Painter’s Obsession

28. Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Eight

Ren

Once I finish the sketch of Byron lying curled in the fetal position, I shake the jar of grey brain matter. The sound is sickening, wet and muffled, and it stirs him in his sleep.

“Get away from her,” he mumbles, his voice slurred and broken. He tosses and turns like a dog, his muscles twitching beneath the glistening sweat that clings to his skin. I stop mid-motion, laying my head on my knee, watching him with fascination. What is this feeling? The ache in my chest, the flutter in my stomach?

From here, I can see he’s not doing well. His skin is pale and damp despite the cold, and the mess around him reeks of piss and blood. The small toilet on the wall remains untouched—he’s chosen to be an animal, to defile everything but that.

I put the jar down, my eyes trailing over the fast rise and fall of his chest. The snake tattoo coiling around his arms seems to move with each breath, its head almost meeting itself where he lies.

Leaning my head against the wall, I think of earlier. The feel of his tight hole strangling my cock. So different from the others. This wasn’t just desire. It was something primal, visceral—demanding. Much like it was with her.

I smack my forehead, again and again, trying to drive her from my thoughts. Why can’t I erase her? Why, even in death, does she haunt me?

I close my eyes and picture the gore.

Her cunt clenches around me as I pump into her, her red manicured nails drag down my back. “You see,” she moans, her fingers thrusting into my tight hole, “I’ve taught you so many things, my love.”

The familiar heat pools in my core, threatening to spill over as I fuck her like she wants, like she’s shown me. My stomach churns when I look down, seeing the swell of her stomach where we connected.

An abomination. That’s all it could be—the offspring of two monsters.

As usual, I finish inside her. But tonight is different. I am no longer myself. The monster has taken over, guiding me into the kitchen to the knife.

I didn’t stop it.

By the time I return, she has turned to face me, her crimson nails resting on her swollen belly, a smile on her face.

The knife plunges into her side before the smile could fade.

Her screams fill the room as her blood paints the walls, the life within her extinguished before it could breathe. I stab again, and again, until the monster is satisfied. Until there is nothing left but silence.

Now, as I look at Byron, I wonder if I’ve found something worse.

He stirs in his sleep, his face contorted in defiance even now. There’s a strength in him that pulls at something inside me—a dangerous, aching curiosity. Will he break the way I did, or will he prove stronger than me?

The sound of his voice echoes in my head, sharp and cutting. “Did mommy not love you enough?” The words replay over and over until the anger settles deep, a wildfire burning under my skin.

I pull myself off the ground, walking over to where he lies. His chest rises and falls in steady rhythm, oblivious to my approach. Leaning over him, I aim my cock, the warm stream of piss falling onto his head.

The acrid smell fills the room as Byron jolts upright, his muscles coiled with rage. The chain around his neck rattles as he strains against it, his wild eyes locking onto mine.

“Fucking bastard,” he snarls, his voice thick with fury, as he wipes the piss from his face with trembling hands.

“You already fucked me,” I give him a wink which earns me a frown, that causes me to smirk. But it quickly fades as I take in the mess, pointing at the filth surrounding him. “Clean.”

“Fuck, you.” Byron’s glare burns into me, his chest heaving with suppressed rage. It’s beautiful, really. The fire in him. But fire can be extinguished. And just like I learned to fall in line and please her, so will he. I will condition him to want nothing but me.

I storm toward the food I brought in earlier, the scent of rye bread and honey ham wafting faintly in the stagnant air. “As punishment for earlier, you get no food. Until you learn, you eat when I want you to.” I toss the sandwich into the small trash can with a flick of my wrist, watching him out of the corner of my eye. “You will do what I want, when I want it. It’s better that you begin to understand that.”

Byron doesn’t say a word as he moves to his waste, his hands shaking as he begins to scoop it up. His body is rigid, every movement screaming defiance, but he does it. Good . Even a thorn bends under pressure.

“That’s better,” I say, leaning against the wall. “You want to act like an animal? Fine. I’ll treat you like one.” My voice drops, cold and sharp. “I don’t play games, and I hate repeating myself. Next time, it’ll be Gabriela that I tear through while you watch.”

He freezes, his hands pausing mid-motion, and I see it—the crack in his armor. The flicker of fear that dances across his face. Perfect . Fear is the first step toward loyalty. “How can I guarantee you won’t hurt her?”

I frown, my lips turning to a straight line as I watch his body tense. “She’s not here, is she? You are. Your behavior guarantees it.” Byron doesn’t respond, he continues to clean up in silence while I sit with my thoughts and this pent up anger. But it’s not really him I’m angry at. It’s the memory. The pity in the cops’ faces when they realized the extent of her lessons. The quiet, suffocating judgment. My fortune was enough to buy their silence, to keep it all buried. Yet I left that life behind, settling in the mountains of Laguna Bay where no one could recognize me.

Here, I’m free to be the monster she created.

