Chapter 17
REARRANGING THE DEAD
That was oddly satisfying.
Is biting necks a thing I used to do to mark my women? It felt familiar and yet not-so familiar. It felt right, though. The my is the sticking point. She isn’t that.
I crouch above the opening to this charnel pit that is now my private graveyard.
Decomposing Corpses R Us. My chewed-on finger barely hurts.
I wriggle it, eyeing where the taping over the joint shows, even as I register the scent wafting upward.
The Handler is smelling quite rank. From the rustling and squeaking, the rats are happy I gave them extra food.
I stepped on a few when I took the new bodies down the tunnel.
The wriggly gristly crunch will live in my mind, forever.
Have I done everything I need to do? The phones—dismantled, crushed, and thrown away.
Just in case the signal carries further than I calculate, I threw the pieces hundreds of yards across a ravine or dropped them into running water.
Everything I found in their pockets is lost in dirt or water.
Unless they have some magic implant, no one should be able to trace them.
Or unless a tracker is used—a bloodhound type dog or a human. That is possible.
I cannot account for everything, as I don’t yet fully understand Hailey’s world. There are going to be differences I haven’t yet encountered.
I’ve now killed three men for her. Honestly, the Handler was for me as much as her.
I fumble blindly on the ground for a pebble and toss it into the opening then listen as it bounces off the sides to the bottom.
Hailey is downslope and near enough that I will hear if she calls out. I should return to her. She’ll likely be frightened. Most people would be. With both hands, I hold my head, rocking in place, trying to sort things out, to be sure, staring down into my makeshift cemetery.
How much can I tell her? I cannot conceal everything forever. The truth will out. If I fuck up and say the wrong thing, I will lose her…make that, I will fail to gain her trust, because she does not understand who I am.
Though she is tied up and can’t get away.
“So, losing her is the wrong phrasing.” I nod to myself, being wise as fuck.
Or stupid as fuck.
I pull the cover over the hole, straighten. Do I need her trust?
I can just keep her. Frowning at that ridiculous faux pas from my brain, I recall that I promised myself, if not her, that I’d help find her father’s killer.
That was so I could lose that scary monster label she stuck on me.
Leaving her tied to a tree with my teeth marks on her neck is probably the height of idiocy.
Helping her find the killer might not be enough to make her see me as a saint.
A saint? Yeah, no. Bowing my head, I massage my temples and snort at myself. Dumbass. Do I want to be her saint or her best friend? I just want her under me, clawing my back while I fuck her brains out.
I delve in my pants pocket, hear the jingle as the chain links slide over each other. This. Her neck, collared. A jolt of pure unadulterated lust steams in from nowhere, knocks me off center. It makes me hunger to collar her.
Except…have I ever done that?
Staring at trees doesn’t help me figure that one out. Fucking useless memory. Is there a drug that will get those back for me? Zap myself with a few thousand volts, take some coke, sit for a few hours doing yoga. Go on a journey up a mountain, like this one…and meditate.
I would do anything to remember, but nothing is ever easy, is it?
Back to basics. I will help find the killer, because I want to. Those killers do seem to be damn near everywhere in Revenant. My own hands are bloody.
Killing the men assaulting her was as easy as driving a nail into wood.
I pulled them off her, punched in their throats, and snapped their necks, in seconds.
My only injury was when one of them, half-dead, chomped on my hand when I threw him.
I can do such terrible things and feel none of the regret I know I should.
I’ve searched within myself for that missing piece of empathy, and I have found nothing.
I give zero fucks that those two men are no longer moving or breathing.
Especially in the light of what I found on them.
Zip ties, handcuffs, weapons, flashlights, knives, those might be seen as standard issue for security or law enforcement.
The pink duct tape, maybe not, and even more dubious was the huge anal plug zipped into the second guy’s pocket.
If that was intended for Hailey, how dare they.
How fucking dare they. Dead is better than they deserved.
I adjust the tie on the gray sweatshirt, let the hood fall onto my shoulders. The search for a hoodie is why I was almost too late to save her. I had to kill them, though. I did.
