By Way of Pain: Criminal Delights: Assassins

by Dabney, J. M.

  By Way of Pain

  Criminal Delights: Assassins

  J.M. Dabney

  Contents

  Blurb

  Prologue

  1. Cowen

  2. Harrison

  3. Cowen

  4. Harrison

  5. Cowen

  6. Harrison

  7. Cowen

  8. Harrison

  9. Cowen

  10. Harrison

  11. Cowen

  12. Harrison

  13. Cowen

  14. Harrison

  15. Cowen

  16. Harrison

  17. Cowen

  18. Harrison

  19. Cowen

  20. Harrison

  21. Cowen

  22. Harrison

  23. Cowen

  24. Harrison

  Aftermath

  Thank You

  More CRIMINAL DELIGHTS

  About the Author

  Also by J.M. Dabney

  Copyright © 2019 by J.M. Dabney

  Hostile Whispers Press, LLC

  ISBN-13: 978-1-947184-27-5

  Edits by AlternativEdits (Laura McNellis & Stephanie Carrano)

  Cover by: Natasha Snow

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  REMEMBER:

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places, is purely coincidental.

  PLEASE BE ADVISED:

  This book contains material that is only suitable for mature readers. It may contain scenes of a sexual nature and violence.

  Created with Vellum

  Double lives were just the way it was for a man like me.

  By day I was a man with a reputation above reproach. Even assassins needed backup plans. For fifteen years, life was going without a hitch until I had to take out a witness. When it was time to kill him, beautiful eyes filled with fear urged me to do something else. Yet, in order to do that, I had to break him, and by way of pain, my captive would experience pleasure he'd never dreamed.

  This book is part of CRIMINAL DELIGHTS. Each novel can be read as a standalone and contains a dark M/M romance.

  Warning: These books are for adult readers who enjoy stories where lines between right and wrong get blurry. High heat, twisted and tantalizing, these are not for the fainthearted.

  Trigger Warnings: Title contains the following possible triggers. Humiliation, Violence, Master/slave elements, Male Chastity, Murder, Imprisonment, Dub-Con, and Torture.

  It is always by way of pain one arrives at pleasure.

  —Marquis De Sade (1740 - 1840)

  To the readers because without every one of you I wouldn’t be here to tell my stories. You are all amazing.

  Special thanks to all the people who made this book possible, who kept me going when all I wanted to do was quit. Tracey, Stephanie, Meredith, Jenn, Laura, and all the betas who helped me to make this the best book possible. All of you help me to be better.

  Prologue

  Patient: Cowen Kingsley – Age 8

  My weekly appointment with Dr. Parelli commenced five minutes ago and started the same way. My blank stare was boring into him. My parents were frightened of me. I saw it every day. If it had been up to me, I wouldn’t have survived to take my first breath. With my fingers laced together, I sneakily stroked my thumb over the bandage on my wrist. They’d caught me before I had a chance to succeed at killing myself.

  “How are you feeling today, Cowen?” The doctor put on his best friendly smile. All false caring as he prepared to test me. I knew that’s what he did. The conversations were there in black and white, transcribed pages in his doctor’s scrawl. I’d broken in and listened to each one of the tapes. They never failed to end with a tentative recommendation of commitment to a long-term facility.

  I carefully studied him as I analyzed the inquiry about my feelings and I didn’t know how to answer. I sat up straighter in my seat. He’d tried to get me to lie down on the couch—to relax and trust him that he’d make me all better. As far as I was concerned, nothing was wrong with me. I didn’t care what anyone said. This was me for as long as I could remember.

  “How did you get along with your classmates this week?”

  When he realized that I wasn’t going to answer him, he moved on to another line of questioning. They’d discussed it and decided to send me to public school. A behavioral exercise to attempt to teach me to relate to my peers—learn empathy. I found my fellow students abhorrent. The way they processed things with their feeble minds confused me.

  “Acceptable.”

  “Cowen, your parents told me about an incident. Why don’t you tell me your side of it?”

  The principal had singled me out. As much as I loathed the other kids, they were only a product of their parents. The adults should know better. The incident that the doctor spoke of had quickly been swept away by a quickly-written check.

  “I didn’t like him.”

  “It had to be more than that. We have to find out your triggers in order to figure out how to process them in a healthy manner.”

  “He intruded on my personal space. I warned him before I stabbed him with a letter opener.”

  “We’ve spoken about this. Hurting others isn’t the proper response. You state the need for your personal space and people will respect it. Positive reinforcement—”

  I zoned out. Why change when my method worked just as well and left a lasting impression. My parents had made it possible to continue with my life without a permanent record or at least one that seemed normal to the outside world. Except I knew they were just waiting for the right moment to lock me up and forget about me.

