by Shade, S. M.
As soon as he’s close enough, I grab his face, and kiss the hell out of him. At the first sweep of my tongue in his mouth, he growls, seizes my hips, and shoves me back against the wall. The clatter of tools falling to the floor may as well come from a hundred miles away, I’m so caught up in him.
When I feel his cock pressing against me through his jeans, all I want is to get it inside me. Our surroundings don’t matter. I don’t care that we’re both spattered with blood or that a fresh corpse sits only a few feet away.
My fingers fumble at his waistband until I get the button undone and zipper down. “Fuck me. Right here.”
I only get a glance at his face, long enough to see lust burning in his eyes, before I’m spun around and bent over the nearby workbench. He yanks my pants down and slams inside me, lighting up every nerve ending I own, making me cry out.
“Is this what you want?” he asks, thrusting into me again.
“Yes!”
There’s no mercy in him when he gives me what I ask for. My lower stomach will probably be one big bruise from the edge of the workbench, but it’s worth it. Anything is worth the feeling building inside me right now. My hands claw at the table, looking for purchase while his strokes drive me higher and higher.
An orgasm strikes me quick and hard. His name echoes around the tiny space for seconds afterward, followed by his groan when he slams into me the final time. The whole thing probably didn’t take five minutes, but my legs are so shaky, he has to steady me when he pulls out.
The first thing in sight when I look up is Miller, slumped over and doused in blood. Wow. If I thought I was fucked up before, this really tops it. I jerk my pants and underwear back up.
As if he can read the thoughts slamming through my head, he grabs my face and looks me in the eye. “You’re perfect. Fucking perfect. Do you hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you. Can we just…get him out of here?”
He fastens his jeans and nods. “We’ll take him outside. The blood can soak into the soil as I chop him up. You can hose all this out while I take care of him. I’ll need a few trash bags.” He grabs the small hatchet hanging on the wall.
“Okay.” So much has happened, it seems like it should be a lot later than it is. The wind chills my skin as I rush inside to grab the bags. When I return, he’s moved the body out near the tree line to a patch of dirt.
“His clothes,” he says, nodding toward a small pile. “Burn them.” It didn’t even occur to me to ask about his clothes, but it’s not like the guy was naked when he grabbed him. Reeve stripped him for the humiliation and intimidation aspect.
“I will.” It’s a surreal sight, the pasty white body against the dark ground.
While I’m watching, a jolt of terror shoots through me, and I grab Reeve’s arm. “He moved! He moved! He’s not dead!”
Reeve puts his hand over mine. “No, he didn’t. Darcy, he’s as dead as it gets.”
“I swear. I swear I saw him move!”
“Look again.” Reeve’s voice is calm and reassuring. “It’s the light. It’s playing tricks on you.”
Still gripping Reeve with all my might, I take another look. Thin moonlight shines through the tree branches, causing shadows to shift across the still face. It does give the illusion of movement, especially to my overstimulated brain that’s in full fight or flight mode.
“Okay, yeah. I see it.”
“I’ll handle this. You go clean out the shed and burn the clothes.”
“Right. I can do that.”
His smile brightens the gloom. “You can do anything. Anything you want.”
There’s a lot living in that statement that I finally hear. This is freedom. True freedom. To not give a shit about the laws or the rules. A smile forms on my face as well. “We both can.”
As I walk away, I hear the sound of the hatchet being brought down into flesh. It’s louder than I expected, a meaty thunk that sends a shiver over my skin.
I’m lucky I own a hose long enough to reach the shed, and there’s nothing in there that can’t get wet. The chair he had him tied to is an old wooden one. It can be kindling for the fire.
It takes me about twenty minutes of spraying before I’m satisfied I’ve gotten all the blood. I’m sure one of those blacklights would light the place up like a stadium, but I’ll deal with that later with some bleach. I’ve done enough research to know it won’t be enough, you can never get rid of everything. If we’re ever suspects and they search this shed, it’s over.
