The Steve Williams Series Boxed Set

by J. E. Taylor

  Chapter 83

  Jennifer woke to the soft sounds of her daughter stirring and the bright morning sun shining in her eyes. She stretched and slipped into the bathroom to relieve herself, splash water on her face, and clean her teeth. Just as Samantha started to wake, she headed into the nursery.

  “I’m coming, I’m…” She stepped into the room and all the blood drained from her face, leaving her dizzy and terrified.

  “Hello, Jennifer,” Kyle Winslow, a.k.a. The Slasher, smiled from the chair, slowly rocking back and forth. One hand lay on the armrest and the other held the detonator.

  The world tilted and she reached for the wall. Her eyes darted to her daughter. There, wrapped around her little angel, was the bomb. She looked back at him feeling hollow and naked in her little summer negligee. “You bastard!”

  “If you do anything I don’t like today, I’ll blow her to bits.” He held the detonator up so she could see.

  Samantha let out an unhappy cry.

  “Your daughter needs to be fed,” he replied, standing and crossing to the door. His steel grey eyes bore into her and he pointed toward the kitchen.

  Jennifer slid by him, each step jarring her heart in a painful pattern of panic.

  “Have you ever seen what happens to a person when they’re blown up?”

  Just his tone, alone, left her shivering like someone raked fingernails across a chalkboard and she stopped, giving him a cursory glance over her shoulder.

  He held the detonator for her to see. “They become blood mist. It’s pretty cool,” he smiled. “And I can push the button faster than you can launch a knife at me or faster than your husband can shoot me between the eyes.”

  “He’s pretty fast.”

  “I know. But he wouldn’t gamble with his daughter’s life, and neither will you.”

  Jennifer turned away and grabbed a bottle, preparing it with shaking hands. Her mind raced a thousand miles a minute, trying to figure out how to change the outcome of all her visions. Desperation blinded her and no magical solutions came to mind. With no other option, she turned and strode through the house toward her screaming daughter. She picked up her child, cringing at the ugly bomb jacket that fit snug around her torso.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he said from the doorway. “The collateral damage will still kill her.”

  Sitting in the chair he’d originally occupied, she glared at him, clenching her teeth clenched hard enough to create an ache in her jaw. She propped the bottle in Samantha’s mouth, silencing her daughter’s hungry cries.

  Kyle crossed his arms and smiled. “That’s a good girl.”

  “How long have you been watching me?”

  “This isn’t about you, honey,” he said. “At one time it was, but the minute your husband killed my brother it became all about him.”

  Anger bloomed through the tornado of emotions and she snapped, “Your brother didn’t back off. That’s why he’s dead.”

  His eyebrows rose at the venomous outburst. “Your husband killed him and now he needs to pay,” he said with a smile that killed any hope she had.

  She pulled the bottle out of Samantha’s mouth and leaned the baby’s small frame on her shoulder, gently patting her back, taking her time with her daughter. Jennifer’s anger succumbed to the pressure of fear as each minute ticked past. Samantha rewarded her with a burp and a small noise as she grasped Jennifer’s hair in her flailing hand.

  “Put her back in the crib now.”

  “She needs a diaper change.” Jennifer peeled her hair out of Samantha’s hand.

  “Fine.” He allowed her to change the diaper. “In the crib,” he reminded after the soiled diaper disappeared into the diaper-genie.

  Jennifer reluctantly put Samantha in the crib, knowing her personal hell was just about to begin. She swallowed and ran her finger down Samantha’s nose, offering what she hoped was a smile of reassurance, but her heart cried to the heavens.

  Kyle grabbed her by the upper arm, dragging her to the living room and tossed her onto the floor. “You know, I saw you in that play last fall. You were good.” Kyle glanced around the living room biting his lower lip.

  She blinked, letting the injustice of the situation surface. “I don’t give a shit whether you saw my play or not. I want you out of my house.” She rose to her feet.

