by B. B. Hamel
“Statement.”
“Okay.” He continues looking at me without changing expression.
“How do you choose them?”
“My victims?” He’s trying not to smile and that just makes me more annoyed.
“Yes,” I say. “Your victims. You said that they’re all bad people. How do you know?”
“It’s not so complicated, actually,” he says. “I have a lot of money. You can get a lot done with money.”
“How did you figure out who to pay?”
“Well, that was the tricky part. I wasn’t always so good at this.” He laughs, looking off into the distance. “I made a few mistakes in the beginning.”
“But you don’t anymore?”
“No,” he says, looking back at me. “Not anymore. I have a network of informants in the city, people with incentives to take my money and look away from what I’m doing.”
“They know you’re a killer?”
“Not exactly.” He shrugs. “I don’t know what they think. But they are discreet, efficient, and most important, they’re invisible.”
I pause. “Invisible?”
“Homeless.” He smiles and shrugs. “Homeless people are invisible in cities.”
“Ah,” I say slowly, nodding. “So you have homeless people tell you about bad people?”
“It’s more complicated than that. But yes, more or less.”
“What happens when you’re wrong?”
“I’ve only been wrong once, a long, long time ago,” he says, his smile slowly fading. “I won’t make that mistake again. I’m very careful, Amelia.”
“I’m sure you are, but how can you know? How can you be the one to kill these people when the law doesn’t get them?”
He holds a hand up. “Stop,” he says. “I can see where you’re going, but you don’t believe this argument anymore than I do. We both know bad people get away with a lot in this world, people that don’t deserve to keep breathing. I find them, I verify that they’re very bad people, and I kill them. The world continues spinning, slightly better than before.”
“But how can you know?”
His smile returns, slightly stiffer. “Like I said, I’m very careful.”
I sigh and finish my meal. I want him to give me details, real plans about how he does it, but I realize that’s impossible. It’s probably different for every kill. But I do believe him when he says that he’s rich. That’s clear from this house and this property.
And I believe that he’s careful. I can see that in the way he’s treated me. So far, he’s made me as comfortable as possible, but he hasn’t given me a single opportunity to escape. He’s meticulously careful, keeping my chain the right length, the right strength, making sure the things I have are safe and can’t be used to hurt him or escape. He’s smart, that’s obvious.
It’s possible, very possible, that he’s not lying to me. It’s possible that he only kills very bad people. But there’s one last thing that nags me.
“What’s bad enough for you?” I finally ask him. “What can get someone killed?”
“I have particular criteria. Rapists, especially pedophiles, tend to top my list. Murderers come next, especially those that murder children. Finally, abusive men, especially those that abuse children.”
“Which was my father?” I ask softly, realizing with horror that I’m not sure which category he falls into.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“I’m sure.”
He sighs. “Rapist. A little girl.”
“Fuck,” I say, exhaling. I knew my father was an abusive, drunk piece of shit, but I had no clue he had victims other than me. “He was sick.”
“As far as I know, that was his only victim. I don’t know if there were others . . . “ He trails off and cocks his head at me.
I bit my lip. “You know there was one more victim.” I look at him then defiantly, feeling a strange anger inside of me, but also a strange peace. I’m angry that he would pretend like he doesn’t know, since he’s clearly smart enough to figure it out. But it feels so good to say it out loud.
“I thought so,” he said finally. “I’m sorry that happened to you. He got what he deserved.”
“I’m happy you did it,” I say fiercely.
He smiles, which surprises me. It’s not a light moment, but clearly he’s pleased. “Good. I’m glad that makes you happy.”
“He was a piece of shit. Men like him should be dead.”
“Then we agree on something.” He reaches out and takes the tray from me, gently removing the cup from my hand and placing it on the plate. He stands up and I watch him, at a loss for words.
“Think about that some more,” he says and then turns and leaves.
I watch him disappear into the elevator, not sure what just happened.
I felt a righteous anger at the men he was killing and clearly he saw that. For a moment, we agreed with each other. What Noah does is good and just, even if his methods are dark and horrible.
The realization strikes me, even if it isn’t a new thought. I’m not disgusted by him. I’m not repulsed by him.
I want to help him. I want to kill with him.
Thinking that nearly takes my breath away.
11
Noah
Later that night, as I follow Mark Sheer down a nearly empty side street, I can’t help but smile to myself.
I heard her at first. It was a soft whimpering, almost a moaning, and I didn’t know what she was doing. I went into my office and checked the monitor. The room I keep her in is bugged for both audio and video, and while I don’t spend all my time watching it, I do keep it running just in case she tries something stupid. I was thankful for that precaution as I sat down in my chair and stared at the screen, at first not sure what I was seeing, but quickly figuring it out as she opened her legs.
Amelia was getting herself off barely a minute after I had left her. She was panting, moaning, her fingers working fast. My cock was instantly hard as I watched her get closer, closer, her breath coming fast. And then she moaned my fucking name, which drove me absolutely insane. It was all I could do to keep myself from going down there and getting her off all over again.
