Perfectly Toxic

by Kristine Mason

  She rubbed the head of his erection along her nipple. “It’d be a shame if you chewed off my tongue. I couldn’t do this.” She bent her head, then licked him.

  He groaned and watched her. Moved his pelvis as much as he could to drive himself deeper.

  “We need our hands.”

  “Rip her hair out.”

  The voices quieted when she moved to her knees and shoved her shorts down over her hips. He stared at the thatch of dark curls, and saw Roderick’s head between her legs. “Bastard.” He pulled at his restraints.

  She finished removing her shorts, then straddled him. “Who’s a bastard?” she asked, and guided him inside her.

  “Roderick,” he said on a moan. “He told me how he licked your pussy today.”

  She stilled. “He did? Did this make you jealous?”

  “It made me want to kill him.”

  “Smash in his skull,” a voice shouted.

  “Burn him,” the other said.

  “What if I told you I didn’t want you to kill him? He’s very important to me.”

  “If he’s so important to you, then why is my dick inside you?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Because I allow it.” She moved over him, rode him slowly, when he wanted her hard and fast. “Don’t forget your position here, Liam. I’m here to help you break free from the voices, and to give you back your life. You are not my lover. You are my toy.” She lifted her rear and slammed down on him. “Given the chance, you’d kill me.”

  “Then why not let Roderick kill me now?”

  “Because I’m not finished with you yet. You’re almost ready.” She ground her sex against him. “I know it. You’re going to fall over that edge and never come back. It’ll be wonderful,” she said, rubbing her hands along his chest. “Then you’ll know freedom. And you’ll thank me. You might hate me now, but when this is over, you’ll be on your knees thanking me for the gift I’ve given you.”

  The door moved ever so slightly. If his eyes hadn’t been wide open for days, he would have missed it. Roderick. Had to be. He fought from smiling. While he didn’t want the man to kill Adeline, he loved that the bastard now knew the truth. Roderick wasn’t enough for the little slut.

  “The gift of freedom?” Liam asked, pretending Roderick wasn’t there.

  “Not the kind of freedom you’re thinking.” She pressed her hands against his chest and moved into a catcher’s stance. “Freedom of the mind, freedom from morality.” She groaned as she bounced on him. “Freedom to embrace being a psychopath.”

  His heart suddenly thudded at a slow, heavy pace. The voices in his head laughed in unison, while the last shred of humanity exited his body.

  “Listen to her,” one of them encouraged.

  “Oh, yes,” the other concurred. “We’ve needed this. You’ve needed this. Now we know our place in the world. No more roaming. No more hospitals.”

  “No more pills.”

  He didn’t know what they were talking about. He couldn’t remember ever being in a hospital, or taking any drugs other than the ones Roderick shoved in him.

  Roderick.

  “Does Roderick know what you’re giving me?” he asked, not caring what the man heard, or if any of this affected him. But he did want to know what he was up against. He might not remember being educated, but he knew he wasn’t stupid, and knew that not all psychopaths were killers.

  He wasn’t a killer.

  “But you want to be. You want to kill Adeline.”

  “You want to mutilate Roderick and piss on his dead body.”

  Damn it, he did. But there was a difference between thinking about killing and actually going through the act, he argued.

  Ecstasy crossed her face as she smiled. “Rod is just like me. He’ll know soon enough.” She bounced faster. “Shut up and let me fuck you.”

  The voices quieted as his orgasm neared. “Let me come inside you this time,” he said, knowing Roderick was still watching, and wishing he could twist a real knife in the man’s back.

  She groaned. Her sex clenched his dick, then she quickly climbed off him. “No. Only Roderick.” When she took him in her mouth, he let out a deep breath. Roderick now had a nice view of her ass, of the way she continued to rub herself. He’d bet the man regretted bragging about their earlier tryst. A little cunnilingus was nothing compared to the way she’d rode him and now took him deep in her throat.

  Suck on that, Roderick, while your woman sucks me.

  As his orgasm hit him, he hoped the man experienced nothing but misery. The bastard deserved it.

