeah, they tend not to ask questions.” We slow as we begin to approach Ryan.
He looks up and nods at me then quickly looks at Amelia, surprise evident on his face. He looks back at me as I crouch down next to him and Amelia stands a couple feet behind me.
“How’s it going?” I ask him.
“Can’t complain.” He nods at Amelia. “What’s with the girl?”
“She’s an associate.”
“Never seen her before. She don’t look homeless.”
“She’s not. She’s . . . “ I trail off, trying to find the words.
“I’m new,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you.”
I smile at her and she smiles back.
“Good to meet you too then.” Ryan shrugs and looks back at me. “Want your update?”
“Of course.”
“I had a guy following him last night, guy named Peter. He’s a drunk, but he seems solid.”
“Okay,” I say, cocking my head. Amelia crouches down, listening intently.
“Peter followed the sicko all night, says the guy walked all over the city. Like he knew he was being followed or something.” Ryan grins at me and I grunt, annoyed. “Anyway, eventually the sicko ends up in this weird building over on the west side of town, in a real sketchy neighborhood. Not the sort of place a nice white boy like him would usually go.”
“What did he do in there?”
“Peter wasn’t sure. He said he only got one glimpse of what was happening inside. He said he saw a line of girls, some of them pretty young, all waiting to greet him.”
I stare at Ryan, not sure if I believe what he’s saying.
“A whorehouse?” Amelia chimes in
.
“That’s what it sounds like,” Ryan says.
“Can we trust what Peter says?” I ask.
“Maybe.” Ryan shrugs. “Like I said, he’s a drinker, but I don’t think he’d lie about something like that.”
“If it’s true, that means there’s an underground sex trade going on.”
Ryan nods again. “With some young girls, too.”
“Fuck,” I say softly. “Have you heard of this before?”
“Rumors,” Ryan admits. “Usually the kind of bullshit you always hear on the street. You know, that kind of shit about guys going missing and showing up with their kidneys missing or whatever.”
“Okay, Ryan,” I say, standing suddenly. “Thanks. This was a huge help.”
“Happy to. Want us to keep following?”
“No. I’ll handle it from here.”
“Whatever you want.”
I take a small roll of bills from my pocket and discreetly slip them into his jar. He nods at me gratefully. There’s three times the usual amount there which I hope he’ll spread out among his people a little, though I doubt he will.
“Get this guy soon,” Ryan says softly.
I stare at him for a minute then turn away and leave, not responding to that comment. I can’t risk admitting to him that I really do kill these guys, though we both know it.
Amelia hurries to catch up with me. “Is all that true?” she asks. “You’re after a pedophile and there’s a sex slave ring out there?”
“The sex slave part is unconfirmed, but yeah, I’m after a pedophile.”
She grabs my arm and stops me. “Noah,” she says.
I watch her calmly. “He’s going to die, Amelia.”
“Soon. You can’t let him hurt more people.”
I shake my head. “No. There’s a bigger target now.”
“The slaves?”
“That’s right. Our pedophile can bring us right to them if we’re patient.”
“Shit,” she says as I start walking. She catches up with me and we head back to my car in silence.
I suspect she can already sense my moral dilemma. I’m not a crusader for justice, and everything I do is ultimately designed to benefit me above all else. I kill because I want to, not because I want to save the city.