Murder/Love: A Dark Romance

by Dark Angel

  I say nothing. I didn’t care about Laurel. I visited her and waited to feel something, and yet…nothing. I left. I went home from the hospital last night and she died the next day. Still, I feel nothing about it.

  I don’t think I’m in shock. The most shocking part of this whole ordeal is how I can’t seem to manage to feel sorry for any of those wretched kids I went to school with.

  “I think we can snag a reality show.” She pulls her hand back and points. “I didn’t take the first agents offer, and instead I let the second agent start a bidding war. We have three TV networks and five internet companies —"

  “Stop, Mother, no!” I can’t listen to this anymore. “I am not going to profit from this, I’m not going to take money for interviews or do reality shows and become famous because so many people were murdered.” The words roll out of me with force. I didn’t care about those people, but I don’t feel cold enough to do what my mother is suggesting. That feels disgusting to me.

  “You won’t be getting the money, no problem,” my father interjects. He grabs my arm, gripping it so tightly that I know I’m going to have bruises. “You are an ungrateful little brat. I am sick of listening to you shit on your mother’s hard work.” He pulls me up off the bed and shoves me into the wall, still holding my arm so tightly that my eyes are watering. “We pay for the best school, buy you everything so you can fit in, force everyone to include you in their social calendars. You have a car, live in a gorgeous home, and you are just a little whiny bitch.” He pushes my arm back, slamming me against the wall again and then releasing me.

  I grab my arm and rub where he squeezed me, feeling the ache. “I never asked for any of this.” I look to my mother, nonplussed by my father’s abuse. “Both of you get out.” My voice is shaking, and I don’t want to cry, but I can’t wait for college.

  My father walks back up to me and slaps me. “You’ll do this interview, and finally be useful to this family. Or you better figure out how to pay for college!”

  I nod, touching my face where he slapped me. But I don’t want to cry and let them think I’m still sad over the hit Physical abuse hardly feels like much of an escalation after the mental abuse they’ve made me endure for years. At least we all agree that I don’t belong in this family.

  My father puts his arm around my mother like she’s been brutalized in some way, and they leave.

  I change out of my pajamas, pack a quick bag, and grab all of the cash I have from allowances that my mother pushed on me for the past several forced social engagements my mother has sent me on. Pulling out my phone, I call a car service and I step outside. My parents are drinking and discussing the deals they want to make for telling “our story,” as I hear them refer to this ordeal. They don’t notice me slip outside.

  I don’t want to drive the car they bought me. They stopped letting me use it when I quit staying at the parties they wanted to me attend, and I don’t need them to find me. I’ll pay for the car service in cash and stay in a hotel. I’m eighteen and I don’t have to stay in their house or accept anything from them anymore. I can figure it out. Right now, I just want to get away.

  I begin thinking about the logistics of where I’ll get a job, where I’ll live when the cash for a hotel isn’t going to work for me anymore. I run my fingers over Jeremy Burke’s coat, one of the only things I wanted to bring with me. I like the way the fabric feels. I stop planning for a moment and imagine seeing him again. Maybe I’ll go back to that hotel bar when I have a job, when I’m free. Maybe I’ll have an apartment and ask him to come back one night.

  My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of rubber wheels on the pavement, the hum of an engine. That car got here fast. I open the door, slipping into the leather seat with a deep breath. I am so grateful to get away from parents.

  “I hope you liked your graduation present,” a familiar voice cuts through my thoughts.

  Fire curls under my skin and my breathing goes shallow.

  Jeremy.

  He looks back from the driver’s seat and I see those familiar green eyes from the hotel, from the murders on the beach. It was him. It’s him. My fingers squeeze around his coat, one of the only things I bothered to bring.

  The car takes off and I reach for the door anyway, but I let go of the handle before I try it. I should be afraid. I should want to get away.

  If he wanted to kill me, wouldn’t he have already done so? Tears well up in my eyes. I’m finally afraid. Jeremy admits to killing my classmates and now he’s taking me.

