Cruel Black Hearts: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance

by Candace Wondrak

  Tilting my head, I gave him a look.

  “What? I’m serious,” he said. “I totally get why Ed’s likes you so much. There’s something about you that’s different than the others. You’re…different.”

  “So you aren’t going to try to kill me again?” The thought was both relieving and somewhat upsetting. The thrill of it was not something I’d be able to compare to anything else, and that was saying something.

  Lincoln gave me a smirk. “Don’t look so disappointed. Ed could always change his mind about you, and then you’ll be on my shit list again.”

  “And what about you? Do you only like me because Edward likes me?”

  “What makes you think I like you at all?”

  His words stung at first, but I wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of hurting me. Not only was I not afraid of physical pain, but I also was insanely hard to hurt emotionally. I sounded perfectly normal as I answered, “I know sex means nothing to you, but if you didn’t like me at least a little, I think you would’ve put that switchblade into me a little while ago, instead of having this conversation. Am I wrong?”

  As I watched him stare at me, realizing I was right, I couldn’t help but feel myself grow warm. Lincoln had done all of this for Edward. God, I wanted someone who would do things like this for me. Not necessarily murder, but it was the thought that counted, right? I had no one. Even Callie didn’t really understand me. My family never did. I was alone even when I was surrounded by people.

  When Lincoln remained quiet, I whispered, “I wish I had someone like Edward has you. It’s sweet, how you care for him.” It felt like mush and sap coming straight from my mouth, but it was the truth.

  He looked like he wanted to say something, whether to scold me for calling him sweet or assure me of my insecurities, I couldn’t say, because an annoying jarring sound entered the room. His cell phone.

  Lincoln dropped the arm he had around me, the switchblade against my lower back losing its pressure as he reached for his pile of clothes and dug out his phone from his black pants. He took one look at the caller id and hit the green button, answering, “Ed.”

  Though I wasn’t a part of the phone call, I could still hear Edward practically shout into the line, “Where are you?”

  At that, Lincoln shot me a sly look. “I’m at Stella’s house.”

  It wasn’t but a second before Edward demanded, “Why? How did you even—”

  Brushing him off, Lincoln said, “Oh, you talk about Stella so much, how could I not know where she lived? And you know why I came here. To kill her.” So matter-of-factly. So simple, like my life had meant nothing to him.

  It clearly meant something, but I didn’t think it meant as much as I wanted it to. I’d give them time. They’d had years to earn each other’s trust and loyalty. I’d only come into their lives recently, even if Edward had been following my articles and my blog. There was no way I’d worm myself into their lives that fast.

  I would try my best, though.

  Edward started swearing on the other line, and Lincoln held the phone a few inches away from his ear, tossing me an annoyed look. As if his friend’s swearing fit was all my fault. In a way, I supposed it was, but what should I have done? Offered my life on a silver platter? I did that already, and it led to some of the best sex I’d ever had in my life.

  Granted, I had nothing to compare Edward and Lincoln’s sex to, but I was fairly sure they weren’t comparable to the run-of-the-mill, everyday Joe walking the streets. They were a cut above the rest, in every way.

  “And why?” Lincoln echoed Edward’s question. “You know damn well why.” As Edward went on, chatting up a storm on the other line, he added, “Stop your worrying. She’s not dead. I didn’t kill her. She’s a little more…worn out than she was before I got here, but besides that, she’s no worse for wear.” His dark eyes were on me, twinkling as he said, “The bitch is crazy. Our brand of crazy.”

  Other women might get upset at hearing the man they just slept with call them a bitch, but I couldn’t help but feel good about it. Like I was being accepted into their group, their pack, their duo. It didn’t bother me at all.

  Lincoln let out a low chuckle, soft and cocky as he listened to what Edward said. “You got it. See you in a bit.” He hung up the phone, never once breaking eye contact with me. “Edward just got home from work. He wants me to bring you over, probably to make sure I wasn’t lying about you still being alive.”

