Locked Inside

Faith Raven

Copyright © 2024 by Faith Raven

All rights reserved.

Cover, illustrations and graphics by Alia Verba

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, or products is intended or should be inferred.

To all those who fall for the psycho.
Have you ever squirted in madness, little bunny?

Playlist

Halestorm – Psycho Crazy

Cloudy June – FU In My Head

Chloe Adams – Dirty Thoughts

Nessa Barrett – Madhouse

Austin Giorgio – No Mercy

Billie Eilish – Copycat

Teddy Swims – I Lose Control

David Thomas Connolly – Good People Do Bad Things

Melanie Martinez (Vietsub) – Mad Hatter

Bishop Briggs – River

Charlotte Lawrence – Joke’s On You

Ellise – Killer

Falling In Reverse – Voices in My Head

Jade LeMac – Aimed to Kill

Fight The Fade – Monster

Undream feat. Neoni – Nightmare

Chandler Leighton – Monster

Neoni – Hypnotized

Lizz Robinett – Hide and Seak

Ellise – Badthings

Cloudy June – Crazy Woman

Nikki Idol – Go To Hell

EMM – Psycho

Cloudy June – Monsters In My Mind

Ellise – 911

Ellise – Can You Keep a Secret?

Jack Harris – Careful What You Wish For

SkyDxddy – Monsters Ink

Moncrieff, Judge – Serial Killer

Bebe Rexha – I’m Gonna Show You Crazy

Dove Cameron – God’s Game

Pinterest Board

Spotify

Important Note

This book is recommended for an informed audience aged +18. It deals with very dark topics, heavy psychological traumas, mental illnesses, and situations that may be disturbing for some readers, including:

Alcohol Use/Abuse

Anal Sex

Animal Cruelty (on frogs)

Anxiety

Autassassinophilia (fetish of being killed)

Body Decomposition (not graphic)

Child Abuse (graphic)

Choking/Breath Play

Cum Play

Degradation (with praise)

Depression (mention)

Drug Use/Abuse

Explicit Sex Scenes

Gaslighting

Needle Play

Mental Health/Mental Illnesses

Mind Games

Murder

Non/Dub Con

Orgasm Denial

Parental Loss and Grief

PTSD

Rape (mention)

Sex without a Condom

Self-harm

Slapping

Somnophilia

Spitting

Suicide (mention)

Torture

Your mental health matters.

Spicy Chapters

For those who want to reread the spicy scenes and find them more easily in the book, you can check the chapter list below.

Get your mind ready and spread your legs like the good little girl you are:

Chapter 4 – Traitorous Thoughts

Chapter 5 – Naked Truths

Chapter 8 – Squirting Madness

Chapter 12 – Treasure Hunt

Chapter 13 – Unorthodox Therapy

Chapter 14 – Play By The Rules

Chapter 15 – How To Cure A Psychopath?

Chapter 21 – Somnophilia

Chapter 22 – You Leave Me Breathless

Chapter 23 – When The Fish Comes To The Surface

Chapter 24 – Shameful, Delicious Cocktail

Chapter 28 – Kneel For Me

Chapter 29 – You Are Killing Me

Chapter 32 – Write Down What I Tell You

Chapter 34 – Slap Me or Thank Me?

Chapter 35 – Needle Me

Chapter 36 – There You Are

Chapter 38 – Imperfect Soulmates

Chapter 39 – Who Won?

Epilogue

Prologue

When you have worked in a mental hospital for more than five years, you might think you’ve seen and heard everything, from the most disturbing to the most disgusting things a human being can possibly imagine. I certainly did.

Yet nothing could have prepared me for the sickest, most twisted, most destabilizing experience I ever endured.

And this experience has a name:

Deon.

Despite having Master's degrees in Psychology and Psychopathology and having already handled numerous difficult cases during my career, I was not ready to deal with a being like him.

When you work in an asylum, you must have mental balance and self-control to face the darkest demons that can possess the human mind, and you have to develop further coping skills for cases in which those are not enough. I thought I was proficient in all those. I had found a stable balance between my personal and professional lives, keeping them separate and preventing one from taking over the other.

But Deon was able to slowly creep into my mind, under my skin, into my blood, until he invaded every inch of me.

To the point of exposing a primordial compulsion within my being.

A black compulsion.

A sick compulsion.

A compulsion that prevents me from recovering the morals I once possessed. Morals that have been crushed, shattered under the power of his twisted soul, his black soul, his murderous soul.

I know that now, after everything that has happened, after everything he has done, after everything I have done, I can no longer go back.

I can't find the old Abigayle anymore. The Abigayle with a normal life.

The new Abigayle no longer knows the line between sanity and insanity. The thin line that divided them has been erased forever, allowing the two to intertwine, merge and possess each other in a new universe, a new dimension of madness and perversion.

All I can do now is follow his voice, his soul, his heart.

The only thing left for me to do is to plunge into his black abyss, in a fall toward total perdition.

Because deep down in my true self, I want it.

I want it too much.

Chapter One

Abigayle

Destabilizing Presence

The smell of bleach floats in the air, like a bitter embrace.

Even after working here for years, I haven’t gotten used to the pungent odor of the hospital. It reminds me every day of the dance I perform to stay one step ahead of mental illness, human fragility, and perversion of the mind.

That’s probably why I struggle to accept it.

Accentuated by that biting smell, the rhythmic clicking of my heels echoes through the long white corridor lit only by cold neon stripes along the ceiling. The succession of closed gray metal doors, each indicating the patient’s name on a black label, make the hallway appear disturbingly long, like an endless walk in a loop of insanity.

Clutching a folder regarding the new patient, I head toward my office.

Strangled verses, unsettling lullabies repeated obsessively, and terrifying screams accompany my walk, my travel companions during this infinite search for light in a pit of darkness. Strangely, I'm more used to this kind of noise than I am to the smell of bleach.

At the end of the corridor, opposite the isolation cell, is my office. Retrieving the set of keys from my white lab coat pocket, I open the door.

The October morning glow creeps inside the room through the narrow window, plunging the space in a gloomy atmosphere. Rather than being cheerful, it feels as if a dark shadow was about to climb the walls, saturating the air with its oppressive presence.

Ignoring the shiver that slides down my spine, I head toward my desk, throw the gray binder onto the table and sink into the chair in front of my computer. After taking a deep breath, I turn on the small white desk lamp.

A new patient is arriving today. Apparently, his is a complicated case. The man is implicated in a series of murders in Seattle during the last three years. The police believe he is responsible for the deaths of twenty-five men, all wanted for violence and child abuse.

But they're not sure yet.

Given the atrocity of the acts, his defense lawyers had him sent here to be evaluated for possible mental illnesses.

From the little I read in his file, this man killed his victims by torturing them for hours. Cutting off their fingers, one by one, then their ears and tongues. Once the appendages were removed, they were puréed in a blender. The perpetrator forced the liquid down the throats of the victims before gouging their eyes out.

In every case, he managed to keep them alive until the end, at which point he castrated them and allowed them to bleed to death. When each victim was dead, the killer cut off the man’s head and placed it between his legs, empty eye sockets staring at where the genitals had been.

Another icy shiver crawls down my spine as I recall the details.

I have confronted numerous disturbing cases throughout my career, but I have to admit this one trumps them all, without a shadow of a doubt. I have never heard of such violence being orchestrated against another human being, or faced such coldness, diligence, and morbid but controlled obsession in carrying out such inhuman acts.

My years of study and professional experience have taught me to not judge a book by its cover or build prejudices before having confronted my patients, because what is written on paper often does not depict the full reality of the situation. It doesn't correspond to the desperation and emptiness I see in their pupils. It doesn’t represent the complexity of their minds and entanglements of their souls.

Therefore, I try to refrain from forming an opinion on this new patient before having met him. I must first see it in his eyes, read it on his face, and hear it in his words and tone of voice. Only then will I be able to grasp the first glimpses of his person and what his mind hides.

But, in this case, with the evidence in the file before me, it is hard.

The sudden shrill ring of my phone makes me start, and my heart skips a beat before racing so fast I can’t breathe.

I'm as tense as a violin string, but don't know why. I feel something dangerous advancing toward me, like a black hurricane, ready to engulf me in its destructive force.

Retrieving the phone from my pocket, I read the name on the screen and shake my head with a smile. “Jenna, you know I can't normally take calls when I'm at work,” I scold the person on the other end half-heartedly.

“Oh Abby, stop being such a moralizing bitch and listen to me.”

I roll my eyes with a chuckling snort. “What's up?”

Jenna has been my best friend since college, when we met in a psychology class. She's a force of tenacity and determination, but also a huge pain in the ass when I don't do what she wants. She always manages to convince me with her ambiguous explanations and exhausting insistence.

When she calls me at work, I know there's something bugging her brain and she wants to get rid of it over at least three shots of tequila. Often, her twisted ruminations concern a man. She's obsessed with them. Sometimes I wonder if she suffers from nymphomania, but I would never tell her that. Not seriously, at least. I joke about it every now and then, and she laughs.

Today, I’m sure she wants to talk about the fifth man she’s fucked this week who didn't call her back. She is an eternal romantic, always hoping to find Mr. Right at every first meeting. I admire her sometimes. She is nonchalant about chasing this ideal of princely love she still thinks resides in every man's heart.

Unlike me.

“This evening. You. Me. And five fucking shots of tequila. Nine o'clock at District Zero. And I don't want to hear no for an answer, okay?”

I huff lightly, nervously playing with the corner of the new patient’s gray folder. “Jen, I finish my shift at eight tonight. I'll be a mess. Tonight just doesn’t work. This afternoon at six a new patient arrives and I will have to take care of him for the next three months. Can't we do it tomorrow?”

“Ooh, a new patient… How long has it been since a new one arrived? At least a month, right? How is he? What's his problem?”

Jenna thinks that even the psychiatric cases I treat are men potentially to fuck. She is sick.

“Jen,” I scold her. “You know I can't talk about this at work. In fact, I really shouldn't talk about it with you since you work for the police.”

“Mmhh, so he's involved with the police. What is it? Sexual assault? Kidnap? Murder?” Her voice gets excited as she goes through the list.

I snort again, rolling my eyes in exasperation.

She's definitely one of the best detectives in her section, but she's way too nosy about my work. She likes exhorting morbid stories from me. I can't blame her. I too have gotten used to working with frighteningly complicated and convoluted cases and there is nothing that shocks me anymore.

Or at least I think so.

“Jen, you know I can’t talk about it, especially when I haven't even seen the patient yet. No prejudices, you know my rule.”

“Fuck, what a pain in the ass you are! You're going to tell me about it tonight at nine over tequila then, and I want all the juicy details. See you later.” She ends the call before I can reply.

Huffing in annoyance, I set my phone on the table and sink back in my chair.

I have a long day ahead of me, and, knowing Jenna, tonight will be a long evening as well.

I’m filling out a patient’s exit authorization when I hear someone knocking on my door. “Yes?”

Jeremy, the young blond nurse trainee, sticks his head in, giving me a distraught look. The frightened glow in his green eyes and his tensed features summon a strange unease in my chest. He looks like he’s just seen a demon and is doing all he can to avoid screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Um… The new patient has arrived. They’re taking him to the isolation cell,” he stammers in a barely audible whisper.

The isolation cell is normally reserved for the most extreme cases, such as a patient who could be a harm to himself or others.

Is this guy really that scary?

Deon Knight, thirty-two years old, six-foot-six, is the CEO of his own AI software company, according to his file. He doesn't fit into the stereotype of patients we normally welcome at our psychiatric hospital, but there is always a first time for everything.

“Thanks, Jeremy.” I smile, trying to reassure him.

Unconvinced, he nods as he closes the door.

Working in an asylum can be destabilizing at first. Being faced with extreme and twisted cases is upsetting. It took me a while to adjust, months to convince myself I had chosen the right profession. I have always been fascinated with the mysteries of the human mind and psyche. Understanding their defense mechanisms and coping habits in the face of traumas and deviant experiences is alluring, but also my life’s mission. I have always tried to help people oppressed by their own demons. By their own frightening shadows. Including myself.

What I haven’t told anyone is that I sometimes have fixations too. While they may be insignificant for others, for me they are overpowering, a weight on my chest that takes my breath away, that chokes me in my own mind.

Turning my attention back to the authorization sheet, I sign the paper. But as soon as the ink spreads on the line, a fiery shiver draws my spine. That oppressive feeling in my chest plunges into the pit of my stomach, coming back to crush me.

Heavy footsteps echo in the corridor and I raise my head in time to glimpse two nurses escorting an individual. Through the small window of my office door, I see the new patient’s broad and defined shoulders, his black, disheveled hair with thicker locks falling on his forehead.

Although that is all I manage to catch, that sight alone twists my insides with uneasiness and excitement. Confused by the reaction, I clear my throat before collecting the documents on my desk. I take a moment to calm down, distracting myself by putting everything away in the black cabinet. Once I am suitably composed, I adjust my lab coat and retrieve the file of the new patient, a new notepad, and a pen.

Outside my office, Jeremy and David stand on either side of the cell, their hands clasped in front of them, like bouncers at the entrance to a club. They are here for the safety of new arrivals, who may have dangerous outbursts and injure themselves or the staff. I also have an alarm signal in my lab coat pocket, just in case.

Beyond that, the room is equipped with a camera system to monitor the patient and make sure nothing serious happens. Inside, the walls are padded and there is only a single metal bed with a mattress, equipped with straps to tie the patient if necessary, a toilet, and a sink. It is also completely soundproof.

As I advance toward the gray door, my heart races, coiling me in an unsettling feeling, making goosebumps bloom all over my skin. Shaking my head to ward off the strange sensation, I reach for the handle. Immediately, I jerk back, the metal almost burning my fingers like volcanic lava, shooting a danger signal to my brain.

Without even seeing the patient, I understand why Jeremy had that look on his face. A rush of adrenaline makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

Fuck, Abby. Don't be intimidated. You’ve always been great at your job. Maintain your professionalism. Regaining my composure, I turn the handle and slip into the room, closing the door behind me.

The air in the isolation cell is thick, almost unbreathable, from his presence. It feels like the universe is imploding, every atom bursting around us. The oxygen in my lungs is sucked away by the sight of his figure. Dressed all in black his physique stands out against the white walls as the sun on a blue sky. Blinding.

He remains sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, wrists constrained by steel handcuffs, and shoulders hunched. He is staring intently at the ground, giving me his profile. Strangely, he is still wearing his personal clothing, a tight V-neck t-shirt, jeans, and leather boots.

The floor seems to shake with the force of his aura, ready to open a chasm and swallow me down into a black void. Or maybe that is just my imagination.

Taking a step forward, I swallow the lump stuck in my throat and run my gaze over his sharp features. His clean jaw has no trace of a beard, giving him an almost innocent look that is in stark contrast to every other detail of his body. The line of his fleshy mouth is cracked on the left side by a scar several inches long which curves upward like a comma, giving him a perpetual wicked grin. Yet that disfiguring mark highlights the sensuality of his face in a disturbing way.

My core clenches in pleasure as my eyes travel to his pointed nose, his forehead, and then his messy black hair, long enough to grasp between one’s fingers in a moment of passion.

Dispelling the tension in my belly caused by that divinely hellish sight, I clear my throat, trying to get his attention. The crease at the side of his mouth tells me he has noted my entrance, but he remains completely still. Irritation grows in my chest.

“Good evening, Deon. My name is Abigayle Roland. I'm the psychologist who will follow your case.” The words come out as a whisper, although I thought I had put more force in my tone. This man is sucking any logic in my brain out of my body.

I wait for a reaction, but he remains motionless, other than a growing provocative grin that spreads with each passing second. My hands tingle and a scorching indignation sizzles my blood with the desire to cross the distance between us and violently grab his hair, forcing him to look me in the eyes.

The sudden brutal thought makes me quiver. I don't like how his presence destabilizes me.

I take another step and try another approach. Softening my voice, I tell him, “I know why you're here. Please know my intent is only to help you.”

Once again, I get no reaction, just that ever-widening creepy grin.

His magnetic aura crawls along the white walls of the room, turning them black, and I feel I’ve entered a new twisted, sick dimension. Even though my sixth sense is screaming at me to run away, my feet move on their own, attracted by his shadow, attracted by the mysterious black fog surrounding him. It is a lethal poison and I’m heading directly into its trap.

When I am a few feet away, his heavenly scent of musk and amber inebriates my senses, dragging me even closer. My eyes flutter and my heart rumbles in excitement and unease.

“Deon, I just want to help you,” I repeat in a halfhearted murmur.

I squeeze the notepad between my fingers, feeling the paper crumple as I hold on to it. It is my connection to the outside world, a source of light in this black hole.

Seen from closer, the patient is even more imposing, with his toned biceps almost ripping the thin fabric of his black t-shirt. A hint of a dark tattoo peeking from his left bicep, sneaking under his sleeve.

“You already said that.” His deep voice bounces off the walls, hitting me square in the chest like a punch.

The oxygen in my lungs evaporates while a fiery stream flows from my belly down to my pussy. A gasp falls from my lips at the shameful reaction of my body. And his voice. That sexy husky, deep voice. Again, I reflexively squeeze the notepad, hoping to hold my grip on reason.

“I have helped many patients find a normal life, overcoming their traumas. I’m aware you don't know me yet, but I would ask you to trust me. I will do everything I can to help you. It’s my only desire,” I say in a more decisive tone.

After what feels like an eternity, his face slowly lifts toward me.

When our eyes meet, a strangled whimper dances in my throat and my body freezes in front of his gaze as my heart hammers wildly. His irises are blacker than night, two pits of infernal glow surrounded by long, thick eyelashes which highlight his magnetic gaze.

For the first time in my career, a patient’s expression is indecipherable. Unfortunately, it is clear that, he, on the other hand, is reading way more into me than I would like. He is creeping into my soul, crawling to my mind, planting deadly seeds inside.

“Are you sure you want to trust me?” He raises an eyebrow, his devilish smile fully open.

My heart sinks and my self-control and professionalism crumble under his sudden power. I swallow hard, trying to scrape together what little reasoning I have left. “I'm sure,” I lie in a whisper.

I often have to lie in my work, to comply with patients’ wishes or to follow them in their complicated cognitive maps. I always manage to convince them to trust me. This time, however, I sense that it won’t work with Deon.

“You're lying,” he breathes through his teeth. His grin opens even more as he stands in a slow and elegant movement, until he is towering over me.

I flinch at his imposing figure, feeling minuscule and helpless. Power slips through my fingers like sand and I feel him taking control of the situation. I shake my head, automatically taking a step back, his sudden closeness making my knees buckle.

“No, it's the truth. Ours will be a mutual relationship of trust. That's how it works. You will be able to open up to me, and everything you tell me will remain between us,” I try, staring into his eyes.

His expression remains unchanged, but I detect a slight movement of his eyebrow raising into a sarcastic frown. “Really?” His voice exudes contempt.

That deep, throaty tone reaches all the way down to my stomach. He crosses the distance with a step, until his jeans touch my bare legs below the mid-length gray skirt.

Wincing at his closeness, I reflectively plunge my hand into my pocket in search of the alarm button, but hesitate to press it yet.

My thoughts have gone crazy and I can no longer find the usual phrases I say to my patients. My mind is a black desert burned by his aura.

“Yes, really,” I whisper without even realizing it.

My heart is pounding and everything goes so fast my brain doesn't have time to process what’s happening. With a deft gesture, the patient passes his arms, still bound by the handcuffs, over my head and behind my back, imprisoning me, pushing me with a violent tug against him.

I bump into his chest and, before I know it, I have his mouth on mine. The contact with his lips and his stone body shoots an electric shock of pure terror and pure pleasure through my body. Stars dance before my eyes.

His mouth opens slightly and the tip of his warm, velvety tongue draws my lips, trying to sink inside.

I fall into his still-open black pits, twirling with lust. At the sight, my neurons turn back on. I press the button in my pocket, activating the alarm, and my hands automatically fly to his steel chest. Dropping the notebook at our feet, I push him away with all the strength I have.

Adrenaline is flowing like lava in my blood. My heart pounds in my ears, deafening me, and everything starts spinning around me.

Deon’s arms tighten their grip, crushing me against him, shattering my breath.

The click of the door opening is a bittersweet rescue and his hold finally loosens, leaving my lips cold. With the interruption of that kiss, I realize to my greatest horror that, deep down, I didn't want it to break.

“Hey! What the fuck are you doing?!” David shouts as he rushes forward, followed by Jeremy.

“Let's see if you'll still trust me now, Abigayle,” Deon breathes in a whisper onto my mouth.

His voice twists my name on his tongue, tasting it as if it were the sweetest fruit on earth, and my pussy clenches in delight.

When David and Jeremy yank his arms back over my head, I slip out of his hold, retreating a few steps.

A hurricane of conflicting thoughts hits me, and I don’t know where I am anymore. I feel lost in a frightening new dimension. While I struggle to come around, Jeremy and David forcefully pin the patient to the bed.

A glance at his gaze of lustful hatred takes my breath away and I hurry out of the room, escaping to my office. Closing the door behind me, I lean against it. I can still feel him there, whispering disturbing words in my ear, scratching my mind and my heart with dangerous promises.

Bringing my fingers to my mouth, I brush my now-incandescent skin. My lips burn, still throbbing from the contact with his, the intense pulsations synchronized with the thundering in my pussy.

It was the most destabilizing thing that’s ever happened to me.

The most terrifying thing that’s ever touched me.

The most deliciously deranged thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.

Chapter Two

Abigayle

Crazy Attraction

“He did what?!” She raises her voice in shock.

“Jen, it can happen. Patients can have completely opposite reactions to the situation sometimes. It's a defense mechanism they use to protect themselves,” I try to explain.

I don't even know why the fuck I'm defending him. I think I'm still upset and can't digest the conflicting emotions echoing through my body.

“Abby, don't bullshit me. No patient has ever touched you like that. He is a dangerous psychopath. You have to stay away from him,” she warns, her face wearing a stern expression.

I grab the tequila shot and toss it back. The burning liquid runs down my throat, slightly easing the knot of tension in my belly. I pinch my eyes shut, grimacing at the gush of lava sliding down my stomach.

I’ll need a lot of alcohol to digest what happened. Not so much for the kiss itself, but for the emotions it manifested in me. Fear, attraction, confusion, pleasure.

“How can I stay away from him when he has to deal with me three times a week for the next three months?” I reply sarcastically, clearing my throat and cocking an eyebrow in her direction.

“I don't know. Abby. Ask someone else. Can't you let Larson take care of it?”

Brushing a lock of honey-colored hair from her face and staring at me with her light green irises, she takes her shot, licking the salt, swallowing down the tequila, and sucking the lemon, all while grimacing with an elated gasp.

“No, Larson is on sick leave. He won’t be back for a month. There is no one else available. Don't worry, Jen. I won't let it happen again,” I reassure her.

Though I totally agree with her, I don’t dare say it. Deon is a dangerous person and I don't want anything like this to happen again. What upsets me most is to have lost control, and yet I can't help feeling incredibly fascinated by it. It's the first time I've confronted someone so enigmatic, so difficult to read and decipher. Part of me wants to jump on the challenge and prove I can treat even a patient like him.

Feeling the warmth of the alcohol spreading in my veins, I change the subject. “Anyway, didn't you want to talk to me about Joe?”

Upon hearing that name, Jenna's pupils dilate and anger flicks on her face. “Don't mention that dickhead to me. Do you know what he did after we had the most volcanic sex ever? The asshole brushed me off by telling me he had to join his friends! Who the fuck joins his friend group at three in the morning? It was all bullshit. He just wanted to fuck me and then he didn't even have the balls to talk. He practically ran away from my house. What a piece of shit.” She exhales in exasperation.

An amused smile curls my lips as I see her furiously take the second shot of tequila. I know I shouldn't laugh at her displeasure, but I can’t help it. I hear the same version of this story at least five times a week, with only the name of the asshole in question changing.

Noticing my expression, Jenna narrows her eyes. “What the fuck are you laughing at, Abby? Is my suffering funny to you?”

At her frown, I burst out laughing. That kiss burned a few neurons in my brain along with my fucking empathy.

“No, s-sorry, Jen. Haha. It's just that... Haha.” I stammer through gasps without really knowing what to say, giggling nervously in front of her shocked expression. I've only had two shots and I'm already in the throes of alcohol fumes. Or Deon's fumes?

“Abby, that asshole must have sucked out your brains,” she chuckles now, shaking her head.

We both let out a deep laugh, releasing the tension of our day.

“And what about you? Don’t you have anything to tell me about Ethan? Did you fuck him?” Jenna shoots the dart with a mischievous grin.

I shudder in shame at her question. Ethan is a lawyer I met two months ago for a case involving a patient of mine, now acquitted of kidnapping by reason of insanity. He's a really fun guy and very kind. Maybe even too nice. We've gone out a couple of times and I get along well with him. While I can't say we are officially together, the relationship is going on the right path. Even if there's something I'm missing. I miss that thrill. When I look at Ethan, I feel a great affection and a certain attraction, but nothing destabilizing.

“No, we haven't fucked yet, but he went down on me,” I reveal in a whisper.

I have no filters with Jenna. We can talk about anything. Especially about spicy details. I know she would never judge me.

A lustful sparkle lights up in her gaze at my words. “Uh, so, how is he? Can he do it?”

“Um, let's say yes.” I sigh, unconvinced, then take another shot of tequila, with salt and lemon this time, and look down at the black counter in front of us.

The rhythmic music and the buzz of the other people in the club envelops me in a warm atmosphere, making me forget for a few moments about those scorching lips and tongue. Knowing that I will have to face him tomorrow, that I will be alone with him again, makes me nervous.

“What does ‘let's say yes’ mean? Did he make you come or not?” Jenna insists, her eyes widening in confusion.

“No, okay? No,” I admit. “He didn't make me come, but I had to pretend to not offend him.”

“Fuck, Abby. How long has it been since you had a good fuck? It’s gotta be at least five months, right? The last decent one you told me about was Pierce, right?”

I snort, but she is totally right. The last one who gave me decent orgasms was Pierce, a neurologist I met at the annual psychopathology conference in Seattle. Our relationship only lasted two months, though. Apparently, the asshole was still in love with his ex. It hurt my ego more than my heart when he ended it.

Still, I'm not a woman looking for eternal love, at least not yet. For the moment, I'm too focused on my career to think about looking for Prince Charming. I don't even believe that bullshit anyway.

Perhaps my inability to involve myself in a relationship comes from the fact that my father abandoned my mother and me when I was only five years old, one cold April morning, and never returned. Disappearing into the void as if he had passed through a space-time portal and entered a new dimension.

“Yes, it's been too long. But Ethan is kind and nice to me. Maybe he was just nervous or tired that evening. After all, it was a Friday, and he’d had a tough week,” I murmur, trying to defend him.

“Or maybe he just doesn't know how to do it. I suggest having a close encounter with your vibrator when you get home later. Do it for me, please. I want to know that you had at least one orgasm this week. You fucking deserve it!” Jenna orders, a playful smile on her lips.

I burst out laughing. “Okay, I'll see what I can do.” With a shake of my head, I finish the fourth shot.

Jenna gives me a mischievous wink. “Good job, my little slut!”

My labored breathing and the pounding of my heart dance in my ears.

Squeezing the white sheets of the bed with one hand, I jerk my head back on the pillow, savoring that delicious tension growing in my core. The insistent buzzing of the vibrator is a bittersweet melody, reminding me of my loneliness in my own pleasure. I wish there was a man here instead of my damn bunny.

My eyelids grow heavier at the memory of Ethan's head between my legs, his blue eyes staring intently at me and his short blond hair poking my inner thighs. I cling to the feeling of his tongue on me. Yet the sensations he gave me don't even come close to those of the vibrator. If I'm honest, Ethan was a disaster. He had found my G-spot and I had begged him to keep touching it to send me straight to orgasm, when the idiot moved his fingers too far in and lost his grip.

Dispelling the creeping coldness of my rational thoughts, I plunge myself into the throbbing desire swelling in the pit of my stomach.

Diving into the memory of his blue eyes, I embrace that luscious hunger. But the closer the orgasm advances, the more those blue irises morph to pitch black, shining with a hellfire. His blond hair fading to black and his mouth curling into a devilish scarred grin as his velvety tongue hits my clit with strong, firm thrusts, sucking it with perfect, controlled pressure.

That vision sends a shock of pleasure to every nerve ending, my legs and arms tingling hot, my stomach twisting in bliss.

“Oh, God. Yes, like that,” I moan out loud, gasping for air.

That pressure in my belly rises, crawling up to my chest, crushing my lungs with an oppressive shadow. A magnetic and frightening shadow. A powerful and destabilizing shadow.

Two long fingers sink inside me, curving and touching that sensitive spot... that spot that makes me delirious.

“Are you sure you want to trust me?” His scratchy voice hums through my veins, chanting in my ears, violently bursting that tension to make it crash over me like a wave.

“Fuck, Deon!” I scream, pinching my eyes shut as I surf on the bliss of orgasm.

I rock my hips in search of him, my legs trembling, my pussy clenching the void in frustration.

Still dazed by the after-effect of that chilling pleasure, I remove the vibrator and snap my eyes wide, choking for air.

The shocking awareness that I have just imagined being fucked by my patient—by Deon—crushes my mind.

Putting a hand on my sweaty forehead, I stare blankly at the white ceiling of my bedroom. How the fuck did I imagine such madness? But above all, how the fuck can a part of me want this to actually happen?

Chapter Three

Deon

Disturbing Words

Psychopath.

Sadistic.

Narcissist.

The media often defined me this way, and I supported their thoughts. Because it’s who I really am. But my actions hide a truth ordinary people are not ready to face.

I’ve always managed to hide and erase my tracks, being extremely careful not to miss a single detail in every crime scene I left behind. I’ve prepared every single gesture, every single scenario, every single murder with meticulous care and attention.

Thanks to my contribution, the world has been eradicated of some of those pieces of shit, human scum who inflicted violence, torture, and abuse on children.

Mine was, is, and will always be a liberating gesture. People think I’m just a deranged psychopath, a monster performing inhuman acts, cruelly ending innocent lives. But they don't realize how many pedophiles wallow around in the streets. How many hide inside every house. How many belong to high social spheres. Politicians, bankers, policemen.

The mistake that brought me here was to not double-check that all the cameras in that dickhead's house were disabled. There was one left hidden in a vase on the fireplace of the large living room which partially captured my figure. The images couldn’t identify me completely, but they did show my large stature and part of my mouth scar. Fucking scar.

Still, they haven't formally charged me yet for the murders I committed, because the fucking police don't have enough incriminating evidence against me. I am a potential suspect and, since they don't like my private company dealing with AI software for facial recognition, the dickheads have blindly targeted me. They still don't know they bet right.

Karma has a fucking sense of humor sometimes.

Given the atrocities of the crimes committed, they sent me to this hole to figure out if I’m suffering from a mental illness. Little do they know they are doing exactly what I hoped for. Because the sentences for those with mental illness are far less heavy compared to a premeditated and intentional crime.

So, it’s just a matter of time until I manipulate them to confirm it.

As I already started to manipulate my little prey.

Yesterday, I was ready to face the usual fifty-year-old psychologist with his fucking attitude of superiority, all set to force the words out of my mouth. Instead, a young woman welcomed me. I sensed her innocent aura as soon as she entered the room. Her broken gasps bounced off the walls, arriving straight to my cock. The moment I heard the frantic beats of her heart and smelled her sweet orange-blossom scent, I decided I would play with her. That she would be mine.

I love having fun with my prey, savoring their ragged breaths, delighting myself on their hammering heartbeats, inebriating my senses with their pungent smell as adrenaline burns their bodies in pure terror.

A girl like her is an easily manipulable target for my purposes.

I had to scare her, shock her, mark her as mine.

Even tough now, I’m handcuffed on each leg of the wooden table, they brought ten minutes ago, sitting on a chair waiting for her arrival.

A wicked smile instinctively curls on my lips at the idea of playing with her again. I thought I would be bored out of my mind in this place that smells of bleach and madness. And instead, they offered me a small prey to smell, taste, and devour.

The click of the door snatches me from my thoughts and I smirk wider.

My eyes fall on her long, slender legs, bare from the black dress only reaching her mid-thighs. The fabric hugs her hips, her narrow waist, and her round breasts like a second skin. Only the white lab coat hides that divine vision.

Her brown hair is gathered in a low bun, with some strands falling messily on the sides of her oval face, giving her a sensual look. Her ocean-blue irises, surrounded by long, thick black eyelashes, stare at me with a falsely controlled expression.

She’s not good enough at hiding the nervous ripple of her plump mouth, though.

The fear my prey releases arouses me. Like the one darting from every pore of Abigayle's skin right now, anticipating the voluptuous feast I’ll have on her.

“Good morning, Deon,” she says in a strong tone.

She advances with surprisingly determined steps on her black high heels, pushing the chair aside.

I don't respond, instead devouring her body with my gaze. She is a tall girl, but in front of me, she is tiny and insignificant. I could disintegrate her between my hands but also mold her under my fingers while I make her moan in pleasure if I wanted.

That thought sends a jolt to my already-hard cock.

Clearing her throat and straightening her shoulders in a confident posture, she places the notepad and pen on the table, looking at me. A proud gleam brightens her eyes as she holds my gaze defiantly. “I think there was a misunderstanding between us yesterday, Deon. We started off on the wrong foot. Let's forget what happened and start over, what do you say?”

What a cute little bunny, trying to hide her fear by showing her authority. I almost want to burst out laughing in her face. She's ridiculous.

I know she feels her power slipping away when she's in front of me, as I know she’s starting to feel engulfed by my presence. I lean toward her, resting my chest against the table until I'm a few inches away from her face.

“Are you sure there was a misunderstanding? I think my intentions were more than clear. Or do you want a reminder?” I blow.

Her pupils slightly dilate at my words as she traps her lower lip between her teeth, nibbling it nervously. That gesture immediately catches my gaze. This little bunny gets excited by fear… Interesting.

“Deon. I want to set the record straight right away. Our relationship will be based on professionalism, respect, and mutual trust. So, I advise you to stop provoking me. I remind you that I am the one who holds the knife by the handle. Your sentence at the trial and your life will depend on what I end up writing in your report.” She threatens me with a flaming fire in those ocean pools of eyes.

The sudden force of her words pierces my chest, summoning my dark shadow. That ruthless and dangerous shadow. That shadow capable of committing inhuman crimes.

“Are you sure of what you say? I think you've never really seen human cruelty and I think you don't want to experience it yourself. Or maybe, yes?” I glare at her, my tone darker.

A shiver grips her shoulders while her eyes widen in unease. My gaze draws the elegant line of her neck, catching her jugular throbbing from the frantic drumming of her heart.

“I can smell fear possessing every part of your body, Abigayle. As much as the smell of your wet pussy, all the way up here,” I growl, eliciting a choked gasp from her throat.

The slight rustle of her dress echoes in the room and I know she is squeezing her thighs together, hiding the truth I just revealed. If she thinks she can beat me at this game, she's deeply wrong.

Letting myself sink onto the chair, already savoring victory over our pathetic conversation, I clench my jaw when the steel cuffs burn my wrists.

“Thank you for the advantage you give me. I can already highlight that you suffer from psychopathy, characterized by antisocial behavior, audacity, and a malicious use of seduction and manipulation.” She grabs her pen, writing down what she just pronounced.

This girl hides a wild side, a primordial inferno, something wickedly dark. I can sense it. I love it. Maybe playing with her will be even more fun than I thought. I love a challenge, and she's handing me one on a silver platter.

“Isn't it incredibly unprofessional and stupid to reveal my supposed mental disorders to me? I could use them against you.”

Her hand freezes, but she doesn't dare raise her eyes.

