9. Cain
I never keep my victims alive.
I never get attached to my victims.
On my operating table, they’re not human, they’re not men and women.
Just meat bags.
That’s exactly what they drilled into us in medical school.
Cold, clinical detachment.
When I’m done with ‘em, I get rid of the carcass in a medical incinerator I snatched during renovations in one of my clinics.
No victim ever leaves my basement, either. It’s my soundproof safe room, far away from the prying eyes of unwanted guests dropping by.
But there she is, sleeping in my bed.
Erica.
In.
My.
Bed.
I lean down, pressing my nose into her silky hair.
The faint scent of that sensual perfume still lingers on her skin, mixing with the sting of disinfectant and floral fabric softener from the fresh sheets.
Good thing the housekeeper came by in the early morning while I was tormenting Erica in the basement.
She is the first woman in my bed in years.
Naked under the covers at that.
My cock twitches, and my anger boils over at my lack of self-control.
“Fuck!” I shout.
Erica won’t wake up from her drug-induced slumber for a while and we’re alone in the house.
I can let out my frustration in peace.
Living in the countryside on a 140-acre property has quite a few benefits.
No immediate neighbors sticking their noses in my business is my favorite.
I jerk to a stand and pace through the room.
From the bed to the armchair in the corner, along the dresser and the vanity, past the fireplace, then back again.
I stop by the open window, but I can’t stand still long enough to enjoy the glittering river fork and the rich green nature sprawling all around it.
Not today.
Not when all I want is to stare at Erica.
Feel her.
Trace the tattoo I discovered along her spine when we showered together in the motel.
It’s the only one with a bit of color in it.
A slender, black sword piercing a red, faceted gem shaped like a heart.
But I can’t touch her again, even if I want to so fuckin’ badly it’s tearing me apart.
If I touch her now, I’m gonna lose the last shred of my damn sanity.
I’m tired as fuck from driving all night and then fucking her in the operating theater, but I can’t bring myself to sit down.
Rest is out of the question.
So, more pacing it is, making myself crazy to the rhythm of my boots thudding on the parquet.
To be fair, this is already crazy.
Absolute madness.
I chew on my thumb.
How did I fuck up so badly?
This should’ve been a normal hunt.
I go on the prowl a handful of times a year, and I developed a routine.
A routine I already deviated from when I masturbated over her body while she slept, but when I saw her at that vending machine, I felt like my plan was finally back on track.
I was in control again—until she tripped and stumbled right into me, all soft and pliable and warm, looking up at me with wide, emerald eyes.
Watching her and touching her while she was passed out in the motel was one thing.
But talking to her…
damn.
That was something else.
I didn’t expect her to be so…
Charming?
Magnetic?
Pure temptation wrapped in a tight red dress.
I kick the door to the walk-in wardrobe as I pass by.
Did she have to be that cute with her melodious voice and sweet smiles and those lil giggles?
Did she have to ask about my fuckin’ dysfunctional family?
And why the hell did I ramble on like an idiot?
I’d rather choke on a box of rusty nails than voluntarily talk to anybody about my parents.
Even Mandy has learned to avoid the topic, and if I won’t talk to my own sister about it, why did I open up to a random stranger?
Problem is, Erica doesn’t feel like a stranger to me.
She’s easy to talk to.
Easier than anybody I ever met.
When our eyes locked by the vending machine, the words poured from my lips.
I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from telling her everything I never told another.
Every stupid dream or useless hope.
Every unimportant fear.
Talking to her feels like she’s my best friend, somebody I’ve been through thick and thin with.
Somebody I spent years with.
That’s so damn illogical, it’s making my brain hurt.
Worse though, that doesn’t stop me from feeling like it’s the absolute truth.
If I believed in reincarnation or shit like that, I’d think she was mine in a past life, too.
At least that would explain my feverish obsession.
After my first nightly visit, I knew full well that she was trouble.
I should’ve stayed away.
Should’ve gotten in my car and driven away.
Far away.
But instead, I let my dick do the thinking.
I thought I was smarter than that, but nope.
My calm combusted when she bit her lip and asked if I wanted to come back to her room.
I agreed before I could form even half a rational thought.
My fingers drum a nervous beat on the window frame.
I look out over the bluebonnets on the meadow and a bird hopping along the railing of the wooden footbridge across the river.
Any other day, watching the deer graze in the distance and the fish jumping out of the water does the trick to soothe me, but it ain’t working now.
I’m too furious with myself.
Especially because I only have myself to blame for this complicated situation.
After Erica invited me to her room, I had another chance to get back on track with my plan when I went to my truck.
I didn’t have a real reason for going there.
It was an excuse to try and get my head on straight.
And boy, did I have a proverbial angel and devil on my shoulders—or more like two devils.
I’m surprised I didn’t wear holes in the asphalt pacing in a horny panic.
At that point, I had already decided that I was gonna fuck her, even though I never had sex with my victims.
But I planned to do it when she was paralyzed in my basement and I had complete control.
Just a bit of fun before I got to work.
And then, like a total jackass, I threw all cautious planning into the wind and walked back to her room.
Without the syringe.
I slap my forehead, dragging my palm across my face.
But God almighty, Erica was everything I dreamed of and more.
She didn’t question my orders and obeyed me like a good little slut, like she waited her whole life for me to dominate her and make her mine.
I was exactly what she needed.
The right man to violate her and make her feel alive.
The right monster to balance her pain and pleasure on a knife’s edge.
And when her pussy got even tighter with my blade at her throat—
The memory sends a surge of pleasure through my balls.
My cock grows against the inside of my jeans.
I ignore it and shove a hand into my pocket, fumbling with a packet of squashed cigarettes to take one out.
The clack of my metal lighter and the whoosh of the flame calm me a little.
I take a long drag, exhaling a cloud of grey smoke through my nose and continue pondering my stupidity.
I deserve a good ol’ session of self-flagellation.
After the most incredible sex with Erica in the motel, I had yet another fuckin’ chance to make it right.
I was gonna make it right.
I sat with her until she was almost asleep and got the sedative.
Injected her.
Carried her to my pickup.
Drove all night to bring her here.
Routine .
And then I fucked up even worse .
She was prepped and primed, beautifully still on the operating table like a precious porcelain doll waiting for me to break her…
and I couldn’t do it.
Even with my favorite scalpel in hand, I couldn’t bring myself to gut her.
Instead, I woke her.
“Motherfucker,” I curse and my reflection in the windowpane throws a hostile glance back at me.
In the basement, Erica was my helpless subject.
My lil experiment.
I savored every tiny reaction to my agonizing touch, drank in her suffering like fine wine, getting high off her torment.
God, I have to stop thinking about her or—
I storm to the dresser where I left her handbag and grab it.
Heart racing, I sit on the bed and run my fingers over the peeling fake leather on the shoulder strap.
She doesn’t have many possessions.
The rest of her stuff is in the walk-in closet, except for her dirty clothes taking a spin in the washing machine.
I couldn’t leave her things in the motel, that would be suspicious.
But with her luggage gone, the guy at the front desk will simply assume she bailed early.
The place is strictly pay in advance and he already has his money.
After one last drag, I stub out my cigarette in a marble ashtray on the nightstand and pour the contents of her handbag on the mattress.
Another colossal fuck up on my part because that damn curiosity about her rages like wildfire in my chest.
My other victims remained nameless.
I burned their things without hesitation.
But Erica…
she has my head spinning and I can’t figure out why.
As much as I hate to admit it, I want to learn more about her.
Everything there is to learn about her.
Why was she all alone in that god-forsaken town?
What is she hiding from?
Where is her car?