Natasha had never been very tactful and fifteen years hadn’t added much finesse. Even faced with violent annihilation she got right to the point.
“So, did you miss me or did you come here to kill me, too?”
Love died hard in Malcolm. But so did hate. He smiled, but didn’t reply. He rose from the overstuffed leather lounge chair and stretched, drawing out the moment, luxuriating in his own power.
He looked bigger than Natasha remembered. In high school, Malcolm had been tall and skinny. Now, he was huge. Even in his suit, she could see his powerfully built shoulders and chest, his biceps stretching his sleeves, ready to rip through the seams of his finely tailored jacket. His body seemed to have been engineered for violence. His eyes were boiling pits of dark flame. She could see her reflection in their hard dark surface, boiling on his retinas like ink in a cast-iron skillet. As he approached her, Malcolm seemed to bring the darkness with him, swallowing up all the light in the room. He was like a black hole about to suck her down into the void.
“Yes, I missed you and, yes, I’m here to kill you.”
Rick also stepped out of his shadows, and Natasha visibly recoiled from him. She obviously remembered him. She’d never trusted or liked him. Malcolm remembered the way Rick used to leer at her when he thought Malcolm wasn’t looking, like a starving mongrel slavering hungrily beneath his master’s table, waiting for his chance to eat. Rick was a sneaky little psychopath and seeing him in her apartment, waving a big shiny gun at her, was freaking her out even more than Malcolm’s presence.
“Wait.” Malcolm barked.
“What’s he doing here?”
“Back up.” Malcolm answered.
“You were afraid I’d be too much for you?” She was taunting him. Malcolm responded with another gruesome smile.
“ I don’t want anyone interrupting us.”
Malcolm wanted her so badly he could taste the smell of her skin. He wasn’t ready to see her die. Killing her would be hard, like doing Renee’ had been easy.
She had disappointed and disgusted him. Fat, filthy, living in squalor with her dimwitted, overweight husband and her litter of dimwitted, overweight kids. She’d been the first woman he’d ever fallen in love with and, even more special to him, she’d been the first woman to fall in love with him, the first to look at him and not see a monster, the first to see something special, something good that could be loved, something he couldn’t even see in himself.
Then she’d fucked Reed, turned her back on Malcolm, betrayed him. He was sickened by what she’d allowed herself to become. It had been a pleasure to end her existence, to make her suffer, scream, beg as he cut open her torso and fucked her insides, ejaculating within her ribcage and onto her still beating heart. He didn’t know how she could’ve possibly imagined that life with that slovenly, lowbred, peckerwood she married would be better for her than the life Malcolm offered her. There was nothing that Malcolm would not have done for her. He would have conquered the world for her and laid it at her feet. Instead, she’d chosen to lay her pearls before swine. So, he’d come to take both the pearls and the swine to slaughter. He’d turned her filthy, white trash home into a butcher shop.
Malcolm remembered how Renee’ looked when she opened the door and saw him. Her face twisted in terror and Malcolm saw something else in her fear: guilt. And that had been enough. He ripped that family apart. He’d wanted to destroy every part of her, every part of the life she’d built without him. Even the kids had not escaped his wrath. That was the first family he’d taken and afterwards he’d been ashamed at what he’d done to the kids. So he hid the bodies. He wrapped them in trash bags and stuffed them in the Impala, the kids in the trunk, Renee’ and her pig of a husband in the back seat.
The drive back to Germantown had been nerve-wracking. A casual inquiry from any traffic cop and he’d have been fucked. When he finally made it back to his neighborhood, he buried the bodies in the basement of an abandoned house on Duvall Street. He felt nothing as he shoveled dirt onto her lifeless face. She was dead, her whole family was dead, and he still felt the emptiness, the sadness, the rage, but not guilt, not remorse.
