Chapter 11 Maddox #2
My shoes click against the marble floor as I make my exit and spill out into the chandelier-lit hallway.
To avoid any further interaction, I use the underground passageway.
Cold air slams into me. It’s a welcome distraction.
I shut the entranceway behind me, turn my phone’s flash on, and navigate the underground system most acolytes refuse to use because, and I quote, “it’s cold as shit” and it gives them “the creeps.”
Why they’d feel such a thing surrounded by thousands of human remains is beyond me. They’re dead already. Well past the point of decay. It’s rather childish to cause such a fuss over it. I personally find the stacked femurs and skulls artful.
The cold seeps through my coat as I pass through the catacombs and to the storage area. Beyond it is a spiraling stone staircase.
Carefully, I inch the hidden door open to check no one is there before sliding the bookshelf back in place. The campus is mostly deserted at this time of night.
As I keep my pace up on my way to the art building, I can’t help but take hopeful glances around in case I spot one student in particular slinking through the darkness. Shaking my head, I all but run up the stairs to my studio.
Since the day I watched Reyna root around my crime scene, her videos have been playing on repeat. All the short films she’s posted online, her previous assignments, the student movies she’s featured in. I’m starved for new material.
I pour myself a glass of scotch, settle behind my desk, and boot up my laptop. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her, and I’m itching for my next hit.
The scene starts with a view of the sunrise from a footpath beside a river—
I swear to God, if I find out that Reyna makes a habit of hanging out underneath bridges in the early hours of the morning, I’m chaining her to me.
Her husky voice vibrates through the speakers and down my spine, flushing away the irritation.
As the film progresses, I forget all about her questionable safety practices.
Her shots are immaculate. She’s taken every piece of advice I gave her.
Like her other projects, I’m not quite sure yet which of my kills she’s reinterpreting.
It isn’t until the camera pans to her standing before an architectural landmark that it clicks.
Vincent Horven. An architect I killed over a year ago. I carved out his bones, washed them, then put him back together.
From what Shepherd told me, he was associated with the Order. Based on my own research, I discovered that his penchant for violence made him lose visitation rights to his children.
I’ve also dug up and read through everything I could possibly find on Reyna’s movements, medical background, and university records. I know for a fact she hadn’t moved to New York yet when I carried out the hit. Was she piecing my kills together over a matter of years, or once she moved here?
Another realization hits me, and my knuckles go white around the crystal tumbler. It’s something so obvious, yet it never clicked before.
Reyna studied every incision, each meticulous placement of limbs, and droplets of blood. She saw the death and destruction I caused, and she wasn’t terrified. Even more, she was inspired.
She didn’t run for the hills, or call the police about her discoveries.
No, that girl knows how monstrous I could be, and she still investigates my crime scenes.
She even took photos and made several short films that anyone could stumble across.
I’m torn between being exhilarated by the realization and downright pissed off.
What if the serial killer she was following around wasn’t me? What if she stumbles across a kill carried out by someone else in the Order?
I’m half tempted to put a tracker on her so she can’t go anywhere without me knowing since her safety is nowhere on her list of concerns.
I pause the video when the scene cuts to Reyna, sitting at her desk, staring off into the distance as the golden light from a small lamp licks her bronze skin. It’s the only source of light in the frame, and if I hadn’t paused it, I would have missed the skull design on the candle beside the lamp.
A smile splits across my lips, and I let out an amused laugh. She’s re-creating the painting of The Repentant Magdalen by La Tour.
Brava, Miss Sinaga. Well done.
The scene shifts to a bathroom, where a tub brims with steaming water.
I stop breathing altogether when Reyna enters the frame in nothing but a thin cream singlet.
She’s turned away from the camera. All I have to go off is from her waist up, and fuck if the sight of those tiny, breakable straps doesn’t drive me feral.
My cock twitches to life at the thought of her naked as water trickles between her breasts. She’d lean back and spread her legs to—
I clear my throat and readjust myself to alleviate the pressure.
She’s my student.
She’s eleven years younger than me.
She’s an innocent civilian who’s not part of the Order.
I’m getting married soon.
All of these things are clear signs that I should have zero interest in her and keep my distance. Yet I would sacrifice anything to have her turn around so I could see what she looks like through the thin material.
Almost her entire back is covered in black and gray ink. I wish I could strip her so I could study the art she deemed worthy to brand onto her body for the rest of eternity.
I want to be the only person she bares herself before. I want to be the only one who sees the tattoos she hides from the world, and I’m turning murderous thinking about anyone else seeing what she looks like in that goddamn singlet.
My breaths grow shallow as the scene progresses, and I’m mildly tempted to ask her who was holding the camera, so I can liberate their soul from their body.
The scene focuses on the dips of her rib cage, the delicate curve of her vertebrae, and the roll of her shoulder blades, before she steps into the tub. Slowly, the pieces fall into place.
She’s washing her skin and bones, like I did to the subject of that art installation.
Reyna is turning herself into my pretty little muse.
My dick pushes against the zipper of my pants hard enough to cause pain.
I am aware that what she’s portraying is a ritualistic act of cleansing and purification.
The foretelling of connection between the victim and the killer waiting on the other side of the door.
But I’ve lost the war to my hindbrain. My base instincts drive me to undo my belt, slip my pants and briefs down, and fist my cock.
I curse, dropping my head against the chair, imagining her soft hands gripping me. Pleasure zips down my spine as I draw my hand up, tightening the pressure at the tip. I can already hear it. See it. What she’d be like under me.
She’d moan my name and shudder as she flicks her tongue out to taste me. This woman is wearing me down every single day, and she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. I’m hooked when she hasn’t raised a finger.
Precome leaks when her bare back appears on the screen. Soap suds and water trickle down her skin as she cleans herself with a plain white bar of soap. Half of her body is hidden beneath the bubbles, but it doesn’t stop my pulse from pounding against my chest.
My fist picks up speed. That’s what I’d see if I fucked her against a wall. Reyna’s hand braced next to mine, crying out as I drive into her until she can’t hold her own weight.
Tension draws from the base of my cock.
Even her bloody bare back drives me insane. Not knowing what her face looks like as she comes is enough to make me go completely mad. Fuck, I need to hear her say my name. I’d be completely and utterly done for if she did.
That husky voice of hers. The curve of her ass. Her fucking legs I need choking me as my nose rubs against her clit while I taste that cunt of hers.
The pleasure takes me over the edge. Ropes of white cover my hand as light flashes behind my eyes. It’s nowhere near enough. Nothing compared to what it’d feel like to be inside of her.
When I look back up, electricity flows through me with a different need. I want to draw her. Need to. It’s a soul-deep desire as necessary as food and water. I pause the film to trace the dark lines permanently etched into her back.
It’s a dragon. A naga.
And just like that, lightning strikes, a dam breaks somewhere in the distance.
I know what my main piece is going to be.