  Madeline wiped her mouth, then fixed his pants. “I’m not sure when I can come to you again.”

  “I thought you said the tape would come off my eyes,” he reminded her. “You said that would happen today or tomorrow.”

  She shrugged. “That’s for Rod to decide, not me.”

  “You talk about power, and yet you have none. You’re pathetic.”

  She slammed the tape over his mouth, then pulled on her shorts. “I created you, didn’t I? Don’t bother answering. I’ll also recommend that Rod continue drugging you. Clearly you’re not as ready as I thought.”

  “She’d better hope we don’t escape,” one voice said, its tone menacing.

  “Death is too easy for her and Roderick,” the other added.

  They were right. Whatever he’d once been was lost to him—for now.

  Chapter 18

  The House of Archer, Bower, Georgia

  Monday, 8:28 p.m. Eastern Daylight Saving Time

  RODNEY RUSHED FROM the House of Archer, damning Adeline to hell. With the image of her mounted on top of Liam seared to his brain, he pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes, then sank to the ground.

  The manipulating bitch. He’d loved her so much. Everything he had worked for had all been for her. He could have done something else with his life. He could have been a neurosurgeon. Instead of living in his grandmother’s house, hiding from the public eye and playing the country bumpkin doctor, he could be living in Boston, New York or Los Angeles. Working for one of the country’s best hospitals, making the big bucks, screwing a different woman every night. He dropped his hands. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked to the west of the plantation house. Shades of purple, pink and burnt orange overlapped one another in a psychedelic blend, while the trees hid the dying sun.

  He drew in a shaky breath and stood. Wiped his eyes, then climbed back into the Buick. He’d come home because the cheap bastards who ran the clinic had caught wind that he’d gone into work while he was still on leave. They hadn’t wanted to pay him overtime, and he hadn’t wanted to be there anyway. He’d wanted to be with Adeline. During the short drive home, he’d decided they needed to regroup, to remember why they loved each other. Lately, all they’d done was argue. There’d been nothing tender between them. Not when they’d kissed. Not when they’d made love.

  He slammed his hand against the wheel. Damn it, she’d had sex with another man. And not just any man, but Liam. Their subject. The one person he’d told her to stay away from. God, why did she test him? Did she think he wouldn’t make good on his threats? Did she doubt him?

  “Not after tonight,” he muttered, glaring at the house. At the yawning shadows devouring the rotting columns that at one time had been the grandest in all of southern Georgia. At the wood siding, missing in some places, filled with termites in others. Sickly ivy wound its way along the side of the house, reaching for the front, as well. Like spidery fingers attached to a giant hand, he imagined the ivy coming to life and ripping the house in half.

  He looked to the second floor balcony, and remembered the pale lavender dress his mother had bought for Adeline. She’d been so innocent then, had yet to show the signs of her brain deficiency. He’d stood in the driveway, gazing up at her and grinning like a fool. When she’d turned her eyes on him and had given him the sexiest, sultriest smile he’d ever seen, he’d known then that no other woman would match Adeline.

  R
od is just like me. He’ll know soon enough…

  His chin trembled as a sob tore through him. “Why?” he wailed, and hugged himself. Then he winced when he envisioned a blow from his father.

  “Are you a sissy, boy?” Dean Archer hit him. Blood spurted from Rodney’s nose and onto the dirt.

  He quickly wiped it away and willed himself not to cry. But his face hurt, and he was terrified of his father, especially when the man had gotten into the whiskey.

  “I ain’t no sissy,” he said, loud and proud, hoping that Mama would hear him through the opened window. He knew Gramma wouldn’t do anything to stop his father from wielding another punch, but Mama would.

  “And then she could take the beating for him,” Rodney said, remembering his final thoughts from when he’d been twelve years old. “Oh, my God.” He covered his mouth and shut his eyes, tried his damnedest to block out the rest of the memory. He couldn’t. It was as if the creeping vine infecting the house had taken on life, reached into the car and gripped his skull. The pressure on his head made him shake, made his eyes water. The vine wanted in, it wanted to show him what he didn’t want to see.