  Hmm. He worked late on a Friday night, but I knew restaurants stayed open late, and his cooking—the little bit I’d had of it so far—was to die for, so I knew he hadn’t been lying when he told me he was a chef.

  Callie would be out late anyway, so there was no point in me saying no. I wasn’t even sure if I could say no. Lincoln could take me even if I fought him—which I never would. All I needed was some clothes so I could leave through the front door and not flash the entire world my body, and I’d be good to go.

  I gave him a nod. “Let me clean up and write Callie a note, then we can go.” I got to my feet and grabbed the clothes Lincoln had torn off me when he’d finally realized he couldn’t kill me.

  “Your roommate,” Lincoln mused, slowly getting up and dressing himself, unhurried in every way. “Is she anything like you? Where is she now?”

  “She’s out clubbing.” I held in a laugh. Callie, like me? Not even a little. Really, it was remarkable we were still friends after high school and college. We were so different from each other, different personality types and different hobbies. But we were still besties, and I wouldn’t trade her for the world. I was protective of Callie like Lincoln was protective of Edward. Only less murderous about her. “And no, she’s nothing like me. She’s…more normal.”

  Lincoln paused, his pants hanging off his hips, unzipped and unbuttoned. “Fuck normal,” he muttered, zipping his pants with a jerk of his arm.

  Fuck normal. That was a good motto, one I should adopt.

  After dressing myself and quickly cleaning up the mess we’d made with our bodily fluids on the floor, I went into the kitchen and wrote Callie a note. I also texted her that I was heading out; I’d tell her the details tomorrow.

  We made the drive to their house a city over in record time. Lincoln was a cop who had a lead foot, apparently. I barely made it past the front door before I was swallowed up in Edward’s arms, a hug so tight it stole the air from my lungs. He threw an irritated expression toward Lincoln, who shrugged it off.

  The night became ours, although some might argue it had belonged to us since the beginning.

  Chapter Twenty-Three - Edward

  I could not believe Lincoln was going to kill her. Yes, I was aware my obsessions sometimes got out of hand, but Stella was unlike anyone I’d ever met before. I knew it before laying eyes on her. She was different in the best of ways, and weirdly enough, it took trying to kill her to make Lincoln realize it.

  That was what I had to focus on: the fact he hadn’t killed her. She’d convinced him, somehow, that by being unafraid of death, of his advancing figure, she was one of us. Plus, from what I heard, the way she ground up against him when he held the switchblade against her was…erotic, to say the least.

  God, I wish I would’ve been there to witness it. Although if I was there, I probably would’ve stepped in and stopped him, because I couldn’t picture a life without her. Now that I knew her, now that I had felt every inch of her body against mine, there was no possible way I’d ever want a life without Stella. I was more than addicted to her and her strangeness; I needed her like I needed the air to breathe.

  When Lincoln brought her home to me, I spent the next hour with her on my bed after pushing him out. I needed time alone with her, had to make sure she was okay, that he hadn’t harmed any part of her. If he had, if he had marked her pale, pretty skin, I didn’t know what I would’ve done.

  Gotten angry? Probably. Wanted to hurt something he cared about in equal measure? Oh, definitely. The problem with Lincoln was
he never cared about anyone other than me, which I was fine with. It helped with our lifestyle.

  But when it came to Stella, he had to feel something, had to feel close to her in ways he’d never felt close to another woman before. Granted, she wasn’t the most normal woman around, but we didn’t need normal, because we weren’t normal.

  Hell, we were the furthest thing from normal. We were a pair of guys living with each other who liked to share every aspect of our lives, even the people we brought home to fuck. Not everyone was as loose about things like that, I knew. Not everyone would understand our lifestyle, occasional murder aside.

  Stella was perfect for us. She wasn’t normal, either. If there was a woman made just for us out there, it was her. She’d seen the body Lincoln had left in his bed, and she’d barely reacted. If someone could take a corpse in stride like that, she was perfect for us.

  She was ours, and I’d make Lincoln realize it soon enough.

