Chapter 15 #2
“Well, what do you think?” Skylar whispers. He leans against the rusted railing behind him, spreading his arms like he’s showcasing some grand display.
I blink in confusion, clearly missing something. I peer at everything below us, searching for what it could be.
“It’s my favorite theater.” He grins, a slightly manic look on his face that makes my pulse quicken with excitement.
Nervously, I step up beside him, my gaze focusing on the drop.
“A theater for what?” I ask, still not understanding.
“My artwork, of course,” he murmurs lowly, his voice a tantalizing purr that slices through the silence.
He points down to a rusted iron pillar directly beneath us.
“Several weeks ago, Franko’s assistant went missing.
He was a pathetic man no one gave two shits about.
He filmed a lot of the shit Franko and his men got up to before uploading it to the dark web.
The bastard filmed it. Filmed the rapes and all the other questionable shit.
He didn’t do a fucking thing to help any of them. ”
Rage burns through me. While stalking Franko and trying to figure out his whereabouts the first time, I discovered photos and videos I wish I could unsee.
I glance at the pillar, my sniper brain instantly assessing the angles.
“It’s a bad defensive position. No cover from above.
A single shooter up here could clear the area in less than ten seconds. ”
“I mean, sure, a sniper could do that,” Skylar says, turning his body toward me, crowding me against the railing, his amber wood scent drowning out the scent of the factory.
He reaches out, his fingers tracing a slow, agonizing path up my chest before dipping under my jacket.
“But where’s the art in a bullet, Jericho?
I like to play with guns, but I prefer my victims to see it coming.
I prefer my poisons and knives. I prefer torture and chaos. ”
My pulse rate skyrockets, and lust pools in my belly.
The railing creaks under our weight, but I refuse to back away.
Instead, I crowd him. Stepping into his personal space until our chests are almost touching.
The drop is right behind him, but he doesn’t care.
He’s looking at me like I’m a fucking deity.
“What happened to Franko’s assistant?” I rasp, my voice rough, my pulse hammering against my ribs. There’s a reckless, heavy hunger spreading through my veins at his proximity. How does he do this to me? Every. Fucking. Time.
“I didn’t use a rifle.” Skylar grins. His gaze shifts down to my mouth, his thumb resting right against the pulse point on my neck. “I used a special blend of sedatives and poison to sedate him and place him into a coma for six days. Then I woke him up.”
I arch a brow. “Why six days?”
“It was the same amount of time I was in a coma. My sister tried to run. She made it to my place and told me Franko’s men were after her.
I didn’t know the details at the time. Not yet.
Moments later, someone broke into my house and slammed something heavy on my head.
Six days. I was asleep, safe in a fucking hospital bed.
When I woke up, she was already dead. Suicide.
They made it look like suicide while I lay there. Sleeping.”
A sharp gasp leaves me. “You weren’t just sleeping, Sky. They put you in a fucking coma.”
A smile crosses his face, and his finger traces my bottom lip. “I love how angry you’re getting for me. It’s hot.”
“Well, it’s true. They hurt you and put you in a fucking coma.”
Skylar chuckles. “And I used my poisons to put Lenny in a coma. Just like I did with a number of Franko’s costars and friends. I put several of them in a sedated coma before I woke them up to show them their world has completely flipped. Then, I tortured the shit out of them.”
A sudden, electric jolt of awe slams into me. He didn’t just kill these men. He’s admitting he hurt them. No, that he took pleasure in hurting them. I glance around. “And you did some of the kills here?”
“Yeah. The real evil ones get my special treatment.” He waves his hand around again, and I see it. This place is meant to look like a stage out of the creepiest horror movie.
“You’re fucking diabolical,” I grip his hipbones and pull him to me.
He leans in closer, his lips ghosting across mine.
“I brought you here because I wanted you to understand, Jericho. I like to make them suffer. I’m fucked up inside.
You utilize your skills and sometimes shoot from the rafters.
But I like to get messy. I bask in their screams, get hard when they bleed, and fly high when the life leaves their eyes. ”
He looks at me then, really looks at me. He’s tense, waiting for my reaction. Bracing for my rejection.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispers, shaking now. He looks so submissive and vulnerable now. He’s exposed himself to me in such a way that there’s only one word that springs to mind.
“Brave.”
“What?” he scoffs.
“You’re so fucking brave,” I say. His eyes drop, and I can tell I’m losing him. “You wanna know what I thought about you torturing people? About the thought of you reveling in their pain before taking their lives?”
