Chapter 5 Faust
Ican't believe I'm doing this.
This is easily one of the dumbest things I've ever done.
And I've killed two people.
One of which made national news.
A respected leader of the community, killed in his own home by his stepdaughter.
They only found the dark secrets he paid to keep buried after months of investigating.
"You okay?" Marcos asks me, pulling me from my thoughts as we wait for the elevator at his complex.
I look up at him, that gorgeous smirk poking out again. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Playful suspicion fills his expression, "Your heart is pounding."
"Oh," I can feel the blush filling my cheeks. And when he reaches out with a thumb to gently brush against it, the warmth deepens. "How can you tell?"
His hand gently traverses down my jawline and lower, his fingers stopping on the pulse in my neck, "This little artery is dancing furiously."
Murder and a one-night stand all at once will do that to ya, I guess.
As the elevator opens and we step inside, he presses the button to bring us to the 17th floor.
The tension in this small space is palpable the second the door closes, hot and achy like neither of us can wait until we get somewhere private to tear each other's clothes off.
Marcos turns toward me, crowding me against the wall, my hands landing on the bars behind me to stabilize myself.
Every inch of my body is on high alert, but he doesn't touch me yet; he just watches me carefully, like a predator tracing his prey's every move.
He places his hands just outside mine, looming over and trapping me. His cologne fills my head with desire, his dark eyes watching me hungrily, his gaze traversing my skin indecently, making me hot all over without him saying or doing anything really.
The bright fluorescent lighting illuminate his features, giving me the best glimpse of his eyes I've gotten so far, their beauty leaving me frozen in his stare.
They remind me almost of a night sky, so intensely dark brown they swallow up all the light, leaving only a few flecks of gold, like little stars, to differentiate the irises from the pupils.
This certainly isn't the first time I've gone home with someone I hardly know, but this time is infinitely different.
Even though I don't know where he's from, where his captivating accent came from, or his favorite color.
Or how he takes his coffee. There's a connection here, a knowing, because we both exist in society without being a part of it.
He not only sees and knows the part of me that no one else does, he craves it.
That kind of intimacy is both freeing and terrifying.
This man sees the monster beneath my skin and hasn't cowered in fear or turned away in disgust.
He's even alluded to being the same, a mirror image of my own madness.
And as much as I hate to admit it, that scares me more than anything else. More than the fact that he's also admittedly a murderer, more than the fact that he's going to help me destroy the evidence, and I just have to trust that he will.
This kind of intimate knowing can only end in disaster.
So we can have this one night.
And then never see each other again.
The doors silently slide open behind him, and he walks backward, taking my hand in his and pulling me towards his apartment without a word.
Sure enough, even down to the number, the address on his ID matches up, easing the last of any nerves I might have had.
As the door swings open, his hand on my lower back sends sparks of anticipation up my spine, like the door opening and him urging me inside is the signing of a deal with a demon.
The only question that remains is which of us is Faust and who is the devil.
A quiet yowl breaks me from the trance he's put me in, and my eyes dart around the dimly lit apartment in search of the fuzzy creature that made the sound.
Marcos's quiet chuckle brings my attention back to him as the door gently clicks closed behind him.
"Come here, Momo," he flicks on more lights, not completely illuminating the space but giving me just enough light to see where his cat was blending into the all-black couch.
Momo comes wandering up to us, his bright green eyes staring up at me, almost sizing me up for a second before ignoring me entirely and walking between Marcos' legs, silently demanding up.
When Marcos obliges, cradling the little fuzzball into his chest, my stomach starts doing terrifying little flips.
His eyes meet mine as he scratches his pet's head.
"Monster, meet… Natalie? Natalia? Natasha? "
A giggle slips from my mouth as I deny him my full name once again, "Just Nat."
"Fine," Marcos chuckles, guiding the tiny furball towards me. "Nat, Monster. Or Momo. She loves a good chin scratch. That's the key to her heart."
I can't imagine that'll be useful information since I'll only be here this once, but I take the advice anyway, reaching for Monster and giving her the obligatory love you must provide such a regal creature while in their home.
I can feel Marcos' eyes on me, locked in like a predator waiting for the right moment to pounce.
When he releases the sweet angel, she saunters down a dark hallway, disappearing from sight as the shadows swallow her tiny form.
"Do you want a drink?" Marcos asks, easing his jacket off. "I've got wine, whiskey, water?"
"No, thanks," I stand frozen at the entrance to the kitchen.
He closes the door, blanketing the kitchen back in that dark, moody, barely there light, taking the handful of steps to bring himself right in front of me.
"So just straight to it, then?" he glances at my lips, humor and heat filling his expression as he looks me over.
My mouth goes dry, unable to say anything, overwhelmed by the hunger in his gaze, nodding instead.
"You strip," he looks down my front, gesturing with his gaze to my clothes, "I'll start a fire."
