Chapter 16
CASS
"Cute place," I said, following Harlow into her apartment.
This was the first time she'd let me come here, although it was only to help her pack up a few things and leave.
"It's all right." She glanced around, a wistful expression on her face. "I'll get a few things from my bedroom." She disappeared through the doorway.
"Do you need anything from out here?" I called after her. I wandered over to check out a large Perspex box that sat in a corner, underneath a faucet.
"Probably a few things from the kitchen," she called back. "I'll just—"
Her footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor and she appeared in the doorway. Winced when she saw me looking at the box.
"Do I want to know?" I placed my palms on the top and peered inside.
It seemed to be dry inside, clean and free of blood or brains. Maybe too clean. The padlock on the top was curious.
She sighed. "Would you believe I keep my Christmas turkey in there?"
I turned to her slowly, hair flopping to the side.
"I'm going to guess the answer to that is no," I said slowly.
"Thanksgiving turkey?" She looked like she wanted to be hopeful but knew I wasn't falling for any of it.
"Meatball meat before it becomes meatballs?" Someday the idea wouldn't turn my stomach. Today wasn't that day. The idea that I'd eaten another person was still disgusting and nauseating. To think of them in here was even more sickening.
Knowing what I knew now, didn't make her any less attractive.
"Sometimes," she said carefully. "No one you ate."
I twisted my mouth at her choice of words.
"So this was, what? A torture chamber?" In spite of myself, I crouched down beside it, curious.
"That's exactly what it is," she said. "It's only for the worst of the worst. The ones who let their victims suffer? They get to suffer themselves."
She wasn't even slightly apologetic. Not regretful. She was stating facts, that was all.
"How does it work?" I stood again and half sat on the lid.
"Are you asking me to show you?" she asked teasingly.
I held up my hands. "Only on someone who deserves it." Hopefully she didn't include me on that list.
She walked over to me, hips swinging tantalizingly.
"I've had to drug most the people I've brought here," she said, looking into the box. "They wake up bound and gagged. Then I turn on the tap and let nature take its course."
She leaned over to twist it, letting a splash land on a metal plate. Each drop more jarring than the last.
I screwed my eyes shut. "I shouldn't find that hot." No, I really shouldn't. But I did. "Then what?" I forced my eyes open. I couldn't hide from who she was. Didn't want to. I wanted to know her. To understand her.
"Then I dispose of them," she said easily. "It's been a couple of weeks since I've had company in there." She trailed her fingertips across the corner.
"Do you want to?" I found myself asking. "Is this something you need?" What would I do if she did? I had no idea.
She cocked her head and thought about that.
"I don't know that it's something I need. I don't get pleasure out of their suffering, it's just something that needs to happen. If they have a soul, it might think again in their next life." She picked up something from a table near the box and held it in her fingers. A ball gag.
"Is that how you stop them from screaming?" I asked.
"Yes." She held it up in front of her face. "Do you want to put it on me?" She held up the sides and turned around so her back was to me.
Tentatively, I stepped forward took the sides from her fingers and brought them around to the back of her head. Fastened them in place, making sure they weren't too tight.
She turned back around, one eyebrow raised slightly.
"That looks good on you," I said.
Seeing her gagged like that made me rock hard in a heartbeat. As if I wasn't half-hard already, just being near her.
"Take your clothes off." I liked sharing her the other night, but while we had a few minutes alone, I wanted her to myself.
Her eyes smiling, she gripped the hem of her tank top and drew it up over her head. It barely hit the floor when she was unhooking her bra and tossing it down too. Her breasts swung freely as she undid her jeans and shimmied out of them. She kicked them off, along with her shoes.
When only her panties remained, she pushed them down slowly until they joined the rest of her clothes on the floor.
"So fucking beautiful," I whispered. I took her hand, turned her around and pressed her until she was bent over the top of the box. I pushed her legs open with my hand and slid my fingers into her already wet pussy.
"How many men have died in there?" I whispered.
She held up nine fingers. Dropped one down only to put it back up again. She must have been counting in her head.
"Nine men," I said roughly. "I'm going to fuck you on the box where nine men have died."
While I imagine a tenth looking up at us, bound and gagged, water around his throat. Watching her breasts slide back and forth across the Perspex.
I fucked her with my fingers. Firm and rough, never gentle. She got wetter and wetter, moaning against the ball in her mouth.
With every groan, I grew harder. So hard it was unbearable. I fumbled with the front of my jeans, pushing them down and out of the way. Just enough that I could position my cock outside her entrance and shove into her.
I almost came when she let out a muffled cry, but managed to cling to my control. Barely.
The pace slow, I drove into her over and over.
Her hands gripped the sides of the box, holding her in place while I fucked her hard.
Right before I came, I slid out of her and pulled her to her feet.
"Open the box," I ordered.
Her eyes widened, but she slipped off the padlock and lifted the lid.
