Chapter 5
A lcohol courses through my veins. How did one beer turn to three? Or maybe it was four? I’ve lost count.
A woman dances in front of me. Her seductive blue eyes peer out from behind the holes in her black mask. She beckons me over with a curl of her manicured finger, and I want to join her. Believe me, I want to.
But I have a job to do.
I also can’t seem to shake off the lingering mental image of the girl I met this morning. None of the nearly bare bodies before me compare to the mystery of what waited under her clothes. How has one brief encounter left me so obsessed?
I shake my head and drift to the edge of the room. Reclining against the wooden wall, I watch the others. Women in various stages of undress dance around the men. My gaze snags on a blonde woman whose dress straps have fallen, allowing the fabric to bunch beneath her large, fake tits. Another blonde wiggles close by, bent at the waist as she gyrates her ample ass in a hypnotizing display. Her short cocktail dress rides up her thighs.
You couldn’t cut the sexual tension in this room with the sharpest knife. The air is electrified.
When I turn to the left, I spot a couple fucking on a glass table. The woman’s arms extend above her head, a beautiful arch in her back as the masked man rails her. I home in on the moans coming from her lips and adjust the front of my pants, hoping no one notices my erection. But it isn’t her voice I hear. Not really. I hear the girl from this morning.
I need to find some place in this house to rub one out before Adam comes back from wherever he’s disappeared to.
I head toward a door and ease it open, revealing a dark room with strips of black lights overhead. Bodies rub against each other everywhere I look. Neon paint coats their skin. Sensual music plays overhead, a direct contrast with the livelier music in the main hall. Everyone is naked and some are fucking, heads dropped back as if they’re on the best trip of their lives. Some still wear masks, but others have discarded them in the corner. A few may not have had a mask at all.
The maskless will face the ultimate choice, much as I did all those years ago, but I wish I’d gotten this kind of treatment back then. Where was this kind of party welcoming me into this place? I didn’t get my rocks off before I made the decision to live for them or die for me.
I hide in the shadows and unzip my slacks. This isn’t my first choice of a quiet place to beat my dick, but the visuals are good. If I use my imagination, I can almost imagine some of these masked individuals are me and my mystery girl.
My cock springs from the fabric, and I wrap my hand around it, grazing the two surface piercings along the top of my shaft. A modified Jacob’s ladder. There aren’t as many rungs and it looks like I chickened out, but I didn’t. This was by design. I wanted it to rake the woman’s pussy when I’m in my favorite position, which is over her, owning her.
I stroke myself to the dark, artsy motions. Moans overtake the room, drowning out the music. I bring my hand to my mouth and spit before wrapping it around my dick once more. I drop my head back and moan as the pleasure moves from my balls to the head of my cock.
In my mind, it’s the girl bringing me all this pleasure. On her knees. Bent over the back of the couch with her ass in the air. Lying down as she arches her back and comes on my cock. She’s beautiful perfection, each moan a musical note that draws the pleasure out of me.
I don’t hold it back or try to catch it as I bust. White ropes of come splash across the dark floor and mix with droplets of bright-yellow paint. The best part? It fucking glows beneath the black light.
A woman who looks high on something delightful crawls to my feet and looks up at me before dropping her face to the ground and licking up some of my come.
“Thank you,” she says with a smirk as she wipes her chin.
I stare at her paint-covered body as she stands. Her nipples are hidden by a streak of pink, but it only enhances the curves of her breasts. She walks off and goes back to enjoy the party. This might have tempted me yesterday, but now I’m too wrapped up in a woman I’ll never see again. Which is probably for the best. I need to focus.
I tuck myself away, zip my pants, and head back to the main party. I walk right into Adam, who looks very annoyed.
“We gotta get going!” He gestures toward the door.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” I remind him as we head toward the entrance.
Once we’re outside, Adam gets in the driver’s seat of his Cadillac, and we start down the driveway. I worry he’ll wrap us around a tree with the way he’s driving, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. We have to get to the center of town, so I just grip the oh-shit handle and try to downplay my anxiety.
Before we can enjoy our own murderous inclinations, we have to take care of the remaining names on our list. First up is a family. They don’t live in the town center, so we’re forced to make a slight detour.
Adam pulls the car to a stop at the base of a long, twisty driveway. The Arlows were part of the society, but the father and mother decided they no longer wanted to participate. Unfortunately, none of us can decide that.
We get out of the car, and Adam heads to the trunk. He pulls two pistols from inside and hands one to me. Next, he picks up a metal bat for himself before placing an ice pick in my palm. I already have a knife tucked down the back of my waistband, but more torture tools are always better.
After abandoning the car, we cross the massive lawn. Dew transfers from the lush grass to my shoes and soaks through my socks. Lovely. Adam spots several cameras, then swats them with the bat to disable them.