Reeve appears in the doorway with the grisly trash bags in hand. “I need your car.”
“Keys are on the kitchen counter. There’s a blanket in the back seat. Toss it over the driver’s seat.”
He nods and starts to walk away. “Reeve!” He pauses and looks at me. “Are you coming back tonight?” It sounds needy, but the last thing I want is to sleep alone after this.
“Yes, I’ll be back before dawn.”
“Okay.”
He pulls out of my driveway while I break up the wooden chair, then haul it and the clothes out to the firepit. The chair ignites easily over the dry grass and pinecones used as kindling. Once it’s caught, I toss in Miller’s clothes. The black leather shoes likely won’t burn, so I grab a trowel and bury them just inside the forest.
By the time I return, the fire is roaring. Blood stains my clothes. They have to go too. The cool wind strikes my skin when I strip down to my underwear. Drips of blood managed to soak through to my bra. It gets tossed in as well. The dark forest around me, hiding me away, is comforting. Under a midnight sky, standing in nothing but a thin pair of underwear, I watch it all burn.
The orange and yellow licks at the wood and cloth, overtaking it. The same way he’s consumed me. This isn’t going to end well. Every trace of me knows it. He’s the fire that brought me light, but there are two sides to every flame. Burn and shine. I have no regrets. For every moment he’s illuminated my world, I’ll happily collapse to ash with him.
The fire burns down, and I retreat inside. A long, hot shower has never felt so good. At this point, I expected anxiety, even panic, to set in. For the realization of what just happened and the danger it puts us in to strike me hard. It doesn’t.
Instead, I feel lighter, contented.
That peace continues as I dry off, dress, and climb into bed under the covers to wait for Reeve. He’s changed my life so much.
I thought of him as a butcher bird, impaling his enemies, but I was wrong. I’m the shrike. He’s the thornbush I come back to, where I leave the carcasses of the past and feel myself grow lighter without their weight. He’s home. Gruesome and accepting and comfortable.
Tonight changes nothing about my feelings for him, and everything about myself.
Disturbing thoughts creep in while I lie staring at the ceiling. What if he gets caught before he dumps the body? All it would take is getting pulled over and a cop searching the car. Especially because it’s not his car. My name will come up if they run the plates.
My writer’s brain takes me where I don’t want to go, playing out scenarios in my head. Cops try to pull him over and he refuses, leading them on a high speed chase until they cause him to crash. While he’s being arrested for fleeing, they find the trash bags of body parts.
He’d go to prison or get the death penalty. I’d never see him again. His life would be over because of what he did for me. My own fate in this horrific reverie doesn’t scare me. Reeve would protect me the best he could, probably say he stole my car after he killed him, but it isn’t me I’m worried about.
Minutes stack into hours. By the time the light outside begins to grow, I’m alternating between pacing the room and peeking out of the window in hopes of seeing my car pull into the driveway. He said he’d be back before dawn. Has something gone wrong?
It’s the most helpless feeling in the world. Waiting and wondering if he’s okay.
The sensation of a panic attack approaching is one I haven’t felt in a very long time, bu
t I recognize it instantly. “Okay, Darcy,” I say aloud, and sit on the edge of the bed. “You’re okay. Reeve’s okay. Breathe.” About half the time this has happened in the past, I’ve been able to rein it in, talk myself down before it goes to full blown panic. This one is fortunately stopped short by the sound of my name being called.
My head jerks up to see Reeve stride into the room, making a beeline for me. Shirtless, covered in dirt and blood, he’s the most beautiful sight ever.
I’m off the bed and throwing myself into his arms before he can get halfway across the bedroom. “You’re okay! I thought…it’s past dawn. Maybe you got caught or hurt or—”
He pulls me tight against his chest. The smell of damp earth and blood clings to him, sweetened by his cool scent of wood smoke that’s been carried on the wind. “I’m fine. I took care of everything. You don’t need to be afraid.”
