Chapter 10
Ten
Ihave a date with a rabbit.
As I wait in her living room, I watch a news segment about the recent murders in the New England region. It’s mostly factual, but incredibly sensational, presented by people who want to stir fear in the populace to keep them compulsively tuned into the endless news cycle. It’s good for advertisers—especially now that they’ve started comparing my work to that of the Lakestone Reaper.
It’s flattering.
He’s the closest thing I’ve had to an idol and a role model.
My fingers tingle and flex; I’m feeling antsy. It’s been over a month since I last killed. Instead, I’ve been playing the attentive boyfriend, making sure Bunny takes her meds and eats three square meals a day. She clings to me, unable to live without me anymore. I’ve made sure of that. And in the meantime, I’ve been monitoring that bastard, Briar Blackwell—or should I say, Norman Atticus Clark.
He’s the lead guitarist of a band called Razorblade Serenade—a dark, moody unit that’s nothing more than a crappy imitation of Bauhaus and The Cure. He manipulates his girlfriend when he wants sex, not understanding the meaning of boundaries. And then ignores every one of her emotional needs to fuck someone else on the side. Usually girls of a much younger subset, most often his barely legal fans enamored with his shitty band.
Norman is also a sadistic little shit who enjoys running over animals for fun and believes that quoting Hunter S. Thompson without any nuance makes him intellectually superior.
Bunny is halfway down the stairs when the phone rings. “I’ll get it!” she says, jogging as fast as she can in her ankle boots, and answers the call. “Hello.” A brief pause. “Oh, hey Kyla. When are you guys heading over?”
I turn down the TV slightly and eavesdrop on the conversation. I can’t quite make out what’s being said on the other side of the line, but judging by the look on Bunny’s face, she seems pleased.
“Alright, we’re pretty much ready to go. See you soon. Bye!” She hangs up and heads for the kitchen.
I quirk a brow as I hear her search through the cupboards—but it isn’t hard to guess what she’s doing. “Is it okay to mix vodka with your medication?” I ask, feigning concern.
I no longer have to ply her with alcohol; she does it all on her own.
“It’s fine,” she replies, and I imagine her waving away the concern with her hand, just like she did the last time we talked about this. “I just need something to take the edge off. You know me. I don’t like crowds.”
I wonder if she has always been skittish, or if a lifetime of invalidation and trauma has led to her neurosis.
Returning to the living room with a drink in hand, she sits on the couch and kisses me on the cheek. “You worry too much about it. I appreciate it, but I’m a big girl. I’ll be okay.”
No, you won’t be.“When are your friends coming?” I ask, changing the channel to something more palatable for her sensitive disposition.
“They’ll be swinging around to pick us up in about twenty minutes,” she says, knocking back her drink. “You don’t think my outfit is too much, do you?” Standing up, she does a twirl, her face rosy with more than just make-up.
I have a basic understanding of fashion, enough to help me blend in with society and adapt when necessary. After researching, I discovered that the nightclub’s dress code isn’t super strict. As long as you don’t look like you just rolled out of bed and try to look presentable, you should be fine. Bunny wears a fitted skirt, a strappy top, and sheer tights.
All black. Perhaps my style is starting to influence her.
“No, no. You look great.” I smile, painting on a veneer of adoration. “So don’t worry your pretty little head. Tonight will be fun.”
Fun for me, at least—but definitely not for Briar. Because this birthday will be an unforgettable one.
I’ll make sure of that.
In Briar’stwo-door sports coupe, Bunny and I were crammed in the backseat like sardines, enduring the torture of listening to his band’s god-awful demo tape on the way to Hillwood. Thankfully, Kyla spared us the prolonged agony by slipping in an album by Nine Inch Nails while Briar stopped at a gas station. This made the rest of the trip much more bearable.
I could hear and feel the deafening sound of bass vibrations coming from the club practically a mile away. As we pulled into the crowded parking lot, Bunny latched onto my arm, radiating anxiety.
We join the queue, which, despite its length, is moving at a reasonable pace. Bunny stays close to me, seeking comfort from the slight chill in the air. Kyla adjusts her sporty maxi skirt and folds her arms across her chest, while Briar is too preoccupied drooling over a girl in a tight crop top to pay attention to his surroundings.
This really won’t be much of a challenge, will it?I already stashed my equipment near the alleyway earlier today. All I need to do is lure the stupid fuck there and take out the trash.
