20. Stevie #2
“A necrophiliac in our presence,” Silas compliments. “I love it. No worries about fighting back, and the coldness does something different to the dick, doesn’t it?”
Now, that’s sick. What a fucking monster.
My sister always told me clubs are filled with nefarious men with sinister intentions, but I always brushed her off.
I knew deep down my sister was right. Growing up with a homicide detective for a dad, I heard about the bad people and things he saw.
I refused to live my life based on what a few people did.
But now that I’m meeting a monster in the flesh, I can’t pretend they don’t exist anymore.
“You can only do that because you’re good-looking and young,” an older guy interjects. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Some of us aren’t that lucky and need to resort to more drastic measures to feed our hunger.”
Pete smiles, gesturing toward the man. “And what types of drastic measures do you take part in?”
The man stands immediately. His short, stocky stature and beady eyes send a chill up my spine.
“I guess I’ll go next then. I’m affectionately called The Lurker by my local media in Las Vegas, but you all can call me Larry.
” He stares off into the distance as if reliving something, then turns back to the group with a weary smile on his face.
“The police have known about me for decades, but since I choose my victims without family, friends, or anyone who loves them…basically, the case files always grow cold,” he explains proudly.
They are all fucking demented.
“And?” Silas presses, insinuating there’s more Larry needs to tell.
“Of course you bastards want to know my secrets,” he plays as a collective low chuckle vibrates the room. “I hang out in alleyways searching for the hottest prostitutes.” He pauses. “Or the one who looks the most desperate to make a quick buck.”
“You pay for your kills?” Pete asks in disgust. “That sucks.”
Larry shoots him a sharp look. “I don’t pay for them, you asshole. I kill them before they’re able to collect the money.”
“Still, so sad,” Pete replies, his words filled with arrogance. He clearly feels on top of his game, like he’s untouchable because he’s young and attractive. Using his looks to hunt and trap young women makes my blood boil.
“Fuck you,” Larry spits. “One day you’re not going to be—”
“All right.” Silas raises his hands, calming the two men. “Let’s move on.” Then he turns to the quiet man with his head hanging low at the end of the table. “Bob?”
The man lifts his head, looking in my direction, but says nothing at first.
The hairs spanning my body stand straight up the moment my eyes land on his. A different sort of evil lies within this man. I can feel it. Without realizing it, I suck in a breath and keep it tightly in my lungs—my body preparing for what I’ll hear from him.
“You can call me The Butcher.” His raspy voice slips through a thick, dark beard.
“I have been killing for as long as I can remember. Starting with my fascination with the dead as a young boy.” He strokes his beard.
“I have no clear direction or preference when I hunt. I will go after whomever whenever I want. No one is safe.”
Then, if nothing else could have halted my breath, that stops it before I suck in to get my fill of precious air. My senses fire off like internal alarm bells, thickly pulsing through my veins.
Sebastian’s hand finds the top of my thigh—he strokes it, soothing me.
He recognizes this man’s level of evil, too.
Then I capture something I wasn’t expecting to see—the woman with the fiery red hair glances at Sebastian from across the table while a small smile grows across her face the longer she stares at him.
I don’t like the way she’s looking at him.
“Well, in this room we’re all safe, Bob,” Silas states with a side-eye.
I push my feelings aside as a light rumble of laughter moves through the room. My eyes bounce from one person to another before the woman peels her incongruous gaze from Sebastian and stands.
“All right, all right. My turn.”
“Ma’am.” Silas smiles, gesturing for her to begin.
“We can’t let the men have all the fun, can we?
” she purrs, glancing at me. “Now, let me introduce myself, as this is only my third year attending the glorious killing season.” She pushes her chair back and walks around the table.
Her long hair bounces against her back as her heels click on the stone floor.
“I’m the Red Widow, or Wendy. Call me whatever you choose, but do not call me a serial killer. ”
The table laughs.
“Oh, but aren’t we all in love with that term?” Silas quips sarcastically.
Wendy rounds the table, touching the shoulders of each man she passes. Instinctively, I wrap my arm around Sebastian before she has the chance to do the same with him. As she walks by us, I narrow my eyes in her direction—a glare that shows her she needs to stay away.
“I love to spend my time with men who believe they’re better than women.
The ones who need a bit of a reality check.
” Wendy’s finally back at her chair, ignoring Silas’s comment.
But before she sits, her wide eyes find Sebastian once again.
A smirk appears on her face, and now I’m pissed.
Like, does she not see me sitting right here?
“They take me home, thinking they’ll get their dick wet, but then I flip the script on them.
And soon they’re begging for their lives as I chop off their cocks—while they’re still alive. ”
“We fucked last year, and you didn’t chop my dick off,” Pete remarks with a smirk.
She scoffs at his comment. “Because we’re not allowed to kill each other. But if you were an average guy, I’d kill you for the lousy lay.”
Pete’s eyes lower. “You say that now, but you didn’t when you were screaming my n—”
“All right. Enough,” Silas interjects. “Go on, Wendy.”
“You could say I’m getting back at my husband, the unfortunate soul who cheated on me with our housekeeper.” Wendy glances upward. “Poor Bill died without his dick.”
Fear has run through my veins since the moment the group began speaking.
But the moment Wendy’s eye landed on Sebastian, a lustful look that I, as a woman, recognize—the fear I feel is immediately replaced with possessiveness.
He’s my fake boyfriend, not hers. Not hers to fuck and certainly not hers to hurt.
Sebastian may not be mine, but he will not be hers either.
Keeping my hand firmly tucked into his while the rest of the table gives sociopathic monologues about themselves, I grow more eager for my turn.
And then Silas gestures toward Sebastian and me. “And last, but certainly not least, our entertainment from the last event and newbies this year, the Dark Prince and Annabel Lee.”
Cotton forms in my throat as adrenaline seizes my limbs.
I suck in a deep breath and remember my purpose.
“Hello, I’m Annabel Lee.” I swallow dryly.
“I like to seduce my victims first, then play with them a little before eventually stabbing them in the chest.” I fold my arms against my chest, giving them a little attitude.
“But if you all think you’re gonna get the gory details of my process, you can think again.
As like Poe, my favorite poet, I follow a certain level of mystery and like to keep it that way,” I say, keeping my voice steady and flat, hoping that closes the door on anything else they might press for.
Silas opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly Sebastian stands at my side, stopping the possibility of follow-up questions I’m not prepared to answer.
“I’m the Dark Prince. It’s a stupid name, but it was written in a local news article once, and it’s stuck with me.
” He rolls up his sleeves as they’ve fallen lower, flexing his arm muscles covered in black ink.
“So, that’s what you all can call me, and do not expect me to respond to anything different.
” The confidence and conviction in his voice sound real, even to me.
“Annabel is my girlfriend, as you all know, and we’re from the Pacific Northwest.” Sebastian’s jaw clenches.
“Now, to get into what I do. I choose my victims very carefully. They must follow a certain code for me to kill them. And if they do, I simply shoot them.”
As Sebastian speaks, I become hypnotized by his words. He’s a natural. No evidence of reluctance or nerves. The power he cultivates around him—danger simmering below the surface—is not so different from the other killers at the table. But with him, he hones it in a different way.
His choices may bend the rules of what the world would consider moral, but sometimes we have to bend the rules for the collective good.
Don’t we?