Cold Cole Heart

by K. Webster

  Natalie walks over to me looking small and cute in my oversized clothes. The T-shirt swallows her but still reveals her peaked nipples. My sweatpants she’s wearing drag across the ground. As she nears, she bites on her bottom lip and then hesitates before coming any closer.

  “You want me to sit on your lap?”

  I nod and lean back against the sofa cushions. Thunder rumbles the house and she jumps at the sound. Slowly, she eases herself onto my lap, straddling me. Her wide gray eyes lift to mine, asking for something.

  What?

  I run my fingers through her soft, dry dark brown hair with one hand and squeeze her hip with the other. “Good girl.”

  Her cheeks turn red and she looks away. She likes affection and praise. At one time, I did too. Before I left and went overseas. It feels like a lifetime ago. When I dated sweet girls and had hopes of marriage, kids, the whole nine yards. But that time in my life changed me. Altered the course of who I am. Bred a monster in its place.

  I stare up at her, waiting for the hate to consume me and remind me of my purpose. But it never rises up. What does rise is my dick. It seems needy as fuck around her, which pisses me off. I’m used to control. Ever since I lured her into my SUV, I’ve felt like I’ve lost my hold on everything.

  “Tell me about the dress,” I rumble. The shock from seeing it hiding beneath her mink coat won’t go away. “I want to know why the hell you would wear such a thing. Was it him? Did he make you?”

  Her gray eyes the color of the storm clouds outside grow glassy as she regards me. “Why do you want to know?” Her nose turns pink and her nostrils flare.

  My palms settle on her ass and I squeeze it. “I just do.”

  God, this is too fucking comfortable. It gives me flashbacks to the girl I was dating before I left on my mission. We broke up because she begged me not to go. I went anyway. It was a lifetime ago. But back then, I’d hold her close. Kiss her sweetly. Take her to the movies and out to dinner. Everything was so goddamned normal. Natalie brings some normalcy back into my life and fuck if I don’t resent the hell out of her for it. I can’t ever go back to that man I once was.

  “My mom was killed when I was seventeen. Home invasion. She was a well-known actress, so she had crazed fans. But everyone loved her. My mom was kind and gracious as she was beautiful. It was such a horrible shock. I never heard a thing. The person slipped in, stabbed my mother in the kitchen as she prepared breakfast, and then slipped out. It wasn’t until the smoke alarms went off that I woke up and found her dead body.” A tear streaks down her cheek. “The pancakes burned.”

  An ache clenches around my heart. I should make fun of her for fixating on the pancakes burning, but when you lose someone you love, those little details stick with you. I remember the way Mack mentioned he didn’t expect to die so horrifically but in some normal way. Old, a heart attack, in his recliner watching football. To this day, I can’t watch football because I remember those last words. It makes me wonder how she feels about pancakes.

  “How did you come to wear the dress?”

  She swipes at her tears. “I never knew what happened to it at first. I wasn’t of legal age yet, so I had to live with my uncle. He was cold but not cruel. Not like his son Alan. The moment Alan got ahold of me, everything changed.”

  “He just showed up one day and told you to wear the dress your mom was murdered in? Why didn’t you just run the fuck away?”

  She’s not a runner. I’ve given her opportunities. It’s like she likes staying with monsters. Or…she plays a bigger game than them. The thought intrigues me.

  “Alan was nice to me. He took me in when my uncle’s health was failing. I felt loved,” she whispers, her bottom lip wobbling. “He made…he made my body do things I liked at first.” Shame flashes in her steely eyes. “But then he changed on me. Morphed into this cruel man. My body was a whipping post to him. My mind was his to chain up and destroy.”

  Again, guilt swarms inside me like annoyed flies buzzing around shit. I want to swat them away.

  “And then he forced you to wear your dead mother’s dress as part of his cruelty?”

  She nods. “He knows people. Gets things he wants. All it took was some calls to the police where we lived. Alan is a politician in the making. He drips with charisma. People like him. They do his bidding. He gets what he wants.”

