Page 28 of Killer Bones

10

Adelmo

I take another step back.

Gorgeous body. Perfect bee-sting, pouty mouth. She reminds me of someone or something.

My first girlfriend. I took her to Paris then to the CNC Fraternity party in Marseilles. That did not end well.

It’s disturbing how much she looks like her. Izzy likes kink, and that’s a fundamental difference, but everything else about Hope, our past, our choices, grinds at me. Underground discarded memories.

I don’t need those.

From beneath her brow, Izzy is giving me her lost kitten look again. Her long, black hair lies in wet tangles over her shoulders and half her face. Her breasts, belly, and nipples are flushed red in patches from my needles, teeth, and hands.

Half-strangled by the belt looped about her neck suspending her from the shower.

Hands tied at her back, ankles roped, her own come showing on her thighs, along with some red-tinged dribbles that speak of the roughness of my fisting of her little cunt.

God. My cock is aching like a fucking fire hose waiting to pump out and go off.

Not fucking her is my agenda until the party tomorrow. For once, I may fail.

I hate failure.

Izzy loves this, and she climaxed, despite me trying to scare the ever-loving hell out of her, despite her stabbed hand. Despite everything I and fucking Montez have done.

Is she lying…faking her desires? My black heart says not.

My lips curve upward, tugging at my scars. I am actually smiling.

Have you never felt lonely.

Her words. She said something like that and woke a part of me I’ve not thought about for ages. There’s always been an empty place inside, a black hole that swallows me when I’m in my darkest moods. Long, long ago, religion used to be my crutch, until I saw the falseness in that.

I’m always alone, even when I’m with someone. I never regret, and killing is easy when you have only you. My mantra, if I have one.

We’re all alone in our own private worlds, no matter how much we try to prove otherwise.

If I could keep her for a while, I can find out what makes her tick. Yet, no matter how often or how insistently she says she wants to help me if I save her, there is not one single reason to believe she would stay with me. What woman would voluntarily stay after everything that has happened? None.

And if I managed it, if I could save her from Montez’s rage and revenge, how stupid would I have to be to let her go out into the world? Very, very stupid. She knows too much.

My brother will laugh at my dilemma.

I return to her. “If I find out you’re faking any of this, I will make you sorry.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” She smiles jerkily, probably because I implied I might keep her alive. Is that wise? Is it worse to let her think herself saved when she’s not, or worse to destroy all her hope early?

Slack-mouthed, lips wet, she watches as I loosen the belt from her neck, unbuckle it. She watches my roving hands and leans against the wall as I weigh her breasts. I follow the curves of her body, down over her hips and legs to free her ankles. Once I untie her hands and throw the cloth scraps aside, she waits, bright-eyed, supporting the wrist of her bandaged hand, waits for me to do something.

“Afraid?”

“Of course.” The trembling in her hands underscores that.

“And?” I take her hurt hand, turn it over, but softly. “The truth, please. Why aren’t you sobbing and begging?” Any other woman would be. Why am I so sure she’ll say more?

“Because. I’m also weirdly excited. No one’s ever made me…” She blushes hot. “Come like that before.”