We’re met with a roadblock at the front door. Wide iron bars attached to a solid frame prevent us from getting inside. Rich people have such luxury.
Undeterred, we head toward the back of the house, but the same metal bars obscure every entrance. Even the windows are covered in iron. Luckily for us, they missed the small window leading into the basement.
I use the ice pick to shatter the glass. It’s a tight fit, but both of us make it through after a bit of wiggling and a few curse words muttered under our breath. Once inside, it’s cake to break through the basement door and enter the main areas of the house.
The Arlows are understandably freaked out by the time we make it up the stairs. Their panic likely began as soon as the cameras went out.
“Oh god,” Mr. Arlow says, clutching his wife and daughter to him.
“Yes,” Adam says, a creepy smile crossing his face. “I am God.”
Mr. Arlow pulls a small pistol from behind his back, but Adam isn’t afraid to call his bluff. He draws his handgun and sends one well-aimed bullet into Mr. Arlow’s gut. His family screams, and both his wife and daughter move away from him as if they’ve been shot as well. Blood oozes from the small hole in his nightshirt as red begins to spread through the material. His wife leans forward and tries to hold pressure to the wound, soaking her hand in crimson.
“The Exodus sends their regards,” Adam says.
Mrs. Arlow grips her dying husband’s shirt and stares into his wide eyes. “I thought you said they approved of us leaving?”
Mr. Arlow shakes his head. “I didn’t think they’d do this. I’ve invested so much into them, Janet. I thought I’d earned my peace.”
“Let’s see how peaceful you feel while I fuck your wife in front of you,” Adam snarls, ripping the woman away from her husband.
“No, please!” she screams.
Adam wrestles her to the couch as the daughter rushes forward and grabs the back of Adam’s shirt, crying for her mother and begging him to release her.
“Take care of the kid!” Adam yells.
I don’t enjoy the thought of watching what Adam plans to do to this woman, but it would be better than killing a kid. Unfortunately, no isn’t an answer here. Not with them. Not even if I invested all my money in the society like this sad sap.
I grab the kid by the shoulder and rip her away from Adam so he can be Adam. She kicks and screams, catching me several times in the shin, but I won’t be deterred. I drag her into their massive kitchen.
When she sees the ice pick in my hand, she goes to bite me. I look into her dark eyes and discover a strength I can’t help but envy. She’s a fighter.
“Shut the fuck up.” I grip her hair and crank back her neck.
“Let me go, ugly face!”
I raise the ice pick with my free hand and aim it at her, but my resolve weakens. I lean toward her ear, trying to speak to her, but she tries to bite me. There’s no getting through to her when she’s in this state of panic, so I strike the pick forward and cut a hole in her nightgown to snap her out of it.
She screams.
“Listen to me, listen to me!” I whisper, and she stops flailing. I roll up my sleeve and cut into my arm. Blood pools to the surface, and I wipe a hand through it and coat the front of her gown. Then I hold the fresh wound over her and let it saturate her skin. “Scream again, little girl, and make it believable.”
“What?” she asks, her lips pursed in disgust at what I’ve just done.
“I need you to scream like I’m killing you. And then you have to play dead. Okay? Just lie here and play pretend. But you can’t move. Not a muscle.”
She nods and screams. I smash the pick against the floor, and she throws herself to the ground. I drip blood into her dark-blonde hair and mess it up. I hit the pick against the island, put my finger to my lips, and shush her.
Play dead, I mouth.
I’m being weak, but I don’t want to kill that little girl.
My head whips backward when I hear the pained sounds coming from the mother in the living room. I wrap my arm in a thin towel, then lower my sleeve to conceal the self-inflicted injury. I don’t need to hide it too well, though. Adam knows I cut myself each time I kill.
I kneel over the girl and cover her ears with both hands to keep her from hearing the sounds of her mother being railed by “God.” Her screams and Adam’s groans filter through the wall. When they stop, I release her ears and see tears streaming down her face. I wipe them away.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Rosa,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry, Rosa. Be good and keep playing dead.”
She lies back and closes her eyes.
I stand up just as Adam crashes into the kitchen, still zipping up his pants. He looks down at the girl, and I can’t mistake the moment of question on his face for anything else. He’s suspicious.
“Do you have any more coke?” I ask, trying to pull him away from looking too hard at her.
“In the car. She’s good?”
“Dead.”
“Sick fuck. You hardly fought me at all on killing a kid.” He laughs, and I consider strangling him right here. But the girl has seen enough.
“It’s all done in there?”
“Yup,” he says with a smile. “Let’s go get higher.”
We can get as high as we want, but it won’t raise me from the depths of depravity I’ve fallen into.