Again, I close my hand over the silver collar and finger the clasp, weigh the heaviness of the links. The matching leash is in the backpack. If the house owners miss it, bad luck.
With my right hand, I hold the chain out in the meagre moonlight and examine it, before putting it away. My left hand has duct tape wrapped around one slightly bloodied finger. I don’t even bleed like a man should. That was quite some damage.
With my hands at eye level, I move both my index fingers.
That crunch when it was bitten through was feelable but bearable.
He chewed it straight through. Bit it off. Funny how I didn’t notice, at first. The lost piece is gone. I might find it tomorrow. Might be somewhere in the forest if he held it in his dead mouth for a while.
I thought it worth the risk, the chance of healing, to try this. He didn’t need his fingers anymore. The color seems a bit wrong, but I can move it.
This looks better than good. I rotate the damaged one to check the back. Amazing really.
Poising the knife over his finger while a rat sniffed the air then ran onto the rock I had his hand spread on…
that is another memory for my old age. The brutal chonk as the knife blade sliced through.
The squeal when I batted away the rodent.
The flashlight going flying and then having to find the severed piece on the tunnel floor.
Brushing off the grit. Sticking it on and using the pre-torn pieces of tape to fasten it onto my stump. It was almost a comedy of errors.
Fun times. Jesus H Effing… Why do I…how can I heal like this?
Least I know Lego is based on reality now. Haha.
“Duct tape works okay.” I nod as if I’m explaining it to my finger, flex it again. “But I should get you stitched.”
If it falls off, well, it does. I swear I can feel pain already. I put it to my mouth and nip beside this fingernail that used to belong to another guy, feel a stir of something that threads in and communicates from where the tip should be. Not exactly pain, but close to it.
“Yeah. Tastes awful but it’s good, so far.”
Severed it at the second joint, jammed the new bit on within the hour from a freshly dead body. It seems I can heal after severing various bits, so long as I have a convenient replacement.
Smiling, I wriggle the digit, and the duct tape separates, and the finger joint parts and shows air.
“Fuck.” I squeeze the tape back down. “Needs more time to cook, I guess.”
I wind more tape on, tear it off with my teeth, tuck the roll into my small backpack that I then sling over one shoulder. Wait, I have gloves. I find those and carefully pull on the stretchy left glove. That will help keep things together.
Then I head down to where Hailey waits for me.
That collar should fit her neck. And the leash, mmm-mmm.
I can see it there, locked on, and her looking up at me.
Get her on her knees, crawling to me.
When I round the tree trunk and she’s before me, with her hands at her back, looking defiant and annoyed, I stop and my heels slip on the dry leaves. My cock swells. I inhale, exhale extra, extra slow-like. Oh yeah, I’m definitely healing.
“Hi there,” I greet her as if I’ve returned from the shops.
“Hi,” she adds, cautiously, nodding toward her foot where it’s zip tied then shrugging to bring my attention to her hands. “Undo these.”
“You think so?” I smile. It’s a provocative, even dangerous question.
“Yes.” She waits.
So do I.
The air is ready to crack.
Slowly, I kneel and slide the combat knife from the waist sheath. It’s a new addition to my arsenal, courtesy of the dead guys.
“Don’t move. Unless you want to get cut.” To stop her flinching, I keep a firm grip on her foot.
With a simple slide and flick of the knife tip, I sever the plastic.
Then I hold her foot while I listen and watch her, while she no doubt wonders when, or if, I will release her. Her breathing deepens, becomes a little erratic. When she tries to withdraw her foot, I sheath the knife then go to her, pulling her to her feet with my hand under her armpit.
“Thanks. I think. And these?” She raises her elbows to show a glimpse of her bound wrists. That monotone tells me she’s trying to disregard the power I have over her.
“Do you know how tempted I am…or was, to just fuck you against this tree?”
I thumb her mouth while she looks up at me, shocked, maybe wanting this, maybe not.
No words come from her, only a shiver. I place my thumb tip beneath the curve of that bottom lip. I want to stick in there, to make her suck on me, but there are problems.
Her lips part. Her wet tongue sneaks out as if she’s thinking of licking me.