  And I realize he came so fast, it didn’t matter that I called the car service. One way or another, he was going to get me.

  So what happens now that I’m his?

  11

  Jeremy

  I see Carrie’s lower lip trembling in the rearview mirror and I have to grip the wheel tighter, thinking about how I’d like to be scraping that lip between my teeth and running my tongue over her lips. “Don’t bother screaming,” I tell her. I don’t know if she wants to. She was about to try the door and never even got a chance to notice it was locked.

  Since I saw her, I’ve ached to claim her. Now, I have her trapped, and instead of thinking about the things I want to do to her, my mind is reeling at what her thoughts might be. I’m excellent at reading people but I’m not certain that I can discern her reaction.

  I assess her as I drive to my estate. “Running wouldn’t be very wise,” I advise her, watching from the rearview mirror every second I can take my eyes off the road.

  “Where would I go?” Carrie whispers so softly that I don’t think her words are meant for me.

  “I know that you have many questions, but they’ll have to wait until we’re home.” I swallow. Home, that’s what this is to me, and I’ve graduated from killer to kidnapper. Perhaps that’s a step back in terms of crime, but in terms of passion, the need to keep Carrie is stronger than any need I’ve had for slaughter.

  Carrie says nothing the rest of the drive. I keep watch her breathing, the way she’s holding the coat I gave her. Just looking at her, completely helpless and so innocent, makes my cock throb in my trousers.

  I haven’t fucked anyone since I met Carrie. After finishing all my victims, I usually bed a stranger. But this lust threatening to overpower my thoughts is more than just a case of the pipes getting backed up…I want Carrie more than I have ever wanted anyone. I need to taste her skin and hear every sigh and gasp at her taking me.

  I was blessed with more than just a sizable inheritance that not only allows me to get away with murder but that allows me to never work, but I also have an enormous cock. I’m charming, but that only gets you so far. There have been more than a few women that simply told me that my dick was too big for them. I remember one girl that I shared with Carter, how she said she wasn’t sure. It made me uneasy about sharing things with Carter at all because he implied that we could fuck her regardless.

  I’m a killer, but I’m not a rapist. I kidnapped Carrie, but I’d never force myself on her. I should tell Carrie that I’m not going to hurt her, and that’s the truth. I’m not going to keep her indefinitely. I’ll let her go. But…well, I’ve never pretended to be a good man. I have plenty of seduction planned before I’d ever offer her the chance to leave.

  I slow the car when I arrive at my gate and I enter a code to be allowed in, scan my thumbprint. I look to see if Carrie notes these things, should she be planning some escape. Because of the kind of twisted monster I am, I start to wonder if she’d cut off my thumb and keep me breathing, should she need to allow the gate to open again, or would she kill me and then cut off the thumb?

  Let’s not get distracted.

  “I’ll show you to your room, and I’ll take your things for you,” I tell her as I pull in to my garage. Being wealthy, I have just about every car a wealthy man would acquire. One of these nights that I don’t take leave of my driver, I’d very much like to wrap myself around Carrie in the backseat of any one of these cars. Maybe all of them. I have nev
er been much for collecting things, but I do so value collecting experiences. I make a mental note that I want to taste her in every one of my cars.

  A delicious thought.

  When I step out, I open her door and extend my hand, planning to take her bag. Instead, she puts her hand in mine. I don’t breathe for three seconds, the electric contact of her skin on mine making me swallow. Searching her eyes, I know that she feels this same spark between us. Fear or no fear, Carrie likes the way my thumb traces over her hand. Her other hand is still holding my coat. “You planned to make your getaway with that?” I nod, indicating the coat.

  Carrie’s cheeks flame up a deep shade of pink and she looks down. The sight of her embarrassed does something to me that makes my cock twitch and my hold on her tighten. I take my other hand to tilt her chin up to look at me. “I’m flattered.” I say the words slowly, savoring the sight of her eyes watching my lips.

