Cellar Door (26 page)

Madonna

“Liam.” I look up from my book to offer him a suggestion. “I think you should set up a meeting with Agent Turner and his partner.”

He leans back in his chair, stretching sinuously like a big cat and groaning with pleasure as his muscles loosen up. He drops back into his chair and clasps his hands over his midsection as he gives me a long, considering look. “I’ve thought about that too. There just isn’t a whole lot I can say to them. I have no real proof that this guy is a murderer. I’m going on the word of my brother, and God knows he can’t be trusted.”

“I know, but if this guy is killing people it isn’t going to reflect well on you if you knew about him and didn’t say anything. And, regardless of public opinion, I think you’d have a hard time living with it if someone else died because you didn’t act.”

“I hear you,” he sighs, “but when we spoke to them at the crime scene I told them I thought Lance had a copycat. It’s not up to me which leads they follow up on.” He gives me a cold glare before adding, “Surely you didn’t expect me to tell them he was following you and how I stepped in to stop him by taking you for myself? Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me, lady.”

His chilling gaze sends me a clear message: I’m still his captive. Whether or not he’s being nice about it is irrelevant.

“Come here,” he nods toward the office chair next to his.

“Did you put that chair in here for me?”
Anything to cut through the tension that engulfs me whenever I’m near him.

“Indeed, I did. Are you aware that you change the subject when you’re nervous? Try to not be so predictable. Now come over here, I need my partner in crime.”

I pad over to him and sit down. He looks like anything but a surgeon right now. His strong jaw is peppered with a sexy five o’clock shadow and his hair is unkempt in a way that makes me want to mess it up even more. His bare chest is tan, firmly muscled, and he’s wearing nothing but drawstring pants. Yeah… good enough to eat, definitely. I continue to stare at him as I grapple with the question that’s been on my mind.

“What?” he asks, turning his head toward me slightly, but never taking his eyes off the screen in front of him. “Something else is on your mind. Just go ahead and ask me already.”

“Okay… Are you fucking anybody else?”

“Wow, girl, don’t hold back,” he says and rubs his hand over his jaw before turning to study me, his elbow on the edge of the desk and his chin resting in his hand.

“In answer to your question, absolutely not. I know we don’t have a…conventional sort of arrangement, but I don’t want another woman. Since the first time I saw you, I wanted only you. So I took you.”

“Were you in a relationship before me? Should I be looking over my shoulder for some crazed, jealous ex-girlfriend?”

“No. Anyone before you was just sex, no love involved. Playmates, nothing more. I don’t do
girlfriends
.”

“Playmates?”

“Yes, when you’re into control, dominance, and submission like I am, you don’t date -- you play. You create scenes for fantasy roleplaying or conduct simple BDSM experiences. Sometimes in the privacy of one’s home, sometimes at a club. Sometimes alone, sometimes with an audience to enjoy it along with you. It just depends.”

“Is that what we’re doing here—playing?”

He leans back in his chair and shakes his head slowly, his gaze steely. “I can assure you, Madonna mine, when it comes to you, I’m dead serious.”

“So you’d be jealous if I was seeing anyone else.”

“No, because you won’t be. If I have to hogtie your ass down in that basement to keep you from another man, I will.”

“I don’t want to see anyone else. I just wanted to see if you’d be jealous.”

“Would you have been very disappointed if I wasn’t?”

“Very much so. Oddly enough, I would have been heartbroken if my captor wanted to see another woman.” I laugh out loud at that, but it’s true. I would have been hurt if he was interested in someone else—hurt enough to never see him again because I don’t fucking share.

“No sharing, Madonna. What’s mine is mine.”

A smile of pleasure heats my cheeks and we return to the task at hand. “You should be able to pull up property records and find out the mystery man’s name. Once we get that,” I tell him decisively, “it’s should be a matter of Googling to find out just about anything we want to know.”

His eyes lock onto me smugly. “Changing the subject again? Yes, in case the agents do show up, I want to do my homework on your other stalker.”

“Oh, that’s funny, Liam.”

“So true though. Now…back to the agents; preparation is everything when it comes to engaging with an opponent. I don’t want to go into a meeting with the FBI and get blindsided.”

“Do you think they’re suspicious of you?”

“Absolutely. They’re FBI agents, they’re suspicious of everyone.”

His Terror

“Eeeny, meenie, minie, moe, who will be the first to go?” I whisper the words in her ear in the same sing-song lilt Lance used on his victims. I remember every detail he ever told me about his kills.

