Sick Twisted Minds (Cruel Black Hearts Book 3)

by Candace Wondrak

  I followed him down the stairs. The basement was not decked out in plastic the same way it was the last time. There was no body held to a chair. No John with his head bent back and his skin pale and cold. It looked like a normal basement, save for the giant, body-sized freezer against the one wall.

  Callie was in there. What was left of her, anyway. I wasn’t sure what exactly she’d look like, considering she was flower food for a few months. Worms must’ve gotten to her, along with other creepy crawlies. Still, she had to be more preserved than she would’ve been if the elements of nature would’ve gotten ahold of her.

  I went to the freezer, about to lift it open when Killian said, “Hold on.” I paused, turning to watch him grab two leather gloves off a nearby table. He handed them to me, and I wordlessly put them on. I supposed fingerprints on a dead body would be a giveaway, same with the freezer.

  I wondered how long fingerprints lasted. When I sliced her neck, I hadn’t worn gloves. It had been an accident through and through. If fingerprints lasted that long, I was screwed, unless we did something to eat away the rest of her skin, or whatever was left of her.

  Inhaling sharply, I lifted the freezer’s top, opening it all the way, leaning it against the wall behind it as I stared down at the crumpled body. It looked like she held onto herself, even in death. Her arms folded over her chest, her legs bent at an unnatural angle. She still wore the same clothes she wore the night I’d killed her, but the fabric was dirty and holey. Her skin was mostly rotted, and if it wasn’t for the freezer, I didn’t doubt that she’d smell something fierce. Dead, decaying skin.

  I’d smelled John a bit, but even he was freezer-burned. I couldn’t help but wonder what a fresh corpse smelled like. I could only assume they smelled awful, one of the worst smells you could ever hope to inhale.

  Oh, yes. Her skin was dark. Black and grey, specks of it brown. Bits of her were as holey as her clothes, the parts around her jaw to be exact. I could see some of her teeth through the holes, and I couldn’t help but think about the bugs inside of her, those poor things that had gotten trapped and frozen, all because they were trying to have a meal.

  It was odd I cared more about the bugs and the worms than I did my dead friend, but I couldn’t afford to be broken over this. Not anymore. I’d written a blog post to her, and now I’d seen her. This was my last goodbye. This was it. Callie would no longer take up any space in my head. I couldn’t afford it.

  “She’s…” I trailed off as I studied her body, slowly glancing at Killian next to me. I couldn’t find the words to say, and before I knew what I was doing, I reached for her, touching her frosted face, dancing my leather-clad fingers around the holes in her cheek. “…beautiful,” I finished.

  She was. As decayed and frozen as she looked, she was beautiful. Still the same Callie I knew, only a bit more dead.

  How could Killian say I was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen when he saw things like this? When he so very carefully made wings out of Sandy’s back—made her a literal angel for me? I didn’t understand it, because I didn’t feel beautiful. I felt like I couldn’t ever compare to someone like Callie in her current state.

  Normal women didn’t think corpses were beautiful, I knew. I was so fucked up, and I knew that I was, yet I didn’t try to stop my train of thought. I didn’t bother. What use was hiding all of my weirdness? I was Freaky Stella, after all. I would live up to my nickname, years after high school was over, clearly.

  Killian moved closer to me, and I felt his lips on my shoulder, on the back of my neck. Tantalizing, hungry lips that made me shiver with their soft, tender touch. Our sexy time in the car wasn’t enough for him, if the hardness he pressed against my back meant anything. That, or he thought it was hot I liked the look of Callie’s corpse.

  God, we were so fucked up, weren’t we?

  Whatever. I didn’t care. Everyone else who thought we were freaks could fuck themselves. We’d found each other, and we weren’t about to let each other go.

  He turned me, spinning my front to his, my chest slamming against his as our mouths collided in a raw, carnal display of horniness. When he pushed my ass against the freezer, the lid fell closed, and I ran my gloved hands through his hair, tugging on it, pulling his mouth from mine as I kissed his Adam’s apple, drawing my tongue up to his chin and over his lips. He let out a moan, picking me up and helping me to lay on top of the freezer, and he jumped on me a second later.