  I wonder if knowing I am a killer, or knowing that I’m a killer that might kiss her, scares Carrie more.

  Licking my lips, I think about how I’d rather be tasting hers. Despite the fact that I’ve captured her, I do feel that the next best move is to not come on so strong. “Your bags?” I ask her instead.

  I take her purse and her weekender bag. This impromptu getaway either wasn’t for long, or she didn’t feel she needed much.

  Carrie doesn’t give up my coat. She’s charmed by me, and unlike the women that I charm to sleep with once and then forget forever, I’m trying to show her who I really am. Perhaps she and Carter are the only people that can understand me. That’s why, once Carrie has warmed up to me further, I’ll have Carter over for dinner. I need my little family to all be acquainted.

  Tonight, though, I’m going to wine and dine with Carrie. Tonight, she’s all mine.

  12

  Carrie

  I’m foolish, but I wish that I was holding Jeremy’s hand again rather than his coat. I follow him inside the elegant estate. Not everyone with money is tacky like my parents, I suppose…

  I snap out of whatever trance makes me think of Jeremy as anything but a monster. He killed so many people that I went to school with. He probably killed Laurel last night too, since the first attempt didn’t work. No matter how charming, he is a murderer. Still, I know that I can use this peculiar attraction I have for him to my advantage. I’ll do what he says and I’ll figure out a way to escape.

  I paid attention as much as I could to where we were going, but ultimately all I really know is that the house is miles away from anyone else. Despite his beautiful mansion, there’s no evidence that some member of his staff might be around. I don’t know if I could even trust someone that worked for him to be an ally, and not keep me prisoner.

  The garage has a wall of keys that he locks up with his fingerprint again. It might be difficult to get a car, but it would be even more difficult to run on foot. I’ll have to figure something out.

  “I’ll take these to your room, then I’d like to talk with you before dinner. As I said, I know you must have questions.” I nod and follow Jeremy up a staircase that belongs in a fairy tale and not someone’s home; it is white and wrought iron and the most elegant thing I’ve ever seen.

  Jeremy is wealthy enough to get away with murder. To have a fleet of cars. Why not live in what is practically a secluded castle?

  Upstairs, I walk past several rooms until I step inside the one he motions to, and see something I’ve never seen before. My room, indeed… it’s actually decorated in a way I enjoy. White wicker furniture, delicate lace accents, nothing sparkly or tacky in sight. The bed has an enormous lacy canopy. The wicker vanity has antique bronze brushes alongside modern cosmetics, also in earth tone hues and delicate colors. There’s a closet, where Jeremy places my bag, and I see deep violets and rich red wine hues on dresses, simple blue jeans, gray sweaters. The wardrobe, the room, everything looks like what I would choose for myself if anyone had ever given me the choice. It makes me feel off balance.

  “After we talk, you can dress for dinner. I’m making us something special,” Jeremy says. There’s something about the way his eyes regard mine when he smiles. It isn’t the charming way that he has drawn me in with before. It’s like he’s seen the look in my eyes that betrays just how well he must know me.

  “Thank you.” I exhale and look around, unable to stay focused on the sight of the room or the acknowledgement in Jeremy’s eyes, pleased that he’s succeeded.

  I catch a simple black dress inside the closet and reach out for it. “I-I think this is what I’ll wear,” I tell him. I feel stupid now, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to act. I tell myself that at least I’m being docile, so he doesn’t think I want to run. I can’t be so easily charmed by him, knowing what he is. Knowing what he’s done.

  “I’ll give you a moment if you want to unpack?” Jeremy steps back.

  Without thinking, I take another step toward him, erasing some of the space he’s put between us. When I realize what I’m doing, I walk to the bed and place his coat on it. “I don’t have many things. I’ll follow you downstairs so that I don’t get lost.” I laugh nervously, wondering if he thinks I’m being strange.

