Perfectly Toxic

by Kristine Mason

  “I never thought about it like that. But now that I do, maybe that was God’s way of making sure I’m around to be here for you.” The only church he’d been in was the Army chapel. He’d never had any religious schooling, and his mother had certainly never said much about God unless she’d been using His name in vain. He still believed, though. He had since he’d been a kid. Lord knew he’d needed something to give him hope. Years later, He’d placed Melanie in his path.

  He stroked her cheek, then her hair. “Do you think Bobby’s doing okay?”

  She sighed. “I think Noah’s death opened his eyes. I’m hoping he learns from everything that’s happened to him in the past week, and betters himself like he’d promised.”

  While she wasn’t talking about him, she could’ve been. Cash had made promises to her, too, and he planned to learn from everything that had happened to him, remember the loss of his wife these last two years and the pain that had come with it. He didn’t want to be without her again.

  “What if he really moves back to Everglades City?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Will you want to stay in the Glades for a while until he gets settled, or maybe split your time between here and there?”

  She lifted her head off his lap, then straddled him. “You know how they say there’s no such thing as a dumb question?”

  He grinned and ran his hands along her back. “I just asked one, huh?”

  She nodded. “I’d like to go into our bedroom and fool around with my husband,” she said, grazing her lips along his. “Are you good with skipping TV?”

  He could have pointed out that she’d also asked a dumb question, but kissed her instead. He’d be a fool to turn her down, and didn’t want to anyway. After spending two years separated, they had plenty of making up to do.

  Chapter 14

  The House of Archer, Bower, Georgia

  Monday, 7:38 a.m. Eastern Daylight Saving Time

  “JIM’S DEAD.”

  Adeline looked up from her over medium eggs and stared at Rodney. “How?”

  He shrugged and walked toward the coffee pot. “I’m assuming from a heart attack. When I checked on him before bed last night, his heart rate had been over one hundred and forty beats per minute.”

  She picked up the jelly spoon, then dipped it into the jar of strawberry jam. “We knew he could be at risk.” Setting the spoon aside, she used her knife to swipe the jam across her toast, and shifted her gaze toward him. “And how is our other test subject?” She smiled when Rod’s back straightened and his shoulders squared.

  “He’s fine.”

  “Should I go see for myself?” she asked, then took a bite of the toast.

  “If you feel it’s necessary.” He faced her, apology clear in his eyes. “I gave him his saline drops, his next dose and made sure that he’d relieved himself before he urinated in his pants.”

  “How kind. After your outburst last night, I’ve been concerned about your bedside manner. Maybe I’ll check on him anyway. Or will you hurt me again?”

  His hand shook as he reached for the creamer. “You have no idea how horrible I feel about hurting you. I let my jealousy get the best of me. Please accept my apology.”

  “I’m sure I’ll get over it.” She already had. If anything, she had new respect for Rodney. He’d showed a backbone, had proven that when pushed hard enough, he would retaliate. That had been what she’d been waiting for from him. She’d wanted him dark, dirty and ready to push the limits. And she planned to compel him to stretch his imagination. By the time she was finished, he’d no longer have a conscience. His morals would be a thing of the past. In its place would be her desires, her wishes. She didn’t want an obedient dog—she was saving that role for their test subject, Liam. She wanted a strong man at her side. A man who would think nothing of killing. She wanted Rodney to be that man and to be her equal.

  He set the creamer back on the counter, then rushed to her. He fell to his knees. “I need you,” he said, his eyes imploring and filled with worry. “I need us to go back to where we were before I struck you.”

  She set her toast on her plate, then rotated in the chair until she faced him. “You mean, when you ripped off my clothes, then fucked me against the wall.”

  His eyes simmered with hunger as his gaze dipped to her breasts. “Before that.”

  Not bothering with untying the sash of her robe, she lifted the hem of her nightgown. “To when I was constantly begging you to come to my bed? Did you like having that kind of power over me?” She raised the nightgown higher and spread her legs.