  “Leave that boy alone.” Matilda Archer stormed onto the porch carrying a cast iron frying pan.

  Rodney’s heart galloped so fast, he was worried his chest might break. He looked from his mama to his father. Dean Archer let a slow smile lift his meaty jowls. “Are you sure you want to do this, woman? It’s between me and the boy.”

  “What’d he do wrong that gives you the right to bust up his face? He’s just a boy, not a grown, drunken man.”

  Rodney knew what would happen. He’d known all along, which had been why he’d made sure to talk loud enough for Mama to hear him. The woman would come running to protect her child. She would take the beating, leaving him slightly banged up and more wary of his drunken father. He’d known, and he’d wanted it to happen. He had wanted it to be her, not him.

  Rodney pounded on the car’s ceiling. What had he done? What had he known, but denied?

  “He sassed his old man,” Dean Archer said.

  Rodney wanted to defend himself, but knew that would be asking for trouble. His father could knock his mama out with a few hits, then come after him.

  Mama looked to him. “He’s gotten his punishment. Take your whiskey to the barn. It’s late, and Rodney needs to wash up before bedtime.”

  Rodney saw Gramma in the window. The old hag looked to her son, then shook her head and disappeared.

  “Go on, now,” Mama said to him.

  He started up the back porch steps. “Boy,” his father said, stopping him mid-step. “I’m gonna give you a choice. Either you take the beating you have comin’ to you, or your mama gets it on your behalf.”

  Rodney looked to his mother. At the quick rise and fall of her chest. At the way her knuckles whitened around the handle of that cast iron frying pan. His nose and mouth hurt. He didn’t want to hurt anymore.

  “Why can’t you just let us both alone?” he stupidly asked.

  His father grinned. “’Cause someone has to pay. You pick.”

  Rodney looked to his mother, a woman he loved and respected. “I’m gonna go wash up for bedtime.”

  Mama’s eyes moistened with tears. She gave him a watery smile. “You do that, son,” she said, her tone quiet, disappointed.

  But he didn’t care if he disappointed her. He’d make up for it tomorrow by bringing her flowers to fill the vases in her bedroom, and ice to help with the swelling. Better her than him.

  The moment he entered the house, he heard the crack of that cast iron pan, then his father’s nasty diseased laughter. “If you’re gonna hit me, you better make sure I don’t get up. Now I’m comin’ for you.”

  As his father hit Mama, Rodney walked past the old hag crocheting on the sofa, and made his way to the bedroom. Was he man enough to have handled a few more blows from his father? Yep. He put on the headphones of his Walkman, then hit PLAY. Garth Brooks drowned out his mama’s cries and his thoughts about the whole thing. What he needed to do was to go through his stack of baseball cards…

  Rodney wiped a hand down his face. While he’d taken a trip down memory lane, the sun had officially died. A part of him had, too. That night hadn’t been the only time he’d wanted his mother to take the beating for him. Now that he thought about it, there’d been a few times he’d thought she had deserved one, so he’d provoked his father. Why had he thought that? Matilda Archer had been nothing but sweet, kind and nurturing.

  Because he could. Because he could manipulate his stupid father and make him do what he’d wanted.

  Just like Adeline had manipulated him. She had wanted to move in with him when they’d been in college, but Dean and Matilda Archer had considered that unorthodox. When Adeline’s roommate had been murdered, they’d changed their mind. Poor Adeline shouldn’t be left in an apartment alone with a murderer on the loose. She needed the protection of a man.

  If they’d only known the truth. He had. He’d accepted it and hid it. Because he’d loved Adeline, accepted her for what she was and hadn’t cared about the girl she’d murdered. Same went for his cousin. The kid had been a pain in the ass anyway.

  The baby Adeline broke…that still pissed him off. But he’d looked past what Adeline had done and to the future. He’d been so damned excited that Adeline had wanted to help him with his experiments again, even if he’d known all along they were unethical. Even after he’d killed Troy. Even if he’d known none of the people who came into the House of Archer would leave alive.