Keep teasing me like this, little girl, and the next time I find myself without handcuffs, I will make you bitterly regret having a sharp tongue.

I already have so many ways in mind to make her beg me to stop that three months locked in here wouldn’t be enough to do them all.

“Tell me about your childhood. What were your parents like? What did you like to do as a child?” She lifts her eyes from the paper, changing the subject.

Does she want to feed me cheap psychological bullshit, asking me about my past and my traumas? My respect for her begins to plummet.

“What a shame…I was starting to like the conversation we were having. I keep the freedom not to respond anymore.” I snort sarcastically.

An irritated glow crosses her gaze.

“It wasn't a conversation, Deon.” She cocks an eyebrow in exasperation. “They were provocations and barbs. This is not talking. Not like two adults, at least. If you want to behave like a child, please go ahead. But I don't have all day to waste listening to you.”

My dark demons creep into my blood, turning it into poison, and I grind my teeth in irritation. “If you want to talk, I can explain all the ways I would silence that pretty little mouth of yours. Like tearing off those soaked panties, sticking them in your mouth, making you choke on them. Or how I would sink my cock all the way down your little throat, making you suffocate on it. Or how I would strangle you while I fuck you to death. So, little bunny, what do you say? Are you okay with this kind of talk?” I hiss.

I enjoy Abigayle's shocked and distraught expression as she sits frozen in her chair.

Then, sucking her bottom lip, she picks up the pen again.

“I will add sadistic to the list of your personality traits. Thanks, Deon. I see that I can read you despite the approach being unorthodox and unprofessional,” she darts provocatively, starting to write once more.

Fury blurs my vision and my stomach clenches with the desire to carry out the threats I just told her. “Abigayle…” I roar in anger.

“Deon.”

The way she says my name, almost like a moan, travels on my body like a stream of lava, flowing inside my pants. Pushed by that sensation, I lean closer to her again.

Swallowing loudly at my sudden proximity, her eyes can’t help but fall on my mouth. As if to remember my taste, she automatically bites hers.

The tension in the room is thickening so much that the atoms in the air are bursting like crackling fire.

“What do you feel when you kill your victims? Pride? Resentment? Pleasure?” Her tone exudes irony and fascination.

“You're the one implying that I kill people. I have never touched another human being with any intention other than ripping pleasure from their throat, making them moan and scream almost until they die,” I half-lie, closing the gap between our faces.

Her orange-blossom scent plays with my senses as I graze the tip of my nose with hers, brushing my lips over hers. She could move away, regain distance, yet she doesn't.

Staring at me with her angel blue eyes, where lust, determination, and something darker dance together, she sucks and rolls her bottom lip between her teeth as if it were a cherry candy.

“So, you mean to tell me you don't know about those twenty-five men with their severed heads and mutilated genitals?” she taunts me.

This woman wants to touch and savor death. It will be my pleasure to give her a taste of what awaits her.

“The only genitals I know are those of the women I fuck. Tell me, little bunny, have you ever had an orgasm so powerful it makes you convulse? So strong it drives you crazy? So disturbing it makes you squirt in madness?” I scratch her with my voice.

Her body jerks and her jaw drops in shock. I take advantage of her movement to stick my tongue inside her parted mouth, touching the tip of hers. Her sweet flavor coats my palate, snatching a gurgling roar from my chest. She’s fucking delicious.

The same electric shock that seeped into every nerve in my body yesterday now shoots liquid heat in my veins. I swallow her strangled moan, tasting the addicting whimpers she would make underneath me.

Bulging her eyes, she distances herself with a spring.

Good, I terrified and aroused her. And from the glowing dark hunger at the bottom of her oceans, I also summoned something obscure inside her.

Power tickles my hands and, staring at her with a victorious grin, I let myself drop onto the chair.

Shame, excitement, and fury dart out of Abigayle’s body. It’s such a delight seeing her struggle with herself, and it will become even more addicting when she’ll beg me to stop.

Getting up with an impulsive leap, she pushes her chair across the floor with a bone-chilling thunder, wild fire raging in her eyes and her aura vibrating with anger. “I will also add that you suffer from sexual obsessive-compulsive disorder,” she spits out almost as an insult.

“I just call it pleasuring a woman,” I reply sarcastically.

Narrowing her lips in a resentful line, she hisses, “You're sick.”

“That's why I'm here,” I taunt her, grinning amused.

Chapter Four

Abigayle

Traitorous Thoughts

His shocking words still swirl in my mind like a powerful tornado, making my stomach clench in fear and excitement.

After leaving the isolation cell this morning, it took me a long time to regain self-control and rediscover my lost sanity. To say nothing of my wet panties.

I don't know why my body reacts in such an upsetting, dangerous way when I'm in Deon’s presence. It senses his dark aura, drinks his smell, and falls into his magnetic, twisted vortex. I lost control with him. I reacted on impulse. I let anger and attraction invade me by responding to him in ways I had never used with my patients. I had never threatened them, never insulted and provoked them.

I'm afraid of what might happen in the next sessions. I'm terrified of it.

Not only toward him, but above all toward myself and the way my own mind wavers dangerously when I'm with him.

I promised myself I would never let him come close to my body like that again, that I would never let him touch me or kiss me again, and instead I fell into his trap once more. Finding myself stuck in his spiderweb, staring at him advancing like a poisonous black tarantula ready to sting out my rational brain and devour me between his teeth, was horrifyingly sexy.

Grabbing the glass of red wine from the coffee table in front of me, I curl up under my blanket and try to focus on the horror movie I had turned on. As I sip the crimson liquid, the high-pitched jingle of a message notification on my phone snatches my attention from the screen.

Almost annoyed by the interruption, I unlock it.

Ethan Talbot

Hi Abby,

how are you?

Would you like to meet tomorrow night at eight for dinner?

I haven't seen you for five days. Miss you.

There’s something I wanted to discuss.

Hope you’re having a nice evening.

E.T.

Embarrassment and guilt slide through my chest as I read Ethan's texts. Even though we're not officially together, I can't help but feel like a traitor. The kisses Deon stole from me were violent and non-consensual, but I feel culpable.

Abigayle

Hi Ethan,

I'm doing okay. Busy. You?

Dinner sounds great. Send me the location, I'll be there.

Have a nice evening too.

Abby

I avoid telling him that I miss him too, because, in reality, I had almost completely forgotten him. I feel like a monster. Being in permanent contact with serious psychiatric cases is going to my head.

I’m about to throw the phone back on the couch when it starts ringing, its high-pitched chime making me jump in fright.

“Fuck!” I snort nervously. I'm as tight as a fraying rope, ready to break at any second.

Reading the name on the screen, I roll my eyes, mentally preparing myself.

“Hi, Mom,” I sigh, taking another sip of wine.

“Abby, honey, how are you? We haven't spoken in a week. Everything okay?”

My mother has always been a deeply anxious woman, constantly checking on me. Especially after my father left. She did nothing but breathe down my neck, never leaving me in peace.

I understand her, so I didn’t let myself get angry over it, but I can't help but feel crushed by her oppressive presence. Even moving to a different state five years ago didn’t help. I still feel like I’m in prison.

Years after my dad left, my mom finally met another man, Phil. He has always been very generous and kind, the father figure I never had, but I was fifteen when he came into our lives, and accepting him was quite difficult for me. When I saw how happy he made my mother, however, I stopped hindering him and let him enter our home and my heart, which granted all of us a bit of serenity.

“I'm fine, Mom. I’ve been really busy at work and didn't have time to call you. How are you? And how is Phil?”

When I announced my desire to work as a psychologist in a psychiatric hospital, my mother almost had a heart attack. She tried to change my mind countless times, telling me I would go crazy along with my patients, but I never listened. But that means that now, when I occasionally feel crushed by the darkness of what I see and feel every day, I can't admit it to her. She would never let me hear the end of it.

“I'm good, love, and Phil is fine too. So, how's work going? Have you had any other difficult patients?” she asks, her tone betraying apprehension.

I avoid telling her in detail about my job. I made a huge mistake once, revealing how a patient had cut his wrists in front of me after breaking a bathroom tile with his head in the throes of a schizophrenic crisis. She panicked so much that for weeks she didn't stop pestering me, trying to convince me to quit my profession. From then on, I couldn't tell her anything specific. It would just shock and scare her.

“Work is going well. Ups and downs. We have a new patient who arrived yesterday.” I bite my tongue as soon as the words come out. Fuck.

“Oh, what's this about? Do you think he might be dangerous for you?” she asks anxiously.

Yes.

“No,” I sigh, trying to hide my lack of conviction.

“Are you sure about what you're doing?”

No.

“Yes,” I murmur.

“Okay, Abby. I won't ask you anything else. I know you don't like talking about your work with me. Anyway, I was calling to see how you’re doing and ask about your Christmas plans. We’re hoping you’ll come stay with us, darling.”

Her enthusiastic invitation catches me off guard. Working in a psychiatric hospital often makes me lose my sense of time. But in this case, my mother does seem to have anticipated things a bit.

“Um, it’s still the beginning of October. I really haven't thought about it, Mom. It depends on the work shifts I have. I need to see if there will be anyone available to replace me. I have to take care of the new patient for the next three months, so I don't know if I can get away.”

“Of course, sweetie. I understand. But try to see if you can free yourself at least for Christmas Eve. It won't be so dramatic if you leave this patient alone for a couple of days. No?” I can hear her childish pout through the phone. “I haven't seen you for six months. I miss you.”

I roll my eyes, snorting silently as I take two more sips of wine. “I'll see what I can do, Mom. I'll let you know, okay? I gotta go. I need to take a shower.”

“Of course, honey. I'll wait to hear from you. Just relax. See you soon. I love you,” she murmurs sweetly.

“I love you too, Mom. Say hi to Phil for me. See you soon.”

I hang up, exhaustion creeping into my veins together with the alcohol. Finishing the glass in a single gulp, I get up and head toward the bathroom.

“I'm so happy to see you again, Abby. I missed you,” Ethan murmurs, a sweet smile on his lips.

We are sitting in a corner of a very popular Italian restaurant, Il Vicolo D'Oro, at a candlelit table. The dim light, jazz music, and the quiet buzz of other people create an intimate and warm atmosphere.

“Thanks, Ethan. I missed you too,” I lie, smiling back. I don’t want to mislead him, but he is such a good guy that I don't want to offend him either. Avoiding his sparkling blue eyes, I turn my attention to the menu.

“How's work going, Abby? Have you had any other difficult cases?”

My heart skips a beat as the thought of those black lustful pits staring at me wickedly. Grabbing my glass of wine, I take a slow sip, casting that image from my head.

“Good. Just a new patient, nothing complicated.” Guilt and shame creep into my chest at the lie. And the memory of those burning lips on mine.

“And you?” I add quickly, dispelling that obsessive presence in my mind. The last thing I want is to tell Ethan about Deon. It would be like explaining quantum physics to a five-year-old. Too complicated and totally impossible.

“Some ongoing trials require a lot of work, but everything’s going well,” he says proudly, raising his chin slightly.

“I'm glad.” I give him a half-hearted smile.

The waiter’s arrival saves me from the awkward conversation, for which I am grateful. I don't know why I suddenly feel so uncomfortable around Ethan. It feels like I'm in the wrong place with the wrong person.

My mind flies to Deon. What is he doing in the isolation cell right now? What is he thinking?

The constant fixation on Deon makes me shiver. I don’t like how my mind is obsessing over my new patient. I’m disturbingly fascinated by him, by his dark aura, by his complicated mind.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” I ask Ethan with a hint of a smile, trying to turn my focus back to him.

Desire flares up in his eyes and he rests his palm on the back of my hand. That contact, given the intimacy of his gaze, makes me flush with discomfort, but he doesn’t notice.

“Abby, I really like you. You are a determined, resourceful, stunning woman. I would like to make our relationship official and I’d like to introduce you to my parents. Soon.”

His words hit me like a punch in the chest, knocking my breath away. If the same thing had happened just last week, I would have felt excitement, but after Deon, my mental balance is skewed. Affected by something dark that sinks deep down inside me.

“So, what do you think?” Ethan urges, squeezing my hand gently.

Ignoring the darkness growing inside my chest, I open into a sweet smile. “That sounds great.”

His face shines with pure joy as he leans across the table to press a kiss to my lips. “Thank you, Abby,” he breathes.

Casting a mischievous smirk in my direction, Ethan’s hands frantically grab the edges of my panties, sliding them down my legs. My heart escalates to a fast crescendo and my pussy grows wet in anticipation as I play with him, spreading my thighs and grinning lewdly.

“Do you want me to eat you, Abby?” he asks, a lustful gleam in his blue oceans.

Even though last time didn't go exactly as I hoped, I'm sure he's capable and that he was just a little tired. Or at least, I hope so.

“Yes. I want to feel your tongue on me. I want to get lost on your lips,” I moan.

My eyes travel over his short sandy-blond hair, his square jaw with a hint of a beard, and his finely drawn mouth, descending to his broad shoulders and his muscular chest, down to the hinted line of his abs and to his hard cock.

Ethan is truly a nice man, sweet, interesting, and far-sighted. What more could I ask for?

“Your every wish is an order, princess,” he says with a smirk.

Grasping my hips with both hands, he lowers himself onto my mound, caressing my clit with his breath, snatching a delighted gasp from me. With my eyes closed, I squeeze the sheets between my fingers, squealing in pleasure when his lips capture my clit. I savor the sensation, but too soon his tongue begins to swirl over it faster than is pleasant, his teeth slamming into my sensitive skin in his euphoric assault. I snap my eyes open in discomfort, grimacing at the uncomfortable feeling.

Wiggling slightly, I swallow down my ache, trying to catch what little bliss I can from his crazy tongue. When he seems to find a good rhythm again, I sigh. “Yes, like that. Lick it like that.”

With my fingers dug into his hair, I pull him closer, inciting him to follow my movements. An annoyed groan rumbles in his chest as he breaks away from the exhausting pummeling of his tongue on my swollen clit.

“Hey, take it easy, princess. You’re pulling kinda hard,” he scolds.

My arousal disappearing in an instant, I mutter, “Sorry.”

His head lowers again, resuming sucking and licking my clit with uncoordinated, sloppy movements. I add some forced pants to a few genuine ones as I tilt my head back on the mattress.

When he suddenly sinks a finger inside me, a high-pitched moan of sincere pleasure echoes through the room. “Oh, yes, like that,” I gasp, narrowing my eyes.

He withdraws it, then plunges it back in a too-slow rhythm, but when his digit curves, touching that sensitive spot inside me, a cry of pure delight dances on my vocal cords.

“Fuck, princess. Don’t wake up all the neighbors,” he reprimands me again.

My eyes snap open, fury sizzling in my veins, ready to explode at the next reproach. Fuck, I'm not even free to enjoy myself anymore? I swallow the lump of indignation in my throat and I close my eyes, sighing again, this time in annoyance.

His finger picks up the pace, darting electric shivers all over my skin, making me forget his irritating comments for a moment. My organs start to compress and twist under that delicious advancing bliss as I ascend the peak of pleasure, ready to free-fall into pure delight, when, just like the last fucking time, he loses his grip and my orgasm fades.

Frustration creeps inside my core and I bite my lip. Jenna was right. He can’t do it.

My mind has now flown away from the moment, and the receding orgasm sucks away all my excitement.

“You're all wet, princess. Do you want my cock?” He raises his head, catching my gaze with a mischievous smile.

I nod, praying that he is better with his cock than his tongue.

Luckily, I take the pill, which means we don’t have to waste time searching for and putting on a condom. Such a delay would eliminate the last glimmer of arousal in my body.

He climbs onto the mattress and positions himself between my spread legs. With a smile, he captures my lips, sinking his tongue into my mouth and swirling it like a crazy whirlpool, forcing me to follow an exhausting, unpleasant rhythm.

We've kissed before, and he seemed like a great kisser, so why is he completely incompetent all of a sudden? Maybe he's so euphoric that we're about to fuck that it makes him a little awkward. Or maybe I'm no longer the same after that contact with those lips that branded me.

Without any further preparation, Ethan shoves his cock inside me. Pain shoots up my spine.

“Ow!” I groan, squeezing my eyes shut at the burning sensation. Fuck, I'm not wet enough.

Biting my lip and holding back the tears that automatically well up, I try to focus on the sensation of fullness it gives me. Ethan doesn't seem to notice my reaction. Instead, he begins to move with decisive strokes.

Holding my breath to ignore the tingling burn, my body slowly starts to relax again, my pussy growing wet with each thrust. Little by little, pleasure creeps inside my body, swelling that tension in my core. Pinning my eyes onto Ethan's blue ones and clinging to his toned arms, I squeeze his hips with my legs to encourage him to move faster.

But as I plunge into his gaze, his irises begin to change, becoming two black abysses, and his cute smile curls into a wicked grin, widening his scar.

My heart skips a beat, then rushes to a crazy staccato as a blazing pleasure engulfs my whole body. A high-pitched moan breaks free from my throat and my breath hitches, almost choking me in bliss.

“Do you like it, princess?” Ethan pants.

But all I can see is his face and all I can hear is his voice, and it feels so real that it can’t only be a hallucination.

Tell me, little bunny, have you ever had an orgasm so powerful it makes you convulse?

“Yes, yes, keep going,” I gasp, my pussy clenching, all my organs compressing.

“Do you want me to go faster?” Ethan asks.

Do you want an orgasm so strong it will drive you crazy?

“Yes, please, yes,” I moan, my skin burning hot, shivers clinging to my spine, my orgasm flaring my pussy.

“Do you want me to come inside you?” Ethan growls.

Do you want an orgasm so disturbing it makes you squirt in madness, little bunny?

“Yes, yes, fuck yes!” I scream, gasping for air.

Clawing at Ethan's shoulders, I arch my back. My vision blurs and my senses black out as pleasure shatters my body, and I find myself floating in a black pit, a scratchy whisper brushing my ear, promising me an eternity of blissful insanity.

“Fuck, princess!” Ethan moans raggedly as he releases inside me.

Chills of pure delight still run across my skin as the wave of orgasm recedes, leaving behind a disconcerting shock.

Slipping out of me, Ethan bounces back onto the mattress, smiling with satisfaction. “That was amazing, princess. You're fantastic,” he murmurs, brushing my cheek sweetly.

I escape his gaze as self-loathing creeps into every pore of my skin, anger and hatred toward that psychopath grows in my chest.

Fuck you, Deon.

Chapter Five

Abigayle

Naked Truths

Readjusting my black turtleneck sweater and taking a deep breath as if I’m about to plunge into the dark ocean, I turn the handle, then slip inside and close the door behind me.

Although I haven't seen Deon in person for two days, I've seen the asshole in my mind every fucking minute since our last encounter. So, when I find him standing next to the bed, completely naked, a shocked cry scratches my throat, but I remain still.

My mind commands me to turn away, but my body doesn’t follow. Instead, my eyes are immediately glued to his sharp, illegal lines.

With my mouth watering, my gaze starts caressing every inch of his body. The broad shoulders, the muscular chest, all exquisitely designed to perfection. I trace the black snake tattoo with my eyes, following the ink of the animal from his left shoulder down to his pectoral. I redraw the contours of the second tattoo, a lightning bolt branching out from the center of his chest, on his right pectoral, down to his ribs.

I’m curious to know what those symbols mean to him.

My eyes dance on the edges of his sculpted abs, like a statue of a Greek god, descending to the veined V of the hips, reaching that inhuman object between his legs, pointing straight at me. At the sight of his huge, hard cock, my heart jumps to my throat and I instinctively swallow as my pussy cries an ocean of joy.

But when I see his hands are still restrained by the steel cuffs, I glance at the messy tangle of black clothes at his feet and the hospital gown lying on the mattress. How the fuck did he get all his clothes off with handcuffs on? Did he rip his t-shirt off?

Burned by the hellishly divine vision of his nudity, my eyes dart back to his face, where I become chained by his black gaze and his amused grin.

My cheeks flare up. “Deon, why are you naked?”

The indignant reproach allows me to snap out of whatever is holding me captive and I turn away, quivering in shame and arousal.

This isn't the first time I've seen a patient naked. In reality, they undress much more often than one might imagine. Generally, when I see them in their physical fragility, their eyes lost in the grip of a horrifying euphoria, I feel only compassion for them.

Deon, on the other hand, shows himself with a frightening brazenness, a disturbing pride, and an incredibly lucid and aware expression. He knows what he's doing, just as he knows that his body has a destabilizing effect on me. Who wouldn't be in awe of a sight like that?

“I wanted to welcome you as best as I could, little bunny. I thought I'd give you a nice gift after this long wait. You don’t like it?” He smirks sarcastically.

I snort at his teasing words. He's trying once more to take the upper hand in the situation, to provoke me and make me lose control. But I won't let him this time.

A wildfire of anger and lust ignites in my chest, burning every atom of my body. Straightening my shoulders, I turn toward him again and, avoiding looking down, approach with determined steps.

A single pace away from him, I stop. “Your nakedness has no effect on me. I'm used to seeing naked patients almost daily. You don't have anything special or extra.”

Unfortunately, my words come out as a challenge, and his eyes shine with a wicked glow as he closes the distance between us.

The heat and scent of his body hit me like steam from a newly opened sauna, making my heart skip a beat. My pussy clenches when his massive hard cock almost brushes my clothes.

“Are you really sure that it doesn't have any effect on you? I already told you that I can smell your wet pussy all the way up here, so I know when you're lying. And now you're lying, Abigayle.”

His voice glides into my panties, soaking them wet even more. A fiery shiver grips my spine, almost buckling my knees, but I keep his gaze, ignoring the desire to clasp my thighs together to find relief.

“Deon, you're acting childish. It doesn't fit with the adult man you are, so I ask you to stop and put on the hospital gown they brought you. You have to wear that from now on,” I order.

He cocks an eyebrow into a cynical frown, then lets his searing eyes travel over my body, burning my clothes and brushing my skin. When I am left naked and exposed in front of his devouring eyes, he shrugs. “Then you'll have to do it, Abigayle. You will have to dress me, as my wrists are constrained by handcuffs. Unless you want to take them off and free me.”

Instinctively, I step back, farther from him. He is right. I will be forced to take the handcuffs off to dress him. How else would I get his arms through the sleeves of the hospital gown? And he knows this perfectly.

A wave of indignation engulfs my chest as I understand his manipulation.

“I could always ask Jeremy and David to take care of it. I don't have to be the one to do it. It's not my job,” I growl, glaring at him.

“What a shame…” He gives me a sarcastic sneer. “I was going to start opening up to you, telling you about my childhood, but I see you don't want to listen. Maybe another time.”

Another bolt of anger sizzles my blood and my fingers tickle with the desire to slap him across his face. I have never met anyone capable of making me lose control and forget my professionalism in this way. I should be able to manipulate and steer him, but instead, he runs the game and drags me into his.

“Let's make a deal. While I dress you, you will have to answer my questions. If you try to touch me, I will call the nurses and leave. Clear?” I hiss sternly.

His fearsome lips curl to reveal a set of straight white teeth. It’s the first time I see his open smile and he’s fucking blinding. “Deal.”

“This time, I will dress you in your clothes, but next time, you will have to wear the gown. Understood?” I add in a harsh voice.

“You're not going to make me wear that shit. I either stay naked or keep normal clothes on. I won't give in on this,” he blows angrily, clenching his jaw, his self-control slipping slightly.

The nervous ripple of his scar suggests something linked to the hospital gown brings him unpleasant memories. Interesting. Maybe a hospital-related trauma? An illness? Someone dear to him had an accident or died?

“We'll see about that,” I murmur, narrowing my gaze. “Keep your hands to yourself and stay where you are.”

“Okay, little bunny. I'll be good and won't do anything you don't ask me to do.”

The air morphs to concrete, becoming almost unbearable, the tension between us suffocating, as I prepare to bend to grab his clothes. When I look down to scan the floor, though, my gaze drops for a fraction of a second to his monstrous cock pointing like a threatening weapon toward my stomach. It’s insanely juicy. I’ve never seen a dick so frighteningly sublime.

Darting my gaze up at him, I catch his proud expression. The asshole saw me lick it with my eyes.

Fury and shame mix in a poisonous cocktail in my blood and, snorting nervously, I crouch to retrieve the black boxers at his feet. Almost on my knees, his erection grazes my cheek and his musk and amber scent stuns me. I jerk backward, my stomach twisting in pleasure at the sensation.

Fuck, I could die of a heart attack.

His devilish grin widens as he looks down at me from his towering height. “I love seeing you kneel in front of me, Abigayle. I'm sure it won't take long to happen again, but when it does, I will no longer have the handcuffs and will be able to use my hands in very different ways.”

Narrowing my gaze defiantly, I ignore his comment, instead picking up his underwear and spreading them at his feet. I try to keep my gaze from falling on his cock again, but a dark force pushes me and my eyes lapse onto it for a few more seconds. I savor the silky circumcised tip, the bluish-tinged veins that crisscross in an intricate and delicious pattern all along his long, thick shaft.

Too long and thick. It’s a dick that could seriously kill someone. It’s not humanly possible to take it. How does he do it? The thought of being fucked by it sucks all rational thought out of my brain.

“Do you like what you see? Would you like to take it in your mouth? Would you like to know what it tastes like? You can, if you want,” he provokes me.

Fury creeps into my veins again even as I shudder at his ability to understand my darkest desires. Snapping my head up, I hiss, “You're disgusting.”

Repressing my irritation, I search for a glimmer in his pitch-black eyes that would allow an opening for me to grasp other nuances of his character. To penetrate his hidden, dark soul. “Tell me about your childhood, Deon,” I say, softening my voice. “Tell me about a pleasant memory you have. The first one that instinctively comes to your mind.”

He slowly lifts one foot and inserts it into the boxers, then moves the other. Even though the sexual tension is skyrocketing and my body is almost trembling with the shameful desire to touch his, I can't help but sense a shadow of fragility creeping through the air.

His jaw tenses under the weight of his memories and I sense him immersing himself in his past. Despite this, his eyes never leave mine, and, for the first time, I’m finally able to glimpse the torment and anger shining like stars in his black universes.

Holding the edges of his boxers, I begin to lift them in a gentle caress across his long, muscular legs.

“I loved catching frogs living in the small pond next to my house. I spent hours grabbing them, studying them, observing them. I loved to know that such a defenseless little creature was in my hands, under my total control. It made me feel powerful,” he reveals, his eyes flaring with a perverse glow.

A shiver runs down my spine. Harming animals during childhood is a recurring trait in serial killers. It is a power mechanism they use to reverse the violence suffered, inflicting it in turn on helpless living beings.

Swallowing the lump of anxiety stuck in my throat, I drag his boxers up his toned quads, running them over his hips, over the curve of his round ass and over his cock, now squeezed and pent up in the fabric.

“Have you ever hurt them?” I whisper, hesitating to take my hands off him.

Holding the elastic of his boxers, I brush the warm, silky skin of his hips with my fingertips, and a jolt of pleasure darts to my pussy. I roll and suck my lip between my teeth, sinking into his dark abysses.

“Yes,” he admits.

His answer should scare me. Instead, it touches an unknown side of my mind. An immoral side that pushes me to shorten the distance between our bodies, until my clothes touch his bare skin.

“And what did you do?”

His gaze darkens even more, falling automatically, observing the torture I’m inflicting on my mouth with my teeth.

“I loved to pull their legs, dislocating them. When they struggled in my hands, I choked them between my fingers. Once dead, I would lay them on the ground and hit them with a sharp twig until they were bloody. Then I threw their bodies into the pond for the fish to eat.”

His voice reaches the pit of my stomach, shooting an electric shock through my spine. My eyes widen in terror as I visualize his cruel acts. Yet a sick part of me savors his words, enjoying his dark tone.

My pussy clenches in arousal and a moan of pleasure gets stuck in my throat, bouncing shamefully off the walls of the room.

“Does it turn you on to hear how I hurt those innocent creatures? Does it make you wet to imagine me taking a life? Would it make you come being touched by hands that have inflicted pain?”

This time, his hoarse voice punches me in the chest. His words spread out, hitting my brain and silencing any remaining rational thoughts. They travel over my body, touching me, caressing me, fucking me. I sink my teeth harder into my lower lip until I taste copper on my tongue. “Yes,” I whisper.

“Take off my handcuffs, Abigayle, and let me show you what it would be like to touch madness with your fingers, sinking into its darkness, only to then reach a divine ecstasy.”

My reason wavers again, urging me to give in to that irresistible temptation.

Would I really allow this stranger, this serial killer, this psychopath, to touch me and make me fall into his abyss of insanity?

The sudden crack of the door makes me jump in fright, and I jerk away from Deon.

“Everything’s okay, Abigayle? Why is the patient undressed?”

David's voice reaches my ears muffled.

Embarrassment swallows me. With my cheeks sizzling hot, I look up at David’s ruddy face, his small round hazel eyes staring at me in confusion. I feel like I’ve been caught with my hands in a jar of delicious, tempting cookies. A naughty girl.

Clearing my throat and gulping down my sudden sick desire, I regain my composure slightly. “I'm fine, David. The patient had undressed before I arrived. Please help him finish putting on his clothes. The hospital gown will be for another time. We're done for today.”

Avoiding both men, I quickly walk toward the exit. But when I get to the threshold, still feeling Deon’s dark aura calling me and his eyes piercing my back like two knives, I turn slightly and a shiver of horror slides down my spine.

Yes, I would let him touch me and make me sink into madness.

Chapter Six

The Copycat

Requiem

A blood-curling scream still echoes through the moisture-oozing walls of the abandoned house, mixing with the epic notes of Mozart’s Requiem as I throw his second ear into the blender. His ragged, terrorized breaths and his horror-filled eyes with copious tears spilling down his ruby smeared cheeks are nothing more than gasoline on the pleasure I feel.

“P-please… p-p-please don’t kill… me,” he begs, choking on his own words and pain.

Moving convulsively while constrained on the wooden chair, he stares at me in panic.

My lips curl in an evil smile as I slowly wave the blood-soaked blade in front of his face, crimson strands dripping onto my white latex gloves.

Having this power in my hands, inflicting this much pain and suffering, is deliciously insane. The thrill of the hunt, the excitement their screams provoke, the pure delight of watching life slip out of their body, and then staring at their glassy dead eyes makes me almost orgasm every time.

“Do you feel the strength of the musical notes? Their vibrations? Their power over your mind, altering your brain chemistry to another spiritual dimension?” I say, circling him with calculated steps as I thrum the harmony in the air. “Don’t you think a human life is like a classical music concert? Starting low and slow, climbing to an overwhelming crescendo, reaching its peak and then sadly dropping into an eternal silence?”

Pausing, I point the sharp tip of the knife right behind his neck. “Don’t you think it’s the best feeling ever to tune your body and your own pumping blood with the dancing notes in the air?” On each of the final words, I sink the blade a tiny bit into his flesh, tearing a choked whimper from his throat and a ruby trickle on his skin. “Don’t you think it’s such a mystery that some symbols scribbled on a musical partition can morph into a blissful symphony?”

With an amused laugh, I step in front of him again. His shaking, blood-coated body and his horrified expression shoot a shiver of pure pleasure through my guts. The euphoria and frenzy I feel when I kill my victims is addictive.

It’s a liberation. Liberation from my own cage, from my own demons.

Normally, I don’t kill this way. These are not the type of victims I usually hunt. But I’ve wanted to change my signature for some time now.

For the last ten years, I’ve gone unnoticed while I amused myself with all kind of different tortures and methods of disposing of bodies. One I hung on a bridge, passing it off as a suicide. Another I drowned in a lake, covering it as a car accident. Then I got more creative, ripping the heart out of the chest of another and drawing a pentacle circle around his body to make it seem he was the victim of a Satanic cult.

I was always meticulously careful not to leave any clue behind. It was so funny to see the fucking police classify all my murders as self-inflicted or cold cases, incapable of pointing the fingers at the real killer.

Other of my victims didn’t end up on the front page of the news, though. Most I dismembered and fed to the pigs in a lost farm on the countryside. Others I burned, dispelling their ashes in the forest, or dissolved in acid, dumping the viscous black liquid down the city drain.

Until now.

I’ve decided I want to make myself known, to play with the cops. I want to drive them crazy, entangling their minds in their own wrong suppositions.

“What are your last words before I cut out your tongue?” Grinning evilly, I approach the blade to his lips, tapping the cold metal on his finely drawn mouth.

His eyes become as round as saucers and he almost convulses underneath me as he shakes his head in a desperate plea.

A stinging stench of urine pinches my nose, making me lose my smile for a second. But my disgust is soon replaced by a bursting hysterical laugh.

“You pissed yourself, you dickhead. What a pathetic human scum you are. Should I cut your cock off before your tongue?” I smirk through my chuckling.

His pupils dilate even more, sweat dripping down his forehead mixing with his blood and tears over his bearded cheeks, but I don’t give him time to respond, ravaging fury sizzling my nerves. “Or perhaps I should follow the plan. After all, it would ruin my whole staging if I act on impulse, even though you’re making it very tempting, you disgusting pig.”

“Yo…u’re s-s-sick,” he stammers through sobs, tugging desperately at the ropes on his wrists and ankles.

His words summon an even darker side of myself, bringing a ruthless laugh to my throat. “More than you think, asshole.”

Cackling, I grab his jaw, forcing him to open his mouth.

“N-no, no… no no, p-p-lea..se, I won’t h-hu…rt any other chil…dre-n. I-I… p-promi..se.” He chokes on his own breath and terror, but there’s no shred of guilt or remorse in his eyes.

What a fucking liar.

“Too late to apologize, son of a bitch. You’ll have all the time you need to ask for forgiveness in the pit of hell.”

I laugh again as I clutch his tongue between my fingers and yank it out of his mouth. His eyes pop out of their sockets in terror as I slice the spongy muscles in one neat cut. Blood gushes down his chin and neck, and while he screams in agony and horror, a shiver of pure delight clings to my spine, twisting my stomach in a blissful coil.

Moving away, I toss the severed tongue into the blender with the man’s fingers and ears, and close the lid. The shattering of bones and the cries of pain and panic of my victim echo through the walls, joining my voice as I hum the epic Mozart symphony.

When the mixture is suitably liquid, I stop the blender, grab it along with a funnel. The tube muffles the man’s sobs and shouts before I even begin to pour the viscous smoothie down his throat. His body convulses as he chokes on his own human parts.

A rush of adrenaline and pleasure seeps into my veins, almost dazing me, making me feel on a loop of psychotropic drugs. But anger crawls in my core when I see that the dickhead is suffocating, incapable of swallowing his fucking bloody drink.

“Come on, asshole. We still have the best part to act out and then I have to drag your fucking disgusting body to another location so the cops will be able to find your rotting flesh. Come on. Be a good boy and swallow it down, you fucking son of a bitch.”

I chortle once more when I see that the fucker finally manages to gulp down all his shit, then follow the last notes of the music disappearing in the air with my whistling as I resume my meticulous plan.

Chapter Seven

Abigayle

Panic Attack

“Uh, Abby, are you there? Planet Earth calling Abigayle.”

Jenna's voice reaches the limbo of my echoing thoughts, but it’s her hand waving insistently in front of my face that brings me back to reality.

I don't want to see Deon again. I can't see him again.

The turmoil of conflicting emotions still clutches me in a chokehold and to recover a modicum of calmness would be an impossible task for me right now. I feel too shaken, too confused, too overwhelmed.

“Does it turn you on to hear how I hurt those innocent creatures? Does it make you wet to imagine me taking a life? Would it make you come being touched by hands that have inflicted pain?”

“Yes.”

How could I even have answered him in the affirmative? But above all, how can I be truly attracted to this kind of perversion and violence? From a serial killer?

Assuming he really is one.

There's something wrong with me, I'm starting to realize with each passing day. Maybe working in a mental hospital is going to my head and I have to face reality. Maybe, as time goes by, I too am slipping into madness.