  I looked his smarmy ass up. Perfect hair. Chiseled jaw. Smiling eyes. But I know an asshole when I see one. And charisma wasn’t what I saw dripping from him. I saw right through that bullshit.

  “He wanted the dress,” she says. “For sentimental reasons. Then, he brought it to me. Gifted it to me for Christmas after my eighteenth birthday. From that point on, I was forced to always wear it. It was the only piece of clothing I owned.”

  If she were some stranger I hadn’t stalked, I wouldn’t believe her. From the outside, everything about her screamed money and snobbery. But hiding beneath was this broken little thing. I’m irritated because I’m so careful. This, though, blindsided me.

  “If he hurt you, why didn’t you leave?” I demand, my anger swelling up inside of me. “Why didn’t you leave here when you had the chance?”

  She frowns at me, her bottom lip pouting out. My cock stirs at the thought of biting it.

  “He would have found me. And here,” she murmurs. “I’m safe from him.”

  I blink at her. “I’m worse than him. He isn’t a killer. I am.”

  “I think he had my mother killed,” she argues.

  Reaching up, I grab her delicate neck and pull her closer until our lips nearly touch. I squeeze off her air supply and stare her dead in the eyes. “Not like this. Pricks like him pay someone to do their dirty work. But me?” I grip her until she wiggles in my grasp and her hands clutch onto my wrists, trying to pull me away. “I like to look right in their eyes as they take their last breath. I like painting their useless bodies with their own blood. I like cutting their fingers off one by one. One of the bitches buried on my property squealed like a pig as I shoved every single bloody digit up her ass. She shit out her own fingers for days after as her body succumbed to rot and infection. Alan is nothing like me.”

  Tears roll down her cheeks and when I release her throat, she falls against me sobbing. The dumb girl should get as far away from me as she can. She can’t hug a serial killer and expect one back.

  “You scare me,” she cries against my chest as her fingers clutch my T-shirt.

  I wrap my arms around her and hold her. “Good. I’m fucking terrible. You need to wake up and realize that. I may be sorting shit out in my head, honey, but I’m going to figure it out. Then, I’m going to hurt you like I hurt them. I’m going to cut your perfect olive-colored skin right from your bones. Probably feed it to you when you’re starved and desperate.”

  Her body trembles and she turns her face to my neck. She breathes hotly against my flesh. “That’s gross.”

  A laugh barks out at her odd choice of words. “Hell yeah, it’s gross. If you had seen the shit they did to me, that was gross.”

  They.

  Not her.

  I grit my teeth because so far, I’m not figuring anything out in my head. It gets messier and messier by the second.

  “Why did they hurt you?”

  I stare straight ahead at the window. It’s turning dark, but the lightning flashes every little while, illuminating the sky. “Because they were fucking sadistic terrorists who wanted information.” I trace my thumb down the grooves of her spine. “And we wouldn’t give it to them.”

  She lifts up and stares at me, sadness glimmering in her eyes. “Your friends? Were you in the military?”

  “They. Were. My. Brothers.” I glower at her. “They stole them from me. Left me all fucking alone. And now they will pay.”

  “They’re still alive?” she asks, horror in her tone.

  You. You’re still alive. You’re her. You’re them. The living, breathing nightmare I spend every day trying to extinguish. Over and f
ucking over again.

  “Someone has to pay,” I murmur as I grip her jaw and pull her closer. “Anta died too quickly.”

  Understanding crosses over her features and fear flashes in her eyes where it belongs. Fucking finally. Something akin to desperation takes over and her lips press to mine.

  “I’m not her,” she breathes against my mouth. Then, her tongue is against mine. Hot and sweet. Eager to convince me.

  She’s off her rocker. Kissing someone like me. I’ve just told her how I’ve tortured others before her and she doesn’t seem fazed. Her kisses are sweet and hungry. I’m reminded of a time when I kissed a girl for the first time in the eighth grade. I’d been in fucking love with Renata Johnson. Her braces, frizzy hair, and flat ass. My little teenage dick was ready to make babies with her. She later made out with like half of the other guys at Jake Brown’s party. I’d been heartbroken.