  He backhanded her, sending her to the ground a second time, her cheek burning where his hand struck.

  “I want you to move the couch over here facing the TV and put the chair over there.” He pointed to the corner near their bedroom.

  Anger-laced fear screamed through her, burning the lining of her stomach and keeping her pulse high enough for the incision on her belly to throb. She slowly got off the floor and pushed the heavy couch where he directed and dragged the recliner to the spot he indicated. She stood just out of his reach as he surveyed the set up, nodding and bringing his eyes back to her.

  “Move the coffee table over there.” He pointed toward the window and she slid it to his specification. The backpack slung over his shoulder came off and he reached inside. Pulling out a DVD disc and a camera, he set them up on top of the television and tossed the remote on the couch. With a few clicks, he switched the television to the video setting, and then turned his focus to her.

  “Come here, now.”

  She looked at the set up and back to him. What the hell is he doing? Memories of his brutality clicked off in her mind, his sense of seduction, what sets his rocks off, all fast-forwarded like a broken video out of control.

  When he raised the detonator, she moved to the spot in front of him, each step closer raising her terror.

  He turned her toward the camera sitting on top of the television. “Now, my little actress, I expect you to put on a hell of a show.” He ran his fingers down her arm in the all too familiar motion and she gasped.

  Charlie. Oh my god, he saw the tape of Charlie.

  He chuckled at the look of horror reflected in the blank television screen. “That’s right. My brother was a saint to stop, but today, we are going to play that scene through and you’re going to convince me that this is what you want.”

  Trembling, she kept the tears locked up. Her thoughts clouded with the memory of his hand squeezing her throat and the pain in her fingers as she clawed at both his hands and the floor, desperate for escape.

  “If you don’t, I’ll kill your daughter.”

  His comment cleared the fog and Jennifer looked at the floor to her side, nodding.

  The phone rang, making her jump and interrupting his twisted seduction.

  “Answer it,” he demanded, “but if you give anything away, she’ll die.”

  “Hello?” she said, making her voice sound groggy.

  “You still sleeping?” Steve asked.

  “Mhm,” she answered as a tear slid down her cheek. Her mind sent SOS waves through the phone line but her mouth clamped shut against the need to scream he’s here. Instead, she inhaled and cleared her throat.

  “You all right?”

  “I’m feeling a little sick this morning,” she answered, looking at Kyle.

  “You need me to come home?”

  She didn’t answer right away, just closed her eyes and gritted her teeth together to stop the sob that caught in her throat. “I’ll be okay,” she said and opened her eyes. Kyle signaled to end the call. “I think Sam is waking up.”

  “I’ve got a couple of things I need to do, but as soon as I’m finished, I’ll head out, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” She listened to the dial tone after he hung up and the tears came in earnest. She glanced at the clock. Hours. She had a couple of hours alone in the house with this psycho. She looked back at Kyle and shivered.

  “I almost believed you.” He approached her and took the phone. “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah.” Kyle pointed the remote, pressing play. The television came to life with the video of Steve and Desiree in the k
itchen.

  She closed her eyes.

  “No. Watch the video,” he snarled in her ear.

  Jennifer eyes opened. “You know that isn’t my husband between her legs, right?” she asked, sending a wicked glare in his direction.

  “Yes, I know. It was me.”

  Jennifer’s gaze snapped back to the television set, her mouth askew.

  “Charlie asked us to make that little video for him.” His free hand drifted over her and her skin crawled in the path of his fingers. “Now you better start acting… or perhaps you’d like to see me carve up your daughter?”

  Jennifer shivered when his lips found the nape of her neck. A hint of peppermint and old spice drifted from him and he pressed his body against hers, his hand pulling the hem of her nightshirt up enough for his fingers to slip under the waistband of her panties. She tilted her head back resting on his chest, clamping her mouth against the scream that wanted to surface and taking long slow breaths through her nose to keep from vomiting.

