Psychopath's Prey

by V. F. Mason

  While the monster sleeps on the couch, lullabied by the sound of a football game that I've learned to hate.

  New York, New York

  June 2018

  Ella

  An annoying smell penetrates my nose, and I move my head to the side, trying to avoid it, but it’s no use as it trails after me. Water drips on my cheeks, forehead, and lips, and finally my eyes snap open.

  Piercing pain assaults me from every corner as if tiny needles dig into my scalp, scratching it. I wince and groan wondering how much wine I consumed last night with Chloe to have such a hangover.

  “I thought you were a light sleeper.” A deep and slightly husky voice fills the space, and I freeze as the memories come back, playing like a vivid movie in front of me.

  Immediately, I glance down to see myself lying on a mattress. With an effort, I sit up only to hear the rattling of a dangling chain wrapped around my right ankle, long enough to walk freely if the pile of metal nearby is any indication, but tight enough to dig into my skin and cause unbearable pain if I ever try to free myself.

  One, constantly shining light bulb above my head is the only source of light that allows me to study the place, and with each new detail, my stomach sinks, creating tight knots of desperation.

  I’m in a wide-spaced cage that has metal bars surrounding me on all sides. A mattress and one table with two chairs are the only furniture items on the concrete floor. Nearby is a sink with dripping water that grates on my nerves and a small door with a tight space to the side, probably a bathroom.

  At least it’s locked, I think, barely containing the hysterical laughter that threatens to spill out.

  The place reeks of chlorine and antiseptic. I hear a barely audible humming echoing through the space. Behind the cage’s bars, I see a wide metal table, shelves with different kinds of weapons, and stairs that lead up, up, up, and only then, I gasp in surprise.

  No.

  “Underground, Ella,” he speaks, and I finally shift my attention to the man, the unsub, as he grabs a chair, reverses and straddles it, zeroing his assertive and cold silver eyes on me. He wears nothing but black jeans and boots, with which he kicks the legs of the chair.

  I open and close my mouth, unable to find the words, even though fury washes over me in strong waves. I want to scratch his eyes out, painfully.

  At the same time, the deep realization that I was a fool comes too, and pain.

  Unbearable pain from trusting a person who proved me wrong yet again.

  “Congratulations,” I finally whisper, and he raises his brow. “You won your prey.” In my situation, most likely everyone would demand answers, scream for help, or beg. Or try to talk reason to the psychopath, hoping he would make an exception just for them and free them from the nightmare.

  That’s the normal reaction, but there is nothing normal in this situation between us, because I already have all the answers.

  He will never willingly let me go, so it’s my job to get myself out of here. Even if it seems hopeless at the moment.

  “Why?” I finally ask, wondering if this was his plan all along, or if he just decided to keep me in a spur of the moment thing.

  “You’re strong.” His statement takes me aback as I frown. “You don’t give up.” His knuckles turn white; that’s how hard he squeezes the top of the chair. “You love me.” The way he says it, as if he’s glad and sorry at the same time.

  My love pleases him?

  Kierian throws those words in my face, words I’ve spoken to him, opening my heart for the first time in my life.

  “I thought you loved me too,” I whisper before I can stop myself, and he freezes but then chuckles, although it lacks any humor.

  “I’m incapable of it.” Images of our time together, all the tender moments, movie nights, and making love, dance in my mind, and I wonder how it could have been a lie. Is he that good at hiding his emotions? He managed to deceive me.

  Me!

  And I thought I knew everything about serial killers.

  “Am I like her?”

  “Like my mother? No. She was blonde. Young. Haunted,” he mutters while zoning out. “You are the exact opposite of her.” He chuckles again. “Most of the things you wrote in the profile were correct, but not about my mom. I do not see the resemblance; it would have been too sick and weird, even for me.” At least there is that, although in the current situation it gives me little comfort.

  “Then why?” Like all those years ago with Benjamin, I need to know the reason he was obsessed with me.