Eventually, we reach the entrance. The bouncer, an expectantly burly and intimidating specimen of a person, frowns at us, a no-nonsense look on his face. We flash our IDs, pay the cover fee, and he waves us inside the loud and bustling club.
Throngs of bodies sway about the dance floor as a remix of a popular song vibrates through the speakers. Rainbow lights arc and spin across sweaty skin and gaudy apparel. Someone also turned the fog machine on a bit too high, but no one seems to be bothered by it. I glimpse Bunny; a familiar glumness has descended upon her.
“Want to get a drink?” I ask, intertwining my fingers with hers.
“Yeah,” she answers.
I can barely hear her over the music. Perfect; this will make tonight’s mission even easier to accomplish. I lead her to the bar where there are plenty of people ordering drinks. We sit on the cushy seats in front of the counter, and I signal to the bartender. “I’d like a white port and tonic, please.” Gotta keep it light. Not only do I have business to attend to, but they also suckered me into being the designated driver.
Fine by me, I think.
“I’ll take a Queen Elizabeth,” Bunny says.
The bartender nods and prepares our drinks with precision and speed. He slides the glasses to us and then attends to the many customers shouting orders from every direction. I raise my glass to Bunny, and we clink them together in a toast.
“Bottoms up,” I say, taking a gulp.
She tosses back her drink and wipes her mouth. “Where did Kyla and Briar go?”
I shrug and play with the orange twist on my glass. “Probably on the dance floor.” She drops the subject and orders another drink. I scan the crowds of writhing bodies and spot Briar grinding against a scantily clad woman. I roll my eyes; Kyla deserves better. I keep my gaze on him as he meanders from woman to woman.
After some banal topics that neither of us seemed authentically interested in, I finally get my opportunity: Briar disentangles himself from the dancers and heads toward the back door to smoke. I scoot from the counter and stand. “Sorry, Grace. Nature calls.” I kiss her cheek in feigned apology. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay,” she says, drowning herself in her drink, looking mildly melancholic.
As I weave through the crowd and exit through the back door, I notice a man pushing a woman against the brick wall of the alley, his hand snaking up her short skirt. They ignore me as I search for Briar, passing by the trash cans where I have hidden my killer attire out of sight.
I follow the scent of his cheap menthol cigarettes around the corner, where I find him standing near the end of the alleyway beside a dumpster, alone and vulnerable. I can’t help but grin with anticipation.
Showtime.
He notices me approaching, and I give him a friendly wave. “Hey, Briar. Surprised to see you out here.”
He huffs and taps his foot, clearly not wanting company—unless it’s some poor girl willing to put out for his crusty dick. “’sup.” He takes a drag and exhales.
I force a smile. “Would you mind if I bummed one of those from you?” I ask, nodding toward the pack poking out from his too-tight pants.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” he remarks, digging out his cigarettes from his pocket.
I accept one of the cancer sticks and wait for him to light it. “I used to. But I’ve been pretty stressed out tonight.”
“Tell me about it,” he says, lighting the tip. He pockets the lighter and shifts his stance, cords tensing in his neck. “Don’t say anything to her, but Kyla’s been annoying the hell out of me lately. Smothering me and shit.” He inhales another puff. “Bitch doesn’t know the meaning of space, you know?”
I suck in the toxic smoke and try not to cough, resisting the urge to strangle this fucker right here and now. “She cares about you, wants to be around you. What’s wrong with that?”
He smirks. “I feel sorry for you, being stuck with that weirdo, Lawrence. How do you fuck her without wanting to gag? She’s as flat as a board with no ass to speak of. At least Kyla has some nice meat in the right places, if you know what I mean.”
I take a deep breath and exhale, my lips forming a tight line. Bunny may be awkward, but at least she’s not as repulsive as Norman-fucking-Atticus-shithead-Clark. And how dare he speak of Cameron’s daughter that way?! “I have to go,” I say, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it with my foot. “Grace is waiting for me.”
I hear him laugh as I stride to the trash cans. The couple has disappeared. Exhilaration fills me as I retrieve my bag from its hiding place and put on my gloves. I grab the doorstop, wedging it underneath the door. After donning my coat and mask, I prepare a mix of chemicals on an old rag. Once ready, I peek around the corner and see that Briar has turned around. Slipping into the alleyway, I keep my steps light.