I knew she wanted me, but the depths of it took me off guard. I expected it to be a slow build, but she’s clearly progressing faster than I could have dreamed. She really is my dirty fucking girl, and soon she’s going to realize it.
But even more exciting to me was what happened when I brought her dinner. I decided not to let her know that I watched her touching herself, just to see how she would act, and she surprised me all over again.
She was curious about my process. She wanted to know how I kill and how I choose those that I kill, not because she’s disgusted by me, but because she agrees with me.
The thought sends chills up my spine. Ahead, Mark turns left onto another street and I hurry to follow him, feeling good, very good.
I’m not sure where this is going, but for the first time in my life, I don’t feel the need to control everything. I want to see what she wants, what she thinks, and how she goes forward. I want to break her, but I don’t want to destroy her.
I turn the corner and I watch as Mark hurries down the block. He pauses at an intersection, looks both ways along a one-way street, and then hurries along. I follow at a respectful distance, keeping an eye on him but not getting too close. Mark seems agitated for some reason, and I can’t figure out why.
He left his house about the time I took my position in the park and started walking fast. I had to hurry to keep up and almost lost him at one point, but found him standing in front of a newsstand buying a paper and a coffee, something he almost never does. Especially not in the evening.
He’s wearing slacks, dress shoes, and a large dark coat. I can’t tell what’s underneath it. I’m in my usual follow outfit, very non-descript and boring, which is what I want from it. He’s walking quickly away again and I have to pick up my pace to keep up.
He crosses the street suddenly without a crosswalk and I have to hurry to follow him again, darting between cars. He slows down at an intersection then looks back over his shoulder.
I turn to my left and study a shop window, my heart hammering in my chest. For a second, I could have sworn that he looked right at me. Maybe I was too busy daydreaming about Amelia and I was just imagining it, but I could have sworn he stared at me like he recognized me.
I glance back toward him and he’s gone. I curse as I hurry up to the intersection and turn left. He’s standing right there, leaning up against a built, and my heart practically skip a beat as I walk past him.
He stares at me the whole way. Once I’m past, he pushes up off the wall and takes a few steps toward me.
“Hey!” he calls out.
I don’t turn back. I don’t slow down. I just keep walking, eyes on the sidewalk.
“You in the hat!” he yells. “I keep seeing you. Why are you following me?”
I’m fucking made. In all my time doing this, I’ve never been made before. I can’t believe it. I start to run as fast as I can, not bothering to pretend. I can’t ever follow him again, and will have to rely on Ryan and his people more now.
I hear Mark come after me, but I lose him easily as I move onto a more crowded block. He continues calling after me, but I just keep going, ignoring him, until I can finally double back toward my car.
Fucking piece of shit. I fucked up big time back there. I was made by some lowlife pedophile, and I have no clue how.
But that’s a lie. I know how, I just don’t want to admit it to myself. I’ve been sloppy lately.
Because of Amelia.
I can’t get her out of my head. Even tonight I was thinking about her touching herself, about her questions, about everything. Normally I’m focused entirely on my victim, but Amelia changed that.
Now, I’m a fucking mess, and I nearly screwed myself. I’m going to have to be extra careful with Mark Sheer now, because he’s going to be paranoid as fuck.
I just set myself back days at best.
Anger wells up inside of me. I fucked up and I can’t blame Amelia. I keep telling her how careful I am, and yet I got caught doing a simple tail.
As I get into my car and head back home, I know what I’m going to do when I get there.
I need to get her out of my head. I need to do something drastic, because I can’t afford any more mistakes.
I’m going to punish Amelia for distracting me with her tight little pussy. I’ll be able to think clearly once I’ve finally had her.
She’s been a dirty, bad girl, and I’m going to take my anger out on her.
And she’s going to fucking like it.
12
Amelia
My father comes toward me, his eyes glowing red. His hands are enormous and his mouth is a gaping maw filled with teeth. When he breathes, spit flies from his lips and steam runs along his skin. He comes toward me slowly, and I know he’s going to kill me. It won’t be fast, but he’ll do it, slowly but surely.
And then the man made of darkness steps into the light and plunges a sword into my father’s chest. I scream out in fear and pain, but I know I’m free, I’m liberated. The dark man saved me, and without him I would be buried in death and decay.
I wake up suddenly at the sound of the elevator ding. A little dazed, I sit up on my mattress and watch as Noah steps into the room.
I must have fallen asleep. On the mattress next to me is my book, still open to where I left it. I rub my eyes and watch as Noah walks into the room without saying a word.
“What time is it?” I ask him.
“Late,” he says.
I nod, remembering him feeding me dinner earlier. “Are you okay?” I ask.
He stands above me and I’m suddenly very awake. I’m incredibly aware of the way he’s looking at me, his eyes roaming my body, and the memory of touching myself earlier comes flooding back.
“I know what you did,” he says softly.
My heart skips a beat. “What?” I ask him.