Diverting my gaze from the gray floor of the clothing store, I look up at Jenna's worried face. “Sorry, Jen. I was lost in my thoughts,” I murmur.

I need a strong drink to ease the tension stiffening my muscles. To help me forget, at least for a few hours, about everything that’s happened with Deon.

“I can see that, Abby. You haven't been the same since that psychopath landed in your life. What happened? And don't bullshit me. I know when you're lying, so spit it out,” she orders sternly, taking off her jeans and sweater to try on a dress.

Jenna insisted I help her pick out an outfit for dinner with a coworker. So now I’m her hostage in the narrow stall of the shop, sitting with one butt cheek on the tiny uncomfortable stool.

Avoiding her searching gaze, I sigh. “Jen, promise me you won't judge me?”

“Oh no, that doesn't bode well. I've never heard you ask me not to judge you. Fuck, Abby. What did you do?”

“Hey, don't be such a bitch! You're my best friend. Shouldn't you support me even when I do something stupid?”

Jenna rolls her eyes but softens her gaze. “You’re right. Sorry. You know I would never judge you, Abby. You just took me by surprise. I've never seen you like this. You’re scaring me.”

Taking a deep breath, I try to find the words to explain the tornado of emotions swirling destructively in my chest.

“Yesterday, Deon got completely naked in the isolation cell,” I whisper, sucking my lip between my teeth.

Jenna's pupils dilate, but her face shows no shock. “Aaaaannndd?”

She waits for me to continue, but I remain silent. How the fuck can I tell her that every time I'm in his presence I lose control of myself, allowing him to manipulate me like a puppet? Or that I got aroused by his cruelty toward those poor animals? How I wanted to be fucked senseless?

“Abby, this isn't the first time a patient has stripped naked in front of you. What's so shocking?” She slips into the tight red dress, admiring her silhouette in the mirror, studying her curves highlighted by the fabric.

“Jen, first of all, if you had seen the size of his cock, you would have fainted too. If a giant and viking had reproduced, the result would be Deon. Believe me, it's inhuman,” I begin, my cheeks becoming two red tomatoes.

Snapping her head toward me, Jenna raises an eyebrow with a sudden mischievous smile and a lustful glint in her eyes. “Ooh, I like it. Continue.”

“He opened up to me slightly, revealing disturbing details from his childhood,” I murmur.

“Fuck, Abby spill the beans! Stop giving me crumbs. I want the whole bite!”

“I wanted him to fuck me! I wanted so badly for him to rip off my clothes and brutally fuck me to death. And if David hadn't come in time, I would have. I would have given in and given it to him,” I almost scream.

Jenna's eyes bulge and her jaw drops.

Tears prickle my eyes as an unbearable weight shatters my breath. I lower my head, avoiding her gaze, feeling exposed and naked.

“Plus, Ethan officially asked me to be his girlfriend just a few days ago and I accepted. That same evening, we fucked, but you know what happened? While he was fucking me, I didn't see him. I saw Deon, and I had an orgasm just from that. I'm a monster. I've already cheated on him. God, I'm sick.” Unable to contain the tears that burn my cheeks like acid, I sob.

Jenna takes my hands, squeezing them gently as she crouches in front of me. “Hey, Abby. Don’t cry. It can happen. You work nonstop, in constant contact with difficult cases. It makes sense that the madness of the psychiatric hospital creeps into your head. In fact, I don't know how you managed to stay sane this long. Maybe you should take a few days. Ask for a replacement and take a vacation. Walk away and find yourself again. It would do you good.”

I sniff, trying to blink away my overwhelming emotions but I’m not able to stop the river. I feel adrift.

“Oh, love. I don't like seeing you cry. It will pass. You’ll get better, I’m sure. It’s just a moment. Sometimes we feel a sudden, deep attraction for a toxic, dangerous man. Don’t feel ashamed, darling. You have the right to fantasize about him, but don’t fall into his trap. But I’m sure you’re strong enough and won’t allow it. I’ve known you for a long time now, Abby. You’re not that type of person.”

Her words are sweet but irritating as they slide into my chest.

“And what type of person am I?” I ask, resentment in my tone.

Jenna’s eyes scan me intently, tenderness in her green irises. “You’re a compassionate woman, with a golden heart and a strong determination. The Abby I know puts her patients and their needs before herself, and humbly accept her victories and defeats. She hides a kernel of love under a protective armor, ready to break for the right man one day. Only, at this very moment, you need to put yourself first, darling. You need to take a step back from the overwhelming emotions you’re feeling. Take a step back from Deon.” Brushing a lock of hair away from my face, she smiles reassuringly and helps me up from the stool, taking me into her arms.

Returning her hug, I stare at the void, my sobs and tears drying up little by little.

“Thanks, Jen,” I murmur brokenly.

I'm afraid I’m not strong enough, Jen. I’m afraid I’ll let myself be devoured by Deon and sink into total madness.

Deafening screams pierce my eardrums, sending a shock of adrenaline through me.

“David! I need your help!” I shout, glancing back and forth between the half-open room door and the patient.

“Mr. Brown, look me in the eyes. Take a deep breath. Breathe in through your nose and exhale through your mouth.” I demonstrate, exaggerating the movements in an attempt to lead him while looking into his clouded eyes.

Bending my knees, I prepare to sprint to the exit in case the patient throws himself at me. Instead, he grabs his own hair and starts tearing it out violently, throwing entire locks onto the floor in the grip of his hysteric meltdown.

Trying another approach, I say, “Mr. Brown, do you remember what we did last time? We sang. Follow the words with me.”

Despite the knot of distress growing in my throat, I swallow hard, then start singing the lullaby the patient’s mother sang when he was little.

“Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird...” My voice, shaky on the first words, quickly picks up the pace in a rhythmic sing-song.

The man, barefoot in his hospital gown, falls silent. As my chant slips him out of his frightening darkness, he starts singing along and my heart slows its frantic rush. The bulk of the crisis has passed.

David and Jeremy's excited footsteps echo behind me as they enter the room, but the patient’s attention is focused on me, his happy smile growing, his eyes shining with a bright light.

Casting a quick glance at David, I give him a nod, letting him know to sedate Mr. Brown to avoid another violent outburst once the song is over, as happened the last time. I’d managed to calm him down, but as soon as the moment was over, he panicked, throwing objects at everyone in the room before stripping naked and severely injuring himself.

His trauma of being violently bullied throughout his entire childhood and teenage years still haunts him. Touching the subject of school to help him overcome his fears does nothing more than push him into hysteria, but to cure him, I have to bring up the experience and it’s become more complicated with each session.

David adds his voice to the song, smiling at the man while taking cautious steps toward him, syringe in his hand. When it is clear Mr. Brown is paying him no mind, David gently inserts the needle and injects the tranquilizer. As the patient’s eyes grow heavy, the two nurses transfer him to the mattress, singing the whole time.

When he is comfortably arranged, I stop the lullaby and give Jeremy and David a nod of gratitude before leaving the room.

Feeling an abrupt, oppressive weight crushing me, I stumble erratically to my office, the tears I’d been holding back starting to roll down my face.

A spiral of overwhelming emotions compresses my chest, shattering my breath, and my mind staggers dangerously toward a void of darkness as I close my office door behind me.

Jenna is right. I should take a vacation. Take a few days away from this place, from my patients, from myself. The insanity of the hospital is creeping inside my skin, burning my blood like a deadly poison. I can’t allow myself to be swallowed up by the black wave threatening to tear me apart.

Wiping my tears with the back of my hand and readjusting my hair, I look at my watch. In fifteen minutes, I have a session with Mr. Clark, a man who suffers from depression and has attempted suicide three times. He was the victim of sexual assault when he was younger, and trauma took root in him, following him like a cancer throughout his life.

Taking a deep breath, I open the door and step back into the corridor.

Anguish hitching my breathing, that heavy rock squashing my chest again. As a cold sweat blooms on my skin, colliding with the scorching rhythm of my panicked heart, my gaze falls on the gray door in front of me.

An obscure desire crawls through the thick fog of suffocating thoughts, commanding my body. Taking the key from my pocket, I open the door and slip inside in one quick motion.

With the exit closed behind me, my tear-blurred eyes immediately fall on Deon and my rational mind emerges from the dense haze of unutterable sensations.

I just made a fucking huge mistake.

Chapter Eight

Abigayle

Squirting Madness

His amber and musk scent fills the air. Deon is lying on the bed wearing only his black jeans, his handcuff-free wrists bent behind his head. I knew David released him from the restrains when no one is supposed to enter the room, but it never occurred to me he might be free now.

When I see him sit up, his pitch eyes glowing with lust and surprise, the reality of where I am hits me like a tsunami. My knees buckle and my heart reaches frightening levels, hammering convulsively against my ribcage.

Fuck, I'm about to pass out.

“Little bunny, I wasn't expecting you. What a delightful surprise.” Getting up from the bed, he approaches with calculated steps, looking like a panther preparing its attack.

His deep voice and that sexy smirk make me panic even more.

“Why are you crying, Abigayle? Did someone hurt you?”

The anger in his words shakes me, as does the inferno blazing in his black abysses.

I shake my head, unable to utter a word, unable to breathe anything other than his divine smell. I want to tell him to step back, to stop being so fucking attractive and manipulative, to stop driving me crazy. Because this is all his fault. I’m crumbling into a thousand pieces because of him. I’m losing myself and my mind. Because of him.

My eyes widen in terror as he stops inches away from me, pressing me against the steel door.

“Abigayle, why did you come in here?” he hisses.

With a quick movement, he plants his large hands on either side of my head, trapping me. At the deafening thud of his weight against the steel, I jump, squeaking loudly. I feel microscopic in front of him. He could disintegrate me with a breath.

My stomach twists in horror and arousal when he brushes the tip of his nose against mine, caressing my cheeks with his warm breath.

What the fuck did I just do? I threw myself into the wolf's mouth. I'm alone with him and I fucking forgot the pocket alarm in my office this morning. He could kill me.

“Abigayle, why the fuck did you come in here?” he roars, repeating his question.

Another high-pitched squeak breaks free from my throat.

“I-I don't know… I had a panic attack and… I don't know… Fuck, I-I…”

His grin spreads, widening his scar as a proud gleam shines in his black eyes. “Be careful, little bunny. I might think you aren’t able to do without me anymore and that you are seeking refuge from the outside world in my arms,” he whispers.

The truth of his words hits me in the chest like a punch and the consequences of my actions make my neurons explode in my brain. “No, Deon. I-I made a mi…stake. I-I shouldn't have come… I-I don't know what… Let me go,” I stammer. I would like to escape, to disappear, to have the ground open up and swallow me.

“Too late, Abigayle. I told you what would happen when I no longer had handcuffs.”

Before my brain can register his words, his hand grips my neck so tightly my breath breaks in my throat and my eyes bulge from their sockets as a white-hot jolt of adrenaline and terror courses through my veins. While I stare at him in horror, my hands fly at his, scratching and drawing red streaks on his skin with my nails.

“I always keep my promises, Abigayle,” he hisses, tightening his grasp even more.

My legs buckle as my vision blurs from the lack of oxygen. I open my mouth in a useless attempt to fill my lungs, but only a strangled gasp reaches my ears. Everything in my brain turns off and a chilling certainty snakes through my guts.

He's killing me.

The corners of my eyes darken and I struggle frantically, trying to free myself. But that fight quickly becomes exhausting as unconsciousness crawls closer, creeping in my muscles, my nerves, my blood, up to my head. My heart decreases its pace, ringing its baritone echo in my ears.

As my eyes roll to the back of my head and my body goes limp, Deon suddenly eases up.

Convulsing, I gasp and cough, tears spilling down my cheeks as I scratch at his hand again. But before I can swallow enough oxygen, Deon's mouth closes over mine.

Another shock shudders me, but this time it's pure pleasure.

Deon's fingers tighten around my neck again, allowing only a stream of air to reach my lungs. His tongue slides warm and velvety between my lips, seeking mine.

I widen my eyes in horror, trying to shove him away. Even though I am attracted to him, and my body reacts in a shamefully obscene way to his, I can’t allow him to abuse me. I can’t allow him to possess me. I can’t allow him to kill me.

Or maybe, yes?

Scraping together what little physical strength I have left, I try to kick him in the balls, but Deon blocks my legs, crushing me with his imposing body.

I shake my head, brawling again, as my heart almost bursts in my chest. But when his tongue finds mine and the two touch, something inside my brain... snaps. That dark, insane desire blinds me and possesses every part of me, destroying my reasoning.

A moan of pleasure rolls into Deon's mouth as a cavernous growl rumbles in his chest. Our tongues begin to caress and study each other in a dance that escalates into a disturbing crescendo.

His flavor is unique, sweet with a bitter and pungent note, one of those that create addiction. One of those that makes you lose your mind.

I can no longer formulate a single rational thought. I am no longer able to regain control over myself. He has completely taken over. Over my body and over my mind.

The smacks of our lips thunder through the room and the kiss becomes criminal. Deon devours me with such frenzy, anger, and lust that I feel myself almost floating between our bodies. Our saliva fuse, and his lips suck, lick, and bite mine as if he were a hungry animal in front of his prey after days of fasting. As if his life and sanity depend on it.

In stark contrast to the hysteria of the kiss, his free hand descends in a fiery, slow motion to my collarbone, then further down. He traces the curve of my breast, stopping at my nipple, which hardens at his incandescent, magnetic presence, begging to be eaten.

I'm wearing a dark blue sweater with a U-neck, so when Deon grabs the edge of my bralette and the fabric of my pullover and snaps it down, he easily pops my right breast out to his view.

There is no sweetness in his touch, only a chilling, primal fury.

I fucking love it.

He pulls away from my mouth, allowing me to finally catch the oxygen he had sucked out in the kiss, and his gaze falls to my swollen pink nipple as I gasp in rhythm with the crazy drum of my heartbeat.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs, slowly licking his lower lip as if already savoring my skin. He brushes his thumb over that erect peg, eliciting a hoarse moan from me. My eyes flutter at the electric darts branching out from his touch. “Tell me, Abigayle. What would you like these dangerous hands to do with your body?”

His scratchy voice runs straight to my pussy as his thumb and forefinger grip my nipple tightly, pulling and twisting it slightly, drawing another cavernous groan from me.

“What would you like this sinful mouth to do to your skin?” he says, grinning evilly and lowering his head to my breast. His silky tongue licks my nipple in a calculated caress while his hand squeezes my tit in its entirety. His lips and teeth capture it, pinching it in controlled pain before sucking and licking it to relieve the discomfort.

Another breathless moan dances on my vocal cords.

“Where would you like my cock to fuck you?” he roars, pushing his huge dick against my stomach.

“Oh god… Everywhere, I want everything of you, everywhere,” I whimper. My logic and dignity have evaporated, but my pussy liquefies in its own impatient desire to be filled.

He grins devilishly. “What a good little girl.”

His pitch eyes almost blur my vision for the intensity of the lust burning inside them.

“I won't stop until you die of pleasure under me. Until you squirt in madness, losing yourself and your mind to my touch, forever.”

I pant before his words, my soul wavering in front of his.

“Let's see how wet your cunt is for me, Abby,” he breathes with a sinister grin.

His fingers slide down my stomach, reaching for the bottom seam of my skirt. With a jerk, he lifts it up, rolling it to my belly, then lowers his gaze to look at my favorite black sheer lace thong.

“What a sexy little bunny. If you hadn’t come here in panic, I would think they were for me,” he gurgles with an amused laugh, but the truth is, I did it for myself. I find it empowering to wear sexy lingerie even if I’m not planning to see anyone, but I can’t tell him that.

His fiery fingers brush my navel, dancing down my mound, reaching my clit. He presses my swollen pearl with his thumb, shooting an electric shock up my spine.

“Oh fuck, please,” I gasp, shattering my pride. The desire, the need I have for him is insane. I am about to sink into a chasm of delirium, and for the first time, I’m not sure if I want to fight it or embrace it.

“I didn't think it would take so little to make you beg. When I make you squirt in madness, what will you do, Abigayle? Will you cry? Will you scream? Will you squirm?” he blows on my lips.

Before I can open my mouth to spit my sudden fury back in his face, his fingers sneak under the elastic of my panties. The fabric rips easily under his brutal yank, cutting into my skin.

“From now on, I want you to wear nothing, Abigayle. I want to know that you are naked under your clothes and that your cunt cries for me. I want to see its tears wet your skirts. The only other thing you will wear on you is my fucking cum,” he growls.

God, how can he be so obscene and terribly exciting at the same time?

His fingertips slip down to my slit, caressing it from bottom up, collecting my juices between his digits.

“Look how wet you are. Look how your pussy begs me, Abigayle. And you know what I do to the pussies that beg me?” he asks, tightening his grip around my neck.

Another rush of adrenaline heats up my blood. Clawing at his hand, struggling for air, I watch him bring his two dripping fingers to his mouth. He licks them thoroughly before closing his lips around them, roaring as he sucks. Snapping his glowing black pits into mine, he slips the fingers down between my thighs again.

“I destroy them,” he hisses, sliding his digits inside me with agonizing slowness.

A choked moan rises from my chest as my eyes roll to the back of my head from the absolute delight of that invasion.

Deon loosens his hold on my neck a little, allowing me to groan my pleasure, which I do as I dig my nails into his forearm and drown in his filling touch.

“Say you're sick. Say you like getting fucked by a psychopath. Come on, Abigayle. Show me your true self,” he commands in a scathing tone.

His fingers withdraw and sink back in, following a rhythmic crazy building that makes me shake with euphoria each time he hits that spot inside me. My muscles contract, my organs clench, and my spine vibrates as his frightening eyes swallow me.

The orgasm approaches like a black hurricane, ready to drag me into madness. But the controlled cadence of his digits leaves me suspended in limbo and my desperation reaches new heights. How ruthless is his desire to make me suffer by pushing me to the limits of reason?

“Say it, Abby. And I'll make you come so hard you'll cry.” His tongue darts out, slowly licking my lips, savoring my ragged breath, gulping down my sanity.

My rational side explodes under the destroying power of my desire for him, and darkness blinds me, rising from the recesses of my soul.

“I'm sick! I’m sick! I’m fucking sick! I want you to fuck me until you kill me!” I cry, my vision blurred by euphoric tears, my hips dancing on his hand in pursuit of that crushing pleasure.

“Such a good little slut.” His scar curls opening into a glorious smile.

His insulting word sink inside my chest, but before I can respond, his fingers curve, fucking my G-spot with disconcerting perfection. And everything blows up. My reason, my mind, my soul, my emotions burst into thousands of pieces, sucking me into a vortex of deliriousness. My moans become so high that if there were windows in the room, they would have cracked under the force of my screams.

“Oh my… fuck! Oh god, Deon!” I cry senselessly, choking on my rhapsody.

“Yes, Abigayle. Call me, beg me, implore me. But I’m not your god. I’m your fucking demon,” he roars.

An inhuman scream burns my vocal cords as the orgasm hits me so hard I freeze for a few seconds, my body and brain incapable of understanding the insane pleasure.

“Yeah, baby, give me your madness,” Deon roars, finger-fucking me so hard and fast that I don’t understand what dimension I’m in anymore.

Tightening his grip on my neck, he takes my breath away again. My legs shake, my body convulses as my eyes roll back in my head. I feel like I'm possessed by a demon and under exorcism.

I’m fucking possessed by Deon.

My vision darkens from the lack of oxygen... or maybe from the orgasm so powerful it’s killing me. The pleasure is so strong I feel like I'm going crazy, like I'm totally delirious, like I no longer exist. I seem to merge with the atoms in a new otherworldly dimension. An insane, disturbing, wonderful dimension.

When the hurricane of the orgasm fades, leaving behind an incoherent mass of bones, flesh and... liquids, the reality of the situation creeps into my chest with a chilling coldness. It takes my eyes a few seconds to focus on Deon's blazing eyes and his wet chest and abs. Droplets of clear liquid run in streams to the edge of his black jeans.

“You are fucking mine, Abigayle,” his tone inhuman, as he loosens his hold on my neck and my pussy, finally allowing me to breathe.

I'm still shocked by the most powerful orgasm I've ever had, but even more so by having squirted. Before the realization of what I’ve just done breaks me, however, Deon’s hand violently grabs my jaw.

“W-what?” I stammer, terrified and confused.

He jerks my head, directing it toward the ceiling, pointing at a corner with his finger.

When I see the little red light flashing, I instantly freeze, pure horror flooding my body as my heart sinks in my chest.

“Smile for the camera, Abigayle. It just watched everything. Your every moan, every prayer, even your shameful squirt. And now you're going to get fired for it. Getting fucked by your patient... What an ignominy. What a lack of professionalism. What madness.” Deon smirks diabolically.

The world collapses around me and this pain is much worse than if he’d have killed me.

I would have preferred him to strangle me to death.

Chapter Nine

Deon

Frightening Memories

Her blue eyes, where torment and fear intertwine and collide, stare at me in shock. Her warm juices sliding across my skin only heighten the power I feel over her. I had never met a woman capable of squirting like a fucking fountain.

This girl hides a lot of secrets. I can see it in her eyes, catch it in her breath and her voice. I saw darkness in the pits of her eyes while she was riding her hysterical pleasure. I need to have all of her. All of her mind, her heart, her soul, and her darkness.

My cock pushes hard against the fabric of my jeans in a painful plea, but I ignore it.

“Why?” she gasps in a broken voice. Her irises glisten with tears and her lower lip trembles, showing me her vulnerability, but she catches it between her teeth, squeezing it, too proud to cry in front of me. “Why did you do it, Deon?”

Seeing her so fragile makes me feel unexpectedly guilty, although another part of me thinks I made the right choice.

“Because I want you to know what it feels like to see one of the dearest things in the world taken away from you,” I hiss.

Resentment sizzles my blood. They took away my life, my job, my purpose. They took away everything I've worked for throughout many years, only to lock me in this hole while I wait for desperation and insanity to come looking for me.

She too must know what it feels like to see her life fall apart. But only for a moment. Only to let her savor my power over her, let her understand that even if she has authority on her side, I have manipulation and seduction on mine. I can play with her however I want, and the insane orgasm I just gave her is already a clear proof of that.

“I wanted to help you, Deon. And this is how you sabotage the only possibility to declare your innocence? I thought there was some good in you. Some intelligence too. I hoped I could find something worth saving, and instead I realize I was totally wrong about you. You're just a monster who deserves to be locked up in prison until the end of your days. You are a horrible person. A ruthless and despicable being.” She spits out the words angrily, a variety of emotions flashing across her eyes.

Fury snakes through my guts at her insulting words. “If you think I’m sabotaging the only way out of here, I’m surprised you consider yourself smart, Abigayle.”

That darkness I saw in her eyes swallows her pupils in two black abysses, a luring danger twisting at the bottom. A grin curls my scar as my resentment evaporates, replaced by fascination. But before I can dive into her soul, searching for that hidden part of her, she darts her gaze out of my chokehold.

With a swift movement, she lowers her skirt and passes under my arm, slipping out of my grasp. Grabbing the handle, she tries to open the door, but my hands are still pressed on the metal, preventing her.

A laughter bubbles in my throat, my skin tingling with sudden euphoria. “Not so fast, little bunny,” I hum.

“What do you want, Deon?” She glares at me. “What do you still want to take from me? Besides my job and my fucking dignity?”

I love playing with her. I love seeing her run away from me, approaching when she thinks the danger is over and flying away when the threat looms once more. She is my prey and will remain so until I get tired of playing with her.

Although I doubt I'd ever get tired of delighting in her.

“Everything, Abigayle. I want to take everything away from you, because now you are mine and everything about you belongs to me. Every gesture, every look, every gasp. Every fucking inch of you is mine now. Clear?” I smirk maliciously, pressing her against the white wall with my body.

“If you think you possess me, you are very wrong, especially after what you did. It is beyond all logic,” she growls, clenching her teeth.

“There is no logic in this place, Abby. You know that better than me. This time I took it easy, but nothing will stop me from hurting you again. Because that's all I want to do: hurt you,” I whisper.

I lean toward her, pressing my chest against her warm breasts, my cock against her stomach. I graze my lips with hers, drinking in her broken breath, savoring her murderous gaze. Her blue eyes boil with hatred. “Go delete the video footage of the last few minutes, little bunny. I haven't stopped playing with you yet. This is just the beginning.”

“Go fuck yourself, Deon,” she hisses as her eyes flash with that primal fire.

“I'll be the one that decides when, Abby. Because one thing is certain in this whole crazy situation—I will fuck you sooner or later, making you fall into insanity and addiction. You will lose yourself with me and I will become the only thought in your mind, in your body, in your heart. You will become obsessed with me and no longer be able to live without me.”

With a grin, I inhale the scent of her wet pussy again. She may be able to hide her thoughts and emotions from me, but she will never be able to hide the reactions of her treacherous body. Of her desire for me, her need for me.

Her features pull into a grim scowl, but she doesn’t reply.

Stepping away from her, I remove my hands from the door. Even though I want to keep her prisoner with me in this room for the rest of my life, feeding on her, on her essence, on her breath like a blood-hungry vampire, I let her go, knowing that she will come back. I snaked myself inside her already and she will no longer be able to escape me. I will haunt her everywhere.

Grinning with satisfaction, I watch her nervously rearrange her messy hair and wrinkled clothes, then open the door and slip out.

Pride rises from the depths of my dark soul, and I burst into a crystal-clear laugh, savoring the sound of victory.

Savoring the taste of Abigayle.

“Deon, where the fuck are you, you little moron?! When I find you, I’ll kill you!”

Bill's thunderous voice creeps inside my chest, squeezing my heart. As I reflexively hug my legs close, a cold shiver slides down my spine.

I can still feel the burning lines left by the whip Bill hit me with this morning, a punishment for helping my mother eat a bowl of cereal.

With panic in my belly, I press my lips together to not make any sound while I follow him through the thin crack of the wardrobe I’m hiding in. I stare in horror at his corpulent figure, his graying hair and rounded features, wandering around the small, cluttered space of the trailer.

The crunch of his steps on the newspapers, the shattered glasses, and the empty beer cans echo in the deafening silence like a terrifying and jarring music.

Behind the low table covered with spoons spotted in white and cigarette butts, I glimpse my mother's inert body. Her arm dangles, the syringe dropped to the floor. Her closed eyes and parted lips make me shiver.

“Where the fuck are you, Deon?!” Bill growls again.

I stiffen even more, my muscles starting to cramp. I know he will punish me for throwing that white powder away. In my haste to toss everything before Bill came back inside, I left the garbage can open and he noticed as soon as he went into the kitchen to grab a beer.

I just wanted to help my mom.

I just wanted her to stop falling into that unconsciousness that makes her sleep for so long. I wanted her to go back to being the mother she was when I was five. I miss her smiles and kisses. I miss the woman she was before she met Bill.

Bill is the Devil.

Since he came into our lives, nothing has been the same. Every day is hell on earth. Even at eight years old, he terrorizes me, especially when he punishes me.

He doesn't want me to help my mom. He wants to let her waste away. To let her die.

Her greasy raven locks fall on her face, outlining her hollow paleness, and I can't hold back a strangled sob at the sight of her in that state again.

Immediately regretting having made a sound, I bite my lower lip hard.

Bill's head snaps toward the closet, his diabolical grin spreading as he advances with determined steps in my direction. “I found you, little asshole.”

My stomach twists in panic. Powerful tremors shake my spine and my heart slams so hard in my throat that I choke on a desperate cry.

I'm dead.

The wardrobe doors break open, the gray light streaming in to expose my hiding place.

“No, no, p-please no… No, please,” I plead through sobbing tears.

He grabs my hair forcefully, yanking me out of the furniture. I gasp and trip over my feet. Hot pins prick my scalp, burning my head like lava.

“I'll make you pay, fucker. You'll learn not to fucking touch your mother's things, you son of a bitch,” he roars.

I suddenly fall forward, my guts clenching, and my face brutally crushes against the low black table, where shards of glass from a broken chalice glitter like stars on a dark sky. A sharp tip sinks inside my cheek and lips, making me cry out in pain.

The copper taste of blood coats my tongue as Bill's calloused hand presses me even harder on the stinging surface. His other hand violently grabs the edge of my trousers, yanking them down to reveal my bare butt. The cold of the room cuts my skin as terror and panic dissect my chest.

The metallic clink of Bill's leather belt ripping open makes me tremble, but my eyes are only able to stare at the blurry outlines of the white kitchen. The thunder of a black destructive hurricane is about to swallow me up. A lightning bolt ready to strike violently through my soul.

“Now you're really going to cry, you little dickhead. Let's see if this time you'll learn to keep your fucking hands to yourself, you little piece of shit.”

Horror creeps inside every atom of my being, burning my mind. And before I can glimpse his imposing figure kneeling behind me, a sudden pain stabs me. My breathless scream lingers in my throat as shock and agony freeze me.

Tears crystallize on my cheeks. My body is petrified and everything stops. I’m suspended in a dark limbo for a few seconds, then a chasm opens under my body and I fall, sucked into a black abyss in an eternal descent.

A descent to hell from which I know I will never be able to go back.

I'm dead inside, dead forever.

I wake up with a start, breathless, drenched in sweat. Trying to calm my hammering heart, I push away those choking memories.

Fuck, it's been months since that dickhead came to haunt me in my nightmares.

I'm afraid this crazy place is going to my head, summoning my dark demons.

But a sudden strange awareness, a peculiar certainty, creeps into my mind. Only one person could control them. Only one person could help me fight them. Only one person could destroy them all and save me, if I let her.

Abigayle.

Chapter Ten

The Copycat

Imperfection in Perfection

The police haven’t publicly announced the discovery of my masterpiece yet. It’s been over four days now. I’m surprised that those jackals of journalists didn’t rush out to immediately immortalize the crime scene. The cops already circled the space around the body, preventing anyone from approaching, so they only wrote a tiny article on the fourth page, under the fucking football competition.

“The Blender Killer Strikes Again”

I’m fucking disappointed. I’m fucking furious. It’s not even poetic. It’s not worth the work and effort I put in.

I need to be more creative with where to dispose of my next body. Something more shocking. More disgusting. More insane. I put that fat piece of shit on a bench in Lakeview Park, his severed head between his legs.

This time, I’ll take the risk, bringing the body to where it can be seen.

Driving the rental car through the empty city streets, I glance at the clock on the dash. It’s three in the morning, the perfect hour to find quietness and peace. Unfortunately, the stench of blood and sweat coming from the body in the trunk disturbs my tranquility.

This one has already fucked me over. He was too easy to kill. The fucker lost consciousness too many times during our delightful game, depriving me of that powerful thrill and rush of adrenaline I need. He couldn’t stop screaming. Almost shattered my eardrums.

His death just gave me less pleasure than the other dickhead. It enrages me to criminal levels.

But I have to stick to my plan and he was next on my list, so it had to be him.

It’s a tough job to kidnap them, kill them in an abandon location, then drag their corpse elsewhere. It takes my entire night.

The real Blender Killer slaughtered them in their own houses, always choosing the perfect time when the wife and kids were away from home. He meticulously studied their schedule, their lives, patiently waiting for the ideal moment to strike.

I admire him, but I’m also fucking jealous of him. His control in carrying out the deeds is something I struggle with at times. I lose control of my emotions and make a mess with their bodies, which is why I’ve never had a precise and recognizable signature.

Following his touch adds a note of challenge to my work. A note that nuances my inner concert into an epic perfection. Almost as if I was him.

I burst into a hysterical laugh while bits and pieces of memories try to crawl out of the black silt I buried them in. Before I get lost in that gloom, though, I shift my gaze to the road sign.

Columbia Center.

A grin spreads on my face. It would be fun to put the asshole in front of his office building. His colleagues will finally know whether the fucker had more balls than them. Ah… but they can’t. Because I sliced them off. Hehe. I will leave them at his feet as a little gift.

The only problem will be avoiding the street cameras and the night guard, but I can handle them.

While I park my car in an underground garage, I hide my features with a mask, my black leather gloves, and a black hoodie. I have to be quick and efficient to display him under the tree next to the entrance, but the branches will help me hide from security. Checking that I’m alone in the parking lot, I slip out and open the trunk to grab the heavy suitcase.

The crackling of the little wheels on the concrete mixes with the howling wind in an eerie harmony.

This is the part I hate the most, staging the whole thing. It is the moment of highest risk in the whole process. Still, that means it does provide a level of adrenaline and pleasure, and since I missed that killing this piece of shit, the familiar prickle on my skin offers a delicious sensation.

I stop behind the corner of the main entrance, checking for cameras and any people, but there’s no one. Just me and the remains of the asshole I killed.

On a streetlamp, I see a red dot flashing, a giveaway of a camera pointing the front doors. Based on the angle, I won’t be seen if I remain on the side.

Crossing the sidewalk, I crouch behind some bushes and scan the glass doors of the main hall, looking for the guard. He’s glued to his phone, laughing at some stupid shit. Good for me.

Without wasting any more time, I put the suitcase on the ground and open it. The stench of blood and sweaty flesh makes me almost retch. I don’t mind when they’re still alive, but after death, their smell changes immediately, mixing with the bitter aroma of rotting and hell.

It’s imperfection in the perfection of the eternal nothingness. It alters the balance. Or perhaps it fulfills it entirely. Who knows.

I drag the bent, decapitated body out of plastic bags, followed by the severed head and testicles.

Sweat blooms on my forehead, adrenaline heating me from the inside, almost suffocating me under the mask. I become dizzy, but all I feel is pure pleasure. Almost as if I was dying in a vortex of frightening, delightful sensations.

I pull his naked corpse into a sitting position on the grass, placing his back against the tree trunk, then try different angles for his head and balls between his bloody legs, playing with his cadaver as if he was a doll. As if I am an artist contemplating the curves and corners of his marble statue.

He needs to be perfect.

With a final glance at his body, now impeccably set, I recollect everything, checking for any minuscule detail I could have left behind.

Humming silently the tune of Danse Macabre by Saint-Saëns, I lean closer to his severed head, his empty eye sockets staring into the void, his mouth parted in an eternal silent scream, and I murmur, “Imperfection in perfection is a crazy balance in your own mind. Right. asshole?”

Gurgling a laugh, I stroll back to the rental car.

Chapter Eleven

Abigayle

Escape?

Calmly sipping the vanilla tea that runs down my throat in a sweet caress, I stare at the intricate lines of the red carpet beneath my feet. The undistinguished chatter coming from the TV in front of me offers buzzing background noise as my mind replays in a loop what happened with Deon two days ago.

After leaving the isolation cell, I ran to the technical room on the opposite side of the hospital. The security guard was fired weeks ago and no one has been hired to replace him yet, so there’s no real-time supervision of the security system. Thankfully.

Watching myself tremble and scream in pleasure shook me like an earthquake. Even now, hatred heats up my blood, making my skin flush, and fury creeps into my guts like a poison.

Deon played me, taking my pleasure by force. He manipulated me and instilled the visceral fear of losing my job. But I’m angry with myself too. For giving in. For allowing him to control me so easily and creep under my skin, into my blood, and into my mind. For feeling such an intense, insane desire for him.

My thoughts darken, swirling with ideas of how to make him regret his actions. If he thinks he can use me again, he’s very wrong. I’ll show him what it means to be played.

An enthusiastic voice on the couch next to me snaps me out of my reverie. “Darling, you don't know how happy I am for your visit! I wasn't expecting you, but we are always happy when you drop by, even so suddenly!”

I wasn’t expecting it either. On impulse, I took two days of sick leave from work, threw some clothes in a bag, and came to my mother’s.

I needed to get away from the hospital, from my life, from Deon. I can't think clearly when I'm with him. I can't maintain my professionalism or evaluate his psyche as I should. He’s a Chinese box, so sublimely crafted, yet impossible to open.