  It was Killian’s turn to fumble with his pants and unleash his cock, his turn to yank aside my underwear and shove himself inside. This was not the normal loving tenderness he’d displayed before; we were both too hungry for that, both too eager to find yet another release in each other’s bodies.

  He filled me easily, and I let out a moan. The freezer was cold on my back, his body warm above me. Such a difference in temperature, the two opposing sides only heightened every sensation, every tingle of pleasure. I grabbed his back, the leather around my hands clenching as I held onto him, trying to push him deeper inside. I wanted him to fill me up, eat me up, devour me whole and spit me back out.

  The energy between us was electric. Maybe we were making up for lost time. Here we were, fucking above the literal corpse of my dead best friend, who I’d killed. To say we were messed up would be a terrible understatement. We were royally fucked up, and neither of us cared. We were who we were and we were not ashamed. My family could go fuck themselves. Everyone else in the world could go fuck themselves. As long as I had Killian, Edward, and Lincoln, my life would be just fine. I would be happy. I would be a happy monster, even while on my meds.

  After all of these years, I finally found where I belonged.

  Chapter Twenty-One - Lincoln

  I called off work the next day, and I spent most of it packing. A few things, here and there. I didn’t want to pack my entire closet, but I wasn’t sure what I’d need. I knew the family would provide whatever I forgot or missed, but I honestly didn’t want to be in their debt any further. Enough was enough. This was definitely a reminder to not use their services anymore, including Frank at the junkyard.

  Ed and I would have to find somewhere else to put the bodies.

  Granted, I wasn’t sure what he’d do while I was gone. I was always the one who took the bodies to Frank anyway. Maybe he’d hold back his urges. It was possible Stella would keep him occupied. Hell—maybe he’d miss me too much to go on the hunt for new prey.

  Once a few bags were packed, I went over to Stella’s house. I texted her, told her I’d be waiting for her when she got home from work. She’d given Ed and I a key after the arrangement was made, so I let myself inside and took a shower. Might’ve jerked myself off, but that was neither here nor there. And just like at home, I didn’t clean up after myself. I wanted Stella to see it, and I wanted her to think of me, as crazy as it was.

  Crazy.

  This whole thing was crazy, wasn’t it? Nothing about this screamed normal, and I couldn’t stop my mind from worrying as I washed my hair with her fruity shampoo. Hey, I was man enough to admit that women had the nicest-smelling soap. I liked the smell of cherry blossom as much as anyone. It reminded me of her, anyway. The smell. It was a smell I wouldn’t get any of, once I left.

  Was I being too mushy? I was pretty fucking sure I was being mushy. Me and mushy gushy shit didn’t mix. At least, not before now. And I didn’t really want to start.

  It was too late for me, though. Stella had me wound around her finger, just like Ed had me. I would destroy the world if it meant I got to keep the both of them safe. I would kill anyone, everyone, if it meant I got to keep them by my side until the day I died. Killian—I couldn’t care less about that prick, but he seemed to take care of her okay, now that the whole serial killer bit was out in the open.

  I hated admitting that to myself, but it was true. The fucking ginger wasn’t too bad. I still wanted to kill him, but I didn’t think that urge would ever truly go away. I was still me, after all. Might be
getting all mushy gushy about Stella, but I’d never get gushy about him.

  After drying myself with her towel, I sat on the couch and turned on the TV. I was starving, but I figured I could eat with Stella. I told Ed she was all mine tonight, and I wanted her to myself for a little while, but I would invite him over after the first few rounds. Had to get out most of my energy first.

  Time dragged on slowly. Almost painfully so. I hated feeling anxious; I was never anxious about anything, but walking away from my job, which I actually kind of liked, all to do something for my family because they thought I owed it to them ticked me off. It made me wonder just how deeply they thought I owed them; how much more blood I would have to spill to make it up to them. Who knew? Maybe they’d lord this over me for the rest of my life, in which case, something had to be done. I just didn’t know what.