"Get inside," I said just as firmly.
She swallowed and backed up a step.
I grabbed a fistful of hair and held her before she could get too far from me.
"I'm not locking you in there," I told her. "I'm getting in there with you."
All but hauling her over, I helped into the box before following her in and pulling her down to her knees.
There was barely any room to move. I couldn't have lain down. If the lid was down, I wouldn't have been able to sit up either.
There was only room enough for me to kneel behind her and push myself inside her again. Fucking her in the exact place she'd murdered nine men. Burying myself deep inside her.
One hand on her hip, I reached around to rub at her clit, needing to feel her come around my cock.
"Come for me," I insisted. "I want you to come where they took their last breaths."
I didn't understand my own need for this. Was it a way of punishing her for what she'd done? Or was I turned on by knowing the kind of men who hurt my brother were tortured here?
It may be a little of both.
Either way, her pussy felt incredible clenching around my cock as she came around me.
My balls tightened before I cried out and came inside her. Spilling my release into her hot, wet pussy.
I sagged down over her, gathering her up in my arms and holding her.
Regardless of how I felt about the things she'd done, this woman was everything.
Love wasn't a strong enough word for how I felt about her. What word was? I didn't know. Maybe there wasn't one.
It didn't matter. What we had didn't need a label.
I was about to help her out of the box when a knock sounded on the door.
"Hello, have you almost… Oh, this is interesting." Boner stopped beside the box to look down at us. "Looks like I got here right on time. I wouldn't have wanted to miss this."
My face heated. I wasn't embarrassed about fucking Harlow. Not even a little bit.
This though? This was…unusual.
"Don't be embarrassed," Boner said before I could say anything. "We all have our kinks. I know some people love small spaces. What are statistics on that?" he asked over his shoulder.
Of course Archer was here too.
"I don't know. About seven percent of the population suffer from severe claustrophobia," Archer said. "I'd think this was much more rare."
He stepped over and looked at us like we were an exhibit in a zoo. Or exotic fish.
I pushed Harlow to her feet and helped her out of the box before taking the gag off her face.
"Spur of the moment," she said, starting to gather up her clothes.
"Ms. St. James, do you also have a torture device in your apartment?" Boner looked impressed. "I thought Archer and his bath were cool, but this is something else." He tapped the side of the Perspex.
"You don't?" she asked tartly. "Don't all serial killers have one?"
"My neighbor is a torture device, but he usually only tortures me," Boner said dryly. "Looks like I'm going to need to up my game. And the ball gag?" He made a 'chef's kiss' gesture.
"We can take that with us," I said, tucking it under my arm.
"I wonder if Jules would open up for it," Boner mused. Without dislodging his smile, he added, "I bet he'd wish he could use it on me. To stop me talking, not for anything sexual. Although, if he's there for it, I might be too."
I suspected the only way anyone would get a gag on my brother was if he was dead, but I didn't say that. Boner might see it as a challenge. And when I say 'might,' I mean 'absolutely would.'
"I'll pack up some clothes," Harlow said. "I won't be long."
Knowing she'd be tossing clothes into a suitcase with my cum on her thighs made my cock twitch.
I would have preferred her to move into my apartment, or me move in here with her, but I'd be with her at least. I could keep an eye on her and vice versa.
Whoever that man in the video was, I wasn't letting him get anywhere near her. I'd never killed anyone, but if he tried? That might quickly change.
The idea of anyone touching her made me want to hit them over the head with my laptop.
Okay, my weapon of choice needed some work. I had time to figure that out. I could use a knife for slicing food, how hard could it be to stab a person?
A couple of weeks ago, if I had these thoughts, I would have checked myself into a mental health facility.
Now? They almost seemed normal. My stomach didn't even turn. It hadn't when I saw Erin's blood on the wall, and the floor in the restaurant, and I'd known her, albeit briefly.
Should I be worried that this stuff didn't bother me anymore? What kind of person was I becoming that it didn't? Was this how it started?
I didn't choose the murder life, the murder life chose me.
Should I have that on a bumper sticker, a t-shirt or both?
Seriously though, from the moment they touched my brother, I was headed here. Whether it was with Harlow or not, I would have ended up in the same place. With her and the other guys, I stood a chance of making it out the other side alive and possibly even sane.
"What are the chances of no one noticing us walking through the streets carrying a big-ass plastic box?" Boner asked. "I'd love to take this with us. I have a feeling it'll come in useful."
"We could dismantle it and bring it with us," Archer said. "The chances of not being noticed are slim to none. Unless we did it at night."
Boner huffed. "Fine, we can always come back later. In the meantime, there's your bath. As long as we have that, no asshole will go un-tortured." After a beat, he grinned and added, "I want that on a t-shirt."
Of course he did. He'd wear it too. We could start a t-shirt line.
I shook my head to myself and headed into the bedroom to help Harlow.