Chapter 4 Seven
CHAPTER FOUR
SEVEN
I sit crisscross at the edge of Grace’s mattress, my chin resting on my intertwined fingers as I watch her sleep.
The heavy sedative I slipped in her tea will keep her in a deep slumber no matter what I do, meaning I can stare at her for hours if I want. Still, it’s not enough.
My hand reaches out with a mind of its own, hovering just above her thigh. She’s kicked her duvet off in her sleep, leaving her body exposed to the night air. The only thing covering her is a pair of strawberry-covered pj’s, the bottoms so thin and tiny she might as well be wearing nothing.
Sucking in a deep breath, I lower my hand to her thigh. A groan tumbles from my lips, my eyes rolling to the back of my head at the feel of her enticing warmth. Her skin is so soft, so kissable, and it's taking all my self-control not to lean down and run my tongue over every inch of her.
A gasping noise pulls my attention up to her face, and I’m delighted at the expression twisting her features. My little Grace is having a dream, and it seems to be a good one.
She’s wet. I can smell it.
I kneel between her parted thighs, tracing my hand along her inner thigh, breathing her in. There’s a noticeable dark spot growing at her center, soaking through the thin fabric. Her heady scent envelops me, driving me mad, and I struggle against the urge to wake her.
A groan pours into the air as my cock throbs, desperate for release. I get hard at just the thought of her, so being in her presence, touching her, and breathing her in… it’s too much.
More soft moans fall from Grace’s open mouth, and I forget about everything else. I lie there, watching her as she wriggles, desperate for something. I’m so enamored that I don’t realize her thighs are clamping together.
My breath exits in a mighty whoosh as her soft thighs close around my hand, trapping it right there against her dripping center. Grace whimpers, reaching down and curling her small hands around my forearm. She tugs weakly, trying to press my hand harder against her pussy—and how can I deny her?
My mouth works into a smirk as Grace guides me, putting my hand just where she needs it to give her pleasure. With a satisfied hum, she begins moving, her hips jerking forward and back as she rubs her little clit against my palm.
“That’s a good girl. Use me.” My cock aches as I watch her pleasure herself. “Fucking use me.”
Grace keeps moving, the sounds filling her bedroom growing louder, more desperate. A thin sheen of sweat coats her body, and she practically glows in the moonlight streaming through the open window. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
Grace cries out as she comes, her expression twisting into one of pure bliss.
Her intoxicating scent grows stronger as her release coats my hand, and my eyes roll to the back of my head as a deep groan explodes from my chest. My balls tighten, and I grit my teeth, desperately trying to stop what’s happening. But it’s too late.
A deep moan echoes along the walls of Grace’s apartment as I come. The smell, the feel, the sight of her—it’s all too much—and I come undone. My head falls back as my cock throbs, pulsing hot seed and soaking my pants.
When it’s over, I’m more disappointed than satisfied. It feels wrong to come outside of my Grace, especially when I know how beautiful she would look swollen with my child.
Patience, I tell myself. She’ll be mine soon enough.
Grace’s body shudders with her comedown, her fingers loosening around my wrist as her body relaxes into the mattress. A minute later, she releases me altogether, turning onto her side and snuggling deeper into her pillow with a pleased hum.
Satisfied. Meanwhile, I’m harder than I’ve ever been in my life. A desperate hiss slides between my teeth as I pull my hand away from her and place it on my aching cock. I want her so much, it’s driving me mad. But I have to be patient. I have to suffer before I enjoy her.
It takes everything inside me to stand from the bed, and when I do, I’m filled with a great sense of loss. It’s the right thing to do, but it feels so, so wrong.
“I’ll be back for you, beautiful girl,” I whisper,
With the breath frozen in my lungs, I leave. I close the door gently behind me, making sure to lock it tight using tech I stole from the Sanctum years ago—extremely convenient for my line of work, and now, it has the dual purpose of letting me in and out of Grace’s apartment undetected.
Now that her intoxicating scent isn’t so strong, I’m able to breathe normally—or as normal as I can despite what just happened. Shaking off my thoughts, I move to the stairwell, racing down the steps before I do something stupid like go back into Grace’s apartment and put a baby in her.
As soon as my door closes behind me, I strip my cum-soaked clothes and hop in the shower, eager to wash away the shameful reminder of my lack of control.
Just before hopping under the stream, I rip off my mask, taking what feels like the first real breath since I put it on.
It’s not as high-tech as the upper-ranked Masks, like Reapers and Phantoms. The older models like mine are known to deliver less oxygen to the wearer due to a manufacturing fault.
I’ve made several modifications to it over the years using stolen tech and the bits of knowledge I’ve managed to retain by eavesdropping on the Reaper classes, but it’s still not the best.
I step into the shower, closing my eyes with a sigh as the water covers my skin in a warm embrace.
I’ve never actually been hugged before, so this is the closest thing I have to compare it to.
Growing up in the Sanctum, I didn’t have many opportunities to experience warmth or affection, so I’ve learned to make my own.
I’m part of the lowest-ranking Masks in the Sanctum, and my job is exactly what it sounds like—I dispose of bodies that the organization leaves in its wake. Occasionally, one of my superiors will order me to take someone out, but it’s always a low-priority target. Someone unimportant.
Just like me.
My whole life, I’ve been looked over by the organization that raised me.
Thought to be worthless, even stupid at times.
Because of where I came from and how I spoke and looked, they underestimated me.
They gave me the worst of the worst jobs, pushed me to the outskirts, and tried to forget I even existed.