When he packed the dirt down with his foot, he began to smile. He did feel something. Joy. This killing had been exhilarating, electric. He felt a euphoria wash over him as he replayed the moment he ripped the trench knife from Renee’s belly to her throat, feeling her hot steaming guts boiling out of the incision, the blood wash over his hands in a warm, red torrent. Malcolm savored the look on her face as she begged for her life, promised to love him again as she tried to tempt him with her disgusting, fat body. He’d felt nothing but contempt for her. In his heart, he’d still thought of her as perfect all these years, and seeing her as she really was freed him from delusion. She was disgusting, inferior, not worth the years he’d spent suffering over his false memories. Malcolm wanted to reclaim those wasted years from Renee’ one pound of flesh at a time.
He’d left their burial scene in a walking dream, not seeing the streets as he whizzed past at nearly sixty miles an hour, but intead the mortal terror of his victims played out before his eyes as if he were watching them on a VCR. Finally, he’d had to pull off to the side of the road to release the roiling storm of sexual agitation building within him. After he satisfied himself, he went back to Renee’s house to clean up the evidence, worried that someone would make the connection between them. But that connection had been severed fifteen years ago. No one even noticed that they were gone. That killing thrilled him more than any other.
So, when he found out that Reed was having a child the Chaperone had become the Family Man. Soon afterward, Malcolm tracked down Natasha. But he knew that if she disappeared too, the police would start to get suspicious, and the only connection between the two girls were Malcolm, Reed, and Rick. But Rick would never tell. He was loyal. Reed would have pointed the cops right to his doorstep. That was all a moot point now. Everyone knew Malcolm was the Family Man, so now there really was no reason not to kill Natasha.
Rick wanted to kill her and Malcolm knew Rick, the type who let his emotions better him, the type to do something impulsive. Malcolm wasn’t so sure he wanted her dead just yet or so fast. But he knew he wanted to hurt her. He needed to hurt her like she’d hurt him.
“What do you mean wait?!” Rick’s face was screwed up in a scowl of anger and disgust.
“Don’t mad dog me, nigga!” And though Rick turned away from Malcolm’s fury, his expression hadn’t changed.
“I thought we came here to kill this bitch.”
“Oh, I want to do much more than kill her.”
Malcolm reached out and gripped Natasha’s jaw in his hand, digging his long, spidery fingers into her cheeks. He pulled her closer until her face was less than an inch from his. With his other hand, he reached around and grabbed her ass.
“Daddy’s home,” he growled.
With one hand, Malcolm grabbed hold of the front of Natasha’s shirt, nearly jerking her off her feet as he violently ripped it from her. Her small, perfectly round breasts, bounced and bobbled when he ripped the shirt down off one shoulder and tossed it to the ground. Her other shirtsleeve remained on her shoulder, strings dangling where the stitches popped. She didn’t bother to try to cover herself. She let her arms dangle limply at her sides and the rest of her shirt slowly slid down her arm to the floor.
Malcolm licked his canines. His eyes roamed her creamy, silky, white skin. As Malcolm’s arousal increased, so did his aggression. He unsheathed his straight razor and grabbed Natasha’s skirt, ripping that off as well.
“Don’t move.”
With the straight razor in his hand, Malcolm knelt down in front of her and sliced off her panties.
Once again, he reached out and grabbed her naked buttocks, gently caressing each cheek. He pulled her closer until her pubic hair was pressed against his lips. Lovingly, he kissed her vagina, slipping his tongue up inside her. She shook with fear and what might’ve been excitement. He r
eleased her, looked up into her eyes and smiled, again dragging his tongue over the gleaming tips of his platinum canines.
XXXIV.
Natasha trembled as she remembered sex with Malcolm. His feral aggression had been exciting at first, intense, then it had started to turn violent. He once choked her unconscious during sex. He used to bite her so hard on the neck, shoulders, ass, and face that he drew blood. He had only been seventeen then.
Now, he was a man and, more than that, a killer. Then there was Rick, a sadistic bully who needed to humiliate others to feel good about himself. Watching Malcolm touch her as she stood there naked and vulnerable was obviously exciting Rick. He was grabbing and tugging at his crotch, bouncing around as he watched the two of them and grinning his wild, goofy, hyena grin. Again, Natasha shuddered and began to wish she was already dead.
XXXV.
“Grab her. We’re going back to your place. I don’t want us getting interrupted.”
“Yeah, man, but my lady’s there. We can’t be doin’ this shit in front of her!”