  Eventually, after I’d made sure she was all right and apologized profusely for what Lincoln had tried to do to her—meaning, I tied her up and fucked her until her eyes were glazed over in a haze from the sex and the orgasms—I let Lincoln in the room.

  He was…definitely different than he was with her before. Whatever had taken place at her house had indeed changed him, because Lincoln wasn’t as much of a domineering asshole in bed as he usually was. He wasn’t gentle exactly, but in his own way, he was. He even looked at her while he pounded into her, right into her differently-colored eyes. Eyes he’d said on numerous occasions he didn’t like. Eyes that supposedly made him go mad.

  Maybe Lincoln was starting to realize that going mad sometimes was the only way to go. And going mad with Stella? The best.

  By the time we were spent, the space between Stella’s legs was pink and swollen, used up and sore, but she didn’t complain. In fact, she slept soundly, almost snoring on my bed. Her face held the most peaceful expression while she slept, tranquil and serene. It was a look she never wore when she was awake; maybe that’s why I couldn’t stop staring at her, watching her naked chest rise and fall with each breath.

  As I stared down at her, I couldn’t help but wonder what had created this woman. What had shaped her as a girl that led her to become this woman. A woman who hardly smiled, who hardly showed any emotion. I knew she had emotion in her heart, because I’d seen glimmers of bliss and contentment when she was with us, so it was almost like she hid them from the world. Tucked away her emotions in a safe place, only letting them out when she knew no one would mock her for them.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe she’d been made fun of growing up. Her obsession with serial killers wasn’t a new thing, and kids could be cruel. If she’d been as interested in killers as she was now while she was in school, I didn’t doubt she was mocked. Years of ridicule would do that to a person. People were awful creatures. It’s why I usually didn’t care too much when I killed them, or helped their death along if I was doing a job for Lincoln’s family.

  And then, of course, I couldn’t help but wonder if her parents were supportive. She had hardly any contact with them, I knew, so I highly doubted it. With no support system, how the hell was Stella supposed to grow up and be normal?

  But she’d found us. Or, rather, I’d found her, so now it didn’t matter. Her past didn’t matter; only her future did, because I’d be damned if I let her walk out of my life now that I had her.

  The morning hours came sooner than I wanted them to, and I was up before the sunlight graced the windows. I went downstairs and started breakfast. In a few hours, I’d have to go in to work, but that meant I still had some time with Stella. I’d swing her by her house on my way, even though her house was in the opposite direction. I didn’t care. It just meant more time spent with her.

  As I stood near the stove, I wondered what it would take for her to move in with us. We probably weren’t ready for that, but it was something that weighed on my mind. I wanted her here with us. I wanted to come home from work and find her lounging on the couch, wearing nothing but a T-shirt. I wanted to have her constantly, twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week.

  Maybe I was going overboard. Maybe it was too much too soon, but I didn’t care. I wanted what I wanted, and I wanted her. I wanted Stella to officially become one of us, and living with us was the first step to it. The other steps…those couldn’t be rushed. Those would come in time.

  Hmm. Maybe Lincoln and I could show her the basement soon…see what she thought of it. I doubted she’d run away. If anything, Stella would be curious, and she’d ask what every single instrument did and what we used them for. Her mind was both curious and morbid, and it was something I adored about her.

  I heard Lincoln get up and shuffle to the shower, which meant Stella was alone in my room, asleep. I’d untied her wrists a while ago after seeing the red burns around them. We’d gotten a bit wild last night, but she hadn’t complained once. She wasn’t the type to complain, which was good. Complaining irked Lincoln like nothing else.

  After a while, Lincoln sauntered down the steps, barely dried. He was naked, collapsing onto the couch as he snatched up the remote and flicked the TV on. He never seemed to care much about his nakedness, even when the windows were wide open. It wasn’t like we had sidewalks here, so it was very rare that anyone saw him.

