Devour (Twisted Metamorphosis #1)

Chapter Eight

One Week Ago

“Breaking news out of Portsmouth, Virginia, this evening.” I turned up my car’s radio as I parked in a half-empty parking lot across the street from the Devil’s Cauldron bar. “Two days ago, Senator Thomas Scott went missing from Portsmouth. He was last seen at the diner on the corner of Fourth Street and Linden Avenue around one in the morning and was last seen entering a white panel van. Investigators are now asking for the public’s help. If you have any information, please call the—”

“Aww, poor Senator,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes and shutting off my car. Kidnapping him was only the first part of my plan to rid the world of his filth and corruption. I already had the senator, and his assistant, and now it was time to gather my next pawn in the game—his son—and this time, it was personal.

Last week, Thomas Scott’s son, Connor, slipped a drug into a young woman's soda while she sat alone at a table, waiting for her bartender girlfriend to finish her shift at the Devil’s Cauldron. She was found naked and dead on the side of the main highway four days later. This young woman, Tara Jefferson, was a longtime patient of mine.

Reaching into my glove box, I pulled out a file I started on Thomas and Connor. The night that Tara was taken, Connor had his unworthy eyes on her for the twenty-eight minutes and sixteen seconds that she was in the bar. He would constantly text his father, saying how “perfect” and “delicious” she looked, convincing him she would be their next girl.

Flipping through the pages of Thomas and Connor’s phone records, I read all the messages exchanged between them. Every word I read was fuel for my darkness, amplifying my rage. Forcing myself to continue through the file, I found a USB flash drive in an evidence bag I had stapled to the back of the folder.

The imbecile forgot to wipe the surveillance tapes from that night that Tara was taken, which made my life difficult, since I had to snatch it up before law enforcement confiscated it. In the privacy of my home, I watched the tape, and Connor clearly dropped a pill in her glass while her attention was on her cell phone screen. She was the only one sitting at one of the empty tables away from the bar and close to the exit.

Once Tara started showing signs of dizziness and nausea, Connor swooped in to “help.” He easily lured her out of the bar to get some fresh air, where Grace Kim was waiting in Connor’s father’s blacked out car. Grace was Thomas Scott’s assistant and accomplice to their string of kidnappings. She would pose as the concerned maternal figure, the good samaritan, calming their anxieties about the effects of the drugs.

Moving on to the Coroner’s report, they found high levels of Rohypnol and Xanax in her system. She had bruises and cigarette burns covering her petite body, and there were obvious signs of sexual assault. The rape kit came back negative for any male DNA, so these pigs used condoms. Flipping to the next page, I read notes that showed Tara had been sodomized as well. My anger started building further, and I shoved the file folder back in the glove box, slamming it closed.

“You cannot allow your emotions to get involved.” I turned to look at the passenger seat, and my darkness showed herself to me. She was a mirror of my body and stared back at me with dark, black eyes.

“This one is personal,” I countered.

“They can never be personal. You risk getting yourself caught,” the darkness said, crossing her arms across her chest.

“I never get caught.”

“If you keep going down this road led by emotion, you will be.”

Ignoring my darkness, I turned to look out the driver’s side window of my car. I had a good view of the front door to the bar, and as soon as my eyes found the entrance, Senator Scott’s scum of a son stumbled out of the saloon-style doors. He lit a cigarette, and sat clumsily on a bench next to another of his pompous, rich friends, taking a long drag and letting his head hang back and draping his arms over the backrest. He blew a puff of smoke into the air, and it drifted off into the night.

Pulling down the visor in my car, I made sure my blonde wig was in its proper place. With my fingertips, I traced the knots of the braid that I had done in a headband over the top of my head while looking into completely unrecognizable blue eyes. This particular pair of contacts always make my eyes water, so I had to get this over with as soon as I could. I pushed a few bobby pins deeper into the braided headband to help keep this wig on; I couldn’t risk any chance of it coming off.

Reaching into my crossbody purse on the passenger side of the car, I pulled out my makeup bag to touch up my foundation. It was two shades too dark for me, but made me look like a completely different person. Once satisfied with the coverage, I returned my foundation compact to my purse and shuffled a few items around to make sure I still had my syringe.

“Perfect,” I said, placing it on the top of my purse’s contents before zipping it up and draping it across my chest.