  For now, my actions were manageable, nothing they couldn’t pay people to forget.

  “Cowen, tell me about your suicide attempt. This is your second one in two years or were you just trying to self-harm?”

  “No, I tried to kill myself, but they found me too soon. Next time I’ll make sure I’m alone.”

  Alone time was rare because someone was always watching me. I could pretend to be normal long enough for them to let down their guard. They were stupid enough to be manipulated. It wouldn’t be too hard.

  He set his legal pad aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and I didn’t like how close he was to me.

  “Cowen, all I want to do is help. Whatever is said in this room will stay between us. We need to develop trust between us so that I can help you. Do you want to live the rest of your life like this?”

  I didn’t answer, but it was there on the tip of my tongue. Yes, I wanted to be just like this.

  * * *

  Patient: Cowen Kingsley – Age 16

  His screams were muffled by the balled-up socks I’d stuffed in his mouth as I stood in front of him. I calmly stood and read the newest report. Unlike the ones before, this one included commitment papers, signed by Dr. Parelli and my parents.

  “Recommended for immediate commitment as of October twelfth, signed and witnessed by you and my parents. Now, now, doctor, I thought everything that was said in this office stayed between us.”

  I waited as if I expected him to answer and the yells rose in volume as I gifted him another slash to his face. I used the bloody
tip of my knife to move down the sheet. “Suicidal tendencies. Compulsive self-harm. Psychopathic personality. Narcissistic. Wow, I’m surprised you didn’t run out of paper outlining my many disorders.”

  I’d broken into his office just after he’d turned the sign. Picking the lock was easy enough. My parents were currently knocked out from the sedatives I’d slipped into their evening drinks. I noticed the dim light of the desk lamp hitting off the many marks on my forearm, the new ones still seeped blood, and the remembered pain grounded me for the moment.

  “Anything to say for yourself, doctor? You had plenty to say about me, so let’s continue shall we.” I eased down in the chair I’d placed beside him. “It is my belief that he will be a danger to society and will never live a productive life. If I had feelings, I’d almost be hurt.” I placed the blade under his chin and tipped his head back.

  “It’s people like you who make the unique among us insecure about what is natural for us. Have you seen the hellscape that is our world, doctor? Who are you to say that my homicidal tendencies aren’t a service to the population?”

  I loathed society and everything about it. I’d tried to leave it all behind, and all that happened was I’d woken up in the hospital sewn back together. People assumed it was a way to garner attention, but I cared nothing about the opinions of others. The discomfort people felt around me had resulted in me being taken out of school and taught at home.

  They all waited for the day I killed, wouldn’t they love to know that the doctor wouldn’t be my first. I’d slit the throat of a man on the street years before. After I’d done it, I’d crouched down beside him in the alley and watched the life slowly drain from his eyes. Tears had flowed down his temples into his dark, unkempt hair. It had been exhilarating, and nothing had made me feel the same since.

  “Oh, let us not forget this little tidbit. Sexual sadist. How did we come to believe that I would endure a vulgar act such as sex?”

  I felt no pull toward men or women. When I was in school, everyone talked about sex, and I had no compulsion or interest in lowering myself to my baser instincts. Pain was all I needed.

  “Do you know that my parents are next? Oh, not right now, but once I’m eighteen, I’ve planned it down to the minute detail. And with all the files and tapes of our sessions disappearing there won’t be one single piece of evidence. I’ll be the perfect angel for the next two years.”

  I drew the blade across his throat and watched the skin split in a macabre display as his blood turned his pristine white shirt crimson. Sitting there, I watched until he bled to death bound and gagged on the floor. After he slumped and the last of his life was gone, I removed the evidence that I ever existed. If there was one thing I knew in life, it was how to remove my existence. I was nothing, a mistake of nature and I could accept that when no one else could.

  Chapter One

  Cowen

  The rich scent of cologne filled my nostrils as my personal assistant traversed my office organizing the day's paperwork. His broad body was big and slightly soft around the middle. I'd hired Harrison three years before when his predecessor retired. I'd hesitated to offer the man the position because the moment I saw him, I imagined him chained as my whip met the width of his back. Wanting to hurt a man made me rethink allowing them close. I never entertained the notion of fucking people.

  I lived a double life. By day, I ran a very successful one-person law firm that specialized in criminal law. The irony of being a defense attorney wasn’t lost on me. At night, I killed whomever my employer required or when I was bored and took a freelance assignment. I only killed those I felt unworthy of the life they were given. Civilians were strictly off-limits, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t if the opportunity called for it. Killing was something I'd accepted since I was six and imagined slitting my teacher's throat. I'd never questioned the thoughts that filled my head. My parents were so frightened of me that I'd visited more psychiatrists than I could count by the time I started kindergarten. They tested me for everything, IQ to psychoses, yet hadn’t subjected me to therapy until I was seven.

