Chapter 25 #2
A small computer stems from the side of the retort, easily within reaching distance of his stupidly long arms. With a push of the red button, he could close the metal door on me, and then if he pushes the black… I’m fucking toast. Literally.
I have no idea how long it takes for this thing to reach its maximum temperature, but I would guess I have a solid two minutes before it’s hot enough to engulf me in flames.
I know he can clearly see the whites of my eyes from how wide they are, but not even a needle tip of sympathy reflects from his face. The fucker looks nothing but amused.
“You’re fucking insane, you know that?” I spit, glaring at him with a heat that would rival the goddamn crematorium. “Burning me alive won’t bring back those women. If it did, I would’ve happily crawled in here myself years ago.”
He leans forward, planting his fists on either side of my hips, getting in my face. I bristle and pointedly bend my spine away from him, derision curling my upper lip.
“Do they haunt you?” he asks, his expression appearing contemplative, but it’s only a mask he wears to hide the demon beneath. “Do you see them everywhere you go, knowing you could’ve saved them and didn’t?”
I try to shove the tears down, but they’re stronger than me. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me. My weakness got me into this situation, after all.
“Yes,” I bite out through gritted teeth, hating how blurry my vision becomes. “Every day,” I say truthfully.
Parting his lips, he rolls his tongue in his cheek, his contemplation shifting, as if now, he’s deciding what he wants to do. I can only imagine, with a psychopath like him.
“How long do you think the victims suffered before he ultimately killed them?”
I frown. “I don’t know.”
He cocks his head, black strands falling over his cold eyes while an unsettling smile curls his lips. “I’d love to know what you’d guess. Ten minutes? Twenty minutes? Hours?”
Instead of trying to guess, I consider why he’s asking. There’s always a fucking motive with him.
My heart races, and a sense of foreboding swirls in my stomach. Whatever he’s planning, it might have something to do with time.
I chew on which direction to go with my answer. If I say what I truly believe—that Lionel made them suffer until death was a mercy—it might enrage him further, and knowing it would apply to Katherine only makes matters worse.
What if my answer is how long he’ll keep the oven on with me inside?
But if I say they were quick deaths, that could also backfire if it’s something where I need more time.
“Ten minutes,” I say finally, deciding to aim somewhere in the middle. Less likely to upset him, and if he intends to burn me alive, I’m dead if I choose any number over a couple of minutes, regardless. Anything less, he’d know I’m lying.
He stares silently, seeming to consider my answer. It’s fucking unnerving, and my muscles swell with tension in response.
Seconds tick by, and the surrounding air grows denser until I’m breathing in static. Goosebumps rise on my skin, and I suppress a shudder. I can’t tell if I’ve made a mistake or not, and my panic is steadily increasing with every passing second.
Then, his eyes drop to my lips, and they heat while my stomach upends. The tension shifts, and that one subtle movement is like a lonely sailor praying for company. My body instantly sings, enticing him into my depths.
Nervously, my tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip, something his gaze tracks intently.
After a few beats, he slowly drags his eyes to mine, and I sense his intentions instantly.
“You’ve spent your entire life thinking of yourself more than anyone else,” he says softly, briefly flicking his stare down again. “Let’s see if you can spend your last ten minutes thinking only of me.”
My mouth flops while I try to process what the fuck he means. “W-what?”
He straightens, staring down at me like an ant trapped beneath his poised boot, seconds away from crushing me.
“You have ten minutes to make me come,” he explains coldly. “If you fail, then you can stay the night inside with your fucking ghosts.”
I can only gape at him, at a complete loss for what to even think. “Wha— H-how?” I stammer.
He reaches inside the pocket of his joggers and slips out his phone. My heart picks up speed as he opens the stopwatch app and sets the time to ten minutes.
“I’ll let you decide,” he says, setting the device on the edge of the brick chamber, butted up against the interior wall.
I’m unable to tear my eyes away from the screen, his finger poised over the red start button. My heart hammers inside my chest, and panic scrambles all coherent thought into a pile of mush. It takes several seconds before I’m able to force myself to focus.
I’m terrified to argue, scared anything I say will have him either reducing my time or starting it before I’m prepared.
