Chapter 37 Amber
Amber
I've never felt anything as potent as whatever the fuck this is.
My veins are on fire, burning with purpose, with life, with something that transcends reality and defies logic. The moment doesn't feel real, bleeding with this sort of glorious clarity, but I also feel too alive for it not to be real.
I blink when Cal shoves the dress at me, not sure what he wants me to do with it.
“I need you to be clothed for this, or I'm not going to be able to focus. All that blood on you... fuck. You're so goddamn gorgeous.”
His voice sounds far away, but his eyes are on me, fixed, level, and absolutely ravenous.
I want to be ravaged, and some small part of me thinks I should feel bad about that. I should feel bad that I want Cal to fuck me so hard I can't breathe or even think. I should especially feel bad about that when I just fucking killed a man. But I don't. Not even a little.
It's like the floodgates are firmly in place, and I'm soaking in the pleasure, the euphoria, the fucking bliss.
All of the pain and the fear, the anguish and agony, and the doubts and insecurities are on the other side, a violent sea useless to break past the walls. It's utter fucking perfection.
I don't bother asking him why this dress, why he wants me to dress up like a porcelain doll instead of in the clothes I wore here. I know he likes me to be his little doll. And I've grown to like it, too.
Some sick part of me likes belonging to him, likes his praise, and likes the way he can't control himself around me sometimes.
I'll be his little doll as long as he wants to play with me, but tonight, I'm a possessed doll.
A fucking killer doll.
The skirts swish against my bare legs as I step into it, and he groans as I pull it over my breasts, slipping my hands inside the puffy sleeves.
“There are four of them out there.” He explains.
It's one more than we expected, but in the grand scheme of things, I doubt that makes much of a difference.
Not when they're locked in here with us.
“We can't lure them back one by one anymore... not here.” His eyes indicate the body I'm responsible for, and I wonder if I should apologize again.
He's supposed to be the killer, and I'm supposed to be the bait. And yet, I don't really feel bad about taking the kill from him.
I stole his fix, and now I'm high on it.
“They'll be suspicious when they don't see him come back. I'm going to go collect the next one, but I need you to go deeper into the warehouses, to creep in the shadows. I need you to hide.”
“Hide?” I shake my head. “No. I want to... I want to kill.”
He stares at me for a beat in perfect silence. I wonder if I shouldn't have confessed to that, but he doesn't seem exactly bothered by it.
“It can be dangerous. I don't know if they're armed.”
I almost make a joke about how the man who planned to kill me is now worried I'll die, but I decide not to bring that up.
“I'm not fucking hiding.” I tell him instead. And just in case he thinks he can persuade me, I repeat myself. “I'm not fucking hiding, not in my head or in this warehouse. I am not afraid.”
It's true.
I'm not afraid. And I'm not numb.
I'm excited, damn near giddy at the prospect of watching another man's mouth curve in shock as I take his life, steal his soul, and collect his final heartbeats.
“Okay.” He nods, giving me what I want again. “Then I want you by my side. If anything happens, I need to be able to get to you.”
I smile, his declaration from earlier settling like a warm blanket around my shoulders. “Don't forget my playlist.”
He grins, reaching for his phone and queuing up the compilation I put together earlier.
In our early planning, he mentioned that he'd equipped the warehouse with a system of Bluetooth speakers so that when we started the loud part, we could cover the screams just in case there were any campers in the woods surrounding us.
He'd planned for some heavy metal, which is fine, but I took the opportunity of making a more... curated selection.
We've planned every detail, and while some of the events haven't transpired according to plan, this one still makes sense.
The first song to come on is One Way or Another by Blondie.
It plays a few seconds from his phone before it connects to the Bluetooth speakers he planted in every other room. I see his confusion as he recognizes the tune and watch it melt the minute understanding hits.
He fucking laughs, and it's the most incredible sound. Pride spikes inside of me that I make him laugh, that he does what I ask him to do, and that he accepts my crazy. Because I’m definitely crazy.
I know this isn’t mentally well. I just don’t care.
“You beautiful lunatic.” He shakes his head and then crushes his mouth against mine, his hands on either side of my face to hold me there so he can disengage when I try to return the kiss. “They'll be coming now.”