  I couldn’t kill my family. As much as I hated them sometimes, and as much as they made me dread waking up in the morning, they were still my family. They raised me, taught me everything I knew. I owed a lot to them. I could never repay what they gave me with murder. Other people’s murder, sure—but theirs? No. I wasn’t that kind of man.

  Fuck. The only thing I could do was just do what they wanted me to and hope, pray that they wouldn’t keep me forever. To make me a slave to their money.

  There was a lot of money involved when killing was the subject matter.

  I couldn’t say how long it was before Stella walked through the door, and she came to me on the couch, crawling onto my lap after she set her laptop bag down on the coffee table, where I rested my feet. Fitting on me like a child. Even though she’d gained some weight, she was still too small. Five foot, she was hardly any better than a child. But God, I didn’t care. I loved her all the same. Her and her crazy fucking eyes, her messy hair buns and her lazy clothes. Not something I ever thought I’d admit when I first saw her tied to Ed’s bed. Not something I wanted to think, but here I was.

  I wouldn’t be here for long, though—and that was the kicker.

  Stella leaned into me, brushing her lips against mine. A soft kiss, such gentleness and tenderness I wasn’t used to, mostly because I liked it rough. Tonight, maybe, I wouldn’t be so rough.

  “I thought you got off work at four?” I said, glancing at the microwave’s clock in the kitchen. It was only three-thirty. Not that I was about to complain, because it meant our night could start sooner. It meant I could have her all to myself for just a bit longer.

  “Killian let me leave a little early,” she said, drawing her slender, tiny hands down my chest, over my shirt. The touch sent a fire burning in my lower gut, and I already felt myself growing excited, getting hard. It didn’t take much to set me off when it came to this woman.

  Ed had been right all along. Stella was perfect for us. Perfect for him and his obsession with her, and perfect for me, in a way I just couldn’t describe. I was glad I didn’t kill her that night, glad she’d been so turned on with that knife. My life would be so different now if she wasn’t in it; I didn’t think I could even handle a life like that. Who fucking would, after knowing what Stella tasted like?

  I was so wrapped up in her that I completely overlooked the whole Killian thing. That had to say something, didn’t it? I hated the man, and the mention of his name did nothing to me. I was too busy wondering whether I should throw her over my shoulder and take her into her bedroom or take her right here, right now.

  Both.

  Both was good.

  We’d move into the bedroom after we had our fun out here.

  “I’m going to miss you,” Stella said, and I ran my hands under her shirt, working to unhook her bra. I helped her out of them both as she straddled my lap, rocking her hips and grinding herself against my erection. Her leggings didn’t hide much from me, no jeans but mine between us. Those would come off soon enough. I didn’t want to rush any of this.

  Tonight, I would take my time. I would ravish every part of her and fuck her as long as my body would let me. I would hold her close, breathe in her scent and memorize it so I could remember it while I was away. I would drink in every detail of her, the way she moaned as she ground against me, how her eyelids fluttered shut when my palms grazed her nipples. I would burn this woman and everything about her into my memory so vividly that I saw her each and every time I closed my eyes.

  Ugh. I must’ve been spending too much time around Ed. That was definitely an Ed thought, but it was true all the same.

  Stella, still only topless, had stopped her grinding and was working on undoing my pants when the front door shook with a series of knocks. She froze, and we both turned our heads to the door. Stella had a habit of never locking it when she was home, and anyone who knew her knew that, so whoever stood on the outside of that door didn’t know her too well.

  Who the fuck could it possibly be? I knew it wasn’t Ed, because he was still at work, and he wouldn’t come here until I told him to. And that fucktard Killian—he was at work, too. Who the fuck…

  Stella heaved herself off me, tiptoeing to the door even though she was shirtless, her nipples hard and pointed. She peered through the peephole the moment the person on the outside knocked again. Whoever it was, they were clearly impatient. I felt my blood pressure rising. Whoever the fuck was interrupting us deserved to fucking die.

  I got to my feet, about to go to her, but she stopped me by spinning to face me and giving me a confused and worried look. Softly, so as to not alert the person knocking angrily outside, Stella whispered, “It’s my mother.”