  His violation revolted her as much as his gentleness. He was treating her like a lover and not a prisoner helpless to fight back without retribution. His slow caress brought shivers to the surface and her skin broke out in gooseflesh. This was more horrifying that what Bill and his fraternity brothers did to her.

  She didn’t know if her acting abilities ran deeply enough to make this lunatic believe what he demanded. Her eyes flashed to the nursery and she steeled her feelings, shoving them aside for the sake of her daughter.

  The sob locked in her chest morphed into a moan, sounding much more like ecstasy rather than her raging horror and despair.

  “Oh, yes,” he whispered, plunging his fingers into her. “Now, let’s see if you’re as good as Desiree.” He stripped her clothes and pushed her onto the couch.

  Jennifer covered her chest with her arms, curling her legs, unable to continue the ruse, and her gaze dropped to the knife on his belt.

  Kyle grabbed her hair and tilted her head back, his eyes gleeful at the prospect of seeing her squirm. He waved the detonator in front of her, his thumb covering the trigger. “I’m going to count to three. One, two…”

  She uncurled, muttering curses and shooting a glare in his direction. Anger was a much easier emotion to manage and she clung to it like a life raft. When his head lowered into her lap, Jennifer stared at the video, at the expression of pure delight on Desiree’s face, trying to tap into the same emotion while Kyle mimicked his actions on screen. She couldn’t react, couldn’t reach the same plateau the woman on screen did, especially while convincing herself not to let her roiling stomach purge all over this vile bastard.

  He stopped and sent a glare up at her that chilled her beyond the memories of his attack and she shuddered. He climbed between her legs, pinning her to the couch. “What do you think will piss off your husband more? My face buried in your cunt… or my cock?”

  The doctor’s warning resounded in her mind and she shook her head. “I can’t, not yet. I’m not supposed to yet.” She struggled under his weight until he brought the detonator into her line of sight with a sadistic grin.

  Fear paralyzed her and she hardly noticed him shifting to peel off his shorts, but the ripping pain of his penetration, brought her back along with a throaty scream.

  “I can’t.” Jennifer cried, tears blurring her vision as she planted her hands on his chest. Pushing him away was as futile as her pushing her stone chimney over.

  Kyle smiled down at her and drove his full length inside her harder than his initial penetration. “I don’t care whether you can or not, I am. Now you better start acting.” He almost pulled out and then shoved into her again.

  She arched, bringing her hips to his with the same ferocity as he did, pain ripping through her abdomen with each thrust. Her teeth clenched against the screams dying to be freed from her chest.

  He stopped, glaring down at her. “I think I’d have more fun carving up your daughter.” He started to pull away.

  Startled and frightened, she yelled, “No!” Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pulled him back into her. “I can do this.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Prove it.”

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and exhaled through her mouth. Changing the scene in her mind, pretending this was Steve instead of the twisted killer inside her, she forced the fear and disgust into something she could work with. All her tense muscles relaxed and she prayed the command reached her face. With another deep breath, she opened her eyes and tilted her head, allowing a smile to form.

  He raised an eyebrow and circled his hips in a slow grind.

  Even though his motion sent tendrils of sharp pain through her entire frame, she joined him, swiveling her hips in time with his. “Oh, Kyle,” she moaned, observing the glossy eyes of passionate domination.

  He smiled and she shivered.

  She closed her eyes and arched into each of Kyle’s thrusts, repeating his name and yes until he groaned, shuddering through his release.

  He moved away and pulled up his shorts, inspecting her like a bug after a particularly successful experiment. “That was acceptable.”

  Jennifer glared at him and curled away, clenching her jaw against the tremble that started in her core. “I hate you, you son of a bitch!” Her stomach rolled and she shot off the couch, grabbing her discarded nightgown. She barely made it to the toilet before the acid poured into the bowl. She spit and her stomach lurched again. The hot trail of excretions leaking down her legs was enough to make her dry heave.

  “Get up.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “I just did.” He laughed at his own wit.