So, now I'm away, recovering what little reasoning I have left, hoping to be ready to face him again when I return.

Ethan has texted me three times already, wondering if I ran away after our night together. To me, though, his name on my screen is only a shameful reminder of my own weakness. I cheated on him with another man, a man I don’t even know. What kind of fucking monster have I become? Where have my morals gone? In the end, I reassured him, saying my mother needed me, although I don’t know how convincing I was.

“Well, this was a chance for me to get away, and since I won’t be free for Christmas, I thought I would jump at this opportunity,” I say with a faint smile, taking another sip of tea.

“Oh love, you know you can come whenever you want, even so suddenly. I always prefer to be notified at least a few days in advance, but I'm not complaining.” She offers a joyful smile, then asks, “So, honey, how's work going? How's that new patient?”

My spine stiffens and my smile fades. My mother’s eyebrows furrow at my sudden change of mood, but I cut her off before she can engulf me with panicked questions. “Complicated, Mom. He is a very difficult man. I think he experienced violent trauma during his childhood, but he hasn’t opened up to me yet.”

Images flash in my mind. I can’t tell her how he finger-fucked me to the most powerful orgasm of my life. Nor do I reveal that I can't stop thinking about him for one fucking minute and that I'm obsessing over him, just like he said I would.

She readjusts her shoulder-length brown hair nervously. “I'm sorry to hear it's hard for you, sweetie. You know, sometimes the best technique to break into someone's soul and mind is through trust. But you know this better than me. You could try to follow his directions in this.”

What direction? The direction of getting wildly fucked until he kills me?

“Believe me, Mom. I've already tried everything. The only thing left to do is play hardball.” My tone is sharp and my mother’s expression becomes even more concerned in response.

“Darling, I've never heard you like this. You have never been vindictive or violent. What's happening to you?”

Biting my lip, I look away. My fury evaporates as my gaze lands on the TV, replaced by a scorching shiver of terror as my eyes read the bold text on the screen.

THE BLENDER KILLER TAKES RISKS. IS HE STILL ON THE LOOSE OR DO WE HAVE A COPYCAT?

“Oh my God…”

“What happe—”

“Turn up the volume.” I cut my mother off, shushing her with a wave of my hand.

“Jared Barry, forty-three years old was found dead this morning by the cleaning staff of the Columbia Center. The man’s severed head and genitals were positioned between his legs and the corpse presented heavy signs of torture. This is the twenty-seventh attack by the Blender Killer. But experts have noticed a change in his signature. While previous victims were left where they were killed, in the last two cases, he has moved the bodies, placing them in public locations. This begs the question, is the same person now taking risks and becoming bolder, or are we faced with a copycat? The police sent a potential suspect to a mental hospital a few weeks ago. Does this latest victim prove the real killer is still on the loose? Other information will be delivered…”

The rhythmic voice of the journalist fades and I realize she revealed a critical piece of information. My mother, holding the remote in her hands, stares at me with horror in her eyes. “Honey… Don’t tell me your new patient is that serial killer who committed those inhuman, cruel, disgusting crimes!” Her voice cracks.

Fuck.

“Mom, don’t panic, please. We don’t know if he’s the killer. He was targeted as a potential suspect, but the police don’t have any incriminating evidence against him at the moment. As he hasn’t been charged and found guilty, he’s innocent in the eyes of the law, which I have to respect,” I say, maintaining my calm externally.

Inside, though, a tornado of confusing thoughts and emotions is ripping me to shred. I felt something dark and disturbing in Deon, and I was convincing he was the killer, but now I’m not sure anymore.

Could he be innocent? But with him locked up in his cell, who is killing those men?

“Abigayle Roland, I forbid you from interacting with that monster. Leave him to another colleague. Leave him rotting in his cell for eternity. You’re not to see him ever again.” The imposing voice of my mother, now standing up in front of me, her eyes two fires of authority and worry, snaps me up from my seat.

“Mom, I’m twenty-seven, for Christ’s sake! I’m an adult. I make my own choices and my choice is to work with this patient, whether you want it or not! You can’t forbid me to do my job. Stop breathing down my neck, worrying every single minute of your life for me. I can’t do this anymore. I love you with all my heart, but you’re such a pain in the ass sometimes. You should see a psychologist for your constant anxiety. Your obsession to control everything and everyone was born the moment my fucking father left us. Either you bury that man or you continue letting yourself be eaten alive by his memory. Go to therapy or I’m done!” I exhale sharply through my nose, staring at her widen glistening eyes and her parted lips.

Sorrow crosses her face in a painting of wrinkled lines and frozen tears, and guilt hits me in the chest. She loves Phil, but a part of her heart still belongs to my father, and I know she hopes he’ll come back one day. But I also know he never will, and she needs to finally move on.

With tears running down her cheeks, she looks at me sadly. “I’m going to make dinner, darling. We won’t discuss your job anymore. If you ever need my help or my support, for whatever reason, know I will always be there for you, until the day I die. And even after that, I will protect you from the other side. Because a love a mother has for her children is nothing compared to any other kind of love. It’s visceral. I loved you from the moment I heard your little tiny heart in my belly, Abigayle. Time flew so fast and you’ve grown up. But I still see you as the little girl who would bring me flowers picked from our garden, who needed me to reassure her in the middle of the night after a nightmare. You will always be my baby. But I understand and please excuse me for being overprotective or… a pain in the ass. It was never my intention. I trust you, Abigayle. I only want my baby to be safe. I can’t lose you, as I lost your father. Maybe one day, when you become a mother, you’ll finally understand. No one is born with the secret to be the perfect parent, sweetie. We learn along the way, just like kids do. I love you, Abby. Just… be careful. Please.”

As she walks away, I collapse to the sofa, tears of guilt and love rolling down my cheeks at her emotional words. Cupping my face with my hands to muffle my sobs, I lean back.

Too many emotions are ravaging me, choking me. Deon, my mother, my father, my life, my job. I came here to avoid them for a few days, but I can’t run away from my own self. The only thing I can do is work to improve myself and address them head-on. Because they’re slipping through my hands like sand.

And the easiest way to fix my altered emotional state is through Deon. I was okay before he crashed into my life with the disconcerting force of a hurricane. The sooner we arrive at his trial, the better I will feel, because this crazy rollercoaster will stop.

For the rest of the long weekend, we don’t discuss Deon or the Blender Killer. Unfortunately, relations are still a bit tense, because Phil, a former police officer passionate about true crime, left the news on constantly. Because of that, I picked up disturbing details of the case, such as the autopsy report claiming the victim had a mini heart attack from the torture. When an expert began explaining the cuts and organs in depth, I left the room, unable to listen to other atrocities.

Still, after my argument with my mom, I managed to rest, something I hadn’t done in a long time. And I managed not to think about Deon. Or at least I tried with all my being.

As soon as I put my luggage on my bedroom floor at home, however, the thought of him, of all the emotions, especially that visceral anger, come back to haunt me.

Releasing a heavy sigh, I look out my bedroom window. Moonlight dances on the water and across the wooden floor while skyscrapers glow like fireflies scattered in a field of concrete and glass.

Walking to the kitchen, I grab a random bottle of red wine from the wine rack together with a wine glass and bottle opener. I need to silence the unbearable thoughts focused on Deon. I need to mentally prepare myself to face him tomorrow morning. Filling the glass to the brim, I quickly gulp down the crimson liquid, then carry the chalice and bottle back to my bedroom. After another large sip, a familiar wave of wooziness envelops me, silencing the unbearable buzz of my thoughts, of the images, of the memories.

As I start unpacking my luggage, the jingle of a new message distracts me. But the phone is at the bottom of my purse.

“There you are, asshole,” I slur when I finally find the phone under packets of tissues, some lipstick, and my wallet.

There are two messages waiting.

Jenna

Hi bitch!

You back?

How did it go with your mother?

It’s Halloween this weekend girl!

And you know what that means, right?!

I discovered a new place between 4th and 6th Ave.

I’m inviting a few of my cool colleagues and old friends over.

You should bring Ethan!

Costume party of course

We’re going to crawl home on our knees girl! 😈

Friday at 9:00 p.m.

I won’t accept no!

Goodnight little slut.

Jen

Ethan Talbot

Hi Princess,

How was your trip?

I hope your stay at your mother’s went well.

This week will be really busy for me. I have two important trials.

I really miss you, but I can’t free myself. But next week I’m all yours.

Wanna come to my place next Thursday?

I’ll cook and we can watch a movie.

What do you think?

Let me know,

I miss you.

E.T.

Picking up the glass, I gulp down what wine is left and fill it up again. At least Ethan already answered about Halloween with Jenna.

“Fuck Ethan and fuck Jenna,” I mutter, annoyed.

I don't feel like writing to either of them right now. I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone.

Closing the messages, I go on YouTube and launch a Billie Eilish playlist over the Bluetooth speakers. I hum along while I finish my unpacking, drinking two large glasses of wine in the meantime.

That asshole Deon can't even drink wine. Poor guy. He’s missing out on a lot, locked in there. An amused laugh bubbles in my chest.

The thought of losing myself in those eyes again, of falling into his perversion and manipulation, suddenly makes me itch all over. With an irritated grunt, I begin to take my clothes off, a task that takes multiple attempts. When I finally manage to take off my fucking jeans and panties by leaning against my bedroom wall, I throw them in a tangle on the floor, relieved of an oppressive weight.

“T-tomo…rrow, you will m-meet the real Abigayle, ass…hole,” I slur at that fucking sexy scarred grin in front of me. Asshole.

Fury, hatred, and desire mix together in my blood, and my gaze falls to the clock on my bedside table: 12:15 am.

It's already Monday, so why wait another few hours to see that psychopath again? Why not go now?

A wicked idea snakes from my mind, pushing my legs into motion. Staggering with every step, chuckling every time I trip, I grab my long black coat, a pair of sneakers, and my keys.

After a few failed attempts, I manage to close my apartment door and call the elevator to take me to the garage. The descent leaves me with a bitter aftertaste. It seems like a descent into insanity, from which I will never recover.

I reach my car giggling like a five-year-old at my own stupid idea. I know I shouldn't be driving, but the need to make him pay is stronger. Besides, if I run into the police, I could ask Jenna to help me.

Shame shoots through my chest like a bolt of lightning. And how would I justify it? You know, Jenna, I drank half a bottle of wine to get drunk and forget that I have to face that monster. But then I had the fucking brilliant idea of going early, to make him pay for what he did to me.

Chasing away that feeling, I grip the steering wheel so tight I almost have cramps and glue my chest to it as if to have a better view of the empty blurred road. I’m sure I look like a terrified lemur, wild eyes and a gritted, tensed mouth. Not a soul wanders the streets, a sign that they are all sleeping and ignoring a crazy woman wearing only a black coat driving herself to the mental hospital.

As soon as my gaze falls on the sign for the asylum, my conscience manages to creep under the thick fog of madness and alcohol in my brain. Abby, what the fuck are you doing?! Go back! It's dangerous, you'll regret it! logic screams in panic.

“Oh, don't you fuck with me too. Just do what I fucking do!” I scold her angrily, speaking out loud in my empty car, shaking my head to chase it away.

I don't know by what miracle, but I arrive safely at the front entrance.

Tripping over my feet a few times, I make it to the door, where I stick my badge against the plexiglass of the small guard booth.

The man doesn't even bother to look at me or check my document, too intent on watching a fucking cat video on YouTube. Laughing, he gives me a slight nod of welcome. A thrill of anger strikes me at his lack of professionalism, but for once, I'm fine with it. He should have noticed my alcohol-altered state and my wild eyes, preventing me from entering.

As soon as I cross the large hall, the unbearable smell of bleach slaps me across the face, twisting my stomach. A bitter retch burns my throat but I manage to swallow it, shuffling my feet.

I glimpse David, who is here for his night shift, entering the men's bathroom at the end of the corridor. Adrenaline shoots through my body and I quicken my erratic pace. But before reaching my destination, I make a small diversion to the technical room, where I deactivate the isolation cell camera.

Then, leaning against the wall to avoid staggering, I make it to my office and close the door behind me. The street lamps cast enough of a faint glow in the room to let me take off my jacket, which I drop on the floor, and retrieve my white lab coat. With all the buttons closed, the short gown reaches just above mid-thigh. If I were to cross my legs, I would show everything. But frankly, I don't give a shit right now.

Grabbing a chair, I gather up what glimmers of lucidity I have left in my brain.

I’ll snatch Deon’s words out of his mouth one by one, using all possible and imaginable ways to do it. Orthodox and unorthodox techniques.

Sticking my head out the door, I look around, then sneak across the hallway. With the chair in one hand and my feet teetering dangerously, I barely manage to grab the key in the lab pocket and open the lock.

This time I’ll beat you at your own game, Deon.

Chapter Twelve

Abigayle

Treasure Hunt

Locking the door as quietly as possible behind me, I cast a quick glance at his body stretched out. He has one muscular arm bent under his head, his relaxed face tilted to the left, and his eyes closed.

It occurs to me most of our patients get a sleeping pill in the evening. I hope he’ll still wake up. My plan would be ruined if he doesn’t.

I savor the angular details of his face, of that scar curling up his lips on one side like a comma. Of the straight nose, of the thick eyelashes and the black locks that messily fall on his forehead.

My eyes devour his neckline, his Adam's apple so big it’s like a fucking mandarin orange. I take in his muscular shoulders and broad chest, rising and falling slowly, the sharp lines running down a marble table of abs so sculpted they would scare Michelangelo's David, and finally the pattern of pulsating veins intertwining down the navel and sneaking inside a pair of tight black boxers that leave nothing to the imagination.

I take a few steps toward the bed, until I'm only inches away. Swallowing silently, I position the metal chair, then sit down carefully. A cold shiver shoots through my body upon contact between my bare thighs and the steel. My nipples stiffen against the thin fabric of my lab coat, but I can't help but think the cold of the chair is not the only reason.

Fuck, I really want to touch him, brush my tongue over his muscles...

But irritation creeps to the surface, taking possession of my body and mind at the memory of what he did to me.

“Wake up, wake up, Deon! It's time to open your eyes and your fucking mouth,” I growl angrily, slapping my thighs with both hands to make more noise.

Deon's eyelids slowly lift, his lips pulling into a frightening grin, curving his scar into an even more gruesome expression.

At the sight of inferno sparkling in his pupils, I am no longer sure I made the right choice. His reaction suggests he was sleeping lightly, if at all. Perhaps the sleeping pill didn’t work on a man of his physique.

He raises himself, sitting on the edge of the mattress, resting his elbows on his parted knees, and stares at me, a pit of lust inside his pitch eyes. “Good evening, little bunny, or rather goodnight? To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected nocturnal visit? It's a bit of an odd time to do one of our sessions. Don't you think? You couldn't sleep because you couldn't stop thinking about me?”

His scratchy tone twists my stomach and I glance at the clock hanging above the door. 12:50.

My helplessness is suddenly replaced by my renewed rage, and the desire to slap him across the face for his provocativeness makes my hands tremble.

“No, Deon. Given the different sessions I missed with you, we will have to catch up on them. That's why I'm here,” I hiss.

“Why start at one in the morning? There aren't enough nurses to protect you if I were to attack, given that I'm without handcuffs again. Or maybe you did it on purpose because you want me to fuck you like I did last time. Do you want something more, Abigayle?” He smirks, excitement coiling in the darkness of his eyes.

The heat flowing in my veins mixes with liquid hunger, intoxicating me even more than it should. “You won’t be able to lay another finger on me. I will never let you do it again. Is that clear?” I growl, feeling the dizziness of alcohol crawl out of my body each passing second.

His devouring gaze travels all over my body, dancing on my bare skin, caressing where I’m covered by fabric. “I bet you a hundred bucks that in exactly fifteen minutes, you'll spread those beautiful legs you have and show me your dripping naked cunt.” He grins devilishly.

I widen my eyes, a thrill of shame and irritation pinching my blood, my heart racing in my chest. I puff out my cheeks, thinning my lips in a disdainful expression, but his two burning coals ripping the thin fabric of my white lab coat open only harden my nipples even more. Fucking traitorous body.

“Are you naked under the coat, Abigayle?”

His rhetorical question and deep voice make my pussy clench with desire, and he slowly licks his lower lip, smirking at the power he has over me. I ignore his provocation as much as I can, but everything in me burns.

My mother’s words resurface in my mind: You could try to be condescending to him, try to follow him in his direction.

“Let's make a deal, Deon,” I begin in a sultry voice.

Deon's jaw tenses, a thrilled sparkle glimmering in his eyes. “What kind of deal?”

The air in the room has become helium, making me delirious with desire. I’m slipping into his aura, falling down into a rabbit hole of insanity once more. But I have to surf the wave to obtain what I want from him.

But what do I really want at this point? I don’t know anymore. Do I want revenge? Do I want his confession? Do I want his cock? Or all of these?

“Do you know how to play treasure hunt, Deon?” I murmur, nibbling my lip.

Deon’s gaze flares up even more and my eyes are drawn between his legs, the fabric of his boxers, almost tearing out under his already-hard dick. “Obviously, Abigayle. It's one of my favorite games beside hide-and-seek. I always manage to find my prey.”

His cavernous tone seeps warmly between my thighs, wetting my pussy. Collecting my reason in my sludgy brain, I speak. “It will be a somewhat peculiar and personalized treasure hunt. You will use my body as a treasure hunt field, Deon, but you won’t be able to touch my skin. I will do it for you. Every area you indicate, I will have to caress, kiss, suck, or lick. Each time you point somewhere and I touch it, you will answer a question I ask. If you don't answer the question, the game will end.”

Deon's pupils widen as he runs his tongue over his lower lip, biting it slightly. He looks like a ravenous feline ready to pounce. “And when I find all the clues and have answered all your questions, what reward will I receive, little bunny?”

“I'll suck your cock.”

Expecting excitement, pride and joy from him, I’m instead faced with an imperturbable grin. But a perverse deep hunger is unraveled at the bottom of his black pits. And that sight makes my every atom vibrate in a twisted dark lust.

I’ll never suck his cock, but I have to make him believe it to stir him in my direction.

“Let's get started,” I announce.

I slowly stand up in front of him, while Deon's shoulders lean against the white wall. Placing one hand on the edge of his boxers, he brushes his large thumb onto his lower lip with the other, as if already savoring my body.

Unbuttoning my lab coat with sensual gestures, gradually revealing more and more strips of white skin, I catch Deon's scar curling into a victorious smirk.

When the last button is unfastened, I pause, holding the two edges between my fingers.

A black fog of frenzy clouds my brain, drowning me in desire, swallowing me down into a vortex of delirium. The alcohol, the sexual tension, and his choking aura crush me. The rational Abigayle, who had moral values, who was faithful to her professionalism, is no more. Something dangerously dark has crept inside my mind now.

My true self.

Chapter Thirteen

Abigayle

Unorthodox Therapy

I don't open my lab coat, instead prolonging the tension, the euphoria hovering in the air.

Deon cocks an eyebrow sarcastically. “I thought you hated me after what I did to you.”

“I really need to know your past in order to help you and write my report. This is an unorthodox but effective way, apparently. I’ll give you what you ask. It seems like a more than fair exchange, right?” I murmur.

I will destroy you, Deon.

“And what tells you this is what I want?”

His provocation ignites the fire in my chest. Before I give in and punch him in the face, I roll my eyes. “Then I can get dressed and say goodbye. I'll see you tomorrow morning for our usual ten o'clock session,” I hiss. Clenching the coat in my fist, I turn to fold the chair.

“I think I've changed my mind, little bunny. I hope the treasure hunt leads me to lick that splendid dripping cunt,” he purrs, swirling the words on his tongue as if he were already licking my pussy with slow, rhythmic movements.

I stiffen from head to toe when I realize I bent down, baring my ass and sex to his gaze, then straighten instantly, lava burning my cheeks.

“You won't touch anything at all, let alone lick my pussy. Is that clear?” I glare at him, turning around.

“If you say so…”

Trying to compose myself, I clasp my gown in both hands as if it were the last source of salvation I possess.

“How will you know if I'm telling the truth, Abigayle? Last time I checked, your competence in digging information was a bit… lost in juices.” He smirks, curling his scar.

His words shoot pure fury up my blood. With a sharp wrench, I take off the gown, letting it fall to my feet, exposing everything of me.

He wants to play? Then let the game begin.

At the sight of my whole naked body, a cavernous roar echoes in his chest and his eyes darken even more. A primal hunger twists his scar in a terrifying grin as he devours my body with his scorching eyes. But his bestial look is nothing more than gasoline on my lust and resentment, a liquid heat pooling between my legs in an aching need.

His muscles stretch as his gaze falls on my hairless pussy, catching my arousal glistening down my inner thighs. Curling one hand into a fist until his knuckles turn white, he licks his lips, another growl echoing in his throat. “Will you cum on my cock like the sick little girl you are when I fuck you so hard you die, Abigayle?”

His dark tone clenches my core and I bite my lips so hard a droplet of blood spills on my tongue. Swallowing my confusion, I avoid falling into his tempting manipulation. Instead, I look at him with a bored expression. “First question, Deon: were you raised by both of your biological parents together?”

His eyes fly to mine, irritation crossing his face for an instant, soon replaced by amusement. Gripping the edge of his boxers, he yanks them down, letting his huge cock jerk out violently.

My heart skips a beat and I yelp at that sight. My throat dries up, but my mouth salivates worse than a dog who's just seen a juicy bone.

“You didn't mention any rules prohibiting me from touching myself, did you, little bunny?” He grins, grabbing that inhuman object with his right hand.

My heart rolls into my stomach. He’s taking the situation back into his hands. I can’t let him. “It's true, but you have to focus on me.”

“Oh, I am. Believe me, Abigayle.” A raw need unfolds in his eyes.

My gaze falls to the droplet of pre-cum forming at the tip of his dick, slowly trickling down his long, thick shaft.

“Would you like to lick it? Know what it tastes like? Leave all your wet, warm saliva on my cock?” he provokes me again.

My answer dances on the tip of my tongue and resisting the temptation of brushing it off onto his silky-steel skin is insane. Gulping down my desire and ignoring his barb, I sit back on the chair, crossing my legs.

“I'll repeat the first question. Were you raised by both of your biological parents together? Upon your answer, I will touch a part of my body of your choice.” My voice so sultry I barely recognize myself.

His jaw clenching in annoyance, he orders, “Touch your mouth with your finger, then suck it, as if it were my cock.”

His voice is so deep it vibrates in my core. A scorching shiver slides down my spine, wavering my already-stumbling reason. My gaze falls on his hand, which has started to pump his cock in a slow rhythm. That vision is devilishly divine.

“But first you'll have to—”

“Answer your fucking question. I get it. Suck your finger and I'll answer while you do so,” he growls impatiently, interrupting me.

The air around us is so tense I feel the oxygen evaporating, leaving us breathing only our own sick desire for each other. Staring at his glowing pits, I gently stick my tongue out, slowly licking my finger from the knuckle to the tip, wrapping it between my lips. I suck it hard, hollowing my cheeks, rolling my eyes to the back of my head, moaning. Playing with him. Yet I find myself wishing I had his cock instead of my finger in my mouth.

“My father was a dealer. He died in a shoot-out when I was three. My mother, Allyson, was a stripper, but managed not to fall too deeply into the spiral of drugs during the first years of my life. Until she married Bill. The boss of her strip club. He made our life hell for years and led my mother into crack and heroin.” He stops stroking his cock as a wave of pain and hatred cross his gaze.

His sad words creep into my blood, tightening my chest in compassion, and yet the aching between my legs increases disturbingly. Sucking my index with a final loud pop, I pull it out of my mouth shiny with saliva.

“Spread your legs wide open. Pinch and twist your nipple until it hurts. I want to hear you moan in pain while I watch your cunt cry in pleasure.”

His voice sinks into my core as he straightens himself on the edge of the mattress. Devouring my body, he spits into his palm and starts stroking his dick once more, faster this time. His movement darts a shock of pleasure up my spine, tearing a whimper from my lips.

“I see you love dirty things, Abigayle… What a filthy little girl you are. I'll keep that in mind for next time.” His scar curls mischievously.

I think this game is hurting me more than him, yet I'm succeeding in my aim. He’s revealing his past to me, but I’m losing myself in it. I can’t let him take the lead.

I’m the one in control. Right?

Rolling and sucking my lower lip between my teeth, I run my finger over my breast while spreading my legs wide to show him my naked pussy. Grabbing my stiff nipple between my thumb and forefinger, I pull it and twist it hard. Electric spikes spread all over my skin, and the burning heightens my need to disturbing levels. My head tilts back and my eyes flutter closed as I arch my spine, moaning loudly. “Oh yes…”

Deon’s gaze is a black hungry shadow already feasting on my skin. “You love pain, Abigayle. You love receiving it as much as inflicting it, emotionally and physically. Am I wrong?” he breathes.

His perversion speaks a truth I don’t want to hear. One I can’t hear.

“I don’t inflict pain, Deon. I help my patients overcome it,” I pant as my fingers twist my nipple a second time on their own. As if my body was possessed by an independent dark force.

His diabolical grin opens wider at the sight of my contradictory action.

“What a gorgeous, huge liar you are.”

I swallow hard, composing myself a little. But the raw need blossoming in my frustrated muscles is driving me crazy. This is becoming too intense. I have to take it back a bit. Although my voice comes out as a barely audible whisper, I ask the next question. “What was Bill like?”

At that name, Deon’s expression morphs, raging flames twisting his face and his dark aura growing even larger. He grits his teeth, but doesn’t stop pumping his cock.

“Grind your clit, Abigayle. I want to see you reach the peak of pleasure, but you won't fall into orgasm. Only I can give it to you. And you will beg for it. Is that clear?” he hisses.

“First, answer the question, then I'll do what you asked for,” I reply, finding a minimum of control and determination in my own loss.

I can sense his mind wandering off into distant memories even if his black eyes are still disturbingly pinned into mine.

“He was a very violent man. He beat my mother and me, abused her and just waited for her to die so he could get the little life insurance she had set aside for me. He succeeded when I was ten.” Deon’s voice cracks under loathing and fury, as if he were spitting poison and burning acid.

My heart tightens in a grip of desolation, tears rising and pricking my eyes. It’s the first time I feel so hurt for a patient.

His head snaps striking my chest with two blades of contempt. “I told you to touch your pussy. If you don't do it Abigayle, I will be the one to do it, and believe me, it won't be screams of pleasure that I will snap from you,” he roars.

A shiver shakes my body as I realize that Deon's past hides much darker and frighteningly dangerous demons.

Under his transfixing gaze, I brush my finger along my flat stomach, to my navel, going down to my mound. I drink in Deon's expression of desire and his hand pumping his cock. Pleasure radiates through every nerve ending at that erotic vision and at my own touch.

“I wanna hear you moan my name. I wanna hear you beg me to fuck you, Abigayle,” he rumbles, his leg muscles so tense they throb, ready to sprint to grab mine.

Reaching my clit, I start rubbing it with slow, circular motions.

A jolt of bliss reaches my brain and a high-pitched moan dances on my vocal cords. I don't know if it's the fact that I’m masturbating in front of Deon, or feeling our game crush both of us under its power, or hearing painful details of his life, but my muscles begin to writhe, compress, and twist under my delicious assault.

Instinctively moving my hips, I widen my legs even further to make our knees touch. The contact sends electric shocks darting all over my body.

“Oh, Deon…” I moan, increasing the speed of my finger.

My heart slamming hard, my breath hitching, and my eyelids growing heavier, I feel that agonizing sublime tension pulling me in a longed-for bliss.

“Eyes on me, Abigayle,” his tone intensely raw as he strokes his dick faster and harder.

His deep voice and that illegal sight blaze my pussy in a hot mess of juices, and my desperation to reach the peak spirals me into a delirium. My ragged breathing ricochets through the walls.

His black pits engulf me, plunging into the most recessed corners of my soul, discovering every single detail, reading my truths, summoning my demons. I’ve never felt so exposed in my life.

My fingers speed up the pace and, blinded by my approaching orgasm, my free hand grips Deon's thigh so tightly I sink my nails into his flesh, making him growl like an animal.

“What… d-did Bill d-do… to you?” I gasp.

Deon’s hand on his cock aligns with the same crazy pace I’m using on myself. “If you come without my permission, Abigayle, I will punish you. Am I clear?” he hisses through clenched teeth.

His words reach me almost muffled when I feel myself teetering on the precipice of that devouring euphoria, my eyes still focused on his. My whimpers scandalously fill the room, following the smacking sound of our hands savagely working our bodies.

“Oh god, Deon! What di..d Bill d-do?!” I shout, trembling both in frustration at his silence and delight in my own bliss.

“He raped me, Abigayle!” he blurts out with venomous hatred as bolts of contempt and disgust erupt from every pore of his skin. He stops masturbating, gripping the mattress with both hands, his breathing ragged, but his eyes don’t leave mine.

Those shocking words hit me like a tsunami just as my orgasm explodes disgustingly hard, making me fall into the abyss of Deon's black soul.

“Fuck! Deon!” I shout senselessly, pinching my eyes shut, snapping my head back.

My hips roll in search of him, frustration filling my core, but pleasure haunts me down to my every nerve. And I burn with the certainty that my need for Deon is insanely strong. That my desire for other’s pain in disgustingly true.

Still strolling in the aftermath of the most horribly delicious orgasm I’ve ever had, my eyes widen in shock and I step away from Deon, the chair screeching across the floor like an animal crying for death. But I am not fast enough. His hand snaps forward, capturing my wrist. He pulls me in sharply, turning me around and tugging me to sit on his legs.

I feel like all humanity’s emotions have been flood inside my chest, preventing me from breathing properly and thinking rationally. The only thing I feel right now is Deon’s hard and massive cock between my ass cheeks. My heart pumps in my throat, choking me with shame and fear.

“You feed your pleasure with my pain, but I feed my pain on your pleasure. This is my therapy, Abigayle. The more we fuck, the more my demons die,” he whispers, grazing his lips on my ear. With one hand, he clutches my neck, cutting off my oxygen, while the other brushes his fiery fingers on my clit.

“The rule was that you couldn’t touch me,” I moan, afraid of the entire overwhelming situation, confused by my oppressive feelings and by his dark mind and soul.

“I never play by the rules, little bunny. You should have learned that by now,” he hums in my ear.

Chapter Fourteen

Abigayle

Play by the Rules

“You came without my permission, Abigayle, and now I will deliver my punishment.”

Deon’s warm breath brushes my neck, still squeezed in his steel hold. Fear tickles my skin, like crazy ants running across my flesh, but a gush of compassion fills my chest at the thought of Deon’s abuses.

I’ve had many patients who suffered sexual violence when they were minors, but Deon… Deon is something else. A shadow capable of swallowing me into its darkness, drowning my brain into insanity.

Clawing at his hands, I try to free myself from his grasp. “L-et me…go,” I choke out, my vision blurring, my lungs swelling in search of air, my legs moving convulsively. Yet my arousal drips scandalously on his cock beneath me.

“Never, little bunny. You’re my little prey. I love playing with you, driving you crazy, letting you fall into the abysses of your twisted mind. Will you be my good little girl and do what I say?” He grins, grazing his teeth over the column of my neck and spreading my legs wider with his knees until I’m almost split in two.

I repress a whimper of pain as my inner thigh muscles burn.

“Will you beg me to reveal other details about my past, or to have an orgasm?” he taunts me, pressing his big thumb on my clit.

His touch shoots a shard of pleasure up my spine. My head tilts back on his shoulder, my eyes watering for the lack of oxygen and for the deviant bliss I feel in dancing with the possibility that he could kill me, or fuck me… Or both.

Why do the sessions with Deon feel like a dive into a delirious chasm? A downfall into the recesses of my mind?

“Answer my question, Abigayle,” he growls, pressing my clit again and loosening his hold on my throat.

“Yes!” A breathless moan flies off my lips as my core clenches in need, my slickness coating his dick.

“Yes what? Do you want my past or an orgasm?” He nibbles my earlobe, his fingers slowly descending on my slit.

I wriggle slightly between his arms, trying to free myself once more, trying to find a fragment of control over the situation again, but I’m lost in my own masochistic game.

“Oh fuck! Both! I want both!” I cry out when he thrusts two fingers inside me.

My heart squirts to my throat and I arch my back, trembling for the shock wave of pleasure he just suddenly sent through my body.

I scratch his arm, trying to escape the unbearable need, but I can’t, I don’t want to. My pussy squeezes his motionless digits in a desperate silent plea.

“Good girl,” he smirks on my shoulder, biting down hard.

Another breathless scream burns my throat as his teeth scrape my skin.

“But you won’t fucking have it. Not until you show me your true self. I know what’s hidden behind that mask of innocence and pity. I can smell it, Abigayle,” he murmurs, licking the pain away with his soft, warm tongue, as his fingers slide out of me, making me tremble in frustration.

Confusion and fury rise in my chest. “Deon… stop this nonsense. I am myself. I don’t hide behind any mask. You’re the one doing that. You’re the one hiding behind this shameless shield of manipulation. I know you repress your pain and vulnerability. Don’t you think I can smell your self-hatred?” I bite out, turning slightly to face him.

His expression darkens as he tenses his jaw. I’ve touched his weak point.

“Don’t play with me more than you’re already doing, Abigayle.” He threatens me, thrusting his two fingers inside me once more, even more brutally this time.

“Fuck! I’m not playing, Deon! I’m doing my job. I’m trying to help you,” I pant, out of breath, my mind clouding, an orgasm forming dangerously fast in my core as he starts moving his fingers.

“Does your job include spreading your legs like this and getting fucked by your patients?”

His hurtful words sink into my chest as his digits slide in and out of my pussy in an angry rhythm. Wrapping my brain around words has never been so difficult. My only desire is to moan my bliss. Yet rage creeps into my blood with sudden force.

I know Deon is testing me, when I should be the one pressing him. Why did I come here in the first place? To make myself humiliated? To prove I am an impulsive person that can’t control her own needs? To get fucked?

“I know w-what you’re trying… to do, Deon. I’m not stupid. I know you’re hurting me t-to mask your insecurities and project your own loathing onto someone else. Fuck… oh fuu… Do you think I’m in this high position for no reason? I-I worked my ass off to get where I am now. It won’t be your… c-childish remarks to make me step back.”

I heave, shaking. His fingers are drawing my mind out of my body again and I can’t stop shame and guilt from washing over me.

“I only see the position you’re in right now, Abigayle. Spread legs, dripping cunt, naked and needy for my fingers and cock like a good little whore. Do you really want to help me?”

His insult is muffled by my own selfish, insane hunger. I am throwing my morality off the cliff, watching it crash down over the pointed rocks of a black ocean of madness.

“Yes, yes, yes! I want to help you! It’s my fucking job!” I moan, unable to hold it back as the last glimmers of my rationality disappear.

“You keep saying that your job is to help people, Abigayle. But who are you trying to convince? Is that for me or you? You claim you love to feel in control when your only deep desire is to be controlled,” he growls on my lips, locking his eyes to mine, lust flaming destructively in them.

His fingers move faster inside me, sending electrical discharges all over my skin. He finger-fucks me with such subtle brutality I gasp for air like a fish out of water. Everything is pulling and crumbling around me, throwing me into a vortex of euphoric distress, and I claw at his wrist, trying to stop him before I’m scattered on the floor in a pool of indecency and depravity.

But I’m powerless over his dominance, over his strength, over his mind. His diabolical grin opens wider, his scar curling criminally.

“You’re not controlling anything or anyone, Deon! I remind you I’m not the one locked inside an isolation cell in a psychiatric hospital!” I shout, feeling myself teetering over the edge of the precipice.

“Are you sure you’re not the one locked inside your own mind, little bunny?” he whispers on my mouth.