  “I hated you for tempting me,” he said, sliding a hand along her inner thigh. “There were nights I laid in bed stroking myself, imagining your mouth on me, my tongue inside you.”

  When he moved her panties aside and pressed his fingers deep, she fought against groaning, against giving him an ounce of satisfaction. She wanted him to suffer just a little longer.

  “I hated that all I could think about was licking you.” He twisted his hand, and brushed her clit with his knuckle. “Sucking your nipples.” He pulled his fingers from her body. “Fucking you,” he said, then drew them into his mouth.

  “Do you still hate it?” she asked, unable to stop staring at his mouth.

  “Yes.”

  She grinned. “Good.” She adjusted her nightgown and robe. “Don’t you have a body to bury?” she asked as she turned and picked up her toast.

  “Bitch.” When he stood, his crotch was level to her face, his arousal evident beneath his old jeans. He rubbed himself, which only made her want to resist him more. She loved making him suffer. She wanted him hard and hungry for her. She wanted him angry, jealous. Because later the reward would be that much sweeter.

  “Call me what you want. I don’t care.” She watched as his hand continued to move along the outline of his erection. “While you’re burying Jim in the old barn, I’m going to drive to Tallahassee to see if there’s any word on Noah.”

  He dropped his hand away, and moved back to the counter. “I would prefer if you waited for me. It could be dangerous.”

  If she found him, Noah would be the only one in danger. “I don’t want to wait. I also think I should try to bring back another subject. We need more to make sure our results are accurate.”

  “No.”

  Right. Because she was going to obey.

  “If you can’t promise me that you won’t pick up another homeless person, then I will hide the keys from you. Better yet, I’ll chain you to the bed.”

  She scooped jam onto the tip of her finger, then swept it off with the tip of her tongue. “Now I’m tempted to disobey you.”

  A smile tugged at his mouth. “Well, are you going to promise me?”

  “Fine. I promise not to pick up a homeless person.” For now.

  “Good. There’s something else I need to tell you. It’s about Liam,” he said, and she swore his small smile became mocking. “I heard him talking to someone.”

  “Do you think the drug is affecting him differently than the others?” The previous subjects had experienced mild hallucinations, but they hadn’t lasted long. She was quite impressed with the drug she’d created. A-Line had left the user lucid enough to understand what was happening to them, but compliant enough to accept what her voice recordings and the videos suggested. Add on the violent urges, and she’d created the perfect recipe for a future killer.

  “I don’t think A-Line had anything to do with it,” Rodney said with a frown. “I heard him mention something about reaching Miami. Then he said, ‘No one is coming for me or knows I’m missing.’ Just before I opened the door, he said, ‘Go away.’”

  “Maybe he was talking to you. As I recall, you weren’t very nice to him.”

  He sipped from his coffee mug. “Initially, I thought the same thing. I figured he was having a mild case of psychosis. So, I went into the room and asked him who he was talking to. He told me it was his imaginary friend, Mitch, who was
a mercenary hired to help stop the government from poisoning the water.”

  No longer interested in breakfast, she pushed her plate aside. “I’m sure it was the A-Line talking. Think about it, we’re injecting him and he doesn’t understand why. His mind could be fabricating a story to justify what’s happening to him. Did he say anything else?”

  “Not a word,” he said, and she knew he was lying. She’d spent too many years with the man to not know the signs. She doubted she’d be able to coax him into telling her what had been said, but knew who might enjoy talking with her.

  She shoved her chair back and picked up her plate. “I think I’ll shower and get ready to drive to Tallahassee,” she said, setting her plate in the sink.

  Rodney came up behind her, but didn’t touch her. “You didn’t get to come yesterday. I want to take care of that later.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Who says I didn’t come?”

  He turned her around and pinned her against the old farmhouse sink. For a second, she regretted her words. The anger, the possessiveness in his eyes suggested she shouldn’t push him.