  She stood, slipping her nightgown on and reached for a towel.

  “No.” Kyle grabbed her arm, dragging her back to the living room. He pressed the reverse arrow to the point on the tape where Desiree took Steve in her mouth. “I want that.” He froze the frame.

  “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

  He swung his fist toward her face.

  Jennifer parried, blocking the punch.

  He held up the detonator. “You do that again and I’ll start by cutting off one of your daughter’s fingers.” He backhanded her across the face with the hand holding the detonator, sending her on her side.

  Bright flashes of light filled her vision and her face throbbed. She pressed her hand to the hot burn on her cheek where his hand connected and blinked away the stars. When her vision cleared, she sent invisible daggers at him, wishing he’d drop dead. Her gaze fell on the knife attached to his belt and she scuttled backwards, getting to her feet with her eyes darting between Samantha’s room and the sadistic stranger in front of her.

  He shot forward, grabbing a handful of her hair. “I want a blow job.”

  She clamped her mouth closed, anger filling her, and she brought her knee up.

  He blocked her attempt and punched her in the stomach. His blow knocked the air out of her lungs and she crumpled to the floor.

  The knife came out of the sheath and he kneeled down, putting the tip under her chin, tilting her head up with it, piercing her skin. “I don’t think you understand the consequences of your actions.” He studied her and flicked his wrist, cutting her chin. “You get to choose which finger I cut off.”

  Jennifer gulped. “Please, no, not my daughter, please.” Her voice came out in a harsh plea, one she didn’t recognize.

  “Oh, but you misbehaved and need to be punished.”

  He slid the knife in its sheath and she breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short lived as his hand wrapped around her throat, drawing her near his smiling face.

  “Maybe we should finish what I started in New York. You remember that, don’t you?” He stood, dragging her to her feet and slammed his fist into her side. “That’s payback for the kick in my side.”

  Pain gagged the cry in her throat and he didn’t stop with just one punch. His fist brutalized her abdomen half a dozen times, cracking bone and bruising muscles with each pow
erful blow.

  He let her go, she crumpled to the ground, each breath excruciating, and tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away in time to see him step into the nursery. “No!” She scrambled to her feet and limped to the door in time to see the knife lower into the crib. “Please, no, you can have one of mine.”

  He hesitated, looking over his shoulder at her. “What finger?”

  “Please don’t hurt my baby.” Tears sprang, heating her face, and she stepped into the room, fear overpowering every other painful sensation wracking her body and she extended her hands. “Take whatever you want, but don’t hurt her.”

  He turned toward her pointing the knife in her direction. “I plan on taking whatever I want. Now which finger do you choose or should I just chop off her whole hand?”

  She couldn’t speak, his unyielding gaze turned back to the crib and her sleeping child. When the knife moved in Samantha’s direction, Jennifer lunged, grabbing his arm.

  He smiled and twisted, the fist holding the detonator smashed into her nose.

  A crunching sound followed by sharp pain split her face and she fell backwards on her ass, the impact rattling her teeth and ripping a yelp from her chest right before the room faded.

  She woke on the living room floor. A shrill wavering cry coming from the nursery filled the cottage. A cry she knew she couldn’t coddle and pain she knew she couldn’t take away. Her heart cried in outrage and her gaze shot to the chair where Kyle sat, wishing him the most horrifying, painful death possible. Her gaze dropped to the knife embedded in the coffee table. “You bastard.”

  “I think you learned your lesson.” He pulled the knife out of the table and replaced it on the sheath at his hip before crossing to her. He squatted in front of her. “Next time, I won’t reconsider. Instead, I’ll take her entire hand.”

  She looked away toward the nursery and relief flooded every cell. He grabbed a handful of her hair, sitting her up and turning her head toward him.

  “Are we clear on the rules?”

  Her vision blurred and then cleared. His gray eyes waited for an answer with a patience that promised more agony before the day was through and she nodded.