Then his thumb presses against my clit, blowing up my whole person. My mind drifts and I spiral down. My head snaps back and my eyes pinch shut as I scream his name. And just when I think the fall is ending, he tightens his chokehold on my neck again and I’m sucked further down, bright stars dancing behind my eyelids and my legs shaking violently.

“Yes, baby, like that. Come for me. Squirt your fucking mind out,” he roars on my ear, driving all rationality out of me. Driving out all of me.

While I feel myself wandering in that black dimension, something snaps in me and I resurface, clarity rushing back as his fingers retreat from my neck and pussy. I pant greedily, my eyes as big as saucers. He fucked me again. Literally and metaphorically.

Bringing his glistening, wet fingers and hand in front of my face, he shows me the proof of my weakness with a victorious grin. An avalanche of humiliation buries me, my cheeks turning redder than they already were.

“Open your mouth, Abigayle,” he roars. “Now, lick your shame. Drink your madness. Enjoy this appetizer, because I will never let you go again.”

A shocked gasp escapes me at the demeaning order. When I hesitate, his hand holding my jaw tightens. A fist of insults rises in my throat.

“Go on, baby. Lick your immorality.”

I can hear his grin in his voice. It shoots a rush of pleasure up my spine, but my brain registers only shame. Darting him a look of pure contempt, I comply. I stick out my tongue and brush the fingers thoroughly, savoring my sweet disgrace. His fiery gaze burns my skin just as his huge cock rocking between my legs burns my pussy.

“Good girl. Suck now,” his dark tone seeps inside my core again.

Fixing my eyes into his, making sure he sees my rage, I sink my teeth into his fingers, compressing them until I taste copper. His expression morphs and he hisses as he squeezes my cheeks so hard I feel my jaw almost crack. I know I will have his fingerprints stamped on my face for days.

When he pulls them out, I glimpse his digits, which are covered in saliva with only a few droplets of blood. For a split second, I wish I’d bit harder. Then he speaks. “I thought I might not have to, but after what you just did, it's only fair that you pay, Abigayle. Let’s see how you beg me to stop.” His evil smile curls his scar again.

A jolt of adrenaline bursts in my veins as he forcefully grabs my neck with one hand while the other clutches my hip and violently lifts me. Before I can react, I’m flying backward, turning in midair before landing brutally on the mattress, face down. Deon straddles me from behind, pinning me, the tip of his dick grazing my slit in a devastating threat.

I wriggle, overwhelmed by terror and pleasure. “Let me go! What are you doing, Deon?! Fuck!”

“Every time you disobey a rule, you will receive a punishment, Abigayle. This is your first. Happy first punishment, little naughty girl,” he sing-songs, laughing cruelly.

He plants his large hand between my shoulder blades, pressing me against the sheets, crushing my lungs and any reason left in my brain. I hear him fiddling with the leather straps of the bed. Although I struggle, I am no match for him, and in no time, he’s hooked my wrists.

His glowing gaze devours my ass and my breathing hitches in horror. Unable to move, I’m at his total mercy.

“So, how should I make you pay, Abigayle? Should I lick you until you break or should I fuck you until you’re dead?” his voice a threatening shadow already devouring me all.

Chapter Fifteen

Deon

How to Cure a Psychopath?

The divine vision of her bound, trapped, naked body beneath me twists my core in pleasure. My eyes feast on her firm and round little ass, and my hips tingle with the burning desire to sink my cock into her tight cunt in one stroke, fucking her brutally.

But I hold back.

I love prolonging the wait, the frustration, the lust until it explodes like a destructive supernova.

“Deon, those weren't the rules. Let me go, please. Don't do it!”

Her disjointed plea, muffled into the mattress, almost makes me laugh. My little bunny is scared and aroused, but above all, she is trapped. My little prey is finally mine. I can do whatever I want with her.

“I already told you I don't follow any rules. I'm the one who sets the terms, Abigayle. But I want to be merciful this time. I'll give you the chance to ask me three more questions while I play with this divine pussy and maybe even this gorgeous ass. What do you think?” I provoke her, drinking in her shocked expression.

Leaning toward her, I brush the tip of my cock on her slit, snatching a surprised gasp and a shiver. I press my chest against her back, nibbling at her neck, sucking and licking her sensitive spots, savoring the sweetness of her skin. Breathless whimpers and gasps fall from her plump lips, her warm, soft body wriggling underneath mine.

“Don’t you dare touch anything, Deon,” she hisses suddenly, tilting her head to look at me menacingly. But in the movement, she involuntarily brushes the tip of her nose with mine, caressing my lips with hers and her butt presses against my cock.

I’m surprised how contradictory this girl is with her own self. She doesn’t even realize it.

“You mouth speaks words your body doesn’t follow. Quite the opposite in fact. It’s as if your mind was split in two, Abigayle. Your reason attempts to prevent your desires, but they act themselves out anyway. What a fascinating little creature you are. You can’t even properly control yourself.” I grin, catching the range of emotion in her ocean eyes. Shame, rage, confusion, excitement.

Liquid heat courses through my veins as I rub my cock against her pussy again. Fuck, she's so wet, I could slide my dick inside within a second.

“So, three questions about my past while I inflict the punishment on you. Either you accept the chance to discover more about me or you have it with nothing in return. You don’t have much choice, baby.” I grin diabolically, knowing I've already won.

I like my little bunny’s imagination. She has original ideas and never ceases to amaze me, even if in the end I'm always the one who wins. But this is what I want. This is what I need.

Her body stiffens at my threat, her fingers nervously squeezing the sheets, but her dilated pupils are a blazing lustful fire. “This is rape, Deon.”

I brush the tip of my tongue along her ear, making her vibrate. “Is it really, when your pussy begs me, crying its desperation onto the sheets? Or when your ass strokes against my cock, pleading to be filled? Is this really non-consensual?” I whisper.

My breath makes her whimper again and her pussy grows wetter. Her eyes round in shock, realization crossing her gaze, but that wild fire still burns.

“Don’t you know the body often reacts to fear in a contradictory way? The impulses the brain send over are the same as when its excited, Deon,” she bites out, glaring at me.

A deep, amused laugh slips through my lips at her pathetic explanation. “If you want to keep lying to yourself, do it, Abigayle. I won’t stop your mind from trying to escape your need for me, but I will teach your body to scream it every fucking time I land my eyes, my fingers, and my cock on and inside you.”

Another shocked gasp shakes her as her cheeks flush red in humiliation.

God, I love to have this power over her.

But I know perfectly well she has a hold over me as well. Her hand could write words that send me to jail for the rest of my life. My obsession with her is growing every fucking second I spend in this crazy place, and I know she’s feeling the same for me. She wouldn’t have come in the middle of the night, half-drunk, naked, provoking me with a sexual game otherwise.

What sane woman does this with a serial killer, locked inside a mental hospital, if not to feed on her desire and need for it?

“So, Abigayle, what’s your choice?” I stoke my cock against her pussy again, robbing a grunt of assent from her.

“I want your past,” she murmurs, avoiding my eyes.

“Good girl.”

Lifting myself slightly to sit on my knees behind her, I take my cock in my hand and rub the tip in the slickness of her slit. Her hot juices coat me, crumbling my mind in pure euphoria.

“Fuck,” I growl, squeezing my dick, clenching my jaw to resist the impulse of thrusting inside her immediately.

Abigayle’s body shivers in response and a whimper dances on her lips. Peering over her shoulder, she stares at my cock in terror and desire, her pools of liquid fire still glowing lustfully. Then she screams my name as I violently grab her ass-cheek, imprinting my fingers into her flesh.

If before I was lingering on the edge of pleasure, I sink into it with joy as she tries futilely to wriggle free of her bonds. I love when my little Abigayle struggles in my trap. It excites me to inhuman levels.

“Spit out your first question, baby,” I growl.

Breathing raggedly, she darts her eyes from side to side, searching for a question. As she does, the weight of lust suffocates me, shattering the last of my self-control. Blinded by my delirious intoxication, I push the head of my cock inside her and Abigayle cries out in pain and pleasure at the unexpected invasion.

“Fuck! You're fucking huge, I can't take it.” She struggles, almost sobbing.

It's true. While a few women have managed to take it, more have abandoned the undertaking, leaving me to finish alone. What can I do if Mother Nature gave me a ten-inch monster? But I'm sure my little bunny is more than capable of taking it. And even if she’s not, I will fucking make her.

“Yes, you can, baby. You'll take it so many times you'll lose count. I’ll mold your cunt to me and your body to mine. Come on. The first question, or instead of entering slowly, I'll push it in with one slam. And that will hurt. I will tear you apart. Is that what you want?” I roar, feeling her tight pussy strangling me in a scorching embrace. I grab her hair at the scalp with my right hand, pulling her head up, ripping another cry of pain from her throat. “Come on, Abigayle. Speak!”

“Oh, fuuucck!” she moans, as I push it more inside her and she grips the sheets so tightly between her fingers her hands shake, her whole body trembling.

Pleasure pinches my organs and my muscles stiffen at the otherworldly feeling of her tight pussy around my cock. And I’m only a quarter inside. Fuck.

“H-how many times did B-Bill…?” she finally stammers in a ragged gasp, her lips twisted in delightful pain.

That dark demon creeps from the recesses of my mind and frighteningly traumatizing images resurface, breaking my breath.

“Several… He stopped when my mother died. After realizing she hadn't moved on the sofa for too long. One July morning, he took his few things, his insurance documents, and disappeared forever,” I reveal, my voice cracking.

I don't know how I manage to confess this. What I avoid telling Abigayle is that, thanks to my facial-recognition company, I found that dickhead again years later. He was my first victim. I tortured him for days before slaughtering him. I even invented my killer signature with him. The one I used on all twenty-five sons of bitches.

Abigayle's eyes widen even more and she stares at me with genuine compassion. “Deon…”

Her whisper exudes all her heartache for me, and it punches me straight in the chest, blinding me with fury.

“I don’t want your fucking pity, Abby. Second question. Come on,” I roar, tugging her hair, snatching another yelp of pain.

Her blue eyes glisten with tears of aching and compassion, but she casts me a contemptuous look. This psychotic game is driving me crazy, but I love to feel a bit of madness creep inside my blood. It heightens my bliss even more.

Faced with her silence, I thrust my hips, pushing forward until I find myself more than halfway inside her.

“Oh god, Deon!” She shouts my name so loud it bounces off the cushioned walls. Despite the straps, she arches her back and wriggles violently.

Blazing shivers grip my spine and a choking tension builds in my stomach, twisting and pulling it. I bend over her, shoving my dick further inside her cunt, drawing blissful gasps from her mouth. Grabbing her jaw, I jerk her face toward me, forcing her to look at me.

“Do you feel it, baby? Do you feel my huge cock stretching your tight little cunt? It’s fucking insane,” I roar, savoring her rounded eyes staring at me in pure ecstasy. “Ask your second question, Abigayle. Or I'll strangle you.”

I’m blinded by pleasure, by the control I have over her and the one she has over me, and my nervous system is about to short-circuit.

“Have other men… abused you? Or just… Bill?” Her words come out stuttered.

An icy shiver snakes through me, crawling inside my brain, touching those memories.

“No. Just Bill.” I exhale, releasing my grip on her jaw.

My cock almost hurts with the need to thrust and start fucking her, my hammering heart screams its pleas in my ears, and my muscles throb, ready to unload my building ecstasy. Abigayle is accepting my size, widening slightly and she can’t help but move her hips, looking for a deeper contact.

An amused smile cracks on my face and those dark shadows of the past vanish from my mind. “Do you see how much you want me, little bunny? I feel your pussy begging me, squeezing me, but the third question is missing.”

Pinning her to the mattress with my gaze, with one last firm thrust I push my cock to the hilt. Or almost. The bliss is unbearable. “Fuck!” I roar.

“Fuck, Deon! You're splitting me open. You fucking asshole!” she cries, struggling and biting her lip. Pinching her eyes shut, two tears of pain and delight drip from the corners.

Bliss and amusement mix in my chest, rocking my heart to dangerous levels. “I'll always split you open. Get used to it,” I chuckle, looking at her cunt and my cock sunk inside her. Fuck, she's wonderful. Blinded by my pleasure, I hiss at her. “Do I have to repeat myself? Third question, Abigayle!”

I withdraw slowly, so slowly it almost hurts, snatching delightful moans from Abby as she clings to the sheets. When I'm almost completely out of her, her head snaps up in terror. She knows I’ll slam inside her now. And I do. I shove my dick inside her savagely, then curse, gripping her ass-cheek tighter.

With tears rolling down her cheeks from pleasure and pain, Abigayle shouts out a deafening scream, uttering her final question. “Who gave you that scar?!”

We are both mentally unbalanced. I already knew it, but I don’t think Abigayle was aware. Or maybe she still doesn’t want to face reality.

Her pussy throbs, clenching me into a delirious bliss, and I grind my teeth, panting like a rabid animal. I’m so close to losing the last ounce of control I have, and if I do, I will destroy her. It is so close I find myself questioning whether this is real or a hallucination.

“Bill… the first time he… he crushed my face on the coffee table. There were glass shards scattered on the surface. That scar is the sign of my death,” I hiss, overwhelmed by the suffocating memory.

Although the weight of that pain destroys part of me, Abigayle’s scent, her moans, and her heat wipe away those torments. I’m still motionless inside her, but having her small cunt strangling my dick only builds my pleasure toward a devastating orgasm.

“Deon, please…” Abby cries out, wriggling in search of relief, her inner walls pulsating, ready to break into another squirting rhapsody.

But before we both fall into total delight and I start fucking her to oblivion, I jerk out, panting like an animal that just chased its prey for miles without getting it. Hungry and angry.

Abigayle whirls around, her eyes blazing with a frightening mix of fury and frustration, her body shivering with resentment.

“What are you doing, Deon?! You can't deny me pleasure!” she growls.

My cock throbs painfully, but it’s worth the sacrifice to teach her this lesson.

“Yes, I can, baby. This is your punishment. But since this is rape for you, you should be happy I didn’t really rape you, only gave you a taste, right?” I laugh cruelly, earning the blackest look a human can imagine.

Chapter Sixteen

The Copycat

Scary Decorations

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I tap my foot on the car mat to the rhythmic sound of my watch.

1:30:22 a.m., 1:30:23 a.m., 1:30:24 a.m.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I focus on my heartbeat, tuning it with the cadence on my wrist.

Everything is time. Everything is music. Everything is perfection.

But that faultlessness exists only in my head. I need that perfection to be able to breathe, to think, to live. And I can only find it in killing. Because the moment their soul leaves their body under my gaze, time and space freeze for an instant and two unknown dimensions collide and intertwine, fusing in an absolute universal symphony.

The world of the living merges with that of the dead when that black shadow comes to take them to the other side. In that exact moment, I possess an absolute and total power. In that exact fraction of a second, everything aligns.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

But everything could align to bliss with the murder of Abigayle Roland. She was the secret dream of all the boys in high school, the erotic fantasy of all the male teachers, yet she was so shy and distant, always trapped in her own thoughts. She never noticed me. She didn’t want to.

I tried many times to make myself visible, but she just couldn’t or wouldn’t see me. So, I followed her like a shadow. Always there, always watching, closer than she could ever imagine. I’ve followed her through her entire life, ever since that afternoon after school when I open my eyes and finally saw her.

She’s mine but she doesn’t know it.

I know every detail of her life, everything about her. I spent my entire existence studying her, stalking her, obsessing over her. And to kill her would be the masterpiece of universal perfection.

I would touch an otherworldly bliss in my own inner concert, creating the eternal piece.

And, having played my cards right, I should finally step into the spotlight on the stage of Abigayle’s life. But she entertains herself with that monster locked up in that fucking mental hospital. She loves that thrill of danger, that rush of adrenaline of being manipulated by him.

Evil ones, like us, are only capable of inflicting pain. We’re not able to feel remorse, nor compassion, nor a glimmer of love. We’re murderers, and as such, we take our pleasure from the suffering of others. We can’t change our nature.

She doesn’t understand and lets herself be played by him like a fucking piano. I heard her moan his name the other night, when she left her window open.

Deon. Deon. Deon.

That’s the asshole who haunts her mind every fucking second of her day and night. I should be the one to haunt her in her dreams, in her thoughts, in her soul.

Even if I am fascinated by him because his killings are as close to perfection as can exist, I hate him, because he’s overshadowing me. He pushes the boundaries I put around her for so long.

I should kill him. I should kill both of them. That would make me a God. I would transcend dimensions and drink the essence of eternal knowledge.

My eyes land on her window, where the lights have been off for quite a while. And I bet she touched herself thinking about that psychopath. What a slut.

She always loved to play the innocent, reserved girl, when in reality, she’s only a whore hungry for dicks. She revealed herself at university with that little bitch Jenna during those crazy parties. She got so drunk that I had easy access, especially since Jenna was always knocked out or off fucking some idiot.

And when Abigayle was left alone, unconscious, I took advantage of the situation and possessed her. I made her mine. Yet she never knew anything. Every time, she woke up in her dorm room without a single memory, incapable of explaining how she got back to her bed.

But now I need to have her when she’s conscious. I can’t be her shadow forever, taking her only when she’s out. That won’t do it anymore. I need her awake.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Fucking watch.

I have to move my ass to hunt my next victim. The son of a bitch lives alone in his rat hole on the other side of the city. It would be such a pleasure to torture him slowly before slaughtering him, but this time, I’ll place his head and genitals on his porch. And since tomorrow is Halloween, I’ll have to be fast. People will think it’s a scary decoration. I’ll make them scream their lungs out in horror.

Abigayle Roland and Deon Knight will be the last ones on my list. They will be the last staccato of my concert. The peak of euphoria before the eternal silence.

I glance one last time at Abigayle’s window and curl my lips diabolically as I turn the key of the car. The engine roaring beneath me only sends my mind in a vortex of frenzy, imagining all the delightful ways I could kill her.

“The game starts tomorrow, Abigayle. Better run if you don’t want to be caught. For now, sweet dreams, little slut,” I say, staring at her window.

I press my foot on the accelerator and the car launches forward, roaring his evil laugh in unison to mine as I drive into the dark and empty streets of the city.

Chapter Seventeen

Abigayle

Ghostly Presences

That asshole Deon left his fucking fingerprints on my cheeks and hickeys on my neck, so I have to wear a ton of foundation and fake blood to cover them up.

Not to mention that my pussy is still sore from his monster dick. And he went slowly with it. What will happen when he fucks me without holding back? Will it actually tear me apart?

Shame and guilt compress my chest. How could I do that? How could I allow him to take control of the situation and do what he did?

He fucked me, even though he denied us both an orgasm. And technically it wasn’t a complete fuck, as he just put it inside. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. I cheated on Ethan again. I cheated on myself after my promise that I would never allow him to touch me. And yet I dove in head first, losing my mind in his game and in my desire for him.

He must remain locked up. That kind of person free in society only brings trouble. Even if he's only bringing trouble to me for the moment. Frighteningly pleasant and outrageously delicious trouble.

Deon is becoming addicting, stronger than a drug. A powerful hallucinogenic and dangerous drug that will eventually kill me.

When my crimson lipstick is applied, I adjust my tight nurse’s dress, splattered with fake blood sprays and patches, and check my reflection in the mirror. Droplets of that viscous ruby liquid draw sinuous lines on my cheeks and down my neck. There are freckles of red on my forehead and on my breasts, which peek out of my neckline with the help of a push-up bra. My wavy brown hair cascades around my face under a little bloody nurse’s hat.

My terrifyingly dilated pupils are an accessory I can’t control, and one I didn’t want to put on. I really look like a psychopathic murderer.

Something weird lingers in the air. Something heavy makes the oxygen around me suddenly unbreathable. A chilling thrill snakes down my spine as I feel eyes on me, an eerie shadow scratching my skin. I dart my gaze away from the mirror, suddenly checking around me, my heart pumping faster from the adrenaline heating up my blood.

Why do I feel someone’s watching me?

“Fuck, Abby. You’re becoming paranoid,” I murmur to myself, shaking my head to ward off that sinister feeling.

Needing to relax, I pick up my glass and gulp down the last sip of red wine, then glance at the clock. “Fuck!”

In a rush, I hurry to put on my red heels, take my red handbag, and grab my coat. I hate to be late. I’m sure Jenna is already waiting for me at the bar.

She picked a place called The Psycho Killer to meet tonight. The reference is undeniable. Karma is really fucking with me, having fun driving me crazy.

As I get into my car, I send a quick text message to Jenna warning her of my delay, then head toward downtown Seattle. That strange feeling of being watched brushes my skin in a freezing caress again. I cast a glance at the rearview mirror and see a red Mustang with tinted windows close behind, almost glued to my car.

My heart jumps to my throat and I squeeze the steering wheel so tight my fingers cramp. My eyes dart between the road in front and the vehicle behind in a frantic, panicked dance as I step on the accelerator to put distance between us.

Who’s following me? Why is someone following me? Why do I feel eyes stabbing me through the rearview mirror?

I exit the highway, quickly driving into the trafficked streets of downtown, only to be stopped at a traffic light. The red Mustang eats the distance I’d put between us and my panic starts rising even more. With a scorching tingling running across my body, my stomach twists in terror as I catch a sinister smile on the shadowed face of the driver.

“Better run, Abigayle,” his lips mouth. Although I can’t hear him over the sound of our cars, I almost feel his dark voice scratch my ears.

A freezing wave of terror engulfs me and I whimper in horror. Glancing up just in time to see the light turn green, I stomp on the gas, sending my car launching forward. Weaving through the streets, I turn one corner, then another, my wheels squealing. Other cars honk at me, but the only thing that matters is escaping from the red car.

I don’t even know how I reach the bar in the midst of my hysteria, but I do eventually manage. When the car is parked and the handbrake pulled, I glance around cautiously before getting out. My eyes only catch skeletons, devils, and witches laughing and waiting impatiently in the line outside the bar.

What the fuck just happened? Surely it was just an idiot scaring people on Halloween, I try to reassure myself. Bringing my hand to my chest, I try to calm down the baritone echo muffling my ears. This evening is starting off super scary.

Collecting my handbag with trembling fingers and swallowing my anxiety, I exit the car and hurry over to join the group, where I spot Jenna. She is squeezed into an embarrassingly short and tight red dress, with devil horns on her head and a pair of red high-heeled boots wrapping her long legs, chatting and laughing among a group of skeletons and witches.

The chilling night breeze brushes the skin of my bare thighs, sneaking up my dress, and for a moment, I feel eyes on me again.

Deon’s eyes. His undeniable, overwhelming gaze on me.

I stop abruptly, crashing in the imposing back of a man dressed all in black. “Sorry,” I mutter.

The man turns to face me with a creepy languidness. His features are covered by an Anonymous mask, but his piercing black eyes hit me right in the chest, tightening my heart in a vice, and I automatically step back, that eerie feeling lingering in my guts.

“Abby! Finally!” Jenna’s voice drags me out of my frozen state.

“Yeah, sorry, Jen. I got stuck in traffic,” I murmur, only half-lying, as I glance back at the stranger who nearly killed me with a look.

Why do I feel as if Deon’s here? He’s locked up in his isolation cell. He can’t be here, following me, right?

“Abby, you remember Paul, from criminology class? And Dean from psychology?”

I recognize their features under the skeleton makeup and a warm feeling of nostalgia hits me. I lean to hug them, grateful for their muscular arms around me. “Oh my god, guys! It’s been ages! How are you?!”

“I’m happy to see you, Abigayle. Wow, you look deadly!” says Paul, smiling sweetly.

I can’t hide a flush of desire heating my cheeks when Dean’s calloused hand squeezes my hip in a knowing touch. We almost fucked between the university library shelves once, only stopping because we were discovered by Mrs. Winterburg. I don’t really know what happened between us after that, because he started avoiding me like a plague, and every time I tried to talk to him, he just looked at me as I was crazy. Jenna knows and I feel her amused smirk on me.

I’m sure she invited him to take my mind off Deon and Ethan.

Ethan. Fuck, is he really my boyfriend if I forget about his existence, never message him, never think about him when I touch myself?

“I’m crazy good, and you, Little Miss Twisted? Always running after psychopaths?” Dean’s green eyes sparkle, matching his mischievous smirk as he runs a hand through his black hair.

A shiver runs down my spine at his words and my gaze automatically darts to Jenna, trying to catch if she spilled something about Deon. She knows I don’t like to reveal work information, especially to old university friends I lost contact with over the years. But she looks as confused and surprised as me.

“Only the ones I can help, Dean,” I stutter, avoiding his hungry eyes and taking a step back.

Jenna quickly turns the attention back to herself, waving her hand at the women in witch costumes and the gorgeous man next to her. “These are my insane colleagues, Emily, Arya, and… Ryan.”

As the women smile their greetings, my best friend cocks an eyebrow at me, subtly nodding her head toward Ryan.

Oh, the colleague she went on a date with. And from her sparkling eyes and devouring gaze, it’s clear they definitely fucked, and from the way Ryan surrounds her hips, possessively squeezing her close, he wants more. Restraining an amused laugh, I shake their hands.

Despite their reassuring presence, I still feel eyes on me. Eyes that are traveling over every inch of my body, burning my skin and creeping under it, like a poisonous plant. I turn my head, discreetly searching for the cause of my distress, and catch a tall shadow that disappears around the opposite corner of the road. A freezing chill slides down my spine and I glance about for the stranger with the Anonymous mask, but he’s not there anymore.

My heart slams so hard it makes my breath hitch. “W-what are we waiting for? Why don’t we go inside?” I stammer, instinctively approaching Jenna.

“Always impatient, Little Miss Twisted. Don’t you like when the game starts slow and low, reaching its peak in an overwhelming crescendo?”

Dean’s strange words and manic expression only increase my uneasiness. My guts twist under his suddenly sinister shadow and adrenaline pumps in my veins, and I feel as though I’ve taken hallucinogenic drugs.

“They’re fucking slow at checking the guest list, but it’s almost our turn, girl. I can’t wait! It will be the scariest night of our lives!” Jenna squeaks, casting a mischievous smile at Ryan.

“Yes, it will be the scariest of your life, Abigayle,” Dean repeats, his lips curling in an evil smile, and my heart skips a beat at his blood-curdling tone.

“Do you think the Blender Killer will strike tonight?” Emily says, her face betraying her fascination. “It’s Halloween. I’m sure he won’t pass up the opportunity to make himself the talk of the day.”

I stiffen, my blood running cold at her supposition.

“That son of a bitch is sure making it complicated to catch him. Even if I’m convinced the real one is locked up in St. Mary’s psychiatric hospital and we’re facing a copycat.”

Dean and I both snap our heads toward Ryan at the same time.

“Ryan works in homicide with me,” Jenna says, her voice proud. “We aren’t on that case, but we love to conspire about it, right, girls?”

“Oh yes, we’ve got a betting poll going. We have other suspects, apart from the one at St. Mary’s. Whoever guesses the true killer will win one year of free drinks!” Arya exhales enthusiastically.

“Arya’s the best forensic specialist of our department, but she gets too excited about it, and as the medical examiner, I often have to disappoint her mystifying theories.” Emily laughs, patting her friend’s shoulder in playful condescension.

“Hey! I won with the Park Killer!” Arya’s protest makes Jenna and Paul chuckle.

“Park Killer? Who comes up with these names?” Paul casts an amused glance at Arya.

She grins back at him. “Yeah, the guy liked to kill young couples intent on fucking in parks at night. Journalists aren’t very original sometimes.”

“It’s disheartening to see such a waste of words on something that could be poetic, don’t you think, Abigayle?” Dean’s deep voice catches my attention, sending another chill down my spine.

My brows furrow at his enigmatic sentence, confusing thoughts twirling in my head. Why is he acting so weird? It’s been years since I saw him, but something’s changed. He’s different, scarier.

“Stop being a creep, Dean!” Jenna’s childish reproach comes to my ears muffled.

“What do you do again, Dean? I think I missed it.”

Ryan’s voice is suddenly mistrustful, but Dean’s eyes are locked on mine and I can’t divert my gaze, held in that chokehold.

“I’m a killer, Ryan.” Dean’s lips curl into a malicious smile, a scar appearing on his lips.

My whole body freezes as I stare at him, breathless, my mind splitting, darkness swallowing me.

Deon.

Chapter Eighteen

Abigayle

Tequila Tricks or… Treat?

“Come on. Let’s go. I'm freezing my ass off out here.” Jenna grabs my wrist and drags me into the club, followed by the others.

I blink several times, the gruesome expression on Dean’s face still staring at me in my mind. But on the face in front of me, his scar has disappeared.

What the fuck? Am I hallucinating?

The temptation to call David to check if Deon’s in his cell tickles my fingers, but before I can, I’m thrown into a mass of bodies and rhythmic techno music. The dull bass pumps through my guts, crushing my lungs. The air is saturated with a spooky buzzing of people swarming like maggots, and the dim red lights on the ceiling cast an eerie atmosphere, blurring everyone’s features.

In contrast to the cold outside, the suffocating heat of the bar makes me dizzy. Holding my wrist, Jenna drags me through the mass of demons surrounding us, and I feel like I’m plunging into hell, ready to be tortured and killed.

Still off balance, I trip over my feet and almost crash to the floor. Two big hands grab my hips, rescuing me and pulling me against a wide, muscular chest and a hard big cock. My muffled gasp gets lost in the jarring notes of the music and my grip on Jenna drops.

“Do you know how much I dreamed of this moment, Abigayle? To find you finally awake enough to see me. Do you see me, Little Miss Twisted?” The dark voice is a shadow whispering in my ear.

My heart jumps to my throat as a scorching shiver of pleasure streams down to my pussy. His hands squeeze my hips so much it hurts, and another strangled whimper flies free from my lips.

“Are you ready to play a game, Abigayle?” His evil smirk brushes my ear.

My eyes widen, confusion flowing in my mind, terror shooting in my system. What’s happening?

“Abby, what the fuck are you doing?! Are you already drunk?! Come on. We’re waiting for you.” As Jenna’s amused face appears in front of my eyes, Dean’s hands slip from my waist.

Why are they all acting so weird tonight? Is the Halloween air making them creepy?

I glance back at Dean, but he’s not there. “But Dean… Where is he?” I murmur, looking for him in the crowd.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Abby? Dean’s sitting at the table with us. We’re waiting on you for the first round of tequila!” Her eyes are confused but they hold a sparkle of excitement.

“W-what…? How…?” I stammer, frantically searching the deformed shadows of the monsters dancing around us.

Who the fuck touched me?

My gaze lands on a masked man standing at the opposite end of the room. The flashing red light casts a sinister look on his sculpted mask. Even though I can’t see it, I feel his piercing gaze on me and the malicious smile on his lips.

“Come on, girl. Some tequila will do you good. You’re acting weird.” Jenna’s laughter is swallowed by the music as she drags me toward our table.

I sit on the edge of the red velvet armchair, locking eyes with Dean opposite me, his lips still curled into a mischievous irritating grin.

What the fuck is this psycho game?

“To this crazy, frightening night!” Paul announces with an amused smile, then takes his shot of tequila, gulping it down in one go. Everybody imitates him, although Dean’s eyes never leave me.

Jenna is right, I need to loosen my mind before I fucking lose it in a tangle of paranoia. I pound down the shot, feeling the burn of the alcohol scratching my throat.

With the same smirk on his face, Dean raises his voice over the music as he looks at each of us in turn. “Do you want to play a game?”

“Oh yes! What game?” Arya claps her hands in excitement, jumping on her seat like a hyperactive child.

“It’s called Catch the killer or the killer catches you,” Dean says, leaning over the low table between us, locking his eyes with mine once more.

Eerie thrills swirling dangerously in my veins, my heart skips a beat.

“It sounds crazy good! What are the rules? What do we win?” Emily shouts after taking another shot of tequila, an action mirrored by all of us.

I am the last to lift my glass, but I do it. I need to drown my brain even if my conscience and my sixth sense are screaming at me to stop. That eerie feeling in my guts is telling me to run away.

“There are no limits tonight. Keep that in mind. The killer picks his victim, then asks a never-have-I-ever type question to everybody. If you’ve done what he asks, you have to drink your shot, regardless of whether you are the victim or not. If you are the victim and didn’t do it, you’ll be allowed to run away. If you’re not the victim and didn’t do it, you’re allowed to stay. You are safe. Once you run away, though, the killer will chase you. And if he catches you, he fucks you.” Dean’s eyes darken, and even in the dimmed light of the bar, I can see the sinister glow in them.

A shocked gasp rolls down my lips, my core clenching at the dangerous yet exciting situation.

“There is one rule: no lying. If you lie, the killer will know and will chase you, but this time to kill you. You win by surviving.”

Arya nods enthusiastically. “Oh my god! It sounds insane! I’m in! But wait… Who’ll be the killer?”

“We’ll go around the table. Ryan will start. Ryan, you’re the killer now,” answers Dean, pointing his finger at the man.

“Cool. I love this game.” Ryan cocks an eyebrow at Dean, then locks his hungry gaze on my best friend sitting next to him. “My victim is Jenna.”

Paul serves a shot to everybody, and we all take a glass, ready to start the game.

I’m not so sure I want to play. I feel something strange, almost as if all of this was staged by Dean. Taking a deep breath, I ask, “What if someone doesn’t want to play?”

“Oh, Abby! Don’t be a killjoy! Do you think someone will die tonight? Come on. It’s just a game. None of this is real,” Jenna reproaches me, a toothy smile on her face and a thrilled glow sparkling in her eyes.

“It’s just a game, Abigayle. Nothing is real,” Dean repeats, his gravel tone sending goosebumps across my skin.

Ryan scans his amused eyes across each of our faces. “So, my dear victim and everybody, my question is: have you ever fucked someone at work? Not just from work, but physically at work.”

His question shoots a dart of adrenaline through my nerves, my core tightening in pleasure at the memory of Deon, but my face turning red in shame.

If I lie, the killer will kill me. But none of this is real. So why do I feel it is?

I watch Paul, Emily, and Arya all nod with embarrassed smiles on their faces, gulping down the tequila.

“Girls?! Really?!” Jenna’s gaped eyes peering at her colleagues make them laugh.

“What about you, Little Miss Twisted? Have you ever fucked someone at work?” Dean’s deep challenging voice catches everybody’s attention and they point their curious gazes on me.

I flick my fingers nervously around the little shot, my heart drumming furiously in my veins, a lump of distress stuck in my throat.

Do it. Don’t do it. Do it. Don’t do it.

Without letting myself doubt any longer, I gulp down the tequila in one swift motion, the scorching fluid pooling in my stomach along with my dignity.

“Abby, what?! When?! With whom?” Jenna shocked eyes search for the answer in my look, but I dart them away. I can’t tell her. I won’t.

“So, my little victim, you didn’t drink your shot. That means you didn’t do it. It’s time to run because I’m chasing you, Jenna.” Ryan’s husky voice and mischievous grin make Jenna squeak in anticipation as she jumps off the armchair.

Giggling like a little girl, she dives into the mass of bodies on the dance floor. Ryan follows, already grabbing her waist.

“I think we won’t see them anymore tonight,” Arya chuckles.

Dean looks at the next person on the couch. “Paul, your turn. You’re the killer. Who is your victim?”

My old friend looks languidly at the girls next to me, who exchange a knowing gaze. “Can I choose two?” he asks, brushing his lower lip with his thumb, savoring the hunt in anticipation. His light brown locks falling messily over his forehead.

“I’ll make an exception for you, my dear friend. Yes, you can choose two of them,” Dean answers, casting a devilish smile at me as he serves another round of tequila.

The alcohol is starting to go to my head, heating up my blood and dizzying my brain.

“My victims are Arya and Emily. And my question is, have you ever touched yourself thinking about a murderer?”

At Paul’s question, my pussy clenches in pleasure. Deon’s bruises pulse on my skin, reminding me of my insane, sick desire for him.