Before I smash my fist into his skull, disorienting him.
He lets out a surprised yelp as he drops his cigarette, and I quickly cover his face with the rag and hold it there. He’s a scrawny thing; the chemical and blow to his head appear to render him effectively incapacitated. Once he weakens, he stumbles back into me, right into my unsheathed knife.
“You really shouldn’t smoke, Norman,” I taunt, snatching the blade from his back. “That shit will kill you.” I plunge it into his neck, tearing through the flesh. He tries to scream, but the music is too loud. He staggers, falling against the wall, his eyes searching for mine—but finding nothing but the void.
Blood spurts from his neck like a fountain. “Why?” he croaks out weakly, sliding down the wall.
I crouch down and place the flat side of the blade underneath his chin, forcing him to look at me. “She’s mine,” I snarl.
Confusion clouds his gaze—or is it from the loss of blood? Hard to tell.
With a quick flick of my wrist, I slice open his throat. “Happy birthday, asshole.”
After disposingof Briar’s body in the dumpster and cleaning up, I return to the club as if nothing happened.
As I enter, I see Bunny go into the women’s restroom. I follow her inside, where she starts washing her hands. She doesn’t notice me until I lock the door and sneak up behind her, caging her in. She startles, her hackles raised for a moment. I press myself into her; the primal need to satiate the lust that has built up from the kill burns strong.
“What are you doing?” she asks as she tries to move away.
I stare at her in the mirror with dark, hooded eyes. “No more questions,” I murmur, tracing a finger across her neck.
As I cup her ass, her arms break out in goosebumps, and her face flushes with desire. “Somebody will hear,” she protests, her eyes darting toward the stalls where moans and slapping skin can be heard.
A slow, wicked smirk spreads across my lips. “Don’t worry so much,” I say, nibbling at the junction of her neck and shoulder. I imagine blood seeping from a jagged slash across her throat, which only makes me harder. “They’re too busy fucking and probably too high to care about us.” I slide my hand under her top, grazing her ribs and running my fingertips across her racing heart to knead her breast. “Relax, Grace.”
She whimpers as I tweak her nipple and slip a hand down her skirt. I palm her panties and then pinch her clit, drawing a moan from her. One that she tries so desperately to stifle. I run my finger up and down her wet slit, and she bites her lip, her knuckles turning white as she grips the sink. I unzip my pants and she bends over without prompting. Such an obedient little rabbit.
I don’t have a condom. I know it’s risky.
But I’m feeling dangerous tonight.
I lift her skirt, push aside her panties—and thrust into her in one fluid motion. She gasps and claws at the porcelain, her eyes squeezing shut.
“No closing your eyes,” I order, tangling my fingers in her hair as I yank her head up. “Look.”
She squirms, her pussy clenching my cock as she opens her eyes. We lock gazes once I begin to move. She moans, meeting my thrust eagerly.
“Do you like fucking in public?” I say, emphasizing each word with a snap of my hips. “Does the thrill of getting caught turn you on?”
She cries out as I plant ginger kisses on her spine, actions that directly oppose the rough pummeling I’m giving her. She barely manages a nod before I press my fingers into her neck, softly at first. Her breath hitches, her walls narrowing like a vise. I imagine choking the life out of her, snuffing out the light behind her hazel eyes as I increase the pressure ever so slightly.
I growl, setting a punishing pace. She arches, whining like a wanton bitch who’s never had a proper fuck in her entire life. “Luke, Luke, Luke!” she keens, chanting my name like a mantra. “Please, fuck me! Murder me with your cock!”
As you wish.
I loosen my grip on her neck and I smack her ass, groaning as her cunt squeezes and clings to me for dear life. Tears stream from her eyes as she writhes, her voice straining with each cry. My thrusts become uneven as I close in on my orgasm.
“Grace … Fuck!” I come, filling her to the brim.
She sobs, tears streaming down her face as she hurtles toward her climax.
We both pant heavily, gasping for air. I withdraw from her and grin, making sure to adjust her underwear and straighten her skirt like a gentleman. Like it was all just naughty roleplaying, and not an instance of Damon sneaking out of his cage.
“That was …” She grins, spinning on her heel to lean up and give me a heated kiss.
“Amazing?” I say, pasting on a pleasant fa?ade.
A toilet flushes, and she grabs my hand, giggling. “Let’s go.”