"A fire?"
He nods, walking towards a fireplace in the corner, "It's the middle of winter, so no one will find a fire suspicious. It's going to be the best way to dispose of your ruined clothes."
"So I'm just going to be walking around your apartment naked, then?" I scoff out a laugh, wondering at the absurdity of how this night is going.
He shoots me a salacious look over his shoulder, "Ideally, you won't be able to walk at all when I'm done with you."
Heat fills my cheeks. While it's no secret what I'm here for, Marcos saying it so brazenly makes me feel inexperienced, like I'm about to get well and truly fucked for the first time.
A chuckle fills the air as he continues stoking the fire, both the literal one and the one building between my legs.
"I'll get this going while you shower and I'll grab you some fresh clothes." He gestures with his free hand down a hallway, "Guest bathroom is the first door down that hall. Help yourself."
I can't believe this is happening.
Putting this kind of trust in a stranger is stupid.
I've hardly even entertained men for the last ten years. Now, in one night, I'm going to sleep with one and trust that he's going to help with the murder I committed rather than the smart thing, which would be turning me in.
As I strip the disgusting clothing from my body, peeling the sticky bra off last and adding it all to a neat, bloody pile, I wonder if the part of my brain that can think rationally also broke that night I killed my stepfather.
I've lived recklessly since then; tonight is just the most egregious of my actions over the last decade.
Turning on and slipping into the giant shower, I let the warm water soothe away any errant thoughts of Thomas that try to haunt me when I'm feeling flayed alive and vulnerable. I finger the knife holding my hair up, the ritual soothing.
I may not have used this on him, but I was ready to if the need arose. This little weapon is the closest thing I've had to a security blanket since I was 13 and the abuse began. It took me six years to kill him. Six years after I bought this weapon, and I didn't even get to use it to end his life.
Steam fills the bathroom as I use Marcos' body wash to scrub away all the blood coating my front, frantically rubbing and rubbing until my skin is red and raw, hoping it'll be enough.
By the time I get out, the scent of cinnamon and pine has seeped into the bathroom from the hall. Wrapped in a deep blue towel, I step out of the shower, finding my pile of clothes right where I left them, but a fresh t-shirt and sweats are laid out on the counter.
I didn't even hear him come in.
He had a naked girl in his shower and yet came in to leave the clothes without joining me? I'm unsure if I should be offended or thankful that he let me do what I needed to without interrupting me.
When I exit the bathroom, clothed in this strange man's shirt and pants, I see the back of his head as he waits patiently for me on the couch.
Almost instantly, he turns around, his eyes landing on my outfit and heating with what can only be described as possessive need.
"Umm," Nerves threaten to overtake me. "Thanks for the clothes."
His eyes dart past me to the bathroom. "You're welcome. I didn't grab the bloody ones yet because I figured you'd want to see for yourself that I disposed of them."
"Oh."
Without any further hesitation, he stands, retrieving the clothes in question, tossing them into the fire, and using a metal stick to bury them beneath the flames, the smell of copper and burnt fabric mixing with the cinnamon and pine.
"You've done this before," I comment, realizing the scented fire is a practiced maneuver to hide the scent of discarding evidence.
"Burnt bloody clothes? Yes." My heart starts pounding recklessly. "Burnt bloody clothes for someone else? No."
"Wow," I choke out an awkward laugh, unsure how to respond. "You must really want to sleep with me."
A humored grin pulls at the corner of his lips, "Am I so transparent?"
Warmth blooms in my cheeks as I nod, enjoying the clarity, the knowing of where this is heading, even while he doesn't rush. He acts as though we have all eternity, instead of just tonight, to explore each other and this connection.
With unhurried motions, he stands, casually bringing himself within my reach, gazing down at me again, "Truth be told, I am desperate to see you unravel, yes. But I also have a vested interest in your success."
"Why?"
Gently, he reaches for my hair, twirling a strand with his finger, "It's very rare that I meet someone who kills because it is just, and not because they want to terrorize those they deem weak. It would be a shame if you were put behind bars before you realize your true potential."
"You make it all sound so romantic," I step closer, lifting my chin to keep us eye to eye. "But maybe I do simply enjoy terrorizing them."
Marcos narrows his eyes playfully, "How did you kill that man tonight?"
"Slit his throat," I grin.
Leaning closer, he speaks almost against my lips, "A clean kill. An execution."
"I would hardly call it clean," I mutter, barely able to get the words out with how he's consuming all my thoughts and senses. "I was a mess. It nearly got me caught."
He chuckles, the sound warming my body from the inside as he runs his fingers gently across my collarbone where he found the blood earlier.
"I am the only one allowed to catch you, Nat. I wouldn't have let them have you."
Then suddenly, his lips are on mine, instantly destroying any thought I might have had about the gravity of his words.