“Remember, don’t get caught,” my darkness warned.

“I won’t.”

Exiting my car, I took a quick moment to smooth out my skin tight denim mini skirt and unzip my hooded jacket to reveal a pastel blue tank top. The low-cut neck of the top accentuated my cleavage in a white push-up bra that barely peeked out of the deep v neckline.

I sauntered across the street toward the bench Connor was sitting on, keeping a hand on my purse, and forced my facial expression to imitate an innocent sadness. I fluffed up my hair with my free hand as I approached the bar, and the foul scent of beer and piss hit my nose like a freight train.

With heavy steps, I allowed my heels to click and clack on the cement, earning the attention of both Connor and his stupid, rich friend.

“Well, hey there, baby. You look lost,” Connor slurred, standing on slightly unsteady feet. “Perhaps I can help you find your way?” He shamelessly ogled my body, looking me up and down, licking his lips.

Connor’s perfectly styled strawberry blonde hair was slicked back, but a strand fell free, hanging down his forehead. His Versace shirt was unbuttoned halfway, showing off a muscular, tattooed chest and gold chain. His sleeves were haphazardly rolled up to his elbows, showing off his gaudy, diamond-studded Rolex and gold bracelet that matched his chain.

“Oh, I’m not lost, just looking to have a drink and forget about my fiancé leaving me for his secretary,” I said, my voice heavy with my feigned sadness.

“Well, funny you should mention, I happen to be good at helping people forget their problems. May I?” Connor flicked away his cigarette, reaching out his elbow to me while exhaling the last of the smoke from his puff.

“And that’s my cue. I’ll see you tomorrow, man. Have fun,” the other man said with a chuckle and shook his head as he walked away toward the parking lot.

“Such a gentleman,” I said, batting my eyelashes. Placing my hand in the crook of his arm, I let Connor lead me into the Devil’s Cauldron.

We entered the dimly lit dive bar, walking past the bar-height tables scattered around the room. I stopped walking for a moment to take in my surroundings, looking around to remind myself where the exits were. Connor stopped as well, but turned to the right toward the jukebox attached to the wall by the entrance.

“One sec, baby. Need some tunes in here,” he said, while pulling a five-dollar bill out of his front pocket and feeding it into the machine. After he selected a few songs and ACDC started to play, he offered me his arm again and led me toward the booths in the back of the bar.

The bar itself was planted in the middle of the large space, and had cheap string lights draped along the top, weaving in and out of bras that were hanging from the ceiling. Two bartenders were busy making drinks, wearing nothing but high-waisted fishnet leggings, shorts that were so short, you’d think they were panties, and lacy bras. One bartender was vigorously shaking a cocktail, her breasts bouncing with each movement she made. We briefly made eye contact, and even through her dramatic smoky eye makeup and from this distance, I could see her overly dilated pupils. She was high as fuck.

Rolling my eyes, I let Connor lead me to a corner booth. The booths were shaped like horseshoes and provided the perfect amount of privacy, with dividers in between each one. He motioned for me to sit, and I did, sliding into the booth, leaving just enough room for him to sit on the edge.

“I can’t wait to get out of this piece of shit bar,” my darkness said, sliding into the booth on the opposite side.

“What can I get for you, sweetheart?” Connor asked, still standing and leaning both hands on the table. I leaned back in the booth, reaching my hands into my hair as if I was putting it up in a ponytail, purposefully arching and allowing the neck of my shirt to dip lower.

“Surprise me. Just no tequila,” I said in a sultry tone, pulling the corner of my lower lip in between my teeth seductively while my eyes fell to his half hard cock in his jeans. His eyes darkened, and he slid into the booth next to me, his hand delicately finding my throat as he leaned in next to my ear.

“I can think of better things to give you than booze, sweetheart,” he groaned, as his free hand slid up my skirt, and he breathed in my scent at the crook of my neck.

“It's been so long since a man has touched me,” I whispered back, arching my back off the seat, shifting my hips to force his hand closer to my pussy. “So long…” I gasped as his thumb reached my panties, rubbing and teasing my slit. It took every ounce of self control not to vomit.

“You mean to tell me your man never took care of this hot body? This needy pussy?” His drunk movements became more harsh and sloppy as his fingertips hooked into the fabric of my thong.