“Oh god, no! I could never!” Emily’s voice exudes disgust.

Why do I feel that all these questions are directly and purposely addressed to me?

“You don’t drink your shot, Abigayle?” Dean provokes me, a sinister smile on his face.

Anger creeps beneath my skin as I shoot him a black look. Fuck them.

I send the shot flying down my throat, as I squint, pinching my eyes at the bitter taste coating my tongue. Dean wants to play, I’ll fucking play.

Arya winks at me. “You’re wilder than all of us combined, Abby. I like it! We should do a girls’ night one of these days!”

“Yeah, it would be fun, I’m sure.” I try to express my genuine enthusiasm for her proposal, but my tone exudes contempt and sarcasm. I’m fucking furious at Dean for humiliating me with this stupid game.

Turning his eyes to devour the brunettes next to me, Paul’s tone becomes sinful. “Girls, are you ready to run?”

“Oh god, are we really doing this?” Emily chuckles to her friend.

“Oh yes, you’re doing it.”

Emily and Arya jump to their feet to rush away and fuse with the crowd. Paul roars in excitement, ready to hunt them down. “Have a crazy night, you two,” he says before being swallowed by the demons and monsters dancing convulsively.

Unease crawls inside my body, twisting my guts in fright. My hair stands on end, but the fear collides with a black rage coming from the depths of my chest. The alcohol plays into my overwhelming emotions and I lean across the table until I’m inches away from Dean. Without letting myself consider what I am saying, I speak. “It’s my turn, Dean. I’m the killer. Here’s my question. Are you the Blender Killer?”

His inebriating smell reminds me of Deon. It is Deon’s.

My gaze automatically falls on his lips, and under the black-and-white painting of his skeleton mask, his scar cracks into an evil smile. “Wrong question, little bunny.”

His deep voice pierces my chest as his eyes devour my body, and my heart leaps at that pet name.

“W-what? What did you call me?” A rush of adrenaline tingles my nerves, making my body jerk away in sudden horror and confusion. The room spins around me as I fall back on the armchair behind me. Dean stands up, towering over me with his imposing figure, a slender shadow reaching the ceiling as he slowly creeps forward.

Terror coils in my stomach, alcohol retching in my throat.

“My turn, Abigayle. I’m the killer. Are you the Blender Killer?” His voice travels across my skin, burning my flesh with sudden euphoria, drowning me in pure fogging dizziness.

“W-what? What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not the Blender Killer, Deon.” My stammered words are a reflection of my inner hurricane.

What the fuck is going on? Did he drug me? Am I hallucinating?

“Deon? Who’s Deon, Abigayle? I’m Dean.” He smirks sarcastically, trapping my body with his arm on the armrests.

I frantically scan his face. He looks like Deon. He’s Deon. That scar… Where’s it now?

“You know the rule, Abigayle. If you lie, the killer kills you. And you just lied.” He brushes my lips with his, sending a dart of pleasure to my core.

I shake my head, incapable of logic. This situation is impossible.

Is this even real? How could Deon escape his cell and change his appearance like this?

“I bet your cunt is soaking wet. Should I fuck you before I kill you?” His words crush my lungs in an oppressive panic.

“Stop! Stop, please, stop this nonsense, Deon. You’re not here. You can’t be here. You’re locked in the isolation cell. You can’t escape!”

“Am I, Abigayle? Am I locked up inside your head or am I finally free? Your own demon in bones and flesh in front of you.” His ruthless laugh sends shivers down my spine. “If I catch you, I fuck you and then I kill you. Better run. Now, little bunny.”

Whimpering, escaping his suffocating embrace, I launch into the crowd, the choking heat of the bodies dancing convulsively around me compressing my chest. Pushing through the crowd, I try to find the light in the darkness I’m stuck in. My desperate ragged breaths echo in my ears along with Deon’s words.

I feel it. I feel him behind me. On me. Inside me.

His overwhelming shadow is trapping me in his hold. Hands and gazes touch my hypersensitive body, sending every impulse into overdrive. I can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t think. I’m lost.

Checking behind me as I frantically step between roaring beasts and monsters, I can’t find him in the inferno. Before I can turn back, though, I crash against a wide, muscular chest and my head snaps up. Anonymous.

A panicked scream breaks free from my throat, catching the attention of the demons around me, each ready to swallow me in turn.

Who is he? Is this Deon’s accomplice? Where’s Dean? And Jenna? Where am I?

Darkness wraps around my throat, choking me, as his voice whispers in my ear. “I found you, Abigayle. You’re mine now.”

My vision blackens and I free-fall into a black chasm.

Something brushes my cheek, sharpening my senses as two muffled voices tickle my ears.

When my eyes flutter open, the dim glow of my bedside table lamp shows Jenna and Ryan’s relieved expressions as they sit next to me on my own mattress.

Confusion hits me like a train, but bits and pieces of disjointed memories linger in my mind. “W-what hap-pened?”

“You were unconscious outside the bar. Ryan found your body in an alley, near the building. Thank god he saw you on the concrete and recognized you. Girl, you gave me a fucking heart attack! I thought you were dead and your Halloween costume covered in blood doesn’t help! We considered bringing you to the hospital, but Ryan checked your vitals and everything’s okay. I mean, I don’t know if you have a concussion. Do you feel something?” Jenna’s worried words are an avalanche of crushing information.

I shake my head slightly, trying to recollect what the fuck happened, but a black fog obscures my memory. Slowly sitting up, I look from Jenna to Ryan and back. “I-I don’t feel hurt. I’m not, I think… Where are the others? Where’s Deon?”

As I stammer, I feel my throat burning as if someone strangled me, and I brush my fingers over my neck, a throbbing souvenir humming on my skin.

“Paul and the girls ended up leaving together. Deon? You mean Dean. He probably went home. You were the last one who saw him. Emily told me they left the two of you together at the table, after the game. What happened, Abby?” Jenna brushes a lock of hair away from my face as Ryan heads to the living room to give us some privacy.

Tears pinch my eyelids, ready to spill down. “I don’t remember. Fuck, did someone put drugs in my drink? Did someone r…ap-e me? I-I…”

Panic tightens my throat as frightening possibilities devour my brain. I automatically reach between my legs in search of my panties and relief engulfs me when I touch the fabric between my thighs.

“I don’t know, Abby. You were lost for about an hour. We thought you were with Dean. I mean, I was sure you were with him, but I don’t know what the fuck you guys did.” She squeezes my hands. “Listen, I can stay with you tonight and send Ryan away…”

“No, Jen. It’s okay, I just need a shower and to sleep off this nightmare. I’m just confused. I need to rest. I’ll call you if I need to,” I reassure her, brushing the drying tears from my cheeks.

My best friend’s eyes scan me attentively, but I show off my determination. I really need to collect the pieces of whatever happened and I know I won’t be able to do it with Jenna around.

Accepting my insistence with a sigh, Jenna stands up as Ryan silently reenters the room. “Okay, Abby, but please, call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you for finding me, Ryan. I’m sorry I scared you both,” I murmur, embarrassed.

“Please, Abigayle, no need for apologies. But yeah, it was a scary night, that’s for sure.” He chuckles a little, making me smile.

“Call me tomorrow, Abby, or text me, okay?” Jenna repeats in a sweet command.

“Yes, mom.” I roll my eyes, slowly getting up from the bed. I just want to take a shower and sleep.

After wishing them both a goodnight again, I lock the door behind them and head to the bathroom.

As soon as I turn the lights on, my reflection in the mirror makes me jump.

My dilated pupils, a pit of distress, stare at me in confusion. My wavy locks stick to my face in a mixture of blood, dried sweat, and smeared mascara. My crimson lipstick is now a brushed shadow on my lips and cheeks. Two buttons are missing from my dress, exposing my red push-up bra, which is stained by fake blood. Fuck, it was one of my favorites. That will be hell to clean off.

Scoffing in annoyance, I turn the shower on, the crushing of the water on the stone rekindling my senses. While it warms up, I undo my dress, letting it fall to the floor along with my panties, but when my gaze falls on them, a chilling shiver slides down my spine.

Cum. Dried cum. Whose pleasure is that? Mine? Someone else’s?

My heart leaps to my throat, adrenaline rushing through my veins, as his words echo in my mind. “If I catch you, I fuck you, then I kill you, little bunny.”

Lifting my eyes to the mirror again, his black orbs stare right at me.

Deon.

Chapter Nineteen

Abigayle

Hysteria

I quicken my steps to the isolation cell, fury, confusion, and fear coursing through my body. With my heart slamming inside my chest, I unlock the door and slip inside, closing the exit behind me with a loud thud.

My gaze automatically falls on Deon sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes staring at the floor, his elbow on his knees, exactly as I found him the first time we met. There is a disturbing smile curling his scar.

“How?! How the fuck did you do it?” My voice cracks as I step before him.

He doesn’t even move, just leaving his messy and sexy black locks across his forehead. “Do what, little bunny?” he asks ironically, that fucking smirk haunting me to my core.

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” I hiss through clenched teeth. My irritation possesses my fingers and I grab his jaw, snapping his head up. I have to see it in his eyes. I have to read it in his mind.

His black pits are a fire of lust already feasting on me, a mirror of insanity twisting inside. That vision sends goosebumps across my skin, but shivers of pure fury and arousal down my spine.

“No, I don’t.” He cocks an eyebrow.

That sarcastic smile makes me want to scratch his face off. He fucking can’t play with me like that.

“Yes, you do. You escaped the other night. I don’t know how the fuck you did it. You followed me to the Halloween party, dressed up in a skeleton mask with green contact lenses, and you played that fucking game with me. You drugged me?! You… You raped me?!”

My ragged words sound even more insane spoken out loud and his ruthless, mocking laugh punches me straight in the chest, burning my fingers on his skin. My hand flies off his jaw as if I had just touched sizzling coals while shame and confusion flush my cheeks.

“Do you hear what you’re saying, Abigayle? Are you sure you don’t need to be locked up in here with me? You sound crazy.”

Darkness crawls from the recesses of my soul up to my brain in a baffling coil of opposite emotions. “Don’t you dare say I’m crazy. I know what happened. I know you—” I hiss, but he interrupts me.

“You know? And what happened, little bunny? Please enlighten me. I want to hear the whole story from the beginning.”

My irritation boils in my chest, ready to erupt with disconcerting force. “Are you fucking with me? You’re gaslighting me, Deon.”

My hands curl into fists at my sudden anger. I have to maintain a modicum of professionalism, but I can’t. Not after what he did, what we already did.

“Speak, Abigayle. What happened? I want to hear you say it,” he commands me, standing up and towering over me.

I automatically step back, but he immediately crosses the distance again. With a lump of distress and euphoria tightening my throat, my thoughts blur at my sudden deep desire for him.

“I already told you. Someone followed me on the road. A red Mustang with tinted windows. I didn’t see the face of the man, but he said ‘better run, Abigayle’.”

My voice cracks under Deon’s devouring gaze as he approaches again, and I have to put distance between us once more. He’s sucking my oxygen. His presence is crumbling my mind, confusing me even more than I already am.

“Outside the bar, I ran into a man wearing an Anonymous mask, surely one of your accomplices. When I joined my friends, Dean was there. But it wasn’t Dean. It was you!”

I breathe out as I take another step back in our strange choreography. Deon looks like a hungry animal preparing its attack on his little prey and I swallow my arousal as I continue. “You put on green contact lenses, painted your face in a skeleton mask. He had your scar. I mean I saw it, multiple times. We played a stupid game you invented: Catch the killer or the killer catches you while drinking tequila.”

At the name of the game, the disturbing glow in Deon’s black eyes grows stronger, his mischievous smile widening. I take another step back, although he quickly recovers the space.

“When we were alone, you accused me of being the Blender Killer. And you said that if you caught me, you were going to fuck me and then kill me, so I ran through the crowd of people dancing but crashed into your accomplice Anonymous. You reached me, whispering in my ear that I am yours and strangled me until I lost consciousness.” I pant, following the staccato of my heart as the inexistent distance between our bodies becomes unbearable.

“Ryan and Jenna found me an hour later outside the bar, lying on the concrete. They took me back home, and when they left, I went to take a shower. There was… dried cum on my panties. I don’t know whose. Mine? Yours? Did you rape me? What did you do, Deon?” My words fly from my lips as I run into the padded wall behind me.

The look on Deon’s face is pure fascination mixing with a ravenous need. A devilish smile gloriously opens on his lips as he leans dangerously close to me. “Poor little bunny, you had a psychotic episode and you didn’t even realize it. What did this one come from? A trauma you experienced?”

The possibility sucks the oxygen out of my lungs and I gape at him in shock. But Deon’s manipulative skills are the best I’ve ever seen. I know he’s fucking with me, to drive me crazy.

“W-what? I didn’t have a psychotic episode, Deon. I recognize the symptoms. I’ve had patients who went through it, and what I lived was real. I don’t have any trauma. I’m perfectly well,” I hiss through clenched teeth, staring into his insane eyes.

“You don’t seem perfectly well to me, baby, but I’ll let you believe whatever you need. You’re the masterpiece of perfection in your imperfection, Abigayle. I’ve never met such a fascinating creature. You’re making me more addicted to you every fucking second I spend inside this hole.”

His deep voice pierces my core in delight as he brushes his lips over mine and blissful goosebumps bloom across my skin. With lust twirling in his pupils, he grabs my jaw in his hand, squeezing in a possessive grip.

“And you’re driving me crazy. I was fine before I met you. Now everything is blowing up. You’re fucking with my mind,” I moan, breathless as his hard cock presses against my stomach.

A dart of pleasure shoots down my already soaking wet pussy.

I can’t become a pool of liquid without a brain every time he approaches me. This is not normal. I’m not normal. We’re not normal together.

He grazes his fiery lips across my cheek, reaching my ear, sending electric shivers all over my skin. “It’s not the only thing I’m fucking, Abigayle. Soon, I’ll fuck your sweet cunt until I break you. And that day, you’ll be awake and you’ll be totally and unconditionally mine forever.”

His scorching words flow inside my brain, altering every logical thought, every memory, every theory.

“What happened the other night, Deon? Was it real? What did we do?” My whispered plea brings his eyes to mine and his lips caress mine again.

“You’ll never know, little bunny.” He smirks diabolically.

Chapter Twenty

Abigayle

Is That Your Testimony?

It’s been three days since I stormed inside Deon’s cell demanding explanations, but I can’t stop thinking about what he said. Did I really have a psychotic episode? Or was everything real? What happened during that missing hour with Dean/Deon?

We only have a month and a half before the trial and my psychological evaluation of Deon has barely advanced. I’m still struggling to collect information about his past to understand his behavior and personality traits. To understand if he’s the real killer.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sigh as I try to articulate some relevant information about him in my report. As I type out details I caught in our last encounters a knock on the door snatches my attention.

“Yes?” I say, irritated by the interruption.

Jeremy pokes his head in. “Ehm, Detective Davidson and his colleague Torrance are here to ask you some questions about patient 018666, Deon Knight.”

My body freezes, my fingers hanging in midair over the keyboard. Why didn’t they warn me? Why are they here? Why do I feel guilty? As if I was the criminal.

I feel as if everyone knows about Deon and me, and the officers have come to arrest me for almost fucking a patient who is a suspected serial killer.

“Ehm, Dr. Roland? They’re waiting in the hall. What should I do?” Jeremy asks nervously, faced with my heavy silence.

I blink a few times, my heart stumbling in a crescendo rhythm, then give him a smile as I repress my own nervousness. “Yes, sorry. You can bring them to my office, but please offer them coffee or other drinks first.”

As soon as Jeremy closes the door behind him, a wave of anxiety engulfs me. While I hurry to arrange the documents on the desk, turn on more lights, and open the curtains, my brain can’t stop thinking that they came to interrogate me, to trick me into confessing I believe he committed the murders.

Adjusting my lab coat, I sit down, staring at the first half of Deon's psychological evaluation on the computer in front of me, remembering the words I’ve used to describe him officially. My gaze inevitably moves to look through the window in my door, to fall on the gray door of the isolation cell.

I feel him, perceive him. He is calling me with his dark aura, pulling me to him, merging spiritually with me. His evil shadow is crawling across the threshold, reaching up my legs, grabbing me by the ankles, slowly brushing up my thighs. I gasp, feeling those large hands caressing me, those fiery fingers drawing on my skin.

The visceral desire to take the key, run to open his prison, and throw myself into his arms is so strong my pussy clenches in need and my skirt gets wet with my arousal. Just as Deon ordered.

A knock on the door startles me out of my reverie.

“Yes?” I stammer, rushing to compose myself in a professional posture as two men enter my office.

The first who steps in is half-bald, with the remaining black hair licked to his forehead as if glued with epoxy. His ruddy face houses a thick mustache and an attentive pair of small hazel eyes. Dressed in a brown suit, an ugly yellow tie, and a white shirt, he looks almost like a caricature.

His colleague, following a pace behind, is tall and slender, clean-shaven, with thick brown hair, two leaf-green eyes, and a nervous smile stretched on his face. I can’t determine his age from a glance, but his demeanor makes him seem like an intern.

Together, the pair remind me of Laurel and Hardy.

Jeremy closes the door behind them and my nervousness increases, but I hide it with a blinding smile and a determined look. Standing, I extend my hand across the desk to the ruddy one. “I’m Abigayle Roland, the psychologist and psychopathologist following the case of patient number 018666, Deon Knight.”

He scrutinizes me, a condescending smile peeking out from under his black mustache. Grabbing my hand in his calloused one, he squeezes it tightly. “Detective Davidson, criminology and homicide. This is Torrance, my assistant.”

With Davidson’s conceited baritone sinking into the pit of my stomach, I pass my hand to Torrance. His grip is sweaty and weak, like a dead fish, and it takes all my self-control to not shiver in revulsion.

“Please, have a seat.” I motion toward the chairs on the other side of the desk, my exterior bland and polite, the exact opposite of how I am feeling inside. “To what do I own the pleasure of your unexpected visit?”

Agent Davidson looks around my office, studying my space, then back at me with a presumptuous smile. “We’re advancing on the case of the Blender Killer, as you may have heard, and collect some details concerning our potential suspect, would be precious for our investigations.”

The detective leans back in his chair, clasping his hands on his round belly, heavily occupying the space with his fucking ego. By contrast, Torrance becomes as thin as a pin, sitting on the edge of the chair, writing on his little pad.

My anxiety fades to contempt in the face of the larger man’s attitude and his desire to corner Deon, waiting for the wrong word to come out of my mouth to officially incriminate him.

“As far as I’m aware, Detective, my evaluation is bound by patient privilege until it has been completed, in this case the day of the trial. I also want to point out that all patients here are treated in a neutral manner, whatever their crimes or the circumstances of their acts. We do not judge anyone for their past or present behaviors.” My cold voice clearly delineates my position.

Davidson’s pupils dilate in surprise and irritation and his lips bend in a stern line. He studies my face, searching for an answer to his silent question about my desire to protect Deon.

I know my words could instill a doubt about my impartiality concerning Deon, but I don’t fucking care what he thinks. If I was afraid before meeting them, now I have the sole intention of dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s. They can’t come here pretending I would serve them Deon’s head on a silver platter, whether he is guilty or not.

“Obstructing an investigation by hiding incriminating evidence and/or confessions could lead you to face jail time as well, Dr. Roland. Did you know that?” He threatens me with a sarcastic smile peeking out from his disgusting mustache.

Indignation rises in my chest and I grind my teeth in an innocent smile. “Of course I know that, Detective. I also know our system is built around the idea of innocence until proven guilty, particularly when no concrete evidence has been found yet. Am I right?”

The man’s hazel eyes glow with irritation as his jaw clenches. He doesn’t like to have someone cornering him. I’m sure he’s not often faced with people who respond to him with equal provocation. Torrance watches us like a nervous spectator at a tennis game, following the ball from one side to the other, waiting for the point to be marked.

“You’re not mistaken, Dr. Roland. Still, we need information concerning your patient. The last three murders were committed when Mr. Knight was already here.” He sighs heavily, contempt at having to admit their impasse in the investigation in his voice.

“And this is not evidence enough for you to consider that, perhaps, the real killer is still on the loose?” I cock an eyebrow.

Davidson’s resentful look almost makes me laugh.

“Some cases are more complicated than others, Dr. Roland. Things aren’t always as they appear. But I’m sure you understand that.”

His words and the hidden meaning behind them fill me with unease, but I remain stoic in the face of his challenge. “You’re absolutely right, Detective Davidson. Things aren’t always as they appear. Sometimes the connections we make seem to incriminate an innocent person.”

“And sometimes, at the end of the day, such accusations are justified, Dr. Roland,” he replies.

The tension in the room is suffocating and Torrance’s lost expression only accentuates that feeling. We’re battling over Deon’s culpability, despite neither of us having any concrete answers.

The detective rolls his eyes in annoyance. “Listen, Dr. Roland. I get it. You want to preserve your professionalism and your compassion for over monsters that don’t even deserve to breathe. But we need something on Mr. Knight. We need to know if he has given information about himself or possible accomplices. Anything.”

That contemptuous word hits my brain with a dangerous darkness that tries to take control over my mind. Yet their pathetic, desperate attempt to extract any possible information makes me almost burst out laughing. They don’t have anything against Deon, and their presence here today only confirms that.

“Okay. Well, I was just typing up some notes. Allow me to share with you what I’ve written so far, then,” I say, trying to control the crack of sarcasm in my voice.

“Mental State Examination of Subject No. 018666: Deon Knight. During our third interaction, Mr. Knight described several events related to his childhood. His thoughts on the topic were clear in content, form, and tone of voice. I did not perceive any shifts or loss of concentration. Indeed, his attention remained high and clear with each session. The subject appears to know how to orient himself in time and space, how to distinguish people, memories, and reality. He does not have memory lapses or alterations.”

I finish with a smile, clasping my hands on the table as I look Detective Davidson straight in the eyes. We both know perfectly well the information I just provided is useless to them. But since they asked for anything, I gave them anything. His hazelnut eyes twitch with pure fury.

They were hoping to frame Deon, but they got nothing. Because that's what I decided. A sense of power and pride swells in my chest and standing up with a tight smile, I make it clear that I have had enough of their irritating presence.

“There will be other exams, and there's still a month to go before the trial. Anything can happen, Detective Davidson. But until then, Deon’s psychological evaluation is my case and my job,” I say, resolute.

The two men stand up, each shaking my hand again.

“I’m sure it will, Dr. Roland. Thank you for your time.” The detective is almost gnashing his teeth.

“It was a pleasure for me, Detective Davidson.” My graciousness, as false as it is, only increases the glower of frustration on his face.

I just played with the police about my suspicion about Deon. I betrayed my moral values. I betrayed myself. All to protect a fucking serial killer for whom my need is reaching criminal levels.

Chapter Twenty-One

Abigayle

Somnophilia

“Jeremy, can you tell me how many days it’s been since patient 018666 Deon Knight took a shower and changed his clothes?” I ask, walking next to the nurse through the long corridor. The building around us is silent, with the patients resting after having taken their daily sleeping pills.

At half past nine, most of the staff has gone home, but Jeremy has the night shift tonight. When I glance at him, however, I can’t help but be overwhelmed by compassion. His eyes are bloodshot and sleep-deprived, and his face is starting to look hollow from the stress. He reminds me of myself at the beginning of my career.

When I first started, my manager, who is now in charge of a different psychiatric hospital, made me work insane—even illegal—shifts that only allowed me to sleep a maximum of three hours a night and often not even that. So, I perfectly understand Jeremy’s tiredness.

“Jer, I'll stay in tonight and take over your shift. You go home, get a good night’s sleep, okay? I have to finish some reports, so I’ll keep an eye on things.” I cast him a kind smile.

Incredulity crosses Jeremey’s face at my words. “Um, Deon hasn’t showered for two days. Same for changing his clothes. Really, Dr. Roland? Are you sure?”

My disappointment and irritation at Deon’s situation make my jaw clench. He should be able to take a shower and change his clothes daily, like all other patients. We don’t treat them like animals, no matter what they are suspected of.

“Yes, I'm serious, Jeremy. Let me just run an urgent errand first. It’ll be quick.”

“Of course, Dr. Roland, I'll still be here when you return,” he replies, nodding happily.

I hurry to retrieve my coat and bag from my office and my gaze falls on the gray metal door of the isolation cell. My idea is crazy, but I'm sure it will allow me to gather other important information from Deon.

When I get back to the hospital, Jeremy confirms again, then gives me a grateful smile and heads out.

The clicking of my heels and the crackling of the plastic bag in my hand almost seem like the beginning of a concert. A prelude to something forbidden, something frighteningly delicious. With every step I take, my breathing hitches and my heart speeds up. The dimmed corridor has never seemed as long as it does right now.

After a stop in the control room to disable the camera in the isolation cell—eventually someone will find out about the security interference, but I will deal with that when it happens—I quickly deposit my coat and purse in my office. A glance at my phone reveals unread messages from Ethan, and shame twists my stomach. I have to see him for dinner in two days.

Repressing the avalanche of guilt about to hit me, I take the plastic bag and slowly approach the isolation cell. It’s been a week since I saw Deon. We had to prioritize other patients with violent crises and my sessions with him were all postponed. My heart and core ache in need when I realize how much I actually missed him, even though I still feel irritated and confused by his mind games.

With a deep breath, I slip inside the cell and close the door behind me without locking it, then I put the key in the plastic bag and turn to Deon.

He’s lying down on the bed, one arm relaxed on his chest, the other behind his head, his sleeping face tilted to one side. He is wearing his black jeans and a short-sleeved t-shirt of the same color.

Even though it’s freezing outside and the hospital heating is poor at best, the temperature in this room is blazing hot. It seems we’re already in hell, but that doesn’t surprise me. Deon is the devil himself.

Leaving my heels by the door, I tiptoe toward his bed. I'm holding my breath, but the rustle of my dress and the crunch of the plastic bag as I place it on the floor seem to echo in the room. Deon lets out a soft sigh, but he doesn't open his eyes.

Standing up straighter, I get closer to him. I languidly travel his body with my gaze, caressing, savoring, capturing every detail of his disheveled black hair falling on his forehead, his long thick eyelashes, his pointed nose, his sexy scar, and those delicious lips. My fingers tickle and my core clenches with the need to touch him as his scent makes a fiery shiver flow down my already naked and soaking pussy.

My buzzing thoughts become an inaudible whisper as lust creeps inside my mind. Rolling and sucking my lower lip between my teeth, my heart flies to a crescendo. With euphoria and hunger rising up to depraved levels, I grasp the folds of my dress.

It would be insane to masturbate in front of my sleeping patient, right? It would be totally immoral to cum fantasizing about his inert body beneath me, right? So why do I feel the psychotic need infecting my brain?

Keeping my eyes closed and biting my lip hard to avoid moaning for the sick desire in my core, I lift my dress over my hips and brush my hand across my exposed skin. The usual dose of adrenaline drowns my body, increasing my arousal to hysterical levels. The fear of being discovered by Deon is a delicious hunt into something totally deviant.

My fingertips travel down to my mound, shivers dancing across my skin. An obscure pleasure fogs my brain when I graze my swollen and throbbing clit with my digits, and a strangled moan rolls out of my mouth as an electric shock streaks up my spine.

I freeze at the sound, pricking up my ears, but I don’t dare open my eyes. I’m too immersed in my twisted fantasy.

Dark thoughts start swirling in my mind, following the depraved path of my fingers over my soaking wet cunt. Holding back a whimper, I grab my nipple with the other hand and pinch it hard, twisting until it hurts. My pelvis snaps onto Deon’s face in a silent plea, my body demanding to be fucked by him.

This is crazy. Totally and utterly insane. The most delicious pleasure I ever inflicted on myself.

Shame and embarrassment no longer exist, having faded away the moment I crossed that threshold. In this cell, my mind doesn’t have any limits. My conscience disappears and I’m reduced to a tangle of primal immorality and indecent hunger.

Squeezing my lip between my teeth until I taste copper, I slowly slide two fingers inside my pussy. My core contracts, my heart slams, and my skin tingles hot imagining Deon’s inert body beneath me. My head kicks back as muffled breaths escape my mouth and Deon’s coiling darkness wraps my mind in torturous images.

I’m the one ruling the game right know. I’m the one with the power. I’m making Deon submit to me. I’m killing him with my pleasure.

Shivers of bliss run across my body, thickening a tangle of fire and ice in my belly, growing with the crescendo rhythm of my fingers. I'm plucking the strings but no beautiful sound is coming out. It’s all in my head. And that music is the best I have ever created for myself.

The delightful insanity of what I’m doing combined with Deon’s scent and almost-dead presence in front of me only expound my own perverse fantasy. Doing all I can to not moan, I push myself to my tiptoes.

My juices pool on my fingers and the obscene slurping of my traitorous pussy thunders off the walls. My organs compress, pull, and expand, rising me to the peak of orgasm as I increase the speed of my hand.

He’s dead. I killed him. I fucked him and then stabbed him. I rode his cock while the last glimmers of life were fading from his eyes. I orgasmed while coated with his blood. He’s totally mine now. He belongs to me for eternity.

I choke and gasp for air, trembling around my fingers. “Oh god!”

My body shatters, my mind bursts, and my dark fantasy blinds me, pulling me down into a void of depravity and madness. I am delighted by its outrageously wonderful power.

When I resurface, my heart is still pounding deafeningly in my ears. Opening my eyes to reality, my gaze is immediately chained by an infernal one, and I fall again into an abyss of black flames.

“I fucking loved the show, you sick little girl. Now it's my turn to really fuck you.” Deon grins frighteningly at me.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Deon

You Leave Me Breathless

With a serpentine movement, I sit up on the mattress and grab Abby’s legs, dragging her to straddle me. She shouts a strangled squeak, her eyes round in shock and fear.

Although David checks that I've swallowed that fucking sleeping pill, I’ve always managed to hide it until he leaves, at which point I spit it into the toilet. And tonight was no different.

I’d been relaxing, imagining how to delight myself with Abigayle at the next session, when I heard the door opening. I knew it was her. When I heard her clothes rustling and her poorly controlled panting, I understood.

My little bunny enjoyed imagining me inert, defenseless in front of her. I deciphered her thoughts, crept into her soul and her mind, and understood that her orgasm was a symbol of power, of regained control. She had finally taken back her authority over me, even for a brief moment.

Because she knows I'm the one who steals it from her, and she can't do anything but submit, fight, pray, and then finally accept that control is and will always be in my hands. Because she is mine.

“Let me go, Deon,” she whimpers, eyes wide at the sight of my lustful expression. She struggles, pressing her small hands on my chest to push me away, shaking her head, swaying her legs and body.

She looks like a little mouse who is fighting, exhausted and aware of the fate that awaits her. And this only increases my rhapsody and obsession with her. My cock, already hard as a rock, pushes pleadingly against the fabric of my jeans.

“I’ll never let you go. You dared to pleasure yourself in front of me without asking permission. You dared to imagine that I was dead and it aroused you enough to make you come. You're a little necrophile, Abigayle.” I grin mischievously, enjoying the flush of shame that colors Abigayle’s cheeks. “I’m trying to solve the enigma of your mind, little bunny, because you carry traumas of your own inside you. I can feel them. You can’t hide them from me forever. I'll be the one to make you see them, make you taste them, and destroy you with them by accepting them.”

A dark glow crosses her eyes and I know I hit another weak spot. I love touching her hidden strings and discovering new ones.

“I don’t have—” she starts, shaking her head, a huge lie dancing in her gaze.

Holding her thigh with one hand, enjoying the wild pumping of her heart in her femoral artery, I grab her hair at her scalp and flip us in one quick motion. When she is on her back, I pass the leather strap over her neck and secure it to the hook while I push my cock on her naked pussy.

“Deon!” she cries, her eyes bulging as she claws at the belt that slightly inhibits her breathing.

An evil laugh bubbles in my chest at the sensation of her dripping pussy growing wetter.

“You can breathe, Abigayle. Don't panic. It doesn't suit your profession. But then, you're just a big hypocrite.” I provoke her, searching for that wild fire in her eyes.

She starts to punch me, a cutting look in her oceans, but I grab her hands, bringing them above her head. I want to use something else to tie her wrists. Not the same leather straps. This time it will be something personal. Just to give a poetic nuance to our little game.

Holding her fists with one hand, I clutch the fabric from my back and take off my black t-shirt.

“W-what are you doing?” she pants, knitting her eyebrows puzzled, as she stops wriggling frantically. Her dilated pupils two black pits of fear and excitement.

She looks so defenseless right now, a little bunny about to be eaten alive by a wolf. With my teeth, my free hand, and the one holding her wrists, I manage to tie her hands to the bed rail with my t-shirt.

“Fuck, Deon, let me—” As she wriggles again, the last sounds get stuck in her throat, compressed by the belt.

“Ah yes, I forgot to tell you. You can continue to breathe, but with every agitated movement, the strap will dig further into your little neck, choking you. So be careful how you move, baby, because given what I plan to do, you will risk losing consciousness or even dying of suffocation, which would be a real shame, I must admit.” I smirk, earning a terrified look from her.

Yet I can smell her arousal intensifying. My little bunny loves violence, fear, trauma, and death. She gets excited by them, enjoys herself physically and mentally, even explodes in pure pleasure. This woman is a real delight.

She was made for me, my sick soulmate who knows how to play with my demons. I with hers.

“Why did you come here tonight, Abby?” I taunt her. “Did you want to play with danger again? Did you want to drink fear? Did you want to touch death?”

Leaning toward her, I brush the tip of my nose with hers, grazing her plump, silky lips with mine. I drink the gasp that rolls out of her mouth while her body quivers undermine.

Her lust mixes with anger in a blazing inferno inside her ocean eyes. With her lips curling in contempt, she spits, “I brought you some new clothes, and I wanted to take you to the changing rooms so you could take a hot shower. You fucking asshole.”

For a brief moment, I am struck by her words and her intentions. Did she really want to take care of me? No one has ever done that.

“Who says we can't? We have the whole night ahead of us. Once I get started with you here, we can continue our little game over there.”

She frowns, preparing to launch a string of insults, but I take the opportunity to stick my tongue between her parted lips and silence her. Her sweet flavor caresses me, flying straight to my cock and to my head. At the velvety flicks that my tongue gives to hers, at the greedy bites that I impart to her plump lower lip, she molds to my rhythm.

Blinded by my obsession with her, I grab her jaw and devour her. All of her. Her unique flavor, her soft body pressed underneath mine, her intoxicating scent. Our tongues touch, dance, fight. Our saliva merges. Our flavors get lost in each other, and I drink her breaths and infuse mine into her lungs.

With the other hand, I slowly trace the lines of her body. My fingertips tingle as if I were touching exposed electrical wires, and shards of pure pleasure shoot through my skin, increasing my euphoria. As I draw the curve of her left breast, a thrill darts to my cock when I reach her stiff nipple. I bite her lower lip hard while grasping that erect peg between my thumb and forefinger, then I pull, twisting it in pleasurable agony.

Abby’s moans get lost on my tongue, but her panting is shattered as she arches her back and pushes her fragile neck against the strap, taking her breath away. An amused laugh bubbles in my chest as I break the kiss, looking at her struggling to inhale.

“I see you followed my rule, baby. You no longer wear panties. Good girl. I will give you a new revelation about my past if you wish.” I grin lustfully, catching her interest.

That primordial fire flares up in her eyes. Her voice is faint, but clear. “Yes, please.”

Still holding her nipple between my fingers, I pull it a second time, drawing another strangled gasp from her. Abby’s eyes roll to the back of her head and her body writhes for relief.

“What a greedy little slut you are,” I taunt her, curling my scar.

If her eyes could kill me, I would already be dead. Her black look makes me burst into glorious laughter.