  He’d let it happen because he’d wanted it to, and because he’d wanted to be with her. And she’d played him. This whole time, she’d played him.

  Now she needed to be taught a lesson. He’d been faithful to the whore. Had never once looked at or touched another woman. He could have had the blonde locked up in Gramma’s bedroom any which way he’d wanted. The only reason he hadn’t was because of Adeline. The promise they’d made to each other had meant something to him. Now that he knew where she stood, now that he was aware of the way she’d been conspiring behind his back—with Liam—she’d learn quickly to never disobey or betray him again.

  He opened the visor and checked his reflection. After wiping his eyes and using a napkin from the glove compartment to blow his nose, he climbed out of the car. As far as she was concerned, they were good. Everything was on track. Nothing was amiss.

  He entered the house. The scent of buttery popcorn filled his nostrils. He followed it to the family room. Adeline sat on the sofa, wearing nothing but a tight tank top—no bra—that bared her stomach, and a pair of panties. She tossed a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “Go get changed and come sit with me.”

  Despite his hatred for her, he couldn’t tear his gaze off her body, especially when she spread her legs and set the bowl of popcorn between her thighs. He snagged a piece, then leaned in and grazed his mouth along hers. “I didn’t get to finish fucking you. Did you take care of yourself?”

  She ran her hand along her breast, then toyed with the strap of her top. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Lying bitch. “I need to shower.”

  “Don’t be long,” she said, running her foot along the inseam of his pants.

  He forced a smile and headed for the bathroom, then quickly turned and slipped out the back door. What he needed was in the cellar. They had handcuffs, rope and duct tape, but he wanted chains. The old rusty ones that had been collecting dust for dozens of years. The one’s he had in mind were thick and heavy, and would look beautiful, taut against Adeline’s skin.

  After grabbing the battery-powered lantern they kept on the back porch, he made his way around the corner of the house. When he reached the cellar doors, he pulled on the handle, then quietly rested the wood on the ground. Holding the lantern in front of him, he took his time taking the two-hundred-year-old steps leading into the dark, dank cool cavern. When he reached the bottom, he raised the lantern. Dust motes he’d kicked
up floated on the air. He shone the light toward the right. The chains he wanted hung where he remembered. As he neared them, the oppressive stench of rotting meat rocked his senses. Keeping his nose and mouth covered, he angled the lantern toward the source. A cobweb hit him in the face. He knocked it away and edged forward.

  The lantern swung, casting eerie shadows along the rock walls. Swallowing, he aimed it at the corner, then jerked back when the light touched on white hair and a gaping, toothless mouth. Rage tore through him, making him want to smash the lantern against the wall. Fighting the bile rising in his throat, he walked over and gave the decomposing body a kick. Gramma’s rotting corpse fell forward. More dust motes rose in the air when her head rolled along the dirt floor. Christ, had that crazy bitch decapitated the old lady? He nudged her head with his shoe.

  He didn’t care that Adeline had killed Gramma—well, he did a little, because how would they explain her disappearance? What he really cared about was that Adeline had never intended to take their experiment seriously. With Gramma gone, why would she stop? Who would know? She could continue bringing back homeless people, drug them, screw with their heads, kill them, then move on to another batch of subjects. Not only had she been trying to create psychopaths—for what reason, he still wasn’t sure—but she’d created a house of torture. A playground for a serial killer.

  And he’d walked into it with his eyes wide open.

  He kicked Gramma’s head across the cellar floor, then turned his attention back to the chains. Maybe he would wrap one around her neck as if she were his animal, then parade her in front of their subjects to make it clear who was in charge.

  He raised the lantern. Light drifted along an old sickle, a long saw missing teeth, the head of a broken hoe. He held the lantern near a hatchet, remembered how Dean Archer had once gone after his mother with it. The woman had outrun his father, but she’d paid dearly later. He’d heard her screams long into the night. What his father had done to her, he still didn’t know. He just remembered that she couldn’t walk for close to a week.