“He hasn’t touched me in six months,” I whispered, my hand finding his cock his jeans. I hummed in approval while my darkness shuddered in disgust. “Maybe after we have a drink, we can take this to my hotel down the street?”

“Fuck, baby. Are you serious? You want to party? I’m not a good man…” he said, almost sounding sad as he averted his gaze, slowly backing away from me.

Lucky for me, I wasn’t in the market for a good man tonight.

“Who said I was a good woman?” I whispered in his ear, trailing one of my blood red painted fingernails down his chest. “So, how about a rum and Coke? I could use the caffeine since it seems like we’ll be a bit busy here soon? I don’t want to get too drunk here so we can drink together in my hotel room.”

I slowly sat up straight, forcing him to release me, and propped my chin up with my hand on the tabletop and crossed my legs.

“You’re something else, you know that? Rum and Coke coming right up.” Connor slid out of the booth, adjusting his disgusting dick in his jeans.

“Lucy,” I said as he was about to turn his back to head to the bar. “I’m Lucy.”

“Connor.” He winked and pulled out his cell phone as he went to the bar.

Once his back was turned to me completely, I opened my purse at my side and pulled out the second cell phone I was carrying with me and unlocked the screen to see an open text message thread with Connor’s number. Good thing I remembered to bring Grace’s phone with me.

Connor: I’ve got one. Be here in 15

Grace: No. Alpha is missing and we can’t risk anything.

Connor: Just be here in 15. This one is mine, not his.

Grace: Fine, but this is the last one until he returns home.

“Perfect,” I said to my darkness, and she tapped her fingernails on the tabletop, one finger at a time. I put Grace’s phone away while Connor waited for our drinks and sighed contentedly.

“This place is filthy, and you look absolutely ridiculous as a blonde.”

“I know, but we won’t be here long.” I patted my purse, and my darkness grinned. She leaned back in the booth, getting comfortable as if she was getting ready to watch a show. The bartender slid Connor a glass of amber liquid, which I assumed was whiskey, and my rum drink.

“I wonder how subtle he really is,” I said to my darkness, and she turned to watch him. “He’s going to spike my drink before turning around.”

Connor reached into his pocket again, and pulled out some bills and reached out to hand it to the bartender. As he reached over my drink to pay her, I saw the most subtle little splash, and a trail of little bubbles as the drug settled to the bottom of the glass.

“He’s good,” my darkness chuckled.

“He thinks he’s good, but I’m better.”

Connor brought our drinks back to the booth with a smug smile.

“So, baby, where were we?”

Connor handed me my drugged rum and Coke, and sat in the booth next to me with a smug grin on his face.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Could you get me a straw, pretty please?” I asked, batting my eyelashes.

“Sure thing! Sorry I forgot that.” Connor jumped up and rushed to the bar, giving me just enough time to get my syringe from my purse, uncap it, and place it on the seat next to my leg, out of his view.

“Here you go, baby. Sorry about that.” Connor plopped back down on the seat and handed me a paper-wrapped plastic straw. “So, Lucy, tell me something. Why here? What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a dive like this?” He asked, sipping his cheap two fingers of whiskey. His eyes subtly found my drink as if he was eager to see me drink it.

“Well,” I said, unwrapping the straw and putting it in my glass. “I’m obviously not from here.” I stirred my drink, letting my fake emotion play out. It was easy to pick up what makes this asshole tick, what gets him off: helpless blondes.

“Where are you from?” He asked, draping an arm over my shoulder.

“California.”

“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” he chuckled, holding his whiskey glass in his free hand and tapping his pointer finger on its rim impatiently.

“I needed to get far away from my fiancé. I just closed my eyes and picked a random spot on a map, and here I am,” I said. My right hand closed around the syringe at my side and with my left hand, I brought the straw to my lips. Connor’s eager eyes followed my movements as I closed my lips around the straw. “Oh, and I forgot to mention…” I dropped my left hand to my lap, shuffled the syringe from my right hand to my left and quickly shoved the needle into his thigh over his distressed black jeans, emptying the sedative into his system. “No one drugs me.”

Connor’s eyes went wide in surprise, then narrowed in anger as he rushed to stand and stumbled backwards, knocking over some of the barstools at the bar before falling on his ass.