My gaze returns to Byron, his shoulders sagging as he finishes cleaning. He doesn’t look at me, but his defiance lingers, a silent challenge. It’s intoxicating.

“You don’t look too well,” I mutter, cracking open his water. The bottle hisses softly as the seal breaks, and I take a long, deliberate sip. The cool liquid slides down my throat, and I smile. Maybe I’ll bless him with a drink to show him I can give him everything he needs but I can always take it away just as quickly.

He grunts, swaying slightly before catching himself on trembling arms. “That’s what happens,” he rasps, his voice hoarse and raw, “when an asshole kidnaps you...” He glances over his shoulder, his back muscles flexing with the effort. “Rapes you and deprives you of food and water.”

“I told you, it’s not rape if you want it.” I motion between us, “and you clearly want this.”

“Fuck you,” he snarls.

“Fuck me, huh?” I laugh softly, taking another sip of the water before swirling the liquid in my mouth and spitting it out near him. The splash echoes in the silent room and despite the thirst burning in his throat, the fucker won’t submit. Won’t accept defeat. “You want a drink?”

Byron dips his chin slowly, “What I gotta do for it?” Good boy. Maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks after all.

“Kneel,” I say, my voice slicing through the air like a blade. “Beg.”

Byron doesn’t move at first. His glare pierces me, molten anger radiating off him in waves. It’s delicious. “No.” That fucking word has become the bane of my existence.

“I said kneel,” I repeat, my voice sharper now, stepping closer with the bottle in hand. “Do you not want a drink?” I ask again but this time he doesn’t respond. Not even a grunt.

Slowly, begrudgingly, he lowers himself, his muscles trembling with the effort to restrain his rage.

“Words,” I say, tilting the bottle just enough for him to see the water sloshing inside.

“Yes,” he growls, his voice strained and thick with hatred.

“Now, beg. Let me hear you say please.”

“Ple-” he begins, almost choking on the word. “Please, Ren.”

I smirk, crouching down to meet his eyes. “That wasn’t hard. You see? Already learning. A little respect goes a long way.”

He glares, but I catch the flicker of doubt in his eyes. This is how it starts—the breaking. He’ll come to me, eventually. They always do.

“You hate me now,” I murmur, my voice soft, almost tender. “But hate fades. Anger fades. What won’t fade is this—“ I hold the bottle between us, shaking it slightly. “The need. I’ll be the one to meet it. And you’ll thank me for it someday.”

His nostrils flare, and for a moment, I see it—the war raging inside him. Defiance and survival. Pride and submission.

“Good boy,” I say softly, leaning closer. “Now, open.”

I take another sip of water, letting it linger in my mouth before spitting it into his waiting mouth. His lips part reluctantly, and the water trickles in. He swallows, his throat working visibly, and I smirk. He’s learning fast. Maybe he’ll survive me after all.

Grabbing the hose, I motion to the bucket nearby. “Finish cleaning yourself up.”

This time he doesn’t argue, he just obeys, dragging the soapy cloth over his skin under my watchful gaze. His face twists with every movement, a wince here, a flinch there. Pain radiates off him like heat from a dying flame. And I fucking love it.

“What hurts?” I ask, the words spilling from my lips before I can regret them.

He freezes for a moment before snapping, “What the fuck do you care?”

Our eyes remain on each other as he scrubs his skin harder, as if trying to erase the shame, the disgust—and me. But none of that will work. I’ve left my mark, and it’s not coming off. He’s mine even if he fights it.

“You’re right, I don’t,” I reply, my tone cold again. “Next question. Why did he beat you?”

Byron stops mid-scrub, his focus shifting to me. His eyes narrow, sharp and dangerous, like a predator assessing its next move.

“Touchy subject?” I drawl, turning on the hose. The water sprays in a sharp arc, washing away the soap and grime swirling at his feet. His eyes follow the dirty water as it spirals down the drain. I wonder what he’s thinking. Turning off the hose.

“I’ll give you another sip,” I say, tilting the bottle teasingly in my hand. “If you tell me what’s on your mind.”

At first, he doesn’t move. He stays focused on the ground, his body rigid as if rooted in place. Then, slowly, he lifts his gaze to meet mine. “Why do you care?” Need always wins.

“I don’t but it’s sorta boring kidnapping someone and not talking to them.” Byron grunts. “You don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”

“Oh, but I do. Go on. Enlighten me with your precious thoughts, Byron.” I use my hand and signal for him to continue. But he just sighs. His shoulder sags as he moves his hands to meet his gaze. He looks down at his inked hands and snickers softly before meeting my eyes again. There’s something dark and alive behind them, a flicker of the defiance I’ve become intrigued with.

“How good my hands will look with your blood coating them,” he says, his voice low, steady, and filled with venom. I bite back the urge to smile because I know that it wasn’t a lie and he meant every word he just said. And, hey, we are getting places now since he wants to touch me. I turn the hose back on and finish washing him off as well as the ground around him, consider me officially amused.