He releases me after a moment and brushes my hair off my face. “I’m going to shower and we’ll go to bed. You’re exhausted.”
I am, but he must be more so. “Yeah, okay.”
Relief after all that adrenaline makes my body feel limp and weak. My eyes are heavy, but I manage to hold them open until Reeve joins me in bed and cuddles me close. “Reeve?”
“Mmm?” His hand strokes my back.
“There’s still a lot I don’t know about you. It bothers me.”
“You know the most important things.”
“Will you answer one question?” Maybe if we take this part slow, he’ll learn to trust me, and I’ll get some answers.
“What do you want to know?”
There are about a thousand answers to that question, but I choose something that shouldn’t be a huge deal and that I’m curious about. Where does he go when he’s not with me? “Where do you live? A house near me?”
“Near you, yes, but not a house. I camp. I don’t need a house and all that comes along with it. I’m happy in the woods.”
It explains why he always smells of outdoors and campfires.
“Do you have a job?” House or not, he has to have money to survive.
A chuckle rattles his chest beneath my ear. “That’s two questions.”
My fingers fiddle with his short chest hair. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
He lays his large hand over mine. “I don’t need to work for money. I have enough.”
Every question I ask only raises more. Does that mean he’s well off? If so, how did he make that money? And why camp if he can afford a better lifestyle? Not that a better lifestyle always leads to a better life. Look at me. Unlimited funds didn’t make me happy.
Looking for normal from him is something I should stop doing. Because I’m far from typical myself, drawing such comfort at the moment from having my back stroked by the same hand that slit a throat and chopped up a body not four hours ago.
It lulls me into sleep void of nightmares. They never visit with Reeve here to protect me.
Chapter Sixteen
Reeve doesn’t leave my side for more than a couple of hours at a time during the weeks after the night in the shed. Every day, I expect to hear a news report that the senator has gone missing, but so far there hasn’t been a word. As tempting as it is, there’s no way I’m searching on the internet for news about him. Doing anything like that may draw attention and be used against me later. He’s bound to have been missed by now, but they clearly don’t want that getting out to the public. Reeve reassures me there’s no connection between us, and he’ll never be found. Apparently, Miller had multiple mistresses. It’s probably being assumed he ran off with one.
I watched a man die. Gave my approval for him to be murdered in front of me. It’s hard to believe how easy it was, that we just got away with it. An evil man was removed from the world in a blink. Poof. Gone. No more girls will suffer because of him. Instead of fear or regret, something else grows inside of me.
I had a friend warn me once that getting a tattoo could be addicting. That before the ink is even set on your first, you’ll want another. And another. It was true for her. The last time I saw her both arms were sleeved in colorful designs. I remember wondering how something painful could leave you wanting more.
Now I understand. For all the terror of that night, and all the fear of being caught, there’s a stronger emotion at work. Satisfaction. And a desire to do it again. To make them pay. All the people who go through life destroying everyone in their path for their own benefit. All the abusers who steal something from us we never get back.
These urges have me questioning myself. Not about what’s right or wrong, but what I might be capable of that I’ve never considered. Could my hand hold the knife that slices a throat? It’s true I stabbed a man, but it was in a moment of panic, to save myself. Not in retribution.
Am I strong enough for that?
All of this lives in my head while we go through exceedingly ordinary days. It’s wonderful to have Reeve with me so much of the time. Curled up on the couch, watching movies, swimming in my pool, laughing together, fucking on every available surface in my house until I’m sore and spent.
He doesn’t tell me he loves me, but he’s there. He’s always there.
Time passes in spurts while I’m wrapped up in him. Everything else falls by the wayside. My phone goes unanswered, messages not returned. The only thing I’ve felt other than desire for him is a familiar compulsion. The urge to write. A story forms in my head against my will of two lovers on a killing spree, taking out the worst of the worst. A crime fiction written from the point of view of the serial killers.