My pants couldn’t get any tighter over my cock.
“Option one,” I murmur, tracing from the corner of her mouth, down her chin, drawing a line down the center of her neck. “Or option two?”
She blinks. “What?”
I press my forehead to hers, rocking lightly, trying not to groan. “What am I doing?”
“I don’t know? Setting me free.”
“Hmmm.” The drive to simply take her now is living large and lurid in my mind. I can spread her, strip her in seconds. She might even like it.
She would, she would.
Is that precum wetting my pants? Just fucking fuck her.
That would prove to her I’m a monster.
“Two. Options.” I shut my eyes, open them to look into hers, and she is watching me, or trying to despite the darkness. With my night vision I can discern the hazel of her eyes. Is that trust I see also? Don’t throw that away.
“Yes?” she asks me, softly.
Definitely trust.
I kiss her forehead, her nose, that mouth I’m aching to shove my dick into. Our tongues play. The little wet sounds as we move, and those noises she makes…
“Option one. I fuck you here. Against the tree. With your hands tied.” My dick is aching with the promise of that. And she’s clearly curious for her ass subtly squirms against the tree.
“And two?” she whispers.
I sigh, still unsure why I’m giving her a choice, but I lick across that soft lower lip. “Am I still a scary monster to you? Even after I dragged those men off you?”
“Oh. Scary?” She almost winces, eyebrows raising. “No. And yes. You have me tied up. You just killed two men as easy if they were bugs. Though, thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome.”
“This, the asking, is helping.”
Then she shudders as I nuzzle her hair, lift her shirt to cup her breast through the bra, and gently squeeze.
“Fuck,” she says, ducking her head into my chest and nipping at me. The little fires from those bites…damn.
“So it’s no and yes? But I’m a hot monster.” I’m smiling, though I’m imagining all the bad things I can do. Bad me and good me are at war.
“A hot monster?” There is amusement in her voice.
“Yes. For you.”
“Still scary.” She looks up at me and swallows.
I bend my knees and kiss down her, tasting her skin, running my hands over her, until my lips find her throat. Her nipple is tightening. Softly, ever so softly, I revolve my thumb over it, encouraging it to harden. I place my own small bites on her neck.
“Keep talking.” When I squeeze her nipple, she moans and shudders. Her legs tremble. Her thigh is against my leg, so I shift to press mine between hers, aiming for her clit.
“Ohh,” she whispers.
“Make that keep going and tell me I’m not a scary monster or I’ll do option one and fuck you here, against the tree.”
Frowning, as if I puzzle her, she looks at me, following where the scars of surgery show.
“There is option two. I get you back to your place and fuck you there…”
I pause, and she waits, and waits, her eyes wide. She wants this. It’s written plain.
“But first, I should wash the blood off my hands.” I laugh as her face transforms.
“Ew.” She shrinks into the tree. “What’s option three?”
“No such thing. Three? Tsk. Maybe I should strip you naked and take you here then leave you for the bears.” Though I say it softly, there is a tinge of threat.
Then I regret it. “Show me your hands.” I push bad me away and drop to one knee, reach around her for her wrists, then take out the knife.
Hailey turns slowly, extends her arms, and I cut the zip tie.
“Now we run.”
She hesitates, rubbing her wrists. “Can we use the flashlight? I can barely see anything.”
“Nope. It’s too risky.” I stoop and sling her over my shoulder.
“Hey!” she squeaks from behind me. Her head bumps my back, and her hair swishes on my hoodie. “You can’t carry me all the way. Besides, I’ll puke.”
“Warn me. We can rest. If you can’t see, this is quickest and safest.”
“Safest,” she mutters.
I start picking my way through the trees and down the slope.
To keep her from slipping, I settle my hand, curled around her butt, with my fingers lying between her legs.
At first, it’s accidental until it’s not.
I start pressing my fingertips into where the slit of her pussy must be whenever the ground jolts my stride.
I can do this all night. Even through her pants, I can feel her heat building.
I’ll bet a million of whatever dollars they have here that she’s going to be messy and wet by the time I get her to her home.
I jog faster, weaving through the trees.