I nod, taking that as his warning that we need to focus.
He grabs my shoulders, his own jagged knife clenched in his fist as he spins me to face the opposite direction so that we stand back to back, just waiting.
I don't know if the men he brought here are smart enough to split up, if they're dumb enough to come seek us, or if they're smart enough to realize there's absolutely no way out.
I watched Cal lock the door in place when we came here earlier.
The bolt on the floor locks that door, and even if they manage to get it, we'll hear the walls shuddering as they raise it up.
It's how I knew they were here, how I had time to mentally prepare myself for what I was going to do.
And besides, I doubt they'll go running just because I decided to play some mood music.
I'm right. They didn't try to leave.
I hear the echoing footsteps, the voices, and the expletives as they move through the warehouse, entirely confused about what's going on, entirely unaware of the death trap they're willingly walking into.
Their fates were sealed the minute they agreed to rape me. And sure, maybe we lured them into it. But none of them are upstanding citizens, and every one of them has been accused of the very same deed they intended to commit tonight.
And who am I to deprive them of their fun? I'm certainly going to have my fill.
“What the fuck?” One of the men mutters, stumbling out of the darkness as he squints at me, trying to decide if he's seeing what he thinks he's seeing.
“What the fuck is the girl from The Shining doing here?” One of them quips, clearly not having noticed the knife in my hand yet.
I turn my wrist a little so that the handle is pressed against the flat of my arm, concealing the blade for a moment longer, emboldening them to draw closer. I don't suppress the small smile that quirks my lips as the two of them stumble in the darkness, clearly high.
They've chosen their drug, and it's made them dumber. I've chosen mine, and it's made me sharper.
“The fuck is going on?” A deep voice from over my shoulder shouts.
I feel Cal pressed against me, a solid comfort, a line of defense. I just have to worry about the men before me, and he'll take care of the ones behind me.
I don’t react, don’t breathe, don’t even move. I just watch them come closer, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.
He doesn't answer, and I share his silence, drawing them deeper. One of them must be less high, or not as stupid, because his steps begin to slow and he sticks to the shadows as his friend continues forward.
His brown hair is pulled back into a knot, the tattoos on his knuckles making my grin widen. One hand spells death, in big, gothic-looking letters. I assume the other says life, but when he gets close enough and lifts his hand to my cheek, I see it says mercy.
I won't be showing him any.
“Fucking hell. They said you'd be drugged, but I expected a half-dead bitch, not a fucking zombie.” He chuckles as he rubs his fingers across my face, reveling in the feel of my flesh beneath his fingers. “What do you have her on, and where can I get it?”
I'm silent as he pinches my lips, and then he groans.
“Fuck, you're cute.” He laughs. And then his playfulness disappears as his hand, the one that says death, gravitates toward my throat.
He drives me against the wall, making a sound like thunder clapping resonate around us, breaking through the music.
In the corner of my eye, I see Cal turn just enough to ensure I'm fine before he returns his attention to the men approaching from the other side.
“Where's Garrett?” One of them asks.
I return my attention to the man before me and giggle at the intensity between his furrowed brows, unable to help myself as he slides his pants down his hips, his pathetic cock springing free.
He grips my dress and begins to frantically pull at the fabric, searching for a way to crawl beneath it. His fingers find it, eventually, and then make quick work of finding my pussy. He doesn't hide his delight at finding it wet. The dumbass is too stupid to realize it's not ready for him.
“Typical whore. Your pussy is already weeping from just the sight of me?” He scoffs, though he looks proud of himself in spite of his disgust for me.
His fingers dig blindly around between my thighs, seeking an entrance.
“It's not your cock I'm excited for.” I say softly... so softly he has to lean in to hear me.
“What?”
“It's not your cock I'm excited for.” I tell him, louder this time.
“Yeah? Think you're cute, slut? What are you excited for?”
A glance at Cal shows me that the other men are close enough to act. He nods just once, a short little tip of his head so imperceptible I wouldn't have noticed it if I wasn't looking for some sort of permission.
I flex my fingers discreetly against the handle, adjusting my grip.
I didn't just put together a Killer Playlist and pretend to sleep while he staged all the photos for tonight. I also searched for the most effective way to slit a throat.
It was a weird honeymoon.