I’ve resisted because I can’t bear it right now. Things are going too well to torture myself by sitting down and freezing up again once that little blinking cursor is in front of me. I’m happier not even trying. Maybe later, I tell myself. After more of the story has materialized. When I’m confident I can transfer what’s in my head to a page. Not now. Not today.
Reeve must sense my anxiety because he comes up behind me, slipping his arms around my waist. He runs his lips up my neck and kisses just behind my ear. While I love the ruthless way he takes me sometimes, these moments when his affection is tender are just as devastating. “You’re restless. Do you want to walk today?”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
“Just don’t wear yourself out. You’re going to be on your knees when we get back.”
There’s the Reeve I know. His eyes meet mine when I glance back over my shoulder. “Who says I’ll wait until we get back?”
The expression he gets when his gaze sweeps over my body will never fail to amaze me. No one has ever been as into me as he is, sexually or otherwise. It doesn’t hurt my self-esteem, that’s for sure. Walk. That’s what we’re doing today. Plenty of time later to screw his brains out.
It’s been a while since I’ve spent the day walking, and it feels good to get out in the sunshine. What was an escape before, a distraction from loneliness and anxiety, is now a pleasant way to spend the afternoon. All because of the man who walks along beside me.
My need to write is forgotten. The jittery feeling it brought fades by the time we’ve made it to the far side of town where a small park that consists of some rundown playground equipment and a few shabby picnic tables stands empty. The swings clink softly together in the breeze as we sit on a bench that’s covered in years of graffiti. Our conversation has been light until now, discussions about an album coming out soon from my favorite band, and how they’ll be coming near enough to see them in concert.
After mostly having him at my house and in my bed, it’s nice to know we can make plans that take place in public too. It’s a strange, exciting feeling, knowing the things we’ve done. Like we’re undercover or something, living one life that the world sees and another that lives in the darkness beneath.
Across the narrow street is a laundromat where an interesting mix of people wait for their clothes to wash and dry. The glass doors are propped open, displaying the lack of air conditioning, and
it must be sweltering because everyone who goes in with a basket of clothes retreats soon after. Some sit on the shady benches placed across the front of the large, plate glass windows. Others loiter by the two soft drink machines, or around the side of the brick building.
Laundromats are a fascinating place to people watch because it attracts different walks of life, with one thing in common. Being too poor to own a washer, or living in an apartment without an available hookup. In the better neighborhoods, you can also expect a few middle class women who just need an oversize washer for something that won’t fit in their own. This isn’t a good neighborhood.
“You like watching people,” Reeve says, drawing my attention back to him.
“Says the stalker,” I snort.
His arm darts around me, and he pulls me against his side. He presses his lips to my ear. “Call me that again and your ass will pay for it.”
My heart leaps forward. The next words out of my mouth prove I have no self-preservation when it comes to this man. “Yeah?” I taunt. “You going to spank me? Might not work if I like it.”
His voice comes out low and gravelly. “No, I’m going to bend you over and fuck your ass like I’ve wanted to since I first saw you.”
My reply doesn’t come out with the conviction I’d hoped. “Not happening.”
His laugh says otherwise, and I shiver at the thought because I know the truth. There’s nothing I won’t let him do. “Watching people became a habit to help my descriptions when I was a writer.”
“You’re still a writer.” Am I? He scratches at the back of my scalp, turning me to putty in his hands. “Tell me what you see over there.”
It’s hard to put into words because it’s the details that paint a picture. Two women who look well into their sixties, but probably haven’t said farewell to their fifties yet sit on one corner of the bench, cigarettes in hand. One is dressed in what looks like a long nightshirt that’s seen too many trips through the wash. She’s pulled it up to her knees to circumvent the heat which must be hard on someone of her size. Thin hair lays lank and greasy, stopping just past her jowls that wobble when she laughs with her friend.