  He stays silent for a second, studying me, and then gets up quickly. “You have to eat. You’ve been out for about five hours.”

  I blink at this change of subject, clearly understanding he has no intention of answering my questions. “Wow! Thank you for being so thoughtful. I wish you’d thought about it before kidnapping me just to kill me.”

  He freezes but then resumes his walk, although not before telling me over his shoulder, “I’ve never said that’s my goal.”

  I watch him go to what I assume is his torture table, pick up a wood tray, and come back inside. Seeing him now, I wonder why I ever thought he was easygoing and not possessive?

  He just knows how to hide his tendencies better.

  Kierian places the tray of food on the table inside the cage, and by the smell, I recognize pizza and chicken parmesan, my favorites. He pours water, and then orders, “Get up.” I don’t move or listen, staring into space over his shoulder, knowing how much it pisses him off.

  Serial killers deem themselves kings of their world; they either like attention on them or none at all. Maybe I should be wiser and not antagonize him, but I can’t.

  I’m not just a victim; I’m a woman whose heart he broke. And it’s even worse, because I’ll never be able to completely escape him, even if I manage to get the hell out of this place.

  He growls in frustration and dashes toward me, and I scoot back, but it’s useless against him. He grabs my arm and pushes me toward the table, the chain dangling from my ankle scratching loudly against the floor, reminding me of my prisoner status.

  As if bruises weren’t enough.

  I stop at the chair, and he presses into my shoulder. I have no choice but to collapse onto it with a loud thud. I ignore the pain traveling from my lower back to my shoulder, which is stiff from being in the same position for hours.

  “You need to eat.”

  Hollow laughter erupts from me. “Why? You prefer your victims fully fed?” He doesn’t appreciate my sarcasm, if his frown and growl are anything to go by, but I don’t give a fuck.

  He won’t leave me alive anyway, so what’s the point of listening to him? I prefer to die with dignity.

  “Eat.”

  I pick up the fork next to me, and while staring right into his eyes, drop it to the floor where it dings loudly in the otherwise silent space.

  Fury flashes in his silver pools as he fists his hand. “Ella, don’t make me—”

  “Do what? Kidnap me? Torture me? Rape me?” I supply all the options, and part of me feels awful for throwing all those words at him when he never once tried to do any of it, but I honest to God don’t understand his intentions.

  He hunted me down and won, but instead of proceeding with his plan, whatever that might be, he gives me food and has conversations with me. Anytime now and we’ll be playing chess!

  With one swift move, he gets up, taking me with him, and presses me roughly against the wall. I groan in pain. “You don’t know what torture is,” he says harshly against me, and shakes me hard enough for my teeth to clack against each other. Some unrecognizable emotion crosses his eyes as he leans forward, and whispers into my ear, “And this body?” He squeezes my hips even though I try to pull from this hold. “It loves only my touch. You go up in flames whenever I touch you, and nothing will change that.” His confidence has to be seen to be believed.

  “No! It doesn’t want you. I used to want Kierian. You have no power anymore.” />
  “Don’t make me prove you wrong, Ella. You won’t like it.”

  “Do your worst, unsub. We both know it’s a failing task.” Truth be told, I needed to shut up like yesterday, because I don’t know this man.

  I still act as if my boyfriend is in front of me, and I need to separate the two in my mind as soon as possible.

  Not that he gives me much time though.

  The minute the challenge slips past my lips, he picks me up and throws me on the mattress. Before I can even blink, he’s by my side.

  I struggle, kicking him blindly while he doesn't even budge under my assault, and instead, he covers me from head to toe, wrapping a leather belt—God only knows where he got that—around my wrists and securing them tightly above my head.

  Then he takes something out of his pocket and wraps it around my eyes, securing it behind my head. Only then does the soft cloth register as a blindfold.

  “Let me go!” I pant.

  His breathing is the only indication of where he is.