His eyes slowly return to mine. He nods.
I capture his wrist and place his palm over my thick erection. He gasps.
“I think you’re so fucking brave for admitting it to me.
I think you’re sexy and sinful.” I move his palm up and down my length, making him stroke me as I pant.
“I think I want to watch you. I think that maybe, just maybe, I was meant to miss my shot that day, just so we can torture Franko together.”
Skylar’s chest is rising and falling in fast, heavy pants that mirror mine. I gaze into his brilliant, dangerous eyes, feeling the sheer, terrifying gravity of the bond we’re creating. He isn’t just a partner in crime. He’s a stunning, deadly specter, and he has me completely captivated.
“You’re mine, Skylar King. Fucking mine.”
He slams his lips to mine in a punishing, primal kiss.
The kiss is possessive, a devastating crash of lips and teeth that instantly turns into a symbol of our mutual obsession. His fingers tangle into my hair, painfully tugging me to him as if he’s trying to claw his way directly into my soul, demanding every last breath I have left.
Then, just like all the other times he’s done before, he drops to his knees. The realization slams into me with a force that leaves me dizzy. He’s submitting. I’ve been so damn focused on the fact that he is Skylar King, the dominating porn star who tops his partners, but that’s not who I’m seeing.
I’m seeing the real Skylar King. A beautiful, devastating creature who doesn’t just survive in the shadows…
he thrives in them. He’s a man who treats the dark like a second skin, whose blood runs hot and dangerous at the mere whisper of violence.
Skylar King is the type of man who would willingly submit to a murderer.
I grip his chin in a punishing hold, causing him to shiver. “Is this what you want, little minx? For another killer to dominate you right here in your cathedral of rust and blood?”
He’s panting heavily, nodding eagerly, eyes blown wide with arousal.
I begin unbuttoning my shirt in slow, sure movements, while he trembles under my intense gaze. “Take off your shirt,” I command. He doesn’t even hesitate, and it’s as if I unlocked some mystery that’s been right here in front of my eyes this whole fucking time.
I smirk, a wicked fucking thing that I know will help unravel him.
Once we are both shirtless and in nothing but our black jeans and boots, I tug him to me.
“You crave submission, don’t you, Sky?” I bend him backward, as if we’re dance partners and I’m dipping him in time to music only we can hear.
I don’t wait for him to answer. I shove two of my fingers into his mouth and force him to suck.
All the while, I lock my arms around him, pulling him in so tight that he clings to me with a fierce, trembling desperation.
Below us, the catwalk groans and sways over a dizzying, lethal drop into the shadows, but neither of us cares.
He moans around my fingers, drooling and getting them wet. Trusting me to hold him, he lets go, desperately reaching for his pants and pulling them down his thighs, despite the awkward position I have him in.
I spin him around and bend him over the thin railing. My wet fingers find his tight hole. “Fuck, look at you. Desperate and needy. Even this tight little hole wants to be fucked by a killer.”
He moans, a high, needy sound, trembling so hard I’m convinced he might come from absolutely nothing but the thought of me filling him. The railing groans under his hold as I work my fingers inside of him. Stretching him.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he pants. “I love the stretch. I crave this, Jericho, crave you. Your dominance. Your control. I want you to fuck me and never let go.”
I lose it. Fucking lose it. His words undo me like a thin strip of ribbon falling away. Once he’s fully stretched, I whip my hard cock out, spit on it, and shove it inside.
He gasps, and then, to my shock, pushes back. I pound into him fast, with an animalistic need as we both lose absolute control. He’s still thrusting back hard, but we’re in sync, never losing rhythm. It’s like I’m truly burying myself deep and not letting go.
He comes first, shuddering and screaming, hands free. Untouched, with nothing but my thick cock filling him just right. His hole spasms around me. Tightening. Pulling. Milking. I groan, my whole body locking up as thick ropes of cum are sucked out of my body, the way he always manages.
Fucking hell. Apparently, it doesn’t matter if it’s his hand, or his mouth, or his hole. He completely undoes me every single time.
“There’s something else I want to tell you,” he says when we make it to my car fifteen minutes later.
“What’s that, minx?”
“You make me feel safe,” he rumbles, his hand reaching for mine as he laces our fingers together. “It’s been a really long time since anyone has ever made me feel safe.”
I bring his knuckles to my lips and kiss them lightly. “I trust you, too, Sky. Now, let’s go kill this bastard.”