  And here I am decades later, my dick aching for some new pussy. My tongue happy with dancing with hers. A stupid thumping in my chest eager to make this girl smile.

  Dumb.

  I’m so goddamned dumb.

  I bite her lip hard enough that she cries out and pulls away. Hurt flashes in her stare, but I try to ignore it.

  “You can’t kiss away the horror, honey. It’s stained on my motherfucking soul.”

  Tears well in her stormy eyes. “I was trying to kiss away mine.”

  HE PULLS ME AWAY AND sits me down beside him. Then, he stands. After his shower, he put on some jeans that hug his perfect ass and a simple gray T-shirt. The shirt molds to his body and all his colorful ink that’s below his sleeves is on full display. His dark brown hair is messy and somehow makes him even hotter.

  A hot psychopath.

  I cringe at the memory of what he’d said. How he shoved that poor woman’s fingers inside her body. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to get a rise out of me or if it really happened. Deep down, I feel like he was telling the truth. And if so, I’m completely deranged to be willingly kissing him.

  But what’s the alternative?

  Make enemies with the one who wants to kill you?

  Hell no. I learned from Alan that you don’t provoke their beast. You do your best to calm them and get on their good side. Alan had no good sides. Cole has flickers of humanity. I hold onto hope that I can get him to stay with me and not revert back to his evil ways.

  “I brought you these,” he says, carrying a brown paper sack over to me. “Don’t eat them.”

  I squawk in surprise when he dumps the contents onto my lap. Books. At least fifteen or twenty of them. All new from the store. A burst of happiness explodes within me.

  “These are for me?” I ask, grinning at him. Grinning at the man who cuts off fingers and shoves them in orifices.

  His hard gaze softens. “It keeps you out of my hair while I figure shit out.”

  A giddy giggle tumbles past my lips as I break his gaze to look at each book. I’m overjoyed at all the titles. Romance and thrillers. Both my favorites. I read the blurbs for each one and admire the covers. This is the best gift I’ve gotten since my mom was alive.

  “Thank you,” I tell him breathlessly. “I’ll stay out of your way. I promise. You won’t hear a word from me.”

  His smile is gone and he stares at me with an odd expression. A look caught somewhere between confusion and happiness. It makes me want to hug him. Rising from the sofa, I make my way over to him and throw my arms around his neck.

  “Thank you, Cole.” I look up at him, smiling.

  He relaxes and wraps his arms around my waist. “I’m a bad man.”

  “Who has good taste in books,” I offer.

  We stare at each other long enough that I grow warm in his embrace and his cock hardens.

  “I want you to make that spaghetti again,” he rumbles. “To thank me for the books.”

  I’d expected something darker and more devious. Cooking, I like. Cooking reminds me of my mother. Especially her spaghetti.

  “I’d love to.”

  He smiles at my words and it lights up his chocolate-brown eyes. God, I have to figure out how to keep this side of him out. This side, I’m not afraid of. This side, I want to get to know. This side is not the same one who killed those women before me.

  You’re fucked up, Natalie.

  Maybe more so than him.

  “Enough,” he grumbles.

  I yawn and stretch. My book falls from my grip and hits the floor with a thud. It’s been nice lying on the couch with my feet in his lap under a blanket. I’m not looking forward to going back to my room. He’s made it clear I can keep the books, but he hasn’t said anything about the blanket.

  The air crackles with electricity and my nerves buzz. He’s staring at me with a predatory glint in his eyes. And not a sexual one either. One that reeks of deviance and horror. Instinctively, I curl my fingers into fists to protect them and squeeze my ass cheeks.

  “Take off your clothes,” he orders.

  I bite back the sob choking my throat and stand on wobbly legs. So stupid to get caught up in the moment. So stupid to forget where I’m at. I pull off his shirt and the chilly air makes me shudder. His head dips as he motions for my pants. Biting on my lip to keep from crying, I pull them off.

  “Now go to your room.”

  “You don’t want to…” Sleep with me and warm me up?

  “Fucking you is a mistake. Now get your ass to the room before I chain you up again.”

  I recoil at his harsh words and shoot him an accusing stare. Why now? Why tease me? When I don’t move, he rises. His powerful frame towers over mine.