  “Your mother?” I echoed. I knew the wedding rehearsal hadn’t gone well, but Stella hadn’t told me all the details. She didn’t want to bother me before I went away, which was thoughtful, I supposed. Now would be a good time to have the whole story, though. “What do we do?”

  Her mother knocked on the door yet again, this time harder, louder.

  “Obviously she’s not going away,” I hissed, annoyed at the intrusion.

  Stella went for her bra and her shirt, hurriedly putting them back on. The mood was officially ruined, but my dick was still hard. She looked at me with those eyes, those eyes that made me think she was a liar, that she was hiding something. Little did I know at the time, but she was. She was hiding something even she had no idea about. “Go into my bedroom. I’ll handle her.”

  I sighed. Hiding away while she dealt with her bitch of a mother was not something I wanted to do, but again, I had little choice. Her mother was here, and with the intensity of her knocking, she wasn’t going to go away. I didn’t doubt that if Stella had been at work, her mother would’ve waited until she got home. She seemed like that sort of woman. Crotchety and old, a bitch through and through, always having to get her way with everything.

  I was slow to nod. I said, “If you need me…”

  Stella gave me a single nod in return, so I turned on my heels and went into the hall, walking into her bedroom. I could’ve sat on the bed, could’ve done a lot of things, but I chose to linger by the door, not closing it. I guess I was nosey too. Plus, from the stories Stella had told Ed and I about her family, I didn’t trust her mother. Not with Stella. I didn’t trust anyone with her, only one of the reasons why I dreaded leaving her.

  I listened to Stella opening the door, eavesdropped on the conversation they had, all the while holding myself back, knowing Stella could handle her. She’d handled her mother for the first twenty-five years of her life. She didn’t need me stepping in and handling Margaret for her now, but maybe I should have.

  Things…escalated quickly.

  Chapter Twenty-Two - Stella

  I couldn’t believe my mother was here. On a Friday, during the day, totally unannounced. What would she have done if I was still at work? And why the hell was she here to begin with? I thought I’d been pretty crystal fucking clear when I’d told her and Bree I was done with our family; I didn’t want a single part of anything they had to do with.

  Showing up at my door, knocking like a madwoman?
What the hell was she thinking?

  I let my annoyance show on my face as I opened the door, scowling at my mother, who just waltzed inside, as if she was invited—which she wasn’t. I only opened the door. Didn’t even say hi or what the fuck are you doing here?

  Margaret wore a pencil skirt today. Powder blue, with a nice matching blouse a few shades lighter. Pearls that I knew were genuine hung around her neck, and her wrinkled face was plastered in makeup. Her blonde hair was straight, swept to a single shoulder. Her typical appearance, the snooty country club woman who thought she was better than everyone else. Her blue eyes were accusatory, as if I was the bane of her existence and not the other way around.

  “You,” she spoke. “You have a nerve, Stella.” She shook her head, setting her small handbag on the counter in the kitchen, leaning on the edge of the laminate before adding, “I cannot believe the stunt you pulled yesterday. Do you have any idea how terrible you made your sister feel?”

  She came here to lecture me about Bree and her feelings? Oh, God. This woman could get the fuck out of my house, and she could do it right this very second.

  When my mother met stares with me, I said, “I don’t care how I made Bree feel.” The door behind me hung wide open, a wordless invitation for my mother to leave and never come back. Honestly, I not once thought she’d make the long drive over here, not after what I said. I thought that would be that.

  I was wrong.

  Margaret heaved a sigh, moving to shut the door since I wasn’t. Don’t let in all the bugs, she used to say, as if there was a line of them just outside the door, waiting to get in. “How in the world could you be so inconsiderate? I didn’t raise you like that—”

  “Do you have any idea how you make me feel?” I asked. “You didn’t raise me to be like anything—you barely even looked at me as I was growing up, never paid attention to me. Everything was always about Bree!”

  “Oh, don’t be dramatic. That’s a lie. I cannot even believe you think that. When have your father and I ever showed a preference between you two girls?” It was clear Margaret truly believed what she was saying, which blew my mind. She was so blind, so stuck up in her own ass, she couldn’t see right in front of her.