62. Chapter 61
Chapter 61
Leon Aldon
So, that girl is manic.
Logically, I should tell her, or at least be concerned about what happened in there, but it was glorious.
My girl lost her mind and destroyed half of that apartment.
The walls have holes; the coffee table is shattered; the TV is caved in, and, of course, the bodies.
My God, the bodies.
My girl did beautifully. She caved in Shelby's skull and kept swinging until brain, teeth, and blood flew across the room. She kept swinging until Carlie got in the way, and the back of her head was caved in.
The crazed look in her eye was stunning, and watching blood spatter cover her face, skin, and clothes was magnificent.
A lot of girls seem to be disgusted by other people's blood, but not my girl. She licked her lips when the blood covered her face, and all that wasn't covered in blood was her eyes.
Fuck, I wish I could have recorded that. I would have watched it every single day, like my own personal porn.
Even watching it in person, I had to readjust my cock in my pants.
I can't wait to get her home, get her some rest, and wake her up with my cock in her ass.
But right now, I have work to do.
I have to stage this glorious mess of a crime scene to ensure no hint or a trace of suspicion.
My girl stays on the porch like she was told while I set up, but the paramedics and a few cops barge through the door.
Perfect timing, too; I started my pointless CPR just a moment before they walked in, having heard the sirens coming down the road.
I know he's dead, but I need it to look like I care enough to try.
“Are you Dr. Aldon?” He asks me.
The paramedics rush around the cops and tend to the two dead girls slumped over on the couch, and I focus on the cops and nod. “Yes, I am. I felt a faint heartbeat in this one, but the other two were gone. I've been doing resuscitations since I got off the phone.” I lie.
A paramedic takes over for me, giving me the chance to fake concern and stare at the two on the couch with a look that should convey horror and shock. I don't know; nothing surprises me, but I'm sure it's convincing enough for the cops.
“I have to check on my fiance. Can we step outside?” I ask. That part is true; I didn't tell Maeve I was calling the cops; I needed her to be panicked and stressed to really sell this whole thing.
The cops nod and gladly follow me outside and away from the bloodbath in the living room, and I immediately take a seat beside Maeve and wrap my arm around her. “How are you feeling, ma fleur?” I ask somewhat quietly.
Before my girl gets the chance to answer, a cop interrupts. “Can you tell me what happened here and why you're at an active crime scene?” He asks.
Okay, rude.
He could've let Maeve answer me before opening his mouth, but whatever.
“This is my fiance, Maeve. She used to live here. She moved in with me when we got engaged a few months ago. She left a few things for her roommates to use. I wanted them to keep it; I make enough anyway.” I say with a charming laugh; one of the female officers in the back eats up.
God, they're all so gullible and predictable. It works in my favor; everyone is so easy to manipulate, but it's boring.
The general population fucking bores me.
“We stopped by to pick up the last few things and invite her friends to dinner at our place. We've been preoccupied with moving, so they haven't seen my place yet. I didn't think that's what we would walk into.” I explain vaguely.
I pretend to look horrified by the sight we'd just abandoned and squeeze Maeve into my side. “How are you feeling?” I ask again, hoping this time she's not interrupted.
She turns her head to the side, looking panicked, broken, and confused, and shrugs.
That's expected.
I kiss her temple and push her head to lean on my shoulder while I continue to talk with the cops, pushing them in just the right way that they're almost eating out of the palm of my hand.
I explain my version of events: that Maeve let us in with her key to find a scene straight out of a horror film, one that traumatized my poor, pregnant fiance so severely that she screamed loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.
That will explain any noises when they interview people in the complex.
I then explained that I helped my girl onto the porch and away from the blood before rushing inside and attempting to save their lives, only to realize I was too late.
The officers even thank me for trying my hardest to save them, offering me a jacket since my shirt is now covered in blood again from pretending to try to save Sean.
I know I don't need to worry about their investigation; I can justify or bullshit my way out of anything they may find.
But just to be safe, I scrubbed the baseball bat clean and stuck it in the closet with what looks like an entire collection of them from Sean playing baseball.
I also left their phones open and unlocked, letting the cops see their text messages that admit to the things they've done and the victims they've assaulted.
I know the cops will find all of this and assume that it was a former victim of theirs or a family member of a victim getting revenge.
While I hate pinning my artwork on anyone else, they'll be cleared pretty quickly after their interrogation proves what we already know; they have no idea what happened here.
“Is there anything else you need from us tonight? My fiance is pregnant, and it’s getting a little late. I'd like to get her a bath and a few hours of rest.” I say calmly to the officers.
I even put my hand on Maeve's stomach and stroke her through her clothes.
This part isn't an act; I really am concerned about her; she's exhausted and in shock, but it also helps paint the picture that we're not psychotic.
I see the female officer even “awe” very quietly and know we've got them right where I want them.
“No, if you think of anything that may help us, please give me a call.” The officer says, handing me his business card.
I nod, reciprocating the gesture by handing him my card. “Same for us; if we can help in any way, please let us know.” I lie.
Maeve lets me get her in my car, squatting in front of her in the passenger seat. I stroke my knuckles lightly down her cheek. “How are you feeling?” I ask her calmly.
My girl nods, keeping her hands on her lap and her eyes on her hands.
That won’t do; I need to know how she’s feeling.
This is far beyond what happened with the guys. She didn’t just watch me torture them; she personally killed them. Not that I will ever remind her of that; no, I will take all the blame if it helps her. Or we can simply never speak about this again, whatever she needs.
I grip her chin gently and tilt her face until she has to look at me. “I need you to talk to me, ma petite fleur.” I say to her.
My girl breaks my heart with the look she gives me. “Am I going to get us sent to prison? I don’t want to go to prison.” She says quietly.
I pull Maeve into my chest, hugging my gorgeous girl, and smooth my hand through her hair, not even remembering or caring that there's blood on my hands from pretending to revive Sean.
On the plus side, it let me vent some of my frustrations.
I usually torture my subjects until I feel better, but Maeve took the reins on this one, so cracking Sean's sternum and caving in his chest will have to do for now.
“No, my love. We are not going to prison; I have it handled.” I promise her.
I feel her huff out a sigh, laying her head on my shoulder. I tighten my arms around her when she sighs, rubbing my hands along her back to calm her down. “I’ve got us, ma fleur. We’re fine. I promise you, everything is fine.” I say quietly to her.
She nods against me but leaves her face tucked into my neck and her arms tightly around me.
"I want to go home.” She mumbles.
I’m grinning like a fool; my girl finally sees our home as home. By the way she’s clinging to me; I'm hoping she sees me as her home as well. "Marry me." I blurt out before I can stop myself.
I already know what answer I expect, but it doesn't hurt to ask.
"When?" She mumbles into my neck.
I bark out a laugh and kiss the side of her face. "Whenever you want." I promise her.
I'd drag her ass to Vegas right now if she'd let me. "I'm not busy tomorrow." She says quietly.
Fuck, I am so in love with her.
If I hadn't just fucked her senseless and bruised her ass in every shade of purple that exists, I'd fuck her the second we got home, but I know she needs a little recovery time.