“Fuck you,” she spits angrily, struggling to free herself.

Angered by her insult, my laughter dies and I pull her nipple a third time, with much more brutality, causing her only pain.

“Why do you always have to treat me like this? I just want to help you and every time you make fun of me, hurting me. Why?”

Her sobbed murmur reaches my chest and her voice and those sorrowful words creep into my blood, twisting my organs in pity.

“Because it's how I express my feelings, Abigayle,” I admit, staring at her intently.

My honest answer shakes her and I shiver at my own words, realizing what I just said. Feelings.

“I don't believe you, Deon. I know you are capable of much more. I know you’re capable of showing sweetness to express your love. I'm sure of it,” she states determinedly, suddenly plunging in my black abysses to read my soul.

Fury grows in my chest and my weakness only sharpens my self-loathing. Although a small part is drunk on her words as if they were holy water, my evil side possesses me. “The only thing I might be capable of doing right now is killing you,” I growl, grabbing the strap around her neck and pushing on it forcefully to take her breath away.

Her eyes bulge and a strangled cry gets stuck in her throat. Horror distorts her face as she tries to struggle beneath me, gasping for air.

I stare at her, feeding on her fear and suffering, and start to regain control of the situation.

Her face swells red and she desperately tugs at her constricted wrists, convulsing under me, her eyes watering in search for a stream of oxygen.

“It would only take ten more seconds to make you lose consciousness and twenty to kill you. So, Abigayle, do you still want to challenge death?”

At my words hate and… love? cross her gaze, squeezing my heart.

“Ten,” I begin.

My cock throbs and jolts of adrenaline prickle every nerve in my body in exhilarating delight.

“Nine,” I growl, seeing her struggle with the last of her strength.

“Eight,” I hiss, rocking my hips against hers for relief. Pleasure builds up at the base of my spine, clutching it in a disturbing grip.

“Seven,” I threaten, watching copious tears roll down her cheeks, streaking her pained, terrified face.

“Six,” I breathe, leaning onto her, crushing her chest with mine, ripping the last residues of precious oxygen from her throat.

“Five.”

Her frantic movements slow and her muscles, once stiff as iron bars, sag and go limp.

“Four,” I whisper into her mouth, grazing her parted lips with mine, plunging into her deep blue eyes.

That bright glow, that fire of life, is fading. I can see unconsciousness creeping inside Abigayle’s body and can smell the biting odor of death approaching frighteningly fast.

“Three.” I breathe into her mouth, touching the tip of my nose with hers.

The delirium of the act twists my neurons with evil pleasure. Adrenaline and euphoria heat my veins, making me almost spiral down into a black chasm of depravity. Making me feel what Abby is feeling right now.

She leaves me breathless.

I never orgasmed taking the lives of those pieces of shit. They disgusted me to the point of making me nearly vomit, but with Abigayle, I feel that sick, obscenely revolting and absolutely delicious intoxication in literally holding her life in my hands.

The power I have right now is absolute. I’m her god.

“Two.” I grin, watching my little bunny's eyes roll into the back of her head as her eyelids grow heavy. I slide my free hand between our bodies, reaching her parted legs.

“I-I… h-…at-e y..ou.” She lets out a faint hiss, almost barely audible, then her eyes close.

“I hate you too, Abigayle,” I declare, unhooking the strap with a sharp gesture, freeing her neck and lifting my chest to allow her to catch some air.

Her body snaps like a mousetrap and a jolt shakes her. Coughing violently, she opens her eyes. I can feel her heart jump in her chest and madly rush to recover the lost oxygen, pumping at an inhuman speed. While her muscles vibrate, almost convulsing, I brush my fingers on her clenching, soaked slit.

“Did you have an orgasm while I was killing you, Abigayle? You never stop surprising me.” I smirk, pride infusing my lungs.

The temptation to sink my fingers inside her is so strong that I tremble. Instead, I get on my knees, grab the edges of her dress, and tear it, pulling the fabric apart and freeing her heated skin, revealing her naked body to my gaze.

I quickly glance at her—the perfect curves, the ivory skin, the little freckles scattered around her flushed chest, the pink stiff nipples—and that breathtaking vision strikes me like a bolt of lightning.

She’s fucking perfect.

Before she can struggle, I grab her knees, bringing them up to her chest to expose her wet pussy and ass.

She gasps in shock. “D-deon…”

Her dilated pupils, where terror and lust dance together, look at me almost dazed.

“Tell me, little bunny. Does your trauma come from sexual violence you experienced?” I grin, feeling Abigayle petrify beneath me like a rock.

A dark shadow swallows her eyes.

There you are.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Abigayle

When the Fish Comes to the Surface

It takes me a few long seconds to register his words. The lack of oxygen not only left me a senseless mess of bones and flesh, but has also turned my brain upside down, destroying every last vestige of reason I possessed. Snapping something inside me.

A dark, ruthless desire is now devouring me. Something lurks beneath the surface, something terrifying.

The absolute bliss I experienced in feeling my life slip away, my soul being pulled by Deon's fingers, has left me shocked. I don't even know how to define what I feel anymore. I don't recognize myself. Nothing from my years of studies and the professional experience prepared me for this.

Nothing prepared me to realize that I actually have traumas of my own that created such dark perversions. Hidden in the depths of my soul, I have traumas my brain obscured away. It was a defense mechanism to prevent me from falling into the darkness, but now, those traumas are resurfacing violently and shockingly. Deon is bringing them all to the surface.

“So, Abigayle, who dared touch you?”

His gravel voice reflects the anger and the sorrow twitching inside his black pits, but his question makes me freeze, my muscles almost cramping as my heart fists my ribcage at those horrible memories. I feel myself teetering on the edge of the darkness, that obscure monster ready to snap and possess me.

“Please, no, Deon…” I mumble.

The sudden hatred and disgust I feel for myself mixes with the disturbing and blinding hunger for him.

I don’t want him to pull out that shadow in me. I don’t want him to see me for who I really am. I can’t.

But his power and soul are stronger, calling and beckoning our twin perversions. I should be the one psychoanalyzing him and yet here I am, allowing him to dig into my mind.

“I-I… was raped when I was fifteen,” I choke out through the sudden lump of distress stuck in my throat.

I stare at him in shock, the echo of my words and their meaning sinking into my chest, cutting my oxygen as a blade my lungs.

I can’t. I can’t. I fucking can’t.

I pinch my eyes shut, a shiver of horror gripping my spine at the bits of blurred imagines that flash in my mind. I stagger, almost falling again inside that void, ready to let go and stop my brain from recalling that traumatic experience.

But before I can, Deon’s velvety tongue suddenly brushes my clit, sending a jolt of pure pleasure through me, snapping my eyes open. My gaze falls into his, a mischievous smile curling his scar and pure lust and compassion twisting in his abysses.

“Who stained your soul with trauma, Abigayle? I want a name.”

Despite the monstrous, chilling threat in his voice—not toward me, for once—I stay still, unable to speak, unable to think, weighed down by memories of that horrendous afternoon. My body shivers as silent tears start rolling down my cheeks, my throat squeezed in agony.

Staring at me with an unholy glow in his eyes, Deon flattens his tongue again, capturing my clit between his teeth and squeezes it hard, biting me. An electric wave radiates through my entire body, shifting the pain from my memory to the aching and delight of his brutal touch on me.

“Arthur Miller! A high school classmate who harassed me and blackmailed me!” I cry out as he releases my clit from his teeth, sucking on it, licking it eagerly.

“What did he do, Abigayle?” Deon’s deep voice vibrates through my drenched skin.

“I can’t… please,” I beg, those mental images becoming too real. I feel Arthur’s violent touch on me, forcefully stealing something I treasured, something I’d reserved for someone special: my virginity, my innocence, and my mind.

“Yes, you can, Abigayle. What did that son of a bitch do to you?” he growls. His tongue returns to my clit, his eyes locked on mine, and he starts caressing my love button with firm and precise thrusts.

“Oh, god… He— he followed me, one day after school… oh fuuck, Deon!” I moan while unbearably delicious shivers spread all over my skin. “He— he dragged me into a dark alley, threatening that if I didn't give it to him, he would show everyone a photo of me in the shower after swim practice. He… ah yes! He pushed me against the wall of an abandoned building and pulled down my pants while I was crying in panic!”

Deon retraces the path to my cunt and my muscles contract and relax, twist and unravel, pushing me toward that delightful precipice, erasing the suffocating pain of my trauma. Lifting my chest and my mind off that darkness.

“What did you feel, Abigayle?” As he hisses, Deon feeds on my overwhelming emotions, savoring them, swallowing them until we align on the same universal dimension, on the same soul vibration together.

My eyes flutter in bliss as his velvety mouth resumes its delicious assault. “I was shocked and disgusted.”

While the tip of his tongue imparts hungry otherworldly thrusts swirling in an uncanny pressure, his lips suck my clit in a divine friction. An orgasm flames dangerously fast in the pit of my stomach, as if Hephaestus himself, God of volcanoes, was preparing my explosion.

“I hated him!” I cry out, sobbing my pleasure, tears of shame rolling down my cheeks. “I hated myself because deep down I enjoyed it! I orgasmed as he came on my ass and again when he spat on my face after he finished, insulting me.”

Darkness tries to swallow me once more and my mind wavers as my core tightens in a grip of euphoric bliss, my orgasm threatening a devastating pleasure. But the sudden coldness Deon leaves when he detaches his mouth from my clit makes my body snap in frustration.

Looking down, I fall into his flaming eyes, his rosy cheeks, his wet lips and chin, a few inches from my cunt, a portrait of absolute perfection with my arousal glistening on his face.

“What happened next, Abigayle?” His voice and expression betray the insanity that lingers in my organs.

“Nothing,” I murmur, trembling for the pooling ache in my core.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Nothing?”

“I-I… don’t remember anymore…” I admit, looking away. “My brain erased those memories forever.”

Shame and embarrassment make me pull away from Deon.

He’s too overwhelming. He’s too much for me.

An electric charge flares up to my brain and I arch my back, tilting my head, as he captures my swollen and pulsating clit between his teeth, biting it so hard it feels like he is ripping it away. The pain spreading like fire in my pussy shoots me up to the peak of that insane orgasm.

My high-pitched moan bounces through the closed space. “Fuuck! Oh… God!” I shout, my eyes as round as saucers. “I don’t remember, Deon! It’s the truth!”

At my screech, his tongue moves to soothe the bite marks, but he stops all too soon. “You’re such a good little liar, Abigayle. But I’ll give you all the time you need to confess the truth. Now, do you want to cum and kill that son of a bitch with your pleasure?”

His voice rumbles on my slit, piercing me with the sudden realization that Deon is not my demon. He’s my god.

“I… I don't know…I mean… Yes, I want it. And that's exactly the problem. I shouldn't. Yet, you manage to make me forget how absolutely and appallingly wrong this all is. That I'm wrong. That you are wrong. That we together are wrong. We are toxic to each other. I thought I could cure you. Instead, you’re making me sink into mental madness, into my depravity, into my traumas.”

My voice of reason, trying to scrape together the last glimmers of conscience I have left, speaks in a final desperate attempt to resist him. Because I know that, after tonight, nothing will be the same. He will be rooted in me forever and I will no longer be able to hide the truth from myself. The truth that I want to finally accept and love every part of me, even the most disfiguring ones. Exactly like I'm doing with him.

My words blur his grin, but his eyes flare up even more and something absolutely shocking crosses his face for a split second: love.

“It's true, Abigayle. You and I are extremely wrong together. We are two parts of the same magnet, positive and negative. We repel and attract each other in an exhausting and continuous struggle, and neither of us will ever truly win over the other. But we will continue to chase each other in this perfect and imperfect union. In this absolute union. In the same way we will continue to heal and hurt each other. To destroy the demons that torment our souls and create others in an eternal race toward total mental and physical perdition. The only real question you should ask is not whether you are capable of doing it, but whether you really want to. Do you really want to finally find your true self, Abigayle?”

His tone is so deep it makes the bed vibrate. And that's not the only thing that shakes. Even my mind, my soul and my heart tremble under the depth and intensity of his words.

My eyes widen, but before I can respond, his fingers squeeze the flesh of my thighs and his tongue darts out, giving a quick lick to my clit. It happens so fast I think I imagined it, that I must be delirious from the desire assaulting me, possessing me, destroying me. I stare at him, dazed.

“So, what do you say, Abigayle? Do you really want it?” he urges me, lowering my knees further to my ears, breaking my breath in my belly.

With my knees by my ears, I am so hunched over that my ass no longer touches the mattress. I’m obscenely exposed. The muscles in my thighs pull and burn so much they feel like fraying ropes. I can't put the pieces of myself together anymore. I’m falling apart under Deon's power.

An impatient flickering in his jaw catches my attention. Before I can react, he licks me again, but this time it’s much slower and more disturbing. A cavernous moan echoes in my chest and I close my eyes, tilting my head back, sinking into the bliss of his touch.

“Fuuuck. Yes… I do. I want it,” I finally admit.

My body tenses with desire and I fight the impulse to lift my hips to his mouth. I still have a modicum of pride, even if Deon has torn my conscience to shreds.

“Let me eradicate your trauma and heal your wounds forever, Abigayle.”

His voice is so achingly sweet, his expression disturbingly compassionate, it makes me shiver. All of a sudden, he’s so human.

“Deon…” I whisper breathlessly, not really knowing what to say.

His gaze morphs again and that sweetness and compassion disappear, replaced by a frightening hunger and dark need. “Enough talking, little bunny. I need to worship this cunt of mine. I’ll drive you to the limits of insanity, and nothing will stop me from devouring every part of you. Your body, your heart, your mind, and your soul.” He grins.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Abigayle

Shameful, Delicious Cocktail

Deon points his glowing black eyes into mine, grinning lustfully. “Eyes on me, little bunny, I want you to watch me drive you crazy.”

His silky tongue darts out and he traces the line of my cunt, sinking the tip into my slit, then lingering with agonizing delight on my clit. The electric shock caused by that sublime caress sends my brain and body into overdrive.

“Oh God,” I moan, breathless as hot shivers grip my spine.

Feeling his teeth grazing my skin, I snap my head up. Just at that moment, curling his lips in a sadistic warning smirk, he squeezes my clit. My vocal cords dance in a scream of pain as my heart jumps madly in my chest and my pelvis snaps down to escape that burning. “Why?” I gasp, staring at him in confusion.

His hands push my knees down until they reach the sides of my head, lifting up my entire lower back. I should feel ashamed, but instead all I can think is how much I love and yet hate to be under his control. To be his little prey.

“I already told you, Abigayle. I'm brutal. And that’s what you’ll get from me: brutality.” His laugh is cruel.

He folds his knees under my back to keep me trapped, then leans over, staring at me with inferno in his eyes. I quiver at the sight of his obsessive raw crave for me.

His tongue flicks again over my clit, stroking it with a divine touch, healing the aching with his hot saliva. The ecstasy provided by that contact makes me delirious and I wriggle, unable to contain the need to finally reach that longed-for pleasure.

He breaks into a glorious smile, but his teeth clench my pearl again and another breathless scream flies from my chest. “Fuck, Deon!” I curse, feeling fire spread in my organs.

The line between pleasure and pain is blurry, and I can no longer distinguish between them. All I feel is the stormy bliss rising in my core with each touch from Deon’s tongue.

“I want you to beg me,” he breathes, licking the abused part with agonizing control.

As pleasure reaches my brain, I realize I am on the verge of falling into madness. He's driving me crazy, but the little bit of pride I have left won't give in yet. Even though my pussy is literally crying and the tension in my body is pulling every part of me in a different direction, shattering me. Instead, I give him a dirty look and puff out my cheeks in anger.

His eyes flash with fascination and amusement as I wait, mentally preparing myself for another bite. I almost hope he will, because I have so little dignity left before I beg him to send me to heaven with his touch.

One of his hands releases my leg, and before I can register the movements, two of his fingers sink into me in one thrust.

The shock caused by the pleasure makes my heart and brain explode. “Oh fuck! Please!” I scream.

As my pussy clenches around his long fingers, my back arches and my pelvis snaps toward his mouth, and I lose control over my entire being. I have nothing left to keep, to protect. Deon has taken everything.

And I finally want to give it to him. Because he lifted that unbearable burden, and I know he can support me. He can hold the weight of my trauma, of my hate, of my love. Just as I can support his and all the demons and pain inside him.

“Good girl.” He blows on my clit in a sweet, warm caress.

I look at him and before I can say anything, do anything, think anything, his lips close on my clit and he begins to suck, swirling his tongue in fiery lashes with a disturbingly perfect pressure. His fingers begin to move at the same time, following a slow and controlled rhythm that builds in crescendo until my mind is sucked into a catastrophic delirium. That destructive vortex swallows my entire being.

The screams, moans, and gasps I release are so intense my vocal cords burn, but the melody of the slurping and smacking sounds of Deon’s mouth on me and from his fingers inside me combined with the roars bubbling in his chest, is the most beautiful I have ever heard.

I am so shaken that I no longer understand anything.

Then Deon does something that marks my definitive death, my fall toward that abyss of eternal pleasure, the black chasm of insanity. My downfall. His fingers curve and touch that sensitive spot inside me, fucking it with such divine brutality that I go mad.

My breath catches in my throat and my heart sinks in my chest as my body freezes, the calm before the storm, as if I’d found myself in the eye of the hurricane. Then everything… explodes.

“Yeah, baby, come for me. Give me everything.” Deon roars against my skin, then resumes swirling and darting his tongue over my clit, opening his mouth wider, sucking every drop of me. Drinking out my soul.

And I fall into that precipice of bliss.

My five senses go dark. The frenzy, the pleasure, and the pain all merge, compress, and relax me, recomposing me. They break me down and mold me into a new person. A new Abigayle belonging to Deon. Forever.

When I find my body again, my voice is distorted into a cavernous moan that obsessively chants “Deon, Deon, Deon” in a disturbing prayer.

Shivers of fire and ice run across my skin as Deon draws the last drops of pleasure out of me with his fingers and his mouth.

My eyes widen at the sight of Deon’s-soaked face and chest. Transparent droplets fall in streams from his hair and his eyelashes, shining like diamonds on a spider's web. His rosy cheeks sparkle with my essence.

Even though my orgasm has passed, it has left marks I will carry on me and in me for the rest of my life.

Withdrawing his fingers and giving one last strong suck that makes my spine vibrate, he detaches his mouth from me. Then he moves up, toward me, and grabs my jaw, squeezing my cheeks between his wet fingers. Bending over, he brushes his lips with mine, staring at me with such strength and power that my soul trembles.

The smell of my arousal on his skin together with the madness of this whole situation totally stuns me, and I open my mouth, understanding his unvoiced command. A string of saliva drips down from his lips to land on my tongue.

“Drink your madness, Abigayle,” he growls.

My sweet-savory taste mixed with his saliva coats my tongue. Rolling my eyes back in pleasure, I swallow the most delicious and shameful cocktail I have ever ingested.

Roaring at the sight, Deon pounces on my mouth like an animal and our tongues merge in a forbidden kiss, a scandalous kiss with an aftertaste of insanity. His hunger darts from every pore of his skin, from every violent thrust of his eager tongue on mine, from his labored breathing crushing me. Our bodies rub against each other in an increasingly impatient search for a stronger, more intense, eternal union.

When he breaks the kiss, my lips throb, swollen from his delicious assault. My mind is a desolate desert and the only source of light is Deon. The only god of my existence and mind is him.

“I'm not done with you yet, little bunny. This is just the appetizer. Get ready for the five-course meal. Since I won't have enough tonight, I'll have my dessert tomorrow morning during our session. Let's go to the showers now.”

His voice has dropped three levels into a baritone roar, twisting my stomach in fear and delight.

Will I make it out alive? But then, do I really want to make it out alive?

Chapter Twenty-Five

Deon

The Pain of Loss

I finally free her from the knots constricting her wrists and contemplate her divine body beaded with her pleasure. I run my tongue over my lips, picking up her sweet flavor, and the urge to fuck her almost takes my breath away.

I've never had bluer balls than I do now. My cock throbs so painfully in my jeans that I think I might die.

She sits up, distancing herself slightly from me as she tugs away the shreds of her red dress to throw it on the floor. Pulling her knees to her chest and crossing her ankles in front of her gorgeous little pussy, she hides that delight from my gaze.

Frustration slides down my spine and a growl echoes in my chest. Why is she closing herself off to me like this?

I helped her vomit out the trauma buried deep in her mind, destroying it with her orgasm. My little bunny needed to free herself from that shadow, although I still sense something dark swarming inside her. I sense she’s still hiding a big part of herself from me.

I don’t even know why I did it. Why I suddenly felt the urge to help her overcome her abuse. I don’t do good.

I’m evil and only express my emotions through brutality and violence. That is who I am.

So why all of a sudden is a part of me showing compassion and empathy?

I hate to be weak, to lose control. Abigayle is creeping inside me. I can’t allow her to pull the strings of my mind and heart as she pleases. That would mean I submit myself totally and unconditionally to her. What if that is what I really want?

“You promised you would tell me something about your past. Before going down to the showers, I want you to tell me about an episode that particularly touched you, positively or negatively. Anything that comes to your mind.”

Her sweet but determined tone and her professionally phrased words tell me Abby the psychologist is still present and focused on obtaining valuable information about me.

Even though the frustration and physical desire for her are driving me crazy, I remain firm on one thing: I always keep my promises, whatever they are. So, I keep my cock at bay and give her what she wants.

“You're right, little bunny. I'll tell you something about me. But if we don't go down to the showers after that, I will choke you again, this time with my cock.”

Her eyes round, a glow of lust and fear sparkling in her deep oceans, and she reflexively tightens her knees to her chest, hiding her beauty from me.

“And if you don't stop covering your body, I'll strap you to the mattress, exposing you in an obscenely painful way again. Understood?” I hiss, leaning forward until I'm inches from her face.

She nods silently, sensually torturing her lower lip, and unties her arms, lowering her legs.

I grin, victorious. “Good girl.”

Sitting on my knees, I painfully plunge into the darkness of my past, sinking to the bottom of my mind where the most horrendous memories devour my being. It's not me who chooses the memory, but the memory that comes to the surface with such violence my vision almost blurs. And yet my eyes don't leave Abigayle's for an instant as that demon possesses my reason.

“One morning in July, Bill gathered the insurance paperwork and some of his clothes and left without even looking at me,” I begin as the reminiscence comes back so vividly it appears before my eyes. The force of the trauma compresses my lungs, choking me with its terrifying force. “The asshole had beaten my mother during an argument the night before. To calm her down, he forced her to take a dose. Which was fatal.”

Liquid heat of hatred and visceral fury runs in my veins. Even though I slaughtered that monster as soon as I had the chance, the loathing I still feel for him has never gone away. It eats at me every time his memory comes back to haunt me.

“But as a ten-year-old, I didn’t understand, so I waited next to my mother's limp body for her to wake up. I was used to her being unconscious for hours, sometimes days, but the color of her skin and the coldness of her body made me realize something was wrong.”

I pause and stare at Abigayle's terrified gaze. She looks at me with such pain and pity that I feel my heart throbbing in desperation. The agony of loss and grief shatters my soul.

Swallowing the unnerving fragility creeping under my skin, I continue. “I started to call her, shake her, cry, and scream for hours, for days, until I fell asleep exhausted next to her every night. I managed to feed myself with what little remained in the fridge and pantry. But it wasn't hunger that pushed me to leave the trailer so much as the unbearable smell of her body. Insects began to crawl in from everywhere. I tried to keep them from eating her. I couldn't let anyone take her away from me. But, on the seventh day, when the stench became stronger, I had to leave, to search for help.” My voice cracks under the horrendous images.

Copious tears are rolling down Abigayle's cheeks and her lower lip is trembling in sorrow at my story, at the pain in my eyes.

“After walking five miles in the suffocating summer heat, crying desperately for leaving my mother alone in the trailer, sobbing for not having been able to help her, and biting my lips until they bled from the guilt, I arrived at a small town and found an old lady on a park bench. I remember the horror on her face upon hearing my story. She immediately called the police.”

My breath itches and darkness envelops my mind. Springing up from the bed, I back away from Abigayle as if she was the one sucking the oxygen from my lungs and I begin to pace.

“What I remember next is that I got into the police car and we went back to the trailer. They didn't even cross the threshold, shocked by the sight. After that, my memories are hazy. They took me to the hospital, forcing me to wear a stupid gown while they ran some tests. I was locked in for days while a succession of strangers asked me questions and poked at me. I never saw my mother again after venturing out for help. And I will never forgive myself for that,” I murmur, agony and sorrow choking me.

Burning tears threaten to spill, but I push them back, gritting my teeth and swallowing that darkness down to my core again. I don’t want anyone to see this part of me. To see my vulnerability. To see my guilt and my pain.

Hesitant footsteps approach me. Abigayle’s perfume surrounds me in a reassuring embrace, her aura coiling me into her love. I don’t want her pity or her compassion. It makes me feel even worse. I don’t need that. I don’t need to be reminded of having been the cause of all my pain. Of having been a burden from the moment I was born.

“Deon.”

Her whisper calls me back with a terrifying sweetness. My eyes lift and I dive into two oceans flaming with love and pride.

“You are the bravest man I have ever met, Deon. Please don't feel guilty or ashamed. You did everything you could. You are not responsible for what happened. You were never to blame. You were just a ten-year-old boy, a child who never asked to go through those horrible experiences, an innocent child who was and still is a survivor. But you are also a warrior who accepts his demons. Life has been unfair to you, but it can be fair again if you let me guide you. I'm no one to judge the trauma you've experienced. I too am marked by my demons. Mine is not a lesson, but a journey together. A path on which you can open up to me whenever you want, whenever you need, whenever you want to hate yourself. Point those feelings and emotions at me and do with me what you will. Unburden yourself with me, on me, inside me. Whatever happens, whatever direction destiny will guide our lives, know that I am and will always be here for you, Deon.”

Her intensity hits me with such force that my mind shatters and that unbearable pain devouring my soul blurs, vanishing from my heart. The only pain I possess now is not being able to spend every second with Abigayle. My need for her has reached insane levels.

She has crept inside me, under my skin, in my veins, and is now in my mind, my heart, and my soul. I open my eyes, finally realizing she has succeeded. She has taken control of me, just as I have taken control of her.

We are dependent on each other now. Forever.

“Fuck, Abby,” I murmur, blinded by desire, blinded by her. I move quickly, closing the distance between us with a long step, and dive into her ocean eyes, now morphed into two luminous galaxies. Tugging her against me, I brush her lips with mine and whisper to her twisted soul, “You’re mine, Abigayle.”

“Yes, I'm yours, Deon.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Detective Davidson

A Missing Person

My gaze falls on the clock hanging on my office wall: 2:30 a.m.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I huff slightly. My eyes burn from having stared at the computer all day long.

I’ve spent hours trying to connect the last three murders with the earlier ones of the Blender Killer. Something is wrong. It’s not the same person committing those crimes. It’s a copycat for sure.

The way the victims are cut and the placement of the bodies outside their home, for example. This vicious touch belongs to someone else. Someone as meticulous as the original killer, but who changes just a couple details, as if he wants us to know he’s a copycat. That he’s doing this to play with us.

But why would someone take the signature of the original killer? What possible reason could they have? Admiration? Mania of grandeur? To protect the true murderer and blur the tracks?

I’m still convinced the first murderer is locked up in St. Mary’s Psychiatric hospital.

Deon Knight.

When I interrogated him two months and a half ago, he expertly avoided my questions, answering with disturbing control and nonchalance. And before I could hit him with more punching demands, his fucking lawyer arrived and escorted him away.

And the truth is, we don’t have enough real evidence against him. All we have is the image from the hidden camera of his last victim, capturing part of his scar and his imposing figure.

I struggled for days to obtain a search warrant, and when I finally did, I didn’t hesitate to search his entire house. The whole time we were there, that fucker casually sipped a glass of whiskey with his eyebrow cocked and his sarcastic grin painted on his fucking face. We found a black hoodie sweater resembling that of the killer and a lot of computers. But although we seized the drives, we didn’t find a thing on them. This motherfucker is tough to corner.

So, in the end, I had to. I made up evidence.

While we were searching his place, I asked one of my agents to take a pair of Deon’s boots. That night, I snuck back to the crime scene and used them to leave shoeprints in the back garden, leading to the back door of his victim’s house.

My team didn’t notice my falsification, and when I called them to take the photos as proof, they didn’t dare ask how those footprints had appeared after they’d already searched. My excuse that the killer had come back to the crime scene for God-knows-what reason was fine with them.

I don’t care if they suspect I altered the scene to corner that asshole, because we all agree he did it.

I’m not proud of it, but I’ve chased this son of a bitch for three years and don’t have the patience anymore to wait around for him to misstep.

With my new evidence, we could take him to jail. But his snake of a lawyer managed to divert our plan, proposing to put him in a psychiatric hospital for evaluation until the trial. The argument in our favor was it would give us the chance to collect psychiatric evidence against him, so how could we turn it down?

And now this copycat is messing around, driving us crazy, infuriating me. I was building everything to put that arrogant asshole in jail, but as the crimes continue, public opinion is flying hypothesis after hypothesis concerning the innocence of our suspect.

I replay the security video from in front of Columbia Tower for the eleventh time, scrutinizing every corner of the screen. But the camera is angled more toward the street and the building and doesn’t catch the tree and the bushes where the body was found.

We can only glimpse a few branches and… Wait. A tiny corner of something. Luggage?

My heart jumps in my chest in excitement and my heavy eyelids suddenly pop open. I frantically zoom in the pixeled image until the tiny wheel of the black bag occupies the entire screen.

If we can find the model of the luggage through the wheel, we can make a list of all the pieces sold in the area in the last year or so. It would be a needle in a haystack, for sure, but it’s worth the effort. We need to stop this son of a bitch. Him and his fucking ringleader.

One is already locked up in an asylum while the other is still on the loose. If I catch the second and incriminate both of them, my name will be remembered forever. The detective who stopped the Blender Killers.

Pride swells my chest and a grin curls my lips in excitement. All these years of trying to forge a respectable name would be finally repaid.

I don’t give a fuck if I put an innocent man in jail. Deon Knight is no saint. I can feel it right through my bones. The motherfucker with his manipulative, charismatic aura is dangerous. And if he’s capable of twisting my guts in uneasiness when I see him, I have no doubt he can do the same with that delicious little psychologist following his case.

She dared to provoke me, challenging my authority as if she wanted to protect that monster, her blue eyes twitching with a wild fire. I would have loved to stick my cock inside her mouth to silence her. I’m sure the little twisted bitch would have taken it, as I’m sure she’s an insane ride. One to have at least once in a lifetime.

My dick hardens at the thought and the desire to masturbate to the mental image of her gorgeous ass is too tempting. As I take a quick glance around the deserted office, my fingers frantically reach for my belt. My heart speeds up, excitement and adrenaline heating my veins. I unbuckle the leather strap and lower my zip, impatiently snatching down my boxers to grab my cock.

As soon as I start pumping it, closing my eyes, immerging myself in my dirty fantasies, though, the high-pitched ring of my phone cuts through the silence, startling me.

“Fuck!” I growl, frustration rising in my core. Cursing through my teeth, I readjust my trousers as my arousal fades, then roll my eyes in annoyance at the number. “What?!”

“I’m sorry for bothering you, boss, but it’s important,” Torrance mumbles on the other end of the line.

Irritation twists my organs and I snap at him with a chilling tone. “Speak.”

“The owner of the Psycho Killer bar found an ID covered with traces of blood, real blood, near a dumpster outside the building. He thinks it’s from someone who was at the Halloween party a few days ago. It seems we have a missing person,” he announces.

My attention immediately caught, my spine straightens with interest. “And who is it?”

“It’s Dean Bishop, sir.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Abigayle

Hesitating

When we break the kiss to catch our breath, I know for sure I’ve crossed a professional and personal line that I never thought I could traverse. But even though Deon's chilling story and the pain of his loss and his grief are still haunting me, I can't help but feel a visceral need for him.

“Come on, little bunny. It's up to you to guide me to the showers. I’ve been locked inside this hole for two months now. I'll let you do the honors.” Deon grins, a lustful glow in his eyes.

He tugs my naked body against his, molding me to his uncovered chest and nearly piercing me with his steel erection. My core clenches at the sensation and I tighten my grip on his shoulder, scratching at his snake tattoo, then I lean back to let my gaze travel the black ink lines.

“What do these tattoos mean, Deon?” I murmur, tracing the contour of the drawings.

He stiffens slightly beneath my touch and his eyes stare at me with such intensity it makes me shudder. “The snake that devours my heart is the devil. It reminds me every moment that I have a black and damned soul and that I belong to him. The lightning bolt is… a reminder of the violence I experienced when I was little. In that moment, it was as if a lightning bolt had struck my chest, destroying every part of me.” He pauses, then continues with a striking sincerity, “I did it to exorcise my past, but it didn’t quite work.”

My heart leaps in my chest as compassion coils there. “I will help you exorcise your demons. I promise,” I whisper, placing my hand on his cheek.

But as I move to caress him, Deon’s gaze darkens, a threat looming in his eyes, freezing me in place. Then his hands land violently on my buttocks in a double spank, making me squeal in pain and surprise. Leaning down, he grazes my ear with his scorching lips, sending a fiery shiver down my spine to my pussy, and my eyes flutter in response.

“If you don't move this wonderful ass in the next ten seconds to take me to the showers, I swear, I will fuck it so hard you’ll bear the signs for at least a week,” he roars.

A twitch of terror and arousal slides through my core like lava and Deon's hands almost burn my ass. I nod excitedly, rolling and sucking my lower lip to keep my buzzing thoughts at bay.

Loosening his grip, he lets me go.

As I turn away, however, I realize we will have to go down the entire corridor to the elevator, but I only deactivated the camera of the isolation cell. The ones in the hallway and the pool are still on. Even if I manage to delete the pieces of the video, I am completely naked, with my dress in tatters on the floor. I can’t wander around the hospital as Mother Nature created me.

“Abigayle, what are you waiting for? I told you if you don’t move your ass, I’ll fuck it so brutally you will feel me and only me for the next weeks,” Deon hisses.

Even though his threat is tempting and part of me would love to feel that pain, I’m not giving my ass to him tonight.

“Deon, I only deactivated the camera in this room. The ones in the halls and the pool are still active. I have to deactivate them, but I have no clothes left.”

Heat creeps to my cheeks in embarrassment. I’ve never been ashamed of my body, but in front of Deon’s devouring gaze, I feel exposed to the bone. He’s skinning me alive with his burning coals.

He moves quickly, passing me to retrieve something.

Frowning in confusion, I turn around. “What are you doing?”

He bends down and grabs something from the Walmart bag, throwing it at me. “Put this on. Even if I would have loved to see you walk in the corridor naked, that will be for another time. Now, go turn off the cameras, Abigayle.”

His imperious tone and hungry scrutiny twist my stomach. He crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps rippling and contracting, the veins in his forearms throbbing, and it is all I can do not to drool at his beauty. Deon's ability to suck out my reason and leave me a tangle of desire, gasps, and liquids is disturbing.

Moving quickly, I put on the black t-shirt I brought from him. The shirt is so big that the hem reaches my mid-thighs and the sleeves cover me almost to my elbows. A shiver of pleasure and terror crawls through my organs when I realize how big and imposing he really is. I feel microscopic.

He approaches with impatient steps and, lifting my chin with two fingers, anchors his gaze in mine. “Go. Now. Abigayle.”

I wince at the depth of his tone and jump toward the door. Grabbing the handle, I pause, turning to look at him, my heart pumping at dangerous levels, adrenaline tugging at my muscles and nerves. “Who's to say you won't run away in the meantime?” I ask with a cracking voice.

“I won’t. The only thing in the world that interests me is right in front of me.”