  I’m completely at his mercy, and even though this man has seen my body from every angle possible, I’ve never been more vulnerable to him than I am now.

  “Everything went away just like that?” He snaps his fingers next to my ear, reminding me of my earlier words, while I just huff in annoyance.

  Should I be scared?

  I’m more disgusted.

  “Yes! The man I wanted was Kierian, not you!” I shout right into his face.

  His chuckle, echoing in the space, lacks humor, and he tenses above me, clearly displeased with my reply. “Unfortunately for you, it’s one and the same man. And your body wants me.” His weight is gone in a flash, and I feel him hike my flannel dress up until it dangles on my arms, creating an even bigger cocoon around my hands.

  A light breeze touches my bare skin. I hiss, thrashing on the mattress, needing to escape, especially when his hands slide down my waist to my hips and ass then go back up.

  As insane as it sounds, goose bumps rush over me and the hair on my skin prickles, awakening sensations only he is capable of evoking.

  Apparently, my body didn't get the memo that our lover turned out to be a serial killer!

  “I hate you!” He doesn't listen but instead clucks his tongue.

  “You might, but your body knows who it belongs to.” With that, his hot mouth envelops my hardened nipple.

  My back arches up as he sucks firmly on it as if trying to pull it from me, feasting on the flesh that sends shivers directly to my clit, and I bite my lips, because I don’t want him to hear me moan and give him satisfaction.

  He doesn't let me escape it though as he thumbs the other one lightly, nipping on the tip of the nipple aching with need, and then swoops down again, lightly biting the flesh.

  “Kierian.” My voice is full of hatred and desire at the same time, but I’m not sure if it’s directed at him or me.

  How can I submit to his desires?

  “Who do you belong to, Ella?” he asks, and I almost snort, because if he thinks I will admit it’s him, he has another think coming.

  Growling, he shifts to the other breast and repeats the action, driving me mad. I fist my hands and my nails dig painfully into my palms.

  Wetness is coating my thighs, as humiliating as it sounds, and he slides his tongue down my stomach, circling my belly button then dipping his tongue inside, making my hips jerk. “All in good time, Ella,” he mutters, slapping my ass and earning himself a yelp. “There won’t be relief until you admit it.”

  “In your dreams.” Shouldn't I be acting differently after finding out the truth? Aside from this moment, I can think rationally, but now?

  Now it’s as if my being doesn't see the difference between Kierian and Psychopath, and it should.

  It so freaking should!

  Gripping my ass cheeks tightly—and probably leaving bruises, the fucking caveman—he shoulders my thighs and must’ve lain between them, because his breath fans my core. I try to lock my legs, but he doesn't let me.

  I expect him to aim for my heated flesh, but instead, something cold slides along the inside of my thigh and my heart stops for a second, my stomach flipping.

  My adrenaline spikes and I gulp for breath as fear rushes through me, intensified by the pleasure I previously felt.

  “Ah, you’re scared,” he murmurs against my skin, licking me, and my body jerks. He holds me down, not letting me move. “Do you know what’s been driving me for months now?”

  I rasp through my dry lips quietly, afraid to even blink. “What?”

  “To see how your pale skin looks coated in blood, just droplets. When your body knows exactly who owns it. When you don't have illusions about Kierian.” He speaks about himself as if they are not the same person. “When I don't have to share you with anyone, even my alter ego.” That’s when the blade scratches me and a scream tears from my throat as I feel warm blood sliding down my skin, as the annoying sting assaults me.

  He repeats the action on other side, giving me light touches here and there so I won’t have deep scars in the future, but will sting and leave a mark.

  His permanent fucking mark!

  Tears stream down my hair and temples, the salty taste registering in my mind, when he whispers, “Shh, I’ll make it better.” And his hot mouth covers my flesh, latching onto my clit while his fingers press against the wounds, creating unfamiliar pleasure enveloped with pain.

  He swipes his tongue inside me, probing deeper as if French kissing me, but then moves away, the tip of his tongue only lightly touching my lower lips, giving me a minute to breathe while desperation and desire fill my every pore.