  “Who says I didn’t go back to my room and pleasure myself?” She moved to her tiptoes and ran her tongue along his lower lip. “While I was thinking about the way you fucked me against the wall.”

  On a groan he kissed her, then quickly stepped away. “I’m heading to the barn. I’ll have my cell phone on me. Call me when you’re leaving.”

  “Do you need help moving Jim’s body from the attic room?”

  “No. I doubt the man weighs more than one hundred and thirty pounds.”

  She flicked her gaze to Rodney’s strong biceps, and couldn’t wait to hold them when they had sex later. “How are you taking his death? I realize the circumstances are different compared to Troy’s, but I know you. I know you think about these things more than I do.”

  “If the man hadn’t gotten into our car, he’d still be alive. Probably sitting against a building, either passed out from whatever rotgut he’d found the night before, or hung over, or going through withdrawal because he couldn’t find any booze.” He shoved a hand in his front pocket. “I feel guilt for not feeling guilty, if that makes any sense. And I think I don’t feel guilty because Jim probably would have died a slow, painful death on the streets anyway.”

  Very interesting. But how would Rodney feel if he killed Liam out of jealousy? Not anytime soon, though. She had plans for their subject.

  “I think I understand,” she said, even if she didn’t at all. For her, guilt didn’t exist. It never had. When she’d been scolded as a child, she’d taken the beating and just was smarter the next time, making sure she didn’t get caught. When she’d killed her roommate, the only emotion running though her had been relief. The bitch had been dead and she’d had an excuse to move in with Rodney. Geoff? Rodney had been right the other night. She’d killed him because she hadn’t wanted the boy at the House of Archer the entire summer. She hadn’t wanted the kid in her way, invading her privacy, infringing on her time with Rodney. That wasn’t to say she hadn’t had a little fun with him first. Fifteen-year-old boys were very eager to please.

  Rodney took a few steps back, his gaze drifting over her body. “Call my cell phone before you leave.” He turned and headed for the stairs, but stopped at the first step without turning to face her. “Stay away from Liam. I don’t want to make good on my promise.”

  If I find out you’ve fucked him, I’ll kill him and beat you.

  As Adeline turned to the sink to take care of her dirty dish, she smiled. The lump on her head, curtsey of Rodney, was still tender. She now knew what he was capable of when provoked, but couldn’t wait to test the limits. He was so close to breaking that she suspected it wouldn’t take much more for him to truly accept the truth.

  He was just like her.

  She’d finished cleaning up the breakfast mess, when Rodney came down the stairs carrying Jim’s body—wrapped in a sheet—over his shoulder. She watched him, stared at his straining muscles, at his ass as he exited to the back porch, then let out a sigh.

  She had plenty of time to kill before Rodney would finish digging Jim’s grave. Time enough to play with Liam.

  ****

  “There’s something in the corner.”

  Liam quickly looked.

  “No, the other corner,” another voice said.

  He shifted his gaze.

  “Don’t listen to him, listen to me,” the first voice said, its tone higher, and holding more urgency.

  Liam didn’t know who to listen to, who to believe. The two voices had been battling and contradicting each other from the moment Mitch had disappeared. Focus. Focus. But when he tried to focus, all he heard was Madeline’s voice.

  She was a bad, bad woman. She wanted him to do bad, bad things.

  “Smash her teeth,” Madeline told him through the recording, but she might as well have been in the room. Filling his head with images of violence that matched the scenes on the TV.

  “Listen to her,” the lower voice said. “She will help us.”

  “No, she won’t,” the other voice countered.

  “She will.”

  He wanted to tell the voices in his head to shut the fuck up. Unfortunately Roderick—the bastard—had taped his mouth before leaving him, but not before sticking another needle in his arm. Whatever Roderick had given him, he wanted more. The drug helped make Madeline’s words less appalling, the images on the TV less offensive. That didn’t mean he hadn’t been thinking about Roderick and what he’d like to do to the man, should he find a way to escape.