Instead of letting it break me, I used that invisibility to my advantage.
For years, I watched, and I listened. I sat in on classes, snuck into important meetings, and overheard secrets that even the highest-ranking Masks weren’t privy to.
But most importantly, I learned—as much as I could from as many different people as possible.
That’s why, when the Sanctum fell, I wasn’t at all surprised. Hell, I wasn’t even in the city when it happened. I saw the writing on the wall and volunteered to travel to the West Coast to help with a drug shipment, just in case things went sideways.
And sideways, they went.
The Madam—our leader—was killed, her inner circle massacred. By the time I returned to Moriton, a new leader was installed, and the Sanctum had changed irreversibly.
What was once a ruthless underground criminal organization has become a cult of masked do-good vigilantes.
They patrol the streets at night, helping innocent people and putting Moriton’s worst behind bars or under the ground.
By day, the organization works with countless charities and outreach programs, helping those less fortunate and victimized by the cruel city and its inhabitants.
Our new leader, Seraphina Valez, made it all happen. She’s committed to righting the wrongs of the Sanctum. Many of the other members are thrilled by the concept, and the white-haired queen enamors all.
I have a different opinion about the way things are going.
Since she took over and the rules changed, I’ve been restless.
There’s nothing to keep me busy, no jobs for me to take.
A few times a month, I’ll get a text from one of my superiors requesting a cleanup, but aside from that, the Sanctum requires nothing of me.
Volunteering at their programs is optional, never enforced, and I can’t bring myself to work so closely with the others.
The same ones who spent years shunning me and mocking me.
I can’t forget the past. I won’t. The others are welcome to live in this fairy tale Seraphina has concocted for them, but I’m not falling for it. The city is just as rotten as the day she came to power, and nothing she does will ever fix it. Things in Moriton only change for the worse.
The water turns cold, and I jump back with a hiss. So lost in thought, I didn’t realize how long I’ve been in here—but I know it’s time to get out.
I get out of the shower, towel off, and head into my bedroom, slumping down on my bed with a heavy sigh.
With little else to do, my gaze moves around the barren room, itemizing all my possessions.
It’s easy enough—my apartment is small, with little furniture or decoration to adorn the bare walls, but it’s the way I prefer it.
I used to live at the Sanctum with many of the other Masks, but I moved out several months ago so people would stop watching over my every move.
Nobody knows it, but I bought the entire building last year with the money I received from the Sanctum, under the alias of some poor soul I killed and disposed of.
While I could have my pick of any of the rooms, I chose the studio near the top of the building. I’m assuming it was supposed to serve as living quarters for staff working in the penthouse, and it’s in the perfect location to look out over the city.
The rest of the building is empty and silent—the way I like it—with a few rooms at the bottom used for storing job equipment and stolen Sanctum tech. The basement level has been converted into a kill room of sorts, and I’ve been frequenting it more and more as of late.
The Sanctum has no idea I spend my nights as the serial killer, cleaning up the filth roaming the streets of Moriton. If they knew, they would throw me into a cell beneath the Sanctum, and I would never see the light of day again. No rehabilitation would work for someone as sick as Red 7.
I roll my eyes at the nickname. My signature—a heart and the number seven carved neatly into each of my victim’s flesh—is the reason for the stupid name. I used to abhor it, but over the past few months, I haven’t found it in me to care about much of anything.
Until Grace.
The reminder of my obsession has me moving to grab my laptop. Using the information I gained from her personal items, I logged in to her social media accounts and email, searching for anything that might be useful to me.
I find out she’s a financial analyst for an adult toy company, and from her correspondence with her bosses, it seems like she’s a damn good one. Hardworking, intelligent, and honest—the model employee.
Growing bored, I look through her social media accounts, stopping on a picture of Grace dated back three years ago.
She appears to be at some kind of farmers’ market, balancing a basket of ripened strawberries on her hip.
The camera has caught her mid-bite, pale-pink juice dripping down her chin, her bright eyes full of laughter.
I’ve never seen something so beautiful.
My hand reaches out, fingertips brushing the face projected on my screen. “Soon,” I whisper to her. “You’ll be mine soon.”
I take a screenshot of the image and send it to my phone, saving it as a screensaver so I can look at that beautiful smile whenever I please. Satisfied, I’m about to close my laptop when a new message pops into her email.
Welcome party for Mr. Archer Graves!
Intrigued, I click on the message, a plan forming in the depths of my mind as I read.
Our new COO, Mr. Archer Graves, is arriving at the end of the month. He’s coming all the way from the other side of the world, and we want to do our best to make him feel at home!
To welcome Mr. Graves, LoveBytten is hosting a formal get-together at LoveBytten HQ after work hours on the evening of November 30th. There will be food, music, and a good time to be had by all, so make sure to attend if you’re able!
Please RSVP to this email by the 20th so I can get a headcount and order the right number of pizzas.
—Cathy H.
I shrug, about to close out of her email, when an idea comes to me. Something far-fetched, but completely doable, considering all the skills and resources I possess.
Suppose Archer Graves never makes it to Moriton? Suppose something terrible happens to him, and a more fortunate man takes his place?
He’s from another country and has likely never met the company's executives face-to-face. If I’m correct, then no one knows what he looks like—and so, no one will realize I’ve replaced him.
Without another thought, I jump out of my chair and snatch my go-bag from the closet and one of my many passports, then race out the door.
I’m going to pay Archer Graves a visit.