It’s no use negotiating with him. While I’m tempted to kick him in the dick and make a run for it, I’m terrified of what he’ll do if he catches me. The odds of that happening are uncomfortably high, especially when three of my steps amount to one of his.
In conclusion, I’m fucked.
I either give myself up to him or spend the night trapped inside a fucking oven.
The same feelings from the night in the locker room arise. If he wants me to cry and beg him not to fuck me, I won’t give him the satisfaction. Deep down, a sick, twisted part of me craves this, too.
It feels better than when he makes me cry.
“You went through all this trouble because you want to fuck me again? You could’ve accomplished the same goal in your bed.”
He cocks his head, peering at me like I’m a silly little girl. “I think my dorm recognizes your screams well enough to know if they need to call the cops, darling.”
My cheeks burn hot as I glare at him.
Asshole.
I glance to the side of him toward the exit, contemplating if my life is worth kicking him in the dick at least one time. It might just be satisfying enough that I’ll happily accept my death.
“Even if you got incredibly lucky and got away, you can’t run forever,” he drawls lazily, though it still sounds sinister. “And whatever you think will happen when I catch you—it’ll be so much worse.”
That sends a cold chill down my spine.
Working to swallow, I shuffle closer to the edge of the chamber and spread my legs on either side of him, letting them dangle over the edge. Sex or a blow job are my only options, and although I seemed to do well enough a couple of days ago, I’m not as confident on my knees as I am on my back.
His stare burns into me, hotter than the flames he threatens me with. I hesitate for a second longer and then meet his eyes, nearly choking on my tongue when I do.
Jesus, he’s fucking intense.
Even with ink black strands falling over his eyes, the flames crackling within singeing the tiny hairs on my body, merely an appetizer to my impending fate.
“Fine,” I say, my voice hushed and resigned.
Before I think about what I’m doing any deeper than necessary, I shrug off my coat and toss it past him.
Then, I pull my arms through each sleeve of my T-shirt and tug it over my head before throwing it on top of my coat.
Cool air coerces my exposed nipples into hard peaks, drawing his stare to them.
Next, I toe off each boot, leaving me barefoot, since the shithead didn't bother with putting socks on me. I'm surprised he even bothered with my boots.
Then, I rock side to side as I quickly pull my sweatpants and underwear down past my ass, trying not to cringe as I do. The brick warms my bare skin, but all I can focus on is the fine layer of ash coating the surface.
Thousands of bodies have been cremated in this retort, and this deranged psycho is about to fuck me on top of what remains of them.
This is so completely, undeniably fucked, and I’m definitely going to hell.
I slip the pants down my legs, ensuring to lean back on my tailbone and keep my lower half angled so the ash doesn’t touch any sensitive internal areas.
I would quite literally rather die than allow human remains inside my fucking vagina.
It takes monumental effort to force my thoughts away from what I’m sitting on and focus on the demon before me. How he managed to crawl out of hell, I’ll never know, but if anyone belongs in this chamber, it’s him.
Dread steps back far enough to allow me to kick the clothing off before returning to stand between my spread legs. Exhaling an uneven breath, I lean back on my elbows, the rough brick digging into my skin uncomfortably.
I don’t need to see the hard outline protruding from his joggers to know what he’s feeling. The slow swipe of his tongue across his bottom lip and his hungry eyes eating up the expanse of my naked flesh speak for him.
My blood heats, and a sharp throb pulses in my clit, as if my body crows for his attention. It remembers his touch well, and it’s undeniable how easily he makes me feel good.
His gaze slowly rises, and it sends a jolt of electricity straight into my heart the moment it connects with mine.
“Fuck me, Kellan.” Desire coats my words as thick as it coats the inside of my thighs. His nostrils flare, the silver hoop in his nose glinting in the light, and his hand flexes. “If you want me to think of only you, then give me a reason to scream your name.”
He growls before his palms fly to my hips, roughly tugging me closer to the edge of the chamber, directly against the hard length of his cock, my elbows scraping painfully against the brick.
I gasp from both the suddenness and the burning in my elbows, but I’m easily distracted when he rolls his hips against mine.
He presses directly into my clit, earning him a raspy moan.
He releases me long enough to quickly pull his hoodie over his head, revealing a masterpiece composed of muscle and inked flesh. Then, he’s squeezing my hips again, though this time, it’s me who grinds against him.