  “Fuck with him hard,” the lower voice suggested.

  “Yes, do it,” the other one concurred.

  They were all in agreement. Roderick needed a good fucking with before Liam smashed the man’s teeth into the back of his throat.

  The door opened, and Madeline stepped into the room.

  “Don’t trust her,” the higher voice said. “Don’t listen.”

  “Wait. She could help,” the lower voice advised.

  She smiled. Such a pretty smile. Her sun-kissed cheeks had slight dimples. Her green eyes held amusement. But there was nothing amusing about his current situation. He wanted to blink his eyes so bad that he’d kill for the chance.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked as she moved alongside the bed. She caressed his face, the touch feather-light, soothing before she ripped the tape from his mouth.

  He let out a grunt and tamped down the pain and hatred. “Thirsty.”

  “Last time you said that, I held your big cock in my hands. Is that a correlation or just coincidence?”

  “I don’t think Roderick liked you touching me,” he said, unsure why he’d encourage her. He was helpless, vulnerable. If he pushed Roderick too much, the man could amplify his current position in hell.

  “Good thing Rod’s not here,” she said, tiptoeing her fingers along his chest. “How do you feel?”

  Her recorded voice, although once again background noise, penetrated his mind, urged him to kill. “Hungry,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  She leaned close, so close he lost sight of her in his peripheral vision. God, she smelled good. Like strawberries. “Food?”

  His stomach turned. “No.”

  Her breast pressed against his arm. “Me?”

  Hell, no. “I hate you.”

  She slid her hand to his dick. “Revenge?”

  He sucked in a breath when she cupped him. Yes. He wanted revenge. He wanted out of this place, but he wanted to make them pay for what they were doing to him first.

  “I can help you with that.” She moved her hand over him. “Roderick doesn’t know I’m here. He’s busy burying the man who died in the room next to yours. If we’re not careful, that could be you. I doubt you want that.”

  Death would be easier.

  “Listen to her,” one of the irritating voices in his head said.

 
“Yes, listen,” the other one agreed.

  “What happened to him?” Liam asked. While he didn’t remember seeing another man, he’d heard noises from the next room. He also wanted to know his possible fate.

  “Rod’s a very jealous man. When our test subject tried to fondle me, Roderick let the man know that wasn’t allowed.”

  His breath quickened. Despite his hatred for Madeline, his penis grew under her talented hand. “He beat the man?”

  “Until his face was unrecognizable.” Her lips brushed his ear. “Until his eyes were swollen shut and blood poured from his ears, mouth and nose.” She ran her tongue along the shell of his ear, before whispering, “Then Rod slit the man’s throat. There was so much blood, Liam. I wish you could have seen it.”

  He wished the dead man was Roderick. Picturing himself beating the man until he’d become nothing but a bloody pulp, then slicing his throat would become his new fantasy. But then what to do with Madeline afterward?

  When she groaned, he snapped out of the fantasy and realized he’d become harder than he’d ever been. Damn it, he had to keep his body under control.

  “Feels so good,” one of his voices murmured.

  “Yes, let her. Maybe she’ll let you go,” the other said.

  Doubtful. While their names were likely fake, he’d seen their faces. He knew what they were doing to people. “You called the dead man your test subject. Is that what I am?” he asked, hoping the reminder of his place in this situation would control his sexual urges.

  “I don’t want you to be,” she said, moving a step back and untying the sash of her robe. Even if his eyes weren’t taped open, he doubted he could look away. Although nearly thirty, he’d only been with two women. The first had been in high school and had ended in disaster—him fumbling, trying his best to be the stud he wasn’t, then climaxing within fifteen seconds. The second had been a few years later when he’d been in college. Her name had been Jane and she’d been pretty and sweet. They’d dated for a few months before she’d finally let him go all the way with her. Two weeks later, he’d had his first schizophrenic breakdown. Jane had never bothered to contact him during or after his month-long stay in the psych unit.