“Wh-what? You…” He stammered as I recapped the syringe and tucked it away at my purse before rushing to his side.

“Wow, he’s cut off, huh?” I chuckled at the bartender as she leaned over the bar top to see what was going on. “I’ll get him out of your hair.”

The bartender gave me a grateful smile and nodded her chin toward the back door.

“Wh-what the… What the fuck…?” Connor slurred as I reached for his hand, pulling him up by his forearm. He stumbled up, and I draped his arm around my neck, guiding him out the back door of the bar to my waiting rental I had planted earlier in the day.

“Not so fun now, is it? Being drugged?” I said, pinning him to the side of the rental car by his throat, holding him up. “What’s wrong, baby? Not feeling well?” I mocked as I reached into my purse with my free hand to get a pair of nitrile gloves. Releasing his neck, I quickly slipped the gloves on, letting the last one snap after pulling it on.

“Get…get the fuck off…” Connor’s head began to bob as he fought against losing consciousness. He stumbled toward the back of the car as he tried to back away, which allowed me to open the rear passenger door.

“Get in.” Pulling him by his arm, he fell into the car on his side with his hips and legs hanging out and toward the ground.

“Fucking useless piece of shit,” my darkness scoffed behind me as I picked up his ankles, shoving his legs into the car. He fell harshly to the floor of the backseat and tried to sit up, but succumbed to the sedative I pumped into his thigh. “Smart. No security cameras back here.”

“I don’t get caught, remember?”

Getting into the driver’s seat, I turned the key in the ignition and backed out of my parking spot. After turning onto the main road, I relaxed in my seat, pulling out the three bobby pins I had placed strategically to hold my wig in place. After putting them into the purse still draped over my chest, I pulled the wig off with a grateful sigh as I stopped at a red light.

Reaching to the passenger side floor, I opened the waiting trash bag and dropped the wig inside. Tugging at the clip holding my braided headband into place, it finally snapped free, and I dropped it in the bag as well. As the light turned green, I drove toward my gated home while undoing the braid to give my scalp relief from the tight knots.

“Don’t worry about my hair. I’ll give this car a good vacuuming before the rental company picks it up at the bus station,” I said to my darkness after feeling her eyes on me.

“Good. We cannot leave any evidence of either of you in this car.”

“I know the drill. Don’t worry.”

Five minutes later, we pulled into my gated driveway. As the gate closed and locked behind us, I pulled the car to the very back of my property. I had a waiting tarp laying on the grass at the end of my driveway that wrapped around my Victorian style home. After parking the car, I grabbed the trash bag from the passenger side and placed it on the ground by the trunk.

Circling around to the rear passenger door, I opened it and pulled Connor out of the car. He was at least two hundred pounds of dead weight, so I knew I couldn’t carry him inside. I would have to do this exactly how I did with his father—drag him on the tarp.

Once I was able to pull him out of the car so his legs were hanging to the ground, I reached inside and pulled him up by his arms and let him fall to the tarp covered grass. After closing the car door, I unlocked the back door that led to my workroom, my sanctuary.

“This part would be a lot easier with help,” my darkness complained.

“I know, but unfortunately, it’s just me.”

Reaching into the front passenger side of the car, I pulled out the trash bag and tossed it onto Connor’s chest. I gathered up the four corners of the very large tarp and twisted them together to create a grip for myself. With all my strength, I dragged Connor a few feet across the grass and through the now open door. It was about half a flight of stairs down to my workshop, so with a wicked grin, I grabbed the trash bag, released the tarp, and kicked his unconscious body, letting him fall harshly down each of the six steps.

“W-who’s there? Help me!” a voice called out from the depths of my workshop.

Reaching down to grab Connor by the legs, I dragged him through the threshold into my refrigerated paradise—my workroom, my sanctuary.

“Good evening, Senator,” I said with a wicked grin, dropping Connor’s limp legs and trash bag in front of him at his feet. Taking off my nitrile gloves, I shoved them into the pocket of my denim skirt.

Senator Thomas Scott was standing, his wrists shackled and hanging from a hook attached to the cement ceiling. His eyes went wide when he saw his bruised and unconscious son.

“N-no… P-please… Let him go…” he begged.

“Oh, but Senator, the party is just getting started.”