Chapter 18
Holden
After vigorously scrubbing my dick with bleach wipes, I soaked it in sanitizer for thirty minutes and conducted forty-five minutes of red-light therapy on him.
This isn’t my normal process. Normally, I have a rubber on loaded with spermicide.
Normally, I put on a pair of surgical gloves, remove the condom, add more spermicide inside of it, and place it into a sanitary bag before tossing it down the garbage shoot.
The other night was on me. I haven’t killed in over a week, shit, maybe longer, and every inch of me was itching for relief.
Ms. Presley presented the game of chicken and there was no way I was going to lose.
Adrenaline coursed through me the moment she called me Daddy.
It wasn’t because it was a term of endearment.
It was because she was daring me to take the bait. And I fucking did.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, the sun has risen, and the day’s already begun.
I cannot let another slipup like that happen.
In the elevator that day, I was weak. I showed my hand by not hiding the raging boner she caused.
The tent did not pop because I wanted her.
Absolutely not. I was too busy captivated by images in my mind of her begging for mercy under my knife.
Each plead buying her another minute, fulfilling everything I crave in life. That’s what gets my dick hard.
All the built-up tension, paired with a game I couldn’t lose, is what caused the sudden outburst the other night.
Nothing more, so don’t fucking read into it.
If you do, you are simply wasting your time and, by extension, my fucking time, and we all know how I feel about that.
I’ll slap your cheek with a wink while injecting you with a paralyzer. All without any feeling of remorse.
Adjusting my sleeves and rotating my cuff links, a sigh of frustration slips out of me. “You are better than this. What is wrong with you?” I ask myself.
Why am I humoring this girl?
She intrigues me, and she has Mr. Carlisle.
New feelings and emotions are attempting to come forward, and I hate it.
Deeply. Unless it’s black and gray, I do not care to face them at all.
I have always been someone who knows what and how they like things.
Mr. Carlisle has been and always will be my only exception.
He encourages and supports. We do not stray; we are stronger together.
A heavy head falls backward, and my glasses shift slightly.
Also, what is taking that fool this long to gather information on my neighbor?
Thanks to the doorman, I gained a last name.
But what is a last name without a first?
The answer is: nothing. It could be a fake, it could mean she has some relation to dynasty.
It only guides us down a road of more could-bes, which is useless.
I do not humor guessing games. I don’t care for them.
Facts are king and I have none, other than she is annoying.
My phone vibrates in my pocket only once.
Rising off the bed, I pull the phone out to see, to my delight, it’s a message from the gentleman I requested information from.
Sliding my phone open, I click on the first file.
The seconds it takes to load feel like minutes.
I am impatient, get over it. A smile attempts to form on my face.
It’s an unusual reaction for me and my body seems to be slightly confused by it.
This file contains her picture and name: Parker [REDACTED] Presley.
I’m taken aback. Who the fuck gets their middle name redacted?
As I swipe the page, more information fills my screen.
Just as I am about to deep dive into it, a loud knock comes from the front door.
It’s not just one knock, because why act civilized?
It’s a succession of loud and obnoxious banging.
If she were to yell, “Police, let me in,” it wouldn’t surprise me.
Ms. Presley, or Parker, is more clinically unwell than me.
It’s painfully obvious she lacked attention as a child and it negatively impacted her acceptable social behaviors.
Sliding my loafers on, every part of me wants to yell, “Shut up!” at her incisive pestering.
Knowing her, she would like it too much.
I walk down the stark hallway, because minimalism is more eloquent than having shit no one cares about all over the place.
As I hit the kitchen, the knocking stops.
Before I can unlock the door, my eyes spy a folded piece of paper at my feet.
Reaching down, I grip it between my fingers and I can faintly see pen marks bleeding through. Slowly and with a great abundance of caution, I peel one corner back. This girl is insane, and this could be booby trapped. I would put nothing past her, including that, to get a rise out of me.
As the ink reveals itself to me, to my surprise, nothing poisonous or sharp flies out at me.
In blue pen is a drawing. A poorly done one, mind you.
A toddler’s art exhibit wouldn’t even take this garbage.
It’s horrid. My eyes attempt to make out what this scribble is telling me.