“Fuck her. Just grab this bitch and let’s go.”
All the madness drained out of Rick’s eyes. He was seeing his meal ticket fluttering away on the breeze. He looked at Malcolm and amended that thought; it was blowing away in a hurricane.
“Malcolm, it ain’t just that she’s my wife. She takes care of me, man. I ain’t got to work. I don’t cook or clean. Nigga, I’m set for life! And you about to fuck it all up bringin’ this bitch to my house!”
“Look, nigga. Someone is gonna get fucked tonight. Fucked, tortured, and put to sleep. And it don’t have to be this bitch,” Malcolm growled. “It’s all up to you.”
Malcolm stepped up to loom over Rick, and turned his face downward to watch the smaller man. Rick cowered.
“Alright, man. Shit!”
“Yeah, nigga. That’s what I thought.”
Rick tucked the nine millimeter back into his waistband and grabbed Natasha’s wrists.
“I can’t believe he’s got me involved in this shit,” Rick whispered to Natasha. He walked her toward the door when Malcolm stopped him.
“Fool, are you just gonna walk her naked ass outside like that? Give her your fuckin’ jacket or something.”
Reluctantly, Rick handed Natasha his jacket. She snatched it from him and quickly wrapped it around herself. It came nearly to her knees, and only served to emphasize how naked she was beneath it.
XXXVI.
They stepped out of the apartment, slowly closed the door, and began walking down the stairs to the street. Malcolm stopped Rick and Natasha on the stairs. He put both hands on Natasha’s shoulders, squeezing firmly.
“You know me, Natasha,” Malcolm purred in a voice so low and rumbling it sounded more like a tightly tuned high-performance engine than human speech.
His eyes seized hers and held them.
“Scream, try to signal anyone, try to get away, and you will die.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m going to kill you anyway, and you’re probably right, but as long as you’re alive, there’s at least a chance. A chance someone might rescue you. A chance I might spare your life. But your chances can run out real quick if you fuck with me, Natasha.”
Malcolm released her shoulders and walked down the stairs. Natasha knew he felt certain she wouldn’t try anything. She also knew he was right. She wouldn’t try to run. As long as there was a chance to live, she couldn’t throw her life away.
Rick drove the Cherokee back to his house, complaining the whole way about what his wife would say when he walked through the door with this naked female hostage. Malcolm and Natasha sat in the back seat. Malcolm seemed to be drawing inward. He stared at the back of Rick’s head and gnashed his teeth growling, low and deep in his throat.
Natasha had seen him like this many times during their relationship. It was never a good thing. She looked out the window, watching the streets go by in a blur, watching the people rushing to and fro on the sidewalk, oblivious to her peril. She wished she were out there with them. She smelled the crisp night air and imagined herself hurrying along the sidewalk on the way to her apartment but turning around at the last minute and heading to a bookstore or a coffee shop instead, spending the night sipping hot chai instead of being chaffeured to her own murder.
“Man, my fuckin’ wife is gonna fuckin’ kill me!”
Malcolm reached around the seat and grabbed Rick’s windpipe, squeezing the Adam’s apple in his powerful fingers. Rick thrashed about in a panic, trying to free himself from the crushing vise around his throat, wheezing hoarsely as he tried to suck in oxygen.
With his other arm, Malcolm removed the gun from Rick’s waistband and held it to Rick’s right temple. The Jeep swerved as its driver struggled for air, bounced up on the meridian and then back onto the road, narrowly avoiding a garbage truck heading down the street in the opposite direction.
“Shut the fuck up. Do you hear me? Shut the fuck up!”
He squeezed even harder bringing tears to Rick’s eyes and causing him to see spots as he choked and gasped for air. Malcolm released him and sat back still glaring at the back of his head and with the gun still pointed at his back. Rick coughed and wheezed, struggling to get air back into his lungs and coughing even more as the air he inhaled seemed to burn his throat.
“And if you crash. I’m gonna kill you.”
Rick was quiet for the remainder of the ride. Natasha silently prayed for the first time in over a decade.
XXXVII.