His words are punching deep. Breathless, I nod and slip outside, closing the door behind me.

A frightening silence hangs in the air, stopping time and space in an eerie limbo. A limbo where my darkest secrets resurface, where Deon’s past haunts us both, where our minds play each other in a game of power.

Without hesitating any further, I run toward the computer room. With trembling fingers, I block all the cameras, then hurry toward my office to retrieve the keys to the pool and showers.

My gaze falls on the large white clock hanging at the end of the hallway, pointing to three thirty in the morning. The devil's hour. The hour during which I will offer my soul and body up forever. Because the devil is waiting for me in the isolation cell.

I swallow hard, trying to remove the lump of tension and confusion tightening in my throat. Am I really sure of what I'm doing? Of what I'm about to do? And Ethan? And Jenna? My job? My morals? My conscience? There's still time to escape.

Then his fiery eyes, his burning touch, his deep words creep into my mind and body, and without even realizing it, I find myself back in the isolation cell.

Yes, I'm absolutely sure.

I am now condemned for eternity. I have been since the moment he landed in my life, the moment my eyes met his, the moment my lips merged with his.

I find Deon again, exactly as I left him, and when I enter, out of breath with my heart about to explode, he sprints toward me. Before I can say a word, he grabs my hair with one hand and my hip with the other. He turns me around until my back is pressed against his chest and scratches my neck with his lips and teeth. Nibbling at my sensitive spots, making my eyes flutter in pleasure, he pushes his hard cock against my ass.

A moan rolls out of my mouth, and my pussy throbs and weeps in desperation.

“We're going down to hell, little bunny, but I'll make you ascend to heaven with my cock,” he hisses as he presses me and urges me to open the door.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Abigayle

Kneel for Me

When the elevator doors open in front of us, the humidity and the smell of chlorine slap me across the face. But that is not what makes me tremble. Deon, gripping my hair at the nape and rubbing his hard cock against my ass every time we take a step, is why I am shaking. It’s as if his throbbing shaft was a gun pointed at me, one he is threatening to take my life with.

And he might. It isn’t impossible.

“Move, little bunny. The more time we waste looking around, the less time I will have to fuck you, and the more violent I will do it. The choice is yours,” he murmurs, blooming goosebumps all over my body.

We use the twenty-five-meter pool for patients with severe traumas, helping them overcome phobias or PTSD through hydro-kinesitherapy. Tonight, it will be maybe used for something far different. The pool, illuminated only by light spots, reflects a dance of gleams and shadows on the ceiling. Those same shadows that are invading my mind with my twisted desire.

The humidity sticks to my skin, gluing my t-shirt to my body. The heat of the room makes my blood rise. I know I'm about to free-fall into his abysmal soul forever.

Is this what I really want? Am I really allowing him to take me to the limit of my mind, to push me down into that void? Am I so desperate to touch my own being through him, finally opening my eyes to my true self?

My affirmative answer throbs in the pit of my core together with my heart, slamming in my chest.

We advance to the changing rooms, and I guide him as if I was conducting my own executioner to the pillory where I will be killed. A pillory of large showers next to each other, separated by a little wall.

“Choose a shower, Abigayle.”

Deon’s rich timbre sneaks beneath my flesh. My thoughts blur in deviant euphoria of giving myself to him. Rawly, brutally, insanely.

Talking and even walking has become almost impossible. My body no longer understands what to do. It has been drawn into overdrive by the delightful feeling of his hard cock pushing against my ass. I’m reduced to a mere tangle of pooling hunger and rhapsodic dementia.

I raise my hand, pointing to the last shower in the corner of the room. The one that has the strongest and hottest jet of all. Electric shivers slide down my spine as he pushes me with resolute steps toward the niche, my heart hammering against my ribcage in a desperate plea for salvation. Or perdition?

Releasing his grip on my aching scalp and my waist, he clutches my shoulders, turning me to face him. The intensity and strength of his obsession for me, of his claiming, of his power over me dart from every pore of his skin, hitting mine like imaginary daggers. There is not a shred of sweetness or tenderness in his touch, only a cold, murderous urge, exactly as he promised.

Exactly as I always secretly loved.

The haunting darkness in his eyes is the mirror of my own, a howling lust in a pit of insanity.

He grabs the hem of my t-shirt—his shirt—and yanks it up sharply, ripping it off and throwing it to the floor. I’m naked again. Vulnerable to his every will. Exposed to his every perversion. Stripped of my conscience and my rationality. Defenseless against his stormy black hurricane.

He seizes my jaw, driving his nefarious eyes into mine. “Kneel for me, Abigayle.”

His raw tone cuts through me like a blade, heating my already swollen clit, squeezing my core in needy submission. But although my body already bows to him, my mind surges from the cloudy haze of desire. “No.”

Our exhausting battle for dominance is nothing short of delusional. Neither of us really has sovereignty over the other, because we both have it and have it from the beginning.

A glow of irritation traverses his obsidian eyes and his jaw ripples, then his scar curls into a threatening grin as he grips my shoulders harder, making me wince in pain.

“You want me to force you, Abigayle, don’t you? You know I will take what I want, but you push my limits, taunting me to fuck you mercilessly. Deep down, you chase the fantasy of being raped again, because, in the end, you love it, don’t you, little bunny? You love being taken brutally, fucked raw and painfully. You love to feel that rush of adrenaline. There is a rush of life inside you as you consider whether to let someone take your own life or to take that of the person who inflicts this on you. But you buried that need deep inside, erasing it from your memory to protect yourself, because your conscience considered it immoral, deviant, and insane. Am I wrong?”

His words sink inside my chest as well as my brain with a chilling shock. I freeze in place, my muscles turning to stone, my mind crystallizing in front of the truth of his speech. He has so uncannily read the depth of my mind and soul. He is skilled in reading my own twisted, sick person and pleasure.

Before I can reply with a recognizable lie, he pushes down on my shoulder, buckling my legs. Caught off guard by his physical and mental dominance, I fall to my knees in front of him. The impact with the cold, hard tiles sends an icy jolt up my spine and I groan in pain. Humiliation and shame fill me, but so do pride and determination.

“And you, Deon? Don’t you desperately search for love? Don’t you secretly crave a sweet touch and the care of someone who could show you her heart and soul? Don’t you hide your need to dive into the warmth of compassionate, devotional feelings? You hide your desire behind an armor of criminal coldness, ruthless brutality, and merciless loathing. You feel you don’t deserve someone else’s love because you never received it growing up. Instead, you wrapped yourself in your own silent desperation. You crave love as much as you hate it. You need someone else’s emotions as much as you need your own. Am I wrong?”

His lips part slightly in dismay but his gaze darkens dangerously, a murderous glow coiling inside his eyes. I can feel it seep into my flesh. He wants to possess me and worship me as much as he wants to kill me.

Containing that lethal desire, he roars, “Take off my jeans, Abigayle.”

My brain refuses to bend at his command, but my body moves on its own, possessed by another dark force. My hasty fingers dance impatiently over his button and zipper, trembling with the need to feel my hand wrapped around Deon’s cock. Fucking traitor body.

I pin my eyes into his onyx ones, shooting him a dart of loathing for his demeaning authority over me. Hooking the edge of his jeans and boxers on his hips, I hesitate for a split second.

The memory of dressing Deon during one of our first sessions after he stripped naked to provoke me twirls in my eyes, reflecting itself onto his blazing gaze. His scar curls up, devilishly sexy, stealing my breath.

Maybe he has always had the power. Or maybe not? Am I not the one who has it despite kneeling in pure submission? Am I not the one who bends him to his obsession for me? Or am I losing my mind completely?

With one sharp gesture, I pull his clothes to his ankles, but as soon as his huge cock jerks out in my face, my heart jumps to my throat and my pussy almost cramps in craving.

“Open your mouth.” His tone is murderous.

I glare at him, fisting my palms to prevent my body from submitting against my will. But his harsh clutch on my shoulder intensifies and once more my mouth drops open on its own. The loathing I feel toward myself when it does is shockingly dangerous.

Leaning down slightly to reduce the distance between our faces, he pursues his lips and spits on my tongue. My eyes bulge and I shudder in thrilling shame. My cunt weeps its delight between my legs and the intensity of the act, both erotic and degrading, courses through my veins as liquid pleasure.

“Swallow.” His gravel voice scratches my skin.

My pride overloads in my chest and the temptation to spit his saliva back at his face is fierce. But his hand on my jaw squeezes my cheeks with chilling wrath.

“Don’t you even try. I said swallow, Abigayle. Show me how you take my resentment, and I will show you how to take my veneration for you after.” A warmth I’ve never seen before crosses his black eyes and, desperate to feel it on my skin, I do the exact opposite of what he could expect.

Rolling my eyes back in ecstasy, I swallow loudly, moaning my pleasure.

“What a good little slut you are. My filthy little girl. You like to be humiliated, don’t you?” His voice deepens dangerously as he brushes his thumb over my lower lip. His gaze follows his gesture with devouring need, but then it shoots back at my eyes, his grip on my jaw increasing in impatience. “Don’t you, Abigayle?”

“Yes,” I moan.

That is the answer he was waiting for. Darkness takes over his face. Grinning lustfully, he fists my hair at my scalp with one hand, tightening the other over my jaw to make me open my lips again. I squeak in pain, but don’t have time to wriggle free from his grasp before his thick, hard cock sinks so deep into my mouth it touches the back of my throat.

A jolt of aching and bliss rocks through me, spilling tears down my cheeks as my nails fly to his muscular thighs.

“Look at you. Look how you take my cock down your little throat. How your eyes spill with your crave to swallow my cum. How your cunt begs to be filled. I can feel it, Abigayle.”

His ruthless words only increase my depravity and sadistic pleasure at being abused, even though a small part of me still hates it. But I don’t have time to linger on an internal debate about my perversions. There is only Deon, who withdraws himself just to sink back in with a brutally violent thrust.

I gag and choke when his tip punches my windpipe. My mouth and lips painfully stretched to take all his girth inside. His eyes pin me to the ground and all I can do is take it. Take it until I have no more oxygen in my lungs, until I have no thoughts left in my mind, until I crumble into a thousand pieces under his murderous soul.

Still, I don’t want him to overpower me totally, so I grab the base of his cock. It’s so massive, and long that I can’t even close my fingers around it. I certainly won't be able to take it in my cunt completely.

Ignoring the sharp pain in my scalp, I pull back and stick out my tongue. This time, when he pops out, I swallow him down willingly, pulling in as much as I can, taking him by surprise. A deep roar echoes in his chest as a shiver courses through him, his dick throbbing on my tongue.

“Fuck, Abby.”

I savor the delight of his steely, silky power while I run my tongue along the pulsing veins up to the underside of his head. He absorbs my touch with ragged breaths as his overloading violence sizzles beneath his eyes and his flesh, ready to snap at the next thrust of his hips.

My lips close on his gland and I suck it forcefully, slowly, moaning with pleasure.

“Abigayle…” he growls, his voice cracking and his authority getting lost on the last letters of my name.

Before he can say anything else, I swallow him again, pushing him past the edge of my throat. He is so thick and long that even with my hand joined to my mouth I’m still struggling to take his entire length. I start pumping his girth while I swirl my tongue and suck forcefully in a rhythmic and erotic dance.

I’m the one who has total power over the situation now. And it makes me so euphoric my own orgasm seeps into my core, tightening my muscles in a delirious delight. I can't help but moan again, staring at him with defiance and determination.

His dazed gaze regains lucidity and the awareness that I am sucking the control out of his hands crosses his burning abysmal pools.

His beast snaps. “Is this what you want, Abigayle? You want my cock so bad you’re ready to choke on your own pride? Then take it, baby.”

Before my brain can register his words, his hand opens, releasing my hair and pressing on the back of my head, pushing me onto his dick in a sharp blow while the other grips my neck tightly. His huge erection slams violently past my throat again, suffocating me, my nose almost pressed against his groin, and I struggle under his iron hold. My hands reflexively clutch his shaft, both in an attempt to hurt him and to free me in desperate need for air, but it doesn't move him an inch.

On the contrary, he tilts his head back, roaring as he keeps me glued to him. As he looks down again, his eyes meeting mine, he taunts me, “You really like being strangled, Abigayle, huh? Defying death every time. And you know my murderous hands are capable of taking your life, just as they did to those other pieces of human scum, yet you continue to challenge me.”

Shocked by his confession, my eyes go as round as saucers as he fucks my mouth with cold brutality. Adrenaline pricks my skin and pure liquid heat spikes my bloodstream in an obscene bliss at finally hearing he is that cold-blooded, evil killer.

His fingers tighten around my locks and, loosening his grip on my throat, he pulls my head back, jerking out of my mouth. I rush to take a sharp breath of air, swallowing down chunks of oxygen as I pant and cough.

“So, Abigayle, what does it make you feel to finally hear the truth? To know I am the perpetrator of those crimes? What do you feel knowing that I took those lives? That my fingers are stained with the blood of those sons of bitches?” he hisses.

I don't know what my face looks like right now, but I feel like I have the expression of someone who just won the lottery. Shocked, disintegrated by terror and joy. By disgust and bliss. By hate and love.

“It gives me pleasure.” That unknown voice in my mind speaks.

“I knew you were like me, Abigayle. Take my cock baby, drink my madness and my sins. Lose your mind. Lose yourself in me.”

The force of his words hits me harder than his cock sinking down my throat again as he stands upright. He thrusts and withdraws with such ferociousness I tremble for my own life.

My brain short-circuits and my nervous system goes into overdrive, sending shocks of pleasure all over my body. He crushes my throat, shattering my breath, and my mind wavers. That darkness tries to swallow me, drag me down into that void.

Deon grins diabolically. “Look at you, drooling all over my dick. Are you going to swallow my cum like the crazy little slut you are?”

I bob my head up and down frantically, answering his question and following the mad rhythms of his thrusts. I feel like nothing more than a fuck-hole to him right now, but his insane devotion lingers in the air. I can feel it. I can glimpse it in his endless pits of eyes.

He will fucking kill me, I think when he drives it so hard and deep that I almost feel a crack in my muscles. The pleasure, the pain, the brutality of the situation and my love for his violence, collide and merge in my chest, pulling and compressing, shattering and destroying everything within me.

The orgasm sucks me to the top of the mountain and pushes me over the edge, letting me free-fall into the precipice. My pussy throbs as I ride my hips in frustration, shivers of fire and ice running across my skin like electric discharges.

“You will show me my cum in your mouth, my poisonous venom coating your tongue and you will shallow it in front of me, as my little insane slut. Is that clear?” Deon roars, his eyes glowing diabolically as his dick swells even more in my mouth, then he tilts his head and moans, flooding my throat with his cum.

Choked by him, shocked by his words, I can’t avoid executing what he just asked me to do. Because, yes, I’m a crazy little slut. But only for him.

I gag again, trembling, but with the little strength and breath I have left, I try to suck and lick everything he gives me, drawing out the last drop of perversion he has for me, avoiding swallowing it down.

Before I pass out, he jerks out of my mouth and I hurry to keep it in my mouth, squeezing my lips together, even though the need to gulp down as much air as I can, is pushing me to unconsciousness. I gasp at the sight of the lustful love glowing in his eyes and his dark imposing aura.

He stares at me with such intensity it would make the entire hospital crumble under its dominance and power. Pushed only by instinct, my reason destroyed into tiny pieces, I open my cum filled mouth showing him my coated tongue with his savory madness, now slightly dripping down onto my lower lip and chin.

Pride and fierceness swell in my chest in watching his lustfully surprised expression.

“Swallow, little bunny and tell how I taste like,” his voice dropped three tones, to a cavernous command darts straight to my soaking pussy.

Staring at his endless black pits, moaning in pure pleasure, I close my mouth swallowing down his warm essence, slowly licking my lower lip.

“You taste like every sweet forbidden desire I’ve ever had. Every savory temptation I always had in living on the edge of darkness. Tiptoeing onto the sharp blade of life. You taste like death and life. You taste like absolute perfection.” My voice so deep and sultry I can barely recognize it.

Deon’s parted lips and a sparkle of amazement painted on his face, are gasoline to the power and the absolute physical and mental pleasure I feel in this moment.

But that sudden surprised devotion blurs replaced by his harsh attitude. Gripping my jaw with his large hand, running his thumb over my chin, collecting his dripping cum. I open my mouth without protesting.

“Suck,” he orders, looking down at me with such dominant veneration that I tremble in pure ecstasy.

I grab his knuckle between my teeth and swirl my tongue over it. I clean it thoroughly, then let it out with a noisy pop.

With a murderous, yet proud grin, he praises me. “Well done, little bunny. Now comes the best part.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Abigayle

You Are Killing Me

Deon grabs my hair at the scalp again and pulls upward, causing me to squeak. My jelly-like legs buckle under Deon's terrifyingly gorgeous face and dark dangerous gaze. When I am standing, he seizes my neck in a chokehold again, kicks his trousers off his ankles and pushes me backward until I hit the freezing wall with my back.

My last residues of air evaporate in a gasp of pain, and my whole body shudders. Yet I don't stop being sucked into that lustful void of Deon's eyes. They make me fall into a bottomless pit of insanity. A pit of love. A pit I possess as well.

“What are your last words before I make you mine forever, Abigayle?”

The intensity of his tone is a promise for perdition. A deep, psychotic, everlasting downfall.

Releasing his grip on my windpipe, he plants his hand on the wall next to my head, leaning down to breathe my need for him.

“Destroy me.” That unknown, frightening voice in my head speaks out loud.

A murderous lust sparkles in Deon’s eyes at my words and his scar curls up. “Oh, I will, little bunny. I will destroy you and bring back to life all your hidden self.”

With a quick movement, he grabs the back of my thighs, lifting me up to hook my legs around his sculpted waist. Suspended above his cock, I reflexively grab for him to keep from falling.

His tip rubs against my dripping slit in a threat and, although I've wanted to take him for so long, I’m not ready for this. I am going to be torn apart by his dick. My heart rumbles desperately in my ears and all my muscles tense as I gasp, “No! No, wait!”

“Too late, Abigayle,” he gurgles in evil laughter. Then he thrusts inside me.

“Oh ffuuuuck!” I shout in absolute and utter pleasure and pain.

My pussy stretches so much and so violently I sob, choking for air. It takes me a few seconds to register the shock wave that sets every nerve on fire. He fills me so much that he reaches my throat, suffocating me again.

It’s fucking too much.

“You’re killing me,” I gasp, tilting my head and pinching my eyes shut, overwhelmed by him. I cling to him as if he were my lifeline, not just the black abyss swallowing me up and dragging me into the infinite hell of his person.

“And you’re killing me, Abigayle.”

I gasp, arching, feeling tears of pure ecstasy and pain flood my eyes and my pussy clenches so tightly around him that I'm writhing in spasms. He withdraws to the tip and, with a second vigorous stroke, he slams inside again, all the way in, almost tearing me apart.

My control, my mind, my person. I won’t be the same anymore. I won’t be the same after Deon. It took everything from me. My conscience, my morality, my sanity.

With a shattered voice, I ask, “What did we do on Halloween night, Deon?”

My mind suddenly flashes with bits and pieces of images. Moans, blood, a horrified face, an evil laugh in my ears.

I scratch his shoulders, drawing red marks on his skin, as I fall into his terrifying black eyes. A shadow of murderous reminiscence mirrored in his gaze.

“What do you think we did, little bunny?” He pulls out again, then thrusts back in, hitting my G-spot with delicious mercilessness.

I pinch my eyes shut, shaking my head as confusion makes my brain hazy. “I don’t know! I don’t remember,” I moan, tilting my head back for the absolute pleasure he’s inflicting on me as an orgasm grows in my core.

“Yes, you do remember Abigayle. You don’t want to remember. That’s the difference.”

His deep voice, a shadow crawling on my skin, sinks inside my flesh, turning me into a puddle of conflicting thoughts and emotions. His fingers squeeze my thighs so harshly I wince in pain and I know my body will be marked with bruises tomorrow, just as I know that my soul and heart are now forever marked by him and his black footprints will never fade away.

“Was it even real?! Were you really there? Are you really here now?” I don’t understand anything anymore. I don’t even know if all the things I’m experiencing are truly real. The insane bliss he’s torturing me with is too overwhelming and disconcerting to be real.

“That’s for you to say, little bunny. Am I real enough for you?” His roaring threat is concretized when he grabs both my knees, lifting them further around his hips, and I automatically slide further onto his dick.

“Oh fuck! Yes! You are, you are!” I scream, my eyes bulging as I choke at the shock wave he sends through me.

“Yes, I am, Abigayle. I’m as fucking real as you are fucking mine!” he growls with such intensity that my heart slams against my chest ready to pop out.

He braces himself against the wall behind my head, the darkness of his eyes swallowing me. My stomach clenches as his strokes grow deeper and faster, the pleasure waves so destructive they burn my nerves. My legs convulse around him as he hits that spot over and over until I’m a desperate tangle of screams and pants.

It’s not normal how much he’s filling me.

“Oh god! Oh god!” I shout, shaking my head for the unbearable delight.

“That's right, baby. I’m your god. I’m the judge of your mind. I’m the fucking killer of your heart.” His tone is a knife that cuts right through me, plunging into my core, stabbing me with his obsession for me, slaughtering me with his ruthless need for me.

And I can only die under his hungry gaze.

My obscene verses follow one another in a frightening sing-song. That dark, disturbing melody is made even more wonderful by Deon's deep, ragged breaths mixed with the thundering smacks of our flesh and the lewd slurps of my pussy dripping on his cock.

My body shakes so hard I really risk having a seizer and his thrusts are so powerful they make every wall in the room vibrate. My cunt squeezes around him in a begging devotion and an overwhelming burning wave strikes everything in me. It washes away every thought in my mind, every demon in my soul, every wall I had built between me and my dark side. They shudder and crumble, and I finally open my eyes.

I finally see it. Deon sees it too, and he grins, victorious.

My eyes roll to the back of my head and my cries for bliss grow stronger. But before he can delight me, killing me again with an absolute pleasure, he jerks out completely, breaking my breath, freezing my orgasm.

“Fuck no!” I shout out in frustration at the void he left behind. That darkness that was resurfacing and breaking free is suddenly sucked back into the recesses of my mind. I glare at him with all the hatred I possess.

“Yes, baby. You have to earn it.”

“What do you want me to do?! Beg you? Insult you? Tell you that I hate you?!” I growl as my body shudders for the disturbing emotions sweeping through me.

“No, Abigayle. I want to hear you say you love me.”

The blackness of his eyes sucks me down into a shocking realization, and his words hit me with such violence and such force that my heart trembles.

“I… I don't…” I stammer in a feeble whisper.

Surrounding my waist with one arm while keeping one of my legs hooked around him, he lets me place the other onto the floor, so my pussy is spread for him. With the flick of his wrist behind my back, the hot water suddenly hits us full on. Warm droplets run down our faces, streaking our features and outlining our expressions. His is the reflection of cold lust, but beneath the surface I can see the adoring sparkle.

“What, Abigayle? Do you want to deny that you are falling in love with me?”

Before I can formulate another thought, he shoves inside me again with a brutal stroke. I cry for mercy, digging my nails into his shoulders as my head snaps back. I almost feel my body breaking beneath him. My mind is breaking beneath his power. He is reading into my soul and heart more than he should. I know it's wrong that I'm starting to love him. As I know it’s wrong that I’m not.

“And you? What do you want to tell me? Don't you perhaps want to admit that you too are giving in to the strength of this feeling? I couldn't believe your lie if you denied it, because I feel it, Deon,” I say, snapping my head up, my tone frighteningly deep.

He grits his teeth, curling his lips, and his nostrils flare, a gleam of anger crossing his gaze. He doesn’t want to admit it. He’s still too scared of his own compassionate feelings to declare them out loud. Or perhaps he doesn’t really have any, only made me believe he did. Perhaps he only wants to listen to my confession to have absolute and total control over me. To own me forever.

“Look me in the eyes, Abigayle, and say it.”

His gravel voice scratching my chest, his thrusts become criminal. He grabs my ass, pushing me further and further onto his cock. Not rolling my eyes in the back of my head at the delight and brutality of his blows, I manage to find a modicum of logic in the disjointed heap in my brain. “You have to say it too,” I gasp, shaking my head.

He doesn't like my answer because he drives his dick so deep into my pussy that pain wreaks havoc in my insides and makes me curse. Then he remains sunk inside me, leaving us both suspended on the edge of the precipice.

“No,” he growls.

“We're not ready yet, Deon. Neither you nor me,” I meow, sweetly caressing his shaved cheek.

His gaze turns blank and, with a chilling coldness, he pulls out of me once more, denying both of us an orgasm.

“Fuck, Deon! Stop, please! I can’t take it anymore!” I sob at the emptiness he left in me. I can’t play this mental game or accept this wicked torture. Lowering my gaze, I admit, “You won.”

Humiliation and pain fill my chest. The only desire I have right now is to put distance between us. But he lifts my chin with two fingers, staring at me intently. “No, little bunny, we won.”

Love and compassion sparkle inside his eyes as stars in the firmament. And for the first time since I have known him, he reveals his human feelings to me.

Before I can register that sight in my brain, however, they disappear, replaced by a dangerous hunger. Grabbing my hair at the scalp with one hand and my hip with the other, he turns me around, pressing my face against the hard wall of the shower and bending me at ninety degrees.

The horrible memory of that violence I experienced resurfaces like a cold stab from the abyss of my being. My spine jerks straight and all my muscles tense at the choking shadow of my trauma. I gasp in search for air as my blood pumps in my ears. Incomprehensible, desperate pleas I can’t hear fall trembling from my lips.

I can’t do it but I want to. I hate it but I love it. I am here but I’m not here anymore.

Just before my brain blacks out, swallowing me down inside my own reassuring void, Deon speaks. “Don’t go there, Abigayle. I can feel you drifting off. You’re a killer, little bunny. A killer against your own demon. Destroy it while I destroy you with your pleasure.”

His low timbre reverberates through my core, preventing my fall into misery. Incontrollable tears of panic and frenzy spill, and before I can tell him to stop pushing me to the limits of my being, like a devil torturing my soul, mercilessly destroying everything in his path, he pulls my head back and sinks his fiery fingers into my hip.

“I’m saving you, little bunny, and you’re saving me. Do you see it, baby? I’m elevating you to a new ultimate dimension. A dimension where you can finally open your eyes to your true self and accept it entirely.”

His raw power strikes me as firmly as his cock. But this time, he devours my dripping cunt inch by inch with an intense sweetness.

Even though my muscles are still tensed and my pussy throbs in rejection and acceptance, I can't help but moan, engulfed by my twisted fantasy in reliving my most horrendous memory.

When his crown reaches all the way in, a blood-curdling scream twirls in the air for the utter bliss and the grim agony.

Deon leans down on me, touching his chest against my back, gaining more inches inside me, until I no longer know where he begins and I end. I stay still, trembling, tears flooding down, my heart aching at the horrible delight of his touch.

His lips brush my left cheek in a sweet caress, and his silky tongue collects my tears, licking them away, savoring my pain and my trauma. “Your twisted mind is my property. Your gorgeous little body is mine to fuck and hurt. Your heart belongs to me. I want you to remember only this. I want you to forget everything else. Forget what you have experienced, kill that demon and replace it with a new one. Mine. Because know, baby, that I will make you suffer and rejoice forever. I will haunt you even after our death, in an infinite nightmare and in eternal bliss.”

His words snake through my body, engraving themselves on my skin, flooding in my blood, claiming my whole being.

I’m shocked by this man. I’m shocked by how much he can read me, despite all my efforts to hide it. I’m shocked by how much I fucking love him.

Slowly withdrawing almost to the tip, he thrusts inside me again, filling me so deeply I’m sure he’s tearing me apart. My breath hitches and twinkling stars dance before my eyes, while burning and icy chills pierce my skin like needles.

That hurricane of orgasm swirling impressively in the pit of my stomach has grown into a black hole, sucking my entire being into it.

He growls, thrusting inside me like a madman, feasting on my screams and moans as my orgasm detonates, darkening my vision, engulfing my entire body. My pussy clenches, pulsing rhythmically around his cock, until I lock him inside me, and everything explodes around and inside me. The ground beneath my feet trembles as I spasm and fall again and again into an infinite abyss.

I chant Deon’s name in a convulsive prayer as I feel myself floating and spinning in the eternal nothingness, in a paradise of total peace and bliss.

His hips tremble as he slams one last time, filling me thoroughly with his cum until it drips out, leaking down my thighs.

The impact with reality is so violent it makes me convulse. But my trauma is only a distant shadow that slides down with the water into the drain.

My legs buckle and Deon catches me before I hit the floor, pulling me against his steel chest. As we lose our balance together, he drops to his knees, holding me against him while remaining inside me. Our breathless panting echoes in the room, a sublime symphony.

Abandoning myself to the permanent damage that orgasm caused—which Deon caused—I speak. “I'm yours, Deon.” Gasp. “But you are mine.” Gasp.

“Yes, Abigayle, we belong to each other now,” he murmurs in my ear.

Chapter Thirty

The Copycat

Voices in my Head

I was nearly discovered. Nearly caught in my weakness, but I prevented it, regaining control of the situation at the last minute. I couldn’t let him corner me and annihilate me.

Because that’s what he wants to do. That’s his ultimate desire. He imposes his power over others with that charming coldness that only monsters possess, but I managed to escape again.

Next time, though, I fear I won’t be able to disappear and I will be forced to kill him. Erase him from the earth. And my mind.

“P-please l-let me g-go. D-don’t kill me…” The desperate, stuttered plea of the naked fucker in front of me sucks me back to reality.

I glance at his blood-covered body and my sadistic pleasure resurfaces with such force I shiver. A wicked grin curls my lips as I brush my gloved-covered finger over the blunt edge of the blade, collecting the crimson liquid dripping there.

But that voice in my head comes back, haunting me. I hear it often but I always manage to silence it, dragging it down to the recesses of my soul, but lately it has become insistent, petulant, fucking annoying. I crack my neck, pinching my eyes to dispel it once more, but it grows stronger, screaming in my ears.

“Shut the fuck up!” I shout, rage sizzling dangerously beneath my skin.

The asshole tied up on the chair winces at my furious tone, his trembling growing convulsive. “S-sorry,” he cries, sweat and tears dripping down his face.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. I can’t. I don’t want to.

“Yes, you do,” I hiss beneath my gritted teeth, commanding at that plea.

My victim’s brows crease slightly in confusion and his expression makes me snap. I fucking can’t lose control. “What are your last words before I cut your tongue out?” I say, pointing the tip of the knife to his mouth, nipping his lower lip.

He pinches his eyes shut, squeaking like an animal, his body shaking even more.

He will kill you. He will devour you. He will destroy you. He’s stronger. He’s the true monster.

A fiery shiver slides down my spine as the words jar inside my ears in a chanting succession.

“He’s not! I am the monster. He’s nothing!” I shout, my head pulsing.

My eyes twitch and my vision blur for an instant as I catch puzzlement onto the fucker’s face beneath me.

“W-wh…at?” My victim stumbles, lost in my incoherent speech.

My hatred and my darkness engulf me and the need to screw my plan and kill the asshole, unburdening all my fury onto him, is disturbingly tempting. But I refrain because it would destroy my staging, my whole symphony, my entire creation.

I hate you. He hates you. He’ll win against you. He will send you to jail and lock you there forever.

I burst out laughing at the words swirling inside my head, amusement and irritation clashing inside my chest. My hate and love for my own inner demons simmer in my veins.

The dickhead in front of me winces once more, completely lost by my reactions.

Insanity lingers in the air, reducing it to a suffocating cloud of haziness. And it creeps inside my mind, turning to incoherent thoughts in my brain.

You can’t hide from me. I’m coming. I don’t need to ask for permission. I’ve found you. It looks like I’ve won. Pay the consequence now.

His voice tunes in my ears, making my heart beat faster, making my stomach clench in fear and bliss, summoning my blinding hatred and love.

“I’m not fucking playing with you! You’re not real. You’re just inside my mind. You all are!” I squeeze my temples with both hands, the blade of the knife grazing my scalp, as I try to stop the voice from growing louder as it cruelly laughs its victory.

I’m drifting. I’m losing. I’m staggering dangerously over the precipice of that black void.

“You’re inside my game. I caught you. You’re mine now.” The fucker’s voice, so cold and raw, brushes my ear, stabbing me in shock.

My eyes snap open and see my own black insanity and a ruthless grin.

As soon as I register the expression and the face in front of me, that horror, that rage, that hatred and pleasure all merge and collide inside my chest, detonating in a destructive savagery.

“I’m not fucking yours! I’m not! I’m not! I’m not!” I chant as my hand holding the knife flings up and I stab him. I stab that shadow, again and again and again.

Blood spurts on my face as that ruthless laugh echoes in my mind, his breath brushing against my neck, his touch seizing my throat, blurring my vision as I unload all my fury on the asshole’s chest.

The body beneath me goes limp, his glassy eyes lost for eternity, but that doesn’t stop me. I swing the knife up and down, up and down, up and down until my arm cramps for the effort and the burning wave of hatred retreats, leaving behind a crimson flood and the scattered pieces of my mind.

Heaving for the strain and the shocking realization that I’m losing the game, I let the knife fall to the ground with a metallic clatter as I focus on the slaughtered remnants of a body beneath me. My masterpiece is ruined. I’m cracking. My mind is turning against me. I’m fucking losing and I can’t.

My haunting emotionlessness possesses me again as I straighten up, looking contemptuously at my victim.

“What a fucking loss. You were meant to be the perfect piece before my last ones. But don’t worry. I can find a way to fix that,” I say, caressing what remains of his cheek as I stare at my victim’s glassy gaze. Leaning close to him, I whisper into the hole left after I severed his ear, “You know who will be next? Deon Knight and Abigayle Roland. But you can’t tell anyone until everything has fallen into place. It’s our little secret, okay, asshole?”

Gurgling with laughter, I stroke his bald head, smearing blood on his forehead.

Chapter Thirty-One

Abigayle

Too Late to Love You

I postponed my next session with Deon. I know it's going to piss him off, but I can’t handle the overwhelming emotions he causes in me. Nor can I have his cock inside me again. Not immediately, at least.

I’m still so sore and swollen I can barely move my feet without feeling his shadow between my legs. The asshole, after having destroyed me with a devastating orgasm, put me on all fours on the floor and fucked me again, making me come a second time with such violence that I almost had a heart attack. Then, still not satisfied, he rolled me over to lick me and finger fuck me, making me cry and squirt in pleasure so much my throat aches. And to finish he throw me inside the pool, joining me seconds after, fucking me from behind, against the pool edge pushing my head underwater every time I was close to orgasm, repeating the process at least five times until I begged him to stop and I exploded in a blasting, crazy bliss.

Now, standing in my bathroom after a day at work, everything I experienced with him only two days ago feels so unreal I’m wondering if it was just a delusional dream.

Yet, staring at my reflection in the mirror and tracing the imprints of his hands on my neck, on my hips, and on my thighs, I know everything was real. And it terrifies me.

Because he noticed I’m starting to fall in love with him and was manipulative enough to throw it in my face before I even realized it myself. It terrifies me because I don’t know if he feels the same. If he feels our toxic, twisted, insane relationship growing stronger and deeper. Yet I can sense his possessiveness, his need and desire for me, his obsession for me heightening.

His confession about his crimes still makes me tremble. I have proof he is the murderer. What does that mean for his psychological evaluation? For his sentence at court? What will I do? His life and future are in my hands.

They always have been and he always knew it, which is why he tried to control me. He knew from the beginning he would never have any, so he tried in every way to impose himself on me, in a last desperate attempt to free himself and find his life again.

The jingle of my phone brings me back to reality, and I blink, looking away from my dilated pupils in the mirror, focusing