Twisting and turning the piece of paper, I shake my head in confusion.
All I see is a dreadfully drawn boat. But what the fuck does a boat have to do with anything?
I’m aware I have one. She is not. There is no way she followed me there prior.
We’ve barely even met. She cannot know. It’s colored blue as well, but my boat isn’t blue.
Twisting the paper further, it’s only at this angle I am able to put it all together. It’s not a boat at all.
He’s back.
Pocketing the note, I snag my car keys off the hook and race to the elevator.
Pressing the button, it feels like the elevator takes a year to arrive.
This is absurd. I press the button nearly thirteen more times before it actually arrives.
Bobby boy might get a strongly worded email out of me yet.
Stepping inside, I select the floor for the parking lot and the doors slide closed at the pace of a snail.
“Fucking move!” I shout, incredibly irritated.
Parker probably changed the setting to ‘piss off Holden mode’ before letting me know they have returned him to me. Such a fucking nuisance.
The elevator glides down. My foot taps impatiently on the floor with both hands in clenched fists in my trousers pockets.
They better not have fucked him up. Mr. Carlisle best be the same as he was, except for the slight issues occurring internally.
As the doors slide open, I step out and hastily walk to my car.
Clicking the key fob, my car honks once, then unlocks.
The passenger door follows, popping open.
Gripping the door, I swing it open and the sight of a powder blue bucket hat greets me.
Leaning in, I am elated. Taking one deep breath in, I don’t detect the same odor that once graced us.
My body relaxes, tension leaves my shoulders, and my head shakes in disbelief.
He is back and looks better than he did when he left.
Mr. Carlisle adorns the same clothes, only he looks fuller.
His jaw no longer hangs and his eye has been reattached.
I am amazed. You would never fucking know.
He looks so natural. Not even a single hair seems out of place.
Shit, I wonder how heavy he is now? Whatever, it’s fine.
Worth it if it means his body doesn’t explode in my car.
Closing the door, I race around to the driver’s side and get in.
Reaching over, I slide his seat belt on and I’m greeted by a slight warmth as I brush against him.
Previously, he was cool to the touch. This is wildly impressive.
Shaking my head, I whisper shallowly, “She must never know.” If Parker ever knew I was positively impacted by her ‘guy’ I would never see the day where she didn’t bring it up.
And I find gloating irritating on a normal day.
She would only amplify my hate of it tenfold.
Once I am buckled in, I start the car and pull out of the parking garage. Pulling onto the busy street, car horns and traffic greet us.
“It’s been simply unbearable since you left, Mr. Carlisle.
” It’s important to keep him up to date on everything he missed.
He is someone I respect, even if he tests my patience some days.
“Anytime she speaks or even enters my presence…” I pause as my mind wanders to a fantasy.
Another loud horn sounds. I sigh as it brings me back to reality.
“All I can do is picture, to fantasize, how I will slowly do it. And in every version, you are there with me. I could never do it without you. We started her together and we will end her together.”
Weaving between slow-moving vehicles takes my focus.
As it does, Mr. Carlisle suggests, “Hang her from some chains, upside down. Then dunk her head in water. Make her drown a little before bringing her back to life. Get all the points you deserve. That she has withheld from you for this long. Punish her.”
My body relaxes farther into my seat. This is music to my ears. The good deed did not sway him. “Punish her, I will.” My cock hardens, it’s finally time.
Mr. Carlisle’s return has given my lungs fresh air to breathe. A renewed drive to kill. And I have killed for less and done a lot worse.
“Mr. Carlisle. I was thinking with this one, blood.”
He knows what I am insinuating. His evil cackle is music to my ears. Acceptance and approval.
The warehouse will need to have additional items added to properly execute my plans.
My phone vibrates in my pocket once more, triggering my memory.
The information package is still waiting to be read.
Slamming my hand against the leather, I grip it tightly and crank the wheel.
Horns honk, and people yell and wave fists and fingers.
Screeching tires follow along with burning rubber.
I quickly complete the U-turn and take off toward the warehouse.
“We have much to do, Mr. Carlisle. The day is young and we must be ready for nightfall.”