  “Sometimes torture isn’t about cutting off fingers, honey,” he croons as he takes my hand. He uncurls my fingers and threads his through them. “Sometimes it’s about cutting your mind.” He leans down and plants a kiss between my breasts. “Sometimes it’s about cutting your heart.” Wild eyes dart to mine. “Both of mine were cut from me a decade ago.” He nods to the room. “Now go.”

  I shake my head and grip his hand. “I don’t want to, Cole. I want to stay with you.”

  “Go.”

  Lifting my chin, I face off with his beast. “No.”

  He tries to push me away, but I yank at his shirt.

  “No! I don’t want to go in there!”

  His brown eyes flare at my fight. God, this is the worst thing. I shouldn’t provoke him, but I can’t go without trying to convince him first. He overpowers me and twists me in his arms. His arm that’s corded with powerful muscle keeps me imprisoned against him. I kick out and try to make purchase on some furniture to keep him from taking me back there. But it’s all a waste of effort. He easily wrangles me into the icy cold bedroom and throws me down on the bed.

  “Stay!” he roars.

  I scramble to get off the bed, but then he grabs a handful of my hair. My body goes limp at the feel of his knife blade against my throat. The vein it’s pushed against pulses wildly and I know one wrong move and the ceiling will be sprayed with my blood.

  “Do you want to die tonight, honey?”

  A sob ripples from me, making my entire body shake. He lets up on the blade so I don’t cut myself. That small action gives me hope. He says he wants me to have a slow, torturous death. And that gives me hope that it’ll be enough time to convince him not to kill me.

  “You said you wanted to take things slow,” I breathe.

  His dark, evil laughter rumbles from behind me. “Lie down and be a good girl. Maybe tonight’s torture won’t be so…gross.”

  I shudder in his arms. “Okay.”

  He kisses the top of my head and then releases me. I slide to the bed, defeated. His brown eyes shine with violence as he motions with his knife for me to roll over onto my back.

  “Spread your legs and let me see that needy cunt of yours,” he says, his voice husky.

  I part my thighs and scowl at him, my eyes never leaving his.

  He sits on the bed and stretches my leg across his lap. My othe
r leg is parted, leaving me open and vulnerable to him. With a menacing smile, he taps my bottom lip with the tip of his knife. Then, ever so gently, he drags it down along my chin, careful not to break the skin. It falls to my chest and then he slowly teases it downward. He takes the time to circle each breast before dragging it to my bellybutton.

  “Should I go lower?” he croons.

  Sick, sadistic lover.

  “Do you want to?” I breathe.

  He nods. “I do and I will.”

  I keep my eyes trained on his, willing him to not hurt me, as he slides it lower. He takes it to my clit and nudges it with the blade. The cold metal feels foreign and exciting. I suppress a groan. Not exciting.

  Then why is my heart thundering wildly in anticipation?

  He slips it off to one side between one of my pussy lips and my clit. The blade is sharp, but he’s being so delicate. My core aches for him. Images of the way he roughly took me in the shower are back in the forefront of my mind. I want him to toss the knife and do it again. Instead, he teases the tip of the knife to my opening.

  “A woman bleeds a lot when cut from here,” he murmurs as he slightly eases the tip of the knife inside my slick opening. I can feel the burn of the blade as it threatens to cut me if it goes any deeper. I don’t breathe or move, just keep my eyes locked on his lust-filled ones. “They die too fast that way, though.”

  My breath rushes from me ragged and relieved. He pulls the knife back out and the tip glistens with my arousal. I’m embarrassed that I’m so screwed up that I’d get turned on by such an act. A nearly black eyebrow lifts in surprise as he inspects his knife. Then, his fiery brown eyes meet mine as his tongue flicks out. He tastes my essence and a manly groan rumbles from him. It makes my core clench. He flips the knife and then licks the other side. I’m fascinated by the way he licks the knife that I gasp in shock when a bead of blood forms on his tongue. He pulls the knife away and the rivulet of blood runs off his tongue and over his bottom lip. It drips down his chin and lands on my lower stomach.