During our visits, Lance went over every nuance of the time he spent with his victims. As he spoke, his eyes were often unfocused like he was in a trance. Hell, maybe he was. It was eerie to listen to him. His eyes would become glassy, his voice was suddenly deeper. I think it was the expression on his face that scared me the most; it was like he was in an altered state, he looked like a man possessed. I wonder if that was the last thing his victims saw before dying.

I sweep the knife wildly through the air in front of my victim, just like he did. There is a method to my madness. This is a big night for me; I’m about to set in motion my biggest mind fuck ever.

I pierce her skin with the tip of my knife, my movements keeping time with each word of the rhyme. A random pattern of tiny red droplets on her skin illustrates the quality of my work.

I can’t wait to taunt him with this during my next visit. He pissed me off the last time I saw him. He treats me like shit and I don’t like it. He’ll be so jealous when I rub it in his face how perfectly I copied him and how brilliantly I took his work to the next level -- a level he will never reach on his own.

“You see, it’s very important I do this just like he did,” I tell the terrified girl by way of explanation. She’s looking at me like I’m crazy—maybe I am.

“What are you talking about?” she whines, drawing her brows together in a frown.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” I jam the point of the knife into her skin just below her collarbone, just enough to draw another trickle of blood. “You never should have been standing on the corner like that. Don’t you know what kind of women work that street? It’s obvious you’re not a whore. Missing your bus was, shall we say…a
grave
mistake. You book-smart people, you don’t have any common sense sometimes. Don’t get mad at me because
you
made a mistake.”

I plunge the knife into her thigh to reinforce my next point—pun-fucking-intended: “This. Is. All. Your. Fault.”

My dick twitches in my pants as she screams and begins to beg. I close my eyes to savor every word as I palm myself through my pants. As she watches, a look of disgust combines with the pain that’s twisting her features. No need for privacy; I think we’ve moved beyond civility at this point.

“Let me go, please, I swear I won’t tell anyone about this.”

I rub the pad of my thumb over a tear as it slides down her cheek. I never take my eyes off her as I the press the digit to my lips and languidly lick her salty essence. I make a show of what I’m doing, slowly running my tongue over my thumb so I can savor the tangy flavor of her emotions manifested. I like seeing her fear, tasting it. I want to hear her voice crack with despair when all her hopes are dashed. I just want to play, play, play…with my prey.

“You want me to let you go, is that it?” I place my finger at my chin and strike a pensive pose much like that statue, ‘The Thinker’.

“Yes, yes, please. I swear I won’t tell a soul.”

The idiot doesn’t even recognize sarcasm when she hears it. Lance was right; that’s how they all are—grasping for hope, even if it’s just a façade. After all, she really wants to live—but I really want to kill her.

“I don’t really think you’re in a position to bargain with me, do you? It’s only fair that I be honest with you, since you’re being so polite. The thing is, you won’t be telling anyone anything. I’m going to make sure no one gives a shit about your story. Just look at it like this…you’re going to be part of history. Every time people mention your name, they’re going to think of me: the infamous serial killer who took your voice from you so you couldn’t tell on him.”

I place my palms over my ears and wince, and must shout to be heard over her hysterical wailing. “Oh, stop fucking screaming and let me tell you a story in peace. I can’t hear myself think with all the noise you’re making.”

I wait to continue until she quiets down, her screams and sobs now reduced to hiccupping breaths and occasional gulps of air.
Oh, there it is, that flicker of hope is in her eyes.

“Do you know the story of The Three Wise Monkeys? No? Well, then I’ll have to explain in a little more detail -- which
I
won’t mind but you probably won’t like very much. Now, you being so educated and all, I’m sure you understand what the Three Wise Monkeys represent. Are you with me so far? You see, there are three monkeys and each conveys a message: see no evil; hear no evil; and speak no evil.

“So I popped the eyes out of the first woman I killed. I stabbed a screwdriver into the eardrum of my second kill—a man, just to change things up. But you? You’ll be number three. This makes you very important, I’ll have you know. My story doesn’t really add up without you.”

I slap her real hard in the face to make her listen when she starts all that screaming again. “So you see, I must make sure you speak no evil--” (again with the screaming!) “--then I’m going to cut your tongue out--”

I have to pause again until she exhausts herself with that infernal wailing and weeping. “To be perfectly honest with you…I picked the right person because your screaming is plucking my last fucking nerve!”

Those are the last words she hears before I shove the knife in, just between her third and fourth rib, ultimately piercing her heart. It kills her instantly, which was an unexpected show of mercy – mercy for me, not her. I couldn’t stand the noise for one more second.

With the death blow, I’ve succeeded in replicating Lance’s signature move once again. But taking her tongue? That’s all me. And that’s not even the best part. Now that she has finally shut the fuck up, my dick is good and ready.

Now for a little playtime, then on to the mind fuck...