  He dives in again, but this time he is more dominant, more demanding, asking for my complete submission. He pushes a finger inside me, and my breath hitches, the pain almost gone from my mind as he lifts my ass up, sucking on me harder while my toes curl and fire spreads through me.

  I pull at my restraints, trying to escape this confusing encounter, but he doesn't let me; instead, he continues to feast on me, growling into my pussy, and the vibration adds to my pleasure.

  Then it’s too much; everything he has done culminates in a single moment of ecstasy exploding inside me and I cry out.

  He continues to lick my wetness for a moment before moving up to my navel and likely leaving a hickey there. He continues to lick, suck, and kiss until I can feel his mouth an inch away from mine.

  “Who do you belong to, Ella?” The desire slowly fades away and reality slips back in, leaving me mortified by what I’ve allowed to happen with the man who kidnapped me.

  Even if he is a man I loved first.

  “To Kierian,” I reply, and he tenses, and I know it will piss him off.

  I expect him to shout and hurt me, maybe even wish for it, because then it will give me an excuse to never succumb to him again.

  But instead, he leaves my side, and I hear his heavy footsteps as the cage opens and closes. I swallow down the tears that threaten, and wince in pain from the small cuts he left on me.

  In a minute, he’s back, pressing something warm and cold against me. My skin itches, like someone rubbed salt into it. I yelp.

  “Stay still. I need to put antiseptic on the wounds.”

  Now he cares about it? I stay silent, because he took everything I had to give.

  Once he is done, he removes the blindfold and I slowly adjust my vision, and then he rips the bindings away.

  I instantly pull my dress down, scooting to the corner and covering myself with a blanket. I don't pay attention to my legs or the way he watches me.

  How could I have done this with him?

  So I lie on my side and pray for a solution to come to me, because this situation will slowly kill me inside.

  Unless he does it first.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Psychopath, 9 years old

  “Seriously, Matt, what do you put in this meat? It’s fucking delicious!” Uncle Bill moans around his bite of the burger,
while Aunt Hetty scolds him.

  “No swearing in front of the kids.” She sends an apologetic smile to my mom, who pours more iced tea for the guests. “Sorry, Margaret. He is a brute.”

  My mom wears one of her best pink dresses that causes her green eyes that stay dead most of the time to flash brightly, not that anyone notices.

  After all, he has personally chosen it for her.

  “It’s okay,” she reassures her, but quickly glances at Father, who flips the meat on the grill a few feet away from us. She must be satisfied with whatever she has seen, because she shifts her focus to me as she slides a plate full of french fries my way. “Here you go, honey. Have fun with your friends.” She runs her finger softly through my hair and nudges me in the direction of the pool, where all the neighbor kids are playing. Gideon and Alp are already there, waving frantically at me from the water as they jump on the float.

  This get-together has been organized by my father, who invited the neighbors to celebrate the first day of summer together, sort of a tradition to keep. Since no one cooks better than my dad, everyone eagerly agreed.

  He has a façade to maintain, after all; he likes to tell my mom that no one will ever believe her if she goes to the cops or friends. He’ll take her to the psychiatric clinic with a mental disorder and he will be given custody of her “bastard.” We don’t interact with them much anyway unless it’s under Father’s watchful eye. Everyone just thinks Mom prefers to stay at home and do nothing. I’ve heard some women whisper that mom thinks she is too damn good for their friendship.

  Shaking my head from the bad memory, I practically bounce on my way as I think about diving into the water. I munch on the fries and pleasure spreads through me, as I haven't had anything but soup and rice in over a month after Mom’s last punishment. Suddenly, Uncle’s Bill voice freezes me to the spot.

  “Matt, Alp says your son doesn't know how to swim or hold his breath under water?”

  Dad halts his movements, his lips thinning, but he keeps his smile intact as he raises his brow. “Really?”