  I should be more concerned about how odd this all is. He wants to talk. Jeremy has to know the kinds of questions that will be on my mind.

  He nods, smiling again. I watch his hand and it looks like he’s going to touch mine, but instead he places it at the small of my back and guides me out of the room. “The stairs are hard to miss, but I don’t mind offering a helping hand.” Jeremy’s own laugh is warm, honeyed. I feel the sound all over my body.

  I want to hate that he has this effect on me, but in truth I’m thrilled to feel these things. I’ve never felt like this about anyone. No one has ever shown such consideration for what I like or enjoy. The idea that he did what he did on the beach, stabbed all those students…as a present? I’m jarred. I don’t know if I should ask him about that. I know I have to ask something, but I hope he’ll do most of the talking.

  When we’re back downstairs, he sits in a chair and indicates an antique-looking sofa that is firm but comfortable. I look at the ornate metal edging on the tops and sides. The home matches the man. Wealthy and elegant. Practically regal.

  “For every question I ask, you may have one,” Jeremy states.

  So much for getting him to do the talking. But I’m intrigued by what he might reveal about himself, given that I do the same. I sit down and suck in a breath. “Okay, you first.” I meet his eyes.

  I think he’s pleased by that challenge. My belly flutters at the thought. “No, you’ll go first, Carrie,” Jeremy challenges in return.

  “Why did you kill my friends?” I blurt out in an attempt to get the line of inquiry started. I feel guilty saying that because I hated those people almost as much as they hated me. I don’t know why I said that, or why I want to poke the bear like that question might.

  “They were not your friends.” Jeremy exhales. “Are you sad that they are dead?”

  I suck in my lower lip, chewing it for a moment. I don’t want to answer that question because I don’t want to lie to Jeremy. “No,” I admit. “Do you kill people often?” I don’t know why I’m asking questions like this. I probably don’t want to know the answer. Well, actually, I realize when I watch him smirk, I do want to know. But why? I should be focused on getting out of here, but I want to know more about Jeremy. I want to understand him. I want to understand why I feel like he knows things about me that I don’t have to say. How could he have furnished the room, the wardrobe the way that I liked? I know he watched me, that’s how he was able to grab me in the car so quickly, but the clothing and room that my parents provided were nothing like my tastes.

  “Yes, Carrie.” Jeremy’s voice emphasizes my name in way that makes me feel dizzy. Why does he have this effect on me? Why do I enjoy this? “Are you afraid of me?” Jeremy leans forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees.

  I can see a rath
er sizable bulge in his trousers. I gulp. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I should be.” I start talking quickly and force myself to look at him. “Why aren’t I dead, too?” I try not to squeak out that question.

  “Why didn’t you tell the police anything about me? You visited Laurel before she died, talked to the cops several times, yet you didn’t tell them that you recognized me? Because we both know that you did.” Jeremy’s eyes look so intently into mine that the temperature in the room becomes sweltering.

  I could run to the other end of this house and his eyes would still be on me. I forget how to breathe and wish I could look away, but I don’t. “You didn’t answer the question,” I gasp out finally.

  “Why aren’t you sad your classmates are dead?” Jeremy stands up.

  I don’t answer and just look up at him, walking towards me.

  “Do you want to go back to your parents?” He stands right in front of me.

  I stand up, even though he towers over me, and keep looking in his eyes. “Is this my home now?”

  Jeremy’s hands close over my upper arms and he squeezes me for a second before he lets his hands drop. “You should get dressed for dinner. I need to start cooking.”

  I nod and turn from the couch. As I start to walk away, Jeremy grabs my hand, closing his over mine. “I would never harm you, Carrie.” He brings my hand to his mouth and presses a small kiss there.

  I’ve lost my mind. A surge of arousal bolts through me when his lips graze over my skin. Despite everything, I am so incredibly stirred in this moment that I place my hand back on his chest, where I touched him after he killed all those students. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of who I am when I’m with you.” I turn quickly and walk up the stairs, unable to look at him.