  Guilt was an emotion I'd never experienced. I’d always considered emotion a waste of energy. I’d accepted the depraved thing I was long ago, and I had no qualms about remaining that way.

  The only joy I received from my existence was killing. I took pride in my work and inflicting pain was my skill. My employer didn't care how I dispatched them as long as he had proof that I'd completed my job. He didn't give a fuck about my bit of fun. I didn’t follow the societal rules of decorum. If I wanted to take a life, I didn’t think twice about the consequences. Nearly forty years and hundreds of bodies later, I’d settled into the life that worked best for a monster such as myself.

  I'd lived a celibate life for years now. Sex just didn't give me any pleasure. When I found a mark who was aesthetically pleasing, their pain was enough in a sense to get me off. I didn’t have orgasms, the contentment I received from inflicting torture was fleeting but enough. My assistant made me rethink my sexless existence, but not enough to chain him in my bedroom to use as I saw fit.

  Evading capture for as long as I had was due to the fact that I had steadfast rules. And forming attachments broke my number one tenet I followed. My two lives were compartmentalized in such a way neither would ever intrude on the other. A toy would open me to speculation I didn't welcome.

  I placed my elbows on the arms of my desk chair and steepled my fingers, pressing the sides to my lips. Although, as much as I denied my darkest desires, it didn't mean that I hadn't imagined the beast of a man on his knees for me. His broad back stretched his ill-fitted suit jacket. It was cheap and off the rack. His pants were much too loose. The giant of a man screamed submissive from the sweetness of his soft-spoken nature to his habit of averting his gaze. It would be almost too easy to break him. My pretty assistant didn't pose the challenge I craved. His spirit would shatter much too quickly to make the experience fun for me.

  People would call me a psychopath and a sadist. After I'd killed my psychiatrist when I was sixteen when he attempted to have me committed, I'd perused my records with great interest. He'd labeled me a danger to society. His recommendation stated I should never be allowed out of a maximum-security facility.

  The soft ping of my second phone drew my attention, and I picked it up. I read the coded message. I mentally decoded the single sentence and made note of where and when. I'd arrive at a drop point later tonight and pick up a package with target information including a photo.

  I felt the uneasy feeling of a gaze on me and jerked my head up. Harrison looked away and pretended to work. The last task he needed to complete should already be done.

  “Have you finished for the day?”

  My question had his shoulders tightening. He seemed to steel himself for a blow, and as it had happened over the years, his timidity elicited a curiosity to which I rarely succumbed. My inappropriate imaginings about him caused me to want to hurt whoever caused him to drawback or brace himself. The part of my brain that wanted him and felt that no one else should touch him tortured me.

  “Yes, sir.”

  His deep voice shook a little over the word sir. I demanded a level of dictatorial professionalism. Too many times over the years, I've seen men such as myself taken down by letting their cover make them soft. I had no intentions of giving up my life. I didn't experience emotion like other people. My emotional cues were practiced in the mirror. I responded as was expected, but a smile to me was simply a muscle reaction—I mimicked expressions yet felt nothing of what they conveyed.

  “Then why are you still here?”

  He couldn't escape the confines of my office any quicker, and once again, the pleasure I took in his fear filled me with a rare warmth. The movements in the outer office helped me track his path until the lock on the door clicked. I was sure I was alone and unfolded my lean body from my chair. Pivoting on my toes, I stared out over the city.

  It was a place created for a hun
ter. Big, sprawling and dirty—victims roaming the streets unaware of their status as prey. They all felt they were safe from the monsters because they were all easily spotted, but they knew nothing about my kind. We were just an abstract concept on some true crime show they watched in the middle of the night—evil reduced to caricature. My reputation was above reproach, but I was the most prolific killer of my kind.

  In moments of respite where I hid away in my cabin, I’d analyzed when I'd become broken. I believed my sociopathy was a result of conception. Maybe something as damaged as I shouldn't have survived to birth. A shell without a soul. I'd attempted suicide a time or two, and I bore the marks from years of self-harm. I'd hoped to feel something—pain proved you were alive—and yet the more I cut and burned, it became nothing more than a minor inconvenience—wounds to heal.

  I closed my eyes, drew oxygen in through my nose and pushed it slowly past my lips, repeated until I opened my eyes. As with any normal person ending work, I gathered up files and my laptop, stowing them inside my satchel briefcase. Everything in my life was routine and repetition, nothing deviated. I arrived at my office at six in the morning and promptly left at six at night. Meetings were scheduled as needed. I appeared in court. I was successful at my chosen cover, but as with all aspects of my existence, they were disguises.