“Ahh,” I say, a smile tugging at my lips. “Such a violent creature you are, my Thorn.”

He frowns, confusion spreading across his features. “Thorn?”

“You got to name your pet.” I shrug, watching the anger I’ve come to be entertained with rise.

“I’m not your fucking pet. Don’t give me no damn pet name.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You are, and I think it’s perfect,” I reply, stepping closer.

“Isn’t your thing killing women? What are you planning on doing with me?”

“You’re not my typical type. And, if it helps you feel any better, you saved your sister by simply existing. She was next, you know.”

I turn off the hose, walking toward the storage rack. The sound of water dripping echoes behind me, mingling with his shallow, uneven breaths. “And, to answer your question. I plan to keep you, but remember the very real threat that hangs over your sister’s life.”

“If you touch her—“

His voice is behind me now, sharp and trembling with barely restrained fury.

I turn around with a smile, my head cocked. “Nothing happens,” I say, my voice calm, taunting. “I showed you that last night. Didn’t I?”

Byron’s body trembles with rage, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles go white. His chest rises and falls, his breathing uneven, his fury palpable in the air between us.

He’s fuming now. And it’s beautiful.

Returning to my previous question, I ask, “Before I forget, I really need to know. Why did he beat you? Gabriela told me.”

The mention of her name is enough to break through his armor. It’s almost admirable—the lengths he’ll go for his younger sister. Almost.

“I was sick,” he finally says, his voice quiet and distant.

“Sick?” I arch a brow, the bottle hovering just out of reach. Slowly, I bring it to his lips, tipping it slightly.

He nods, his gaze dropping. “Yes.”

“Because you like men?”

The question strikes like a whip, the shock and anger flickering across his face betraying him. He looks furious, but it’s written all over him. He’s gay—or at least bi—just as much as I’m a monster. You can only run from the truth for so long.

I pour a small sip into his waiting mouth. He swallows reluctantly, a few drops escaping to trail down his chin.

“I don’t like men,” he mutters, wiping the water from the corner of his lips. “And I’m not gay.”

“And denial is a river in Egypt.” I shrug, the smirk tugging at my lips, mocking him. “I guess if you’re not gay, I must not be a monster.”

His head snaps up, and he narrows his eyes, his voice cracking as he asks, “What about you? Is this why you do it? Because of your mother’s lessons?”

The air between us shifts, sharp and heavy. My head turns to him slowly, my eyes narrowing. How dare he?

“Don’t go there,” I say, my voice low, dangerous. “You’re walking on a thin line.”

“I guess that’s a yes,” he taunts, the faintest hint of a smirk curling his lips. His eyes narrow, challenging me, daring me.

The fury ignites before I can stop it. I march toward him, my fist connecting with his jaw in one swift motion. The impact sends him sprawling onto his back. He’s too weak to fight back, too broken, but that doesn’t stop him from smiling, his crimson-stained teeth glinting in the dim light.

“I guess we’re the same,” he says, the words like poison dripping from his lips.

My vision goes red as I slam my fist into his face again, the sickening crack of bone echoing in the room.

“We are nothing alike,” I snarl, grabbing the chain attached to his collar and yanking him toward me. His body drags across the floor as I pull him close enough that our foreheads press together, his blood smearing against my skin.

“You’re my pet. My puppet. Something for me to break.” My voice drops, a venomous hiss. “I am a monster, and you’re just playing in the shadows. But I live in them. I am the shadows. I am death.”

Byron’s lips curl into another defiant smile, even as his body trembles from the pain. “Then kill me,” he whispers. But before I can answer, he spits, the warmth of it splattering onto my lips. It clings there, mixed with his blood, the metallic tang sharp and intrusive.

I don’t flinch.

“Not until I’m done with you.” My tongue darts out, slow and deliberate, licking it off. The taste of his defiance—hot, salty, and bitter with iron—lingers on my tongue.

His grin falters, the fire in his eyes flickering like a candle struggling against the wind. His confidence cracks, just a hairline fracture, but enough. Enough to remind him who holds the leash.

Without another word, I slam my forehead into his, the sickening crack of bone-on-bone reverberating through the room. The impact leaves my vision swimming for a moment, a dull ache blooming in my skull.

I release the chain, letting him collapse onto the cold, unforgiving ground. He lands hard, his body a crumpled heap, the blood from his mouth pooling in dark streaks beneath him.

I stand over him, breathing hard, watching as he lies there. His chest heaves with labored breaths, his body trembling as he struggles to pull himself together.

His silence feels like a victory, a fleeting moment of satisfaction that sizzles in my veins. But it’s not enough. The fury still burns hot in my chest, demanding more, always more.

The room feels smaller, the air thicker. I turn on my heel, my footsteps heavy against the floor as I storm out, the echo of my steps swallowed by the suffocating dark.

Behind me, Byron remains where he fell, alone with his broken defiance. For now.