  Cutting up some fruit to go along with breakfast, I shot him a look. More like a glare, but he was hardly paying any attention to me. “You’re lucky you changed your mind,” I said, refusing to back down, even when he turned his dark-eyed stare to me. Unlike Stella’s one amber eye, which held warmth and a light, syrupy color, Lincoln’s eyes were so dark they were only one shade lighter than black. If the grim reaper had a stare, I was sure it’d look like that.

  But I wasn’t afraid of him. Maybe for a split second, before he’d made my presence known in that abandoned warehouse all those years ago, but not really. Fear was not something I felt. It just…wasn’t.

  I would go toe-to-toe with the beast.

  He raised a single brow mockingly. “Am I?” Lincoln asked, unimpressed. “What would you have done, Ed? Tried to kill me in revenge? We both know I’m the one person in the world you’d never kill.”

  “You’re right,” I muttered, unhappy. I was strangely protective of Stella, considering I’d only met her face-to-face this past week. Still, it was like she was already a part of the family. Our dysfunctional, makeshift family of killers, both serial and contracted. “But I am not above torture.”

  Lincoln let out a bark of a laugh, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. “You would’ve tortured me? All for her? Damn, Ed, I knew you had it bad, but I didn’t know we were at that level already.”

  Already. Like Stella was just a phase. Like this had happened before.

  Yes, I might’ve tried to invite women into our lives in the past, hoping they’d be our missing link, but they never panned out. And those women were nothing like Stella. Why was Lincoln so against admitting Stella was practically molded for us? She was perfect. She fit into our lives smoothly and easily, and she was more than okay with being shared between us. What more could we ask for? What more did the bastard want?

  I knew he probably wanted no one to join us—he was always so adamant against having a third. There was no missing link in his eyes. We would forever remain a duo if he had his way. Hopefully Stella’s presence could change his mind.

  Hopefully he wouldn’t try to kill her again, because if he did, if he succeeded, I knew I’d snap. There was remarkably little holding me together, keeping my sane face on. The realm of insanity was where I called home, charisma and dimples aside.

  “Torture, huh?” Lincoln went on, oblivious to me in the kitchen. “It’s been a while since we had to torture anyone for the family.” And then, right when I started to wonder whether I’d have to say more, to protect Stella from him, he said something that stunned me: “Do you think she’d enjoy doing something like that?”

  Did I…was he
asking if I thought Stella would enjoy torturing someone?

  To make someone bleed, to hear their wails of pain—it was unlike anything anyone could experience, unless you’d done it before. But would Stella enjoy it? I couldn’t say. I knew she was desensitized about death, but to go so far as to inflict pain on someone else and enjoy it? I…I didn’t know.

  I wasn’t sure, so I kept my mouth shut, lost in my own mind as I pictured Stella taking a knife to someone’s skin, pressing down hard enough to cut through the top layer and let blood gush out in a clean, thin line. Would she smile as she inflicted pain? Or would she only prefer to watch? Hmm…perhaps that was something I could think about today. Something I could plan, maybe.

  I didn’t want to go overboard, but when it came to Stella, I didn’t know restraint. She made me feel everything, and I wanted to give her the chance to experience the world. And if that included pain and death, well, I’d be more than happy to stand at her side and guide her through it.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered, but you gave me a wonderful idea.

  Before Lincoln could say anything else, Stella herself stumbled down the stairs, letting out a cute yawn before mumbling something about coffee. I told her I’d bring her a cup, and she nodded, running her thin fingers through her messy hair and wandering to the couch where Lincoln sat. She was either oblivious to his nakedness or completely unaffected by it. I wasn’t certain which was funnier.

  As soon as I gave her a cup of coffee—black, how she liked it—Stella practically inhaled it. Once the cup was half gone, she snatched the remote and flipped channels until she came upon an early newscast. Currently they were talking about the weather, but their next story was slated to be breaking news about the body found last night.

  “I’m calling him the Angel Maker,” she spoke quietly, to no one in particular. To either of us, to both of us. I paused in my fruit-cutting, watching the awe form on her face. “I was able to see the body last night. He’s evolving, becoming more confident.”