“I heard you at first. You think I don’t have cameras in this room?” He smirks at me, steps closer. “Of course I do. I don’t always watch you, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off the screen earlier.”
I bite my lip and stare back at him, pulse pounding. I thought he might have cameras, but I wasn’t sure. He clearly has microphones too, and he must have heard me saying his name.
He knows. He knows what I want from him now. I can’t deny it or hide it even if I wanted to. He steps closer again, barely a couple of feet away.
I don’t say a word as he crouches down in front of me, that gorgeous cocky grin still on his face. The memory of my dream still lingers in the back of my mind, and I’m sure that Noah is the dark man that destroyed the monster. He’s a monster himself, but a different kind of monster.
“You want to get out of here,” he says simply.
I nod. “I do.”
“There’s something you can do to help yourself.”
“What?”
“Submit to me.”
I pause, surprised. “Submit . . . how?”
“We both know what you want,” he says, his voice a delicious baritone. “You want my cock between your legs, deep inside your slutty little cunt. You want me, even though you know how fucked up that is.” He leans closer. “Say it.”
“No,” I whisper, my last bit of resistance beginning to crumble inside of me. He’s so close and the way he’s looking at me makes my legs feel weak. He’s right that I’m dripping wet and I need him. God, I fucking want him, it’s sick and wrong but I want it.
“I won’t force you,” he says. “But if you want to leave this place, you should do as I say.”
I let a soft groan slip from between my lips as the thought of him ordering me onto my knees, his cock deep down my throat, makes me shiver.
“I want it,” I admit. I hate that I say it. But it feels so good anyway.
“Good girl,” he whispers.
My breath comes in deep and fast, and I feel like I’m going to pass out as excitement courses through my veins.
“Take off your clothes,” he orders.
I pause, torn. I know this is the moment I’ve been waiting for, but I don’t know what to do. If I obey him and give in to what I want, I know he’ll make me feel so much pleasure. But I don’t want to be sick and pathetic. I don’t want to give in to the man that murdered my father and took me prisoner.
I can see his dual nature, right there, so clearly before me. I can choose how I want to see him right in this moment. He’s both angel and demon, bad and good. The two halves are warring before my very eyes, or at least they are inside of me. I can choose to see him as the killer of evil men or the evil serial killer himself.
I don’t know where either choice will lead me. I can barely think beyond my own overwhelming desire. I’m not sure where it even came from, but through my short time with him I’ve created this incredible image of him in my mind. If I embrace that image, I’ll give myself to him, but I’m not sure if I want him to use me. And I’m not sure that if he does take me, if I’ll ever get away.
Or if I’ll still want to leave.
The thought terrifies me, but also excites me. I have nothing else out there in the world. Noah is the first man to show me any positive attention, the first man to really seem like he cares about me. As strange as that is, he’s tender and gentle with me.
But he’s a killer. He’s a freak.
He’s a gorgeous man with a conscience.
I hate him. I want him.
I’m disgusted with myself. I’m dripping wet, aching for him.
As I slowly move to the edge of the bed and sit there, staring back at him, I know that I made my
choice hours ago. Maybe even days ago. Maybe even the moment I saw him in that bathroom, his knife in my bastard father’s chest.
I slowly pull my shirt off. I’m not wearing anything underneath, and his eyes take in my breasts and my small, pink nipples.
“Everything,” he commands.
I stand and he stands. He remains so close to me as I bend over and slide off my pants and then my panties. They’re dripping wet and useless as I toss them aside.
Noah looks at me, a slight smirk on his face, more angel than demon.
“Good girl,” he says. He reaches forward and takes my chin, tipping my face up toward his. I’m ringing with desire and need, practically trembling with it.
I don’t see the killer looking back at me. Instead, I just see Noah.
I expect him to kiss me. Instead, he turns me. I can feel him press against me from behind, his hands exploring my body. He feels my breasts, my hips, and finds my pussy. He spread my legs and teases my clit.
“This is for resisting so long,” he says, and pushes me forward. He bends me over and I support myself with my hands on the mattress.
His hand leaves my clit and then I feel a sharp smack on my ass. I gasp and look over my shoulder. His face is a dark mask as he spanks me again, harder, and I moan. His hand goes back between my legs, teasing my clit, as his other hand slaps my ass again and again.
I moan, watching him as he spanks me hard. He keeps working my clit as he spanks me, and I think I’m going to have red marks on my nice white skin for days.
“I’m taking my frustration out on you,” he says, taking my hair and pulling me back against him, standing me upright. “I’ve had a very frustrating day. Are you going to help me?”
“Yes,” I moan. “Whatever you want.”
“Good.” He slaps my ass again, a smirk on his lips. His one hand moves to gently cup my throat as his other presses between my legs. He softly rubs my clit, his lips on my shoulder, his hand on my throat. I can’t help but moan. I feel so naked, so small and vulnerable. Noah is twice my size, at least, and I know he can break me. I’m already worried that he might tear me apart. I can feel his large cock hard against my back.