They stepped out of the Jeep. Rick’s eyes were cast downward, avoiding Malcolm’s.
Malcolm barely noticed. He looked up and down the block. The sidewalks were empty, and there were no nosy neighbors peeking out of windows as far as he could tell. The lights were on in the house. Rick’s wife was awake.
Rick pulled his keys from his front pocket, and Malcolm noticed with amusement that the man’s hands trembled as he used the key. Rick was losing it and quickly becoming a liability. Malcolm would have to do something about that soon.
The living room was empty, but the lights were on and the aroma of baked chicken and hot biscuits drifted from the kitchen along with the sounds of pots and plates lightly clanking together.
“Uh . . . honey? Uh . . . we’ve got guests.”
Malcolm stepped into the house with Natasha in tow. He turned, locked the door, and pushed the naked woman down onto the couch as Rick’s “better half” rushed from the kitchen. She ran to Rick, alternately wiping gravy from her hands with a dishrag and smoothing down her hair. It had started to frizz from too long in the steaming kitchen and was sitting up on her head like she’d been struck by lightning. She turned her back on Malcolm as she gave Rick his welcome home kiss.
Out of habit, Malcolm looked down at her ass, and her ass was magnificent. Perched high on her back, bouncing and jiggling as she moved. Even in the baggy sweatpants she wore, he could make out the perfectly rounded outline of each buttock. Malcolm’s first thought was that he couldn’t remember ever seeing an ass more perfect, then he corrected himself. He could remember. He could remember exactly where he’d seen it. When CC turned around, Malcolm was smiling . . . and licking his fangs.
It didn’t take CC long to figure out who Malcolm was either.
“Oh my God, Rick! That’s the guy! That’s the guy all the cops are after! The one who’s been killing those families!”
Malcolm stepped closer to her, still grinning. She recoiled, taking several steps backward and wincing as if anticipating a blow. Rick made a move to shield her, and Malcolm gently, almost casually, pushed him aside without even looking.
“The cops? Looking for me? Imagine that. Oh, that reminds me. How is Detective Bryant?”
The guilt that colored her face scarlet red confessed everything. Malcolm turned to Rick and waited for him to put two and two together. Rick looked from Malcolm’s rather amused if still sinister countenance to his wife’s guilt-ridden face and
his jaw dropped open.
“Fuck is he talkin’ about, CC? Who da fuck is Detective Bryant?”
“That’s the nigga she’s fuckin’ behind your bitch-ass back. The same muthafucka that’s tryin’ to hunt me down.”
With that, Rick slapped CC so hard that she spun 180 degrees and fell to the floor. He straddled her hips, punching her repeatedly. She screamed and struggled, trying to buck him off and raising her arms to shield her face. His fists struck her in the chest, shoulders, and stomach. Malcolm noticed how, even in his rage, he avoided hitting her in the face with a control that indicated he’d done this before. When Rick clamped his hands around CC’s throat and began to squeeze, Malcolm reached over and pulled him off of her.
“Don’t kill her. I think I can use her to get at that detective. The nigga’s in love with this bitch.”
Rick’s chest was heaving and his eyes were wild with rage and starting to well up with tears.
“Man, get your shit together and tie this bitch up! You got any electrical tape?”
Rick went to get the electrical tape. As he walked down the hallway, he punched a wall and cursed loudly. From the sound of his voice, it was obvious that he was crying. Malcolm laughed, a horrible sound somewhere between a witch’s cackle and a dog’s bark. He bent down to help CC to her feet. She offered no resistance as he tossed her across the room like a ragdoll. Natasha pulled CC up onto the couch with her. The two women hugged each other and stared over at Malcolm. Malcolm stared back at them with a massive erection in his pants. Natasha shuddered and turned away. CC continued to stare. She appeared to be in shock.
Rick returned with the tape and immediately began binding CC’s hands and feet. Tears ran down his cheeks and he muttered curses under his breath. He slapped her twice more before he finished taping up her feet, splitting her lip and causing it to bleed. Malcolm grabbed Natasha and dragged her upstairs, leaving the unhappy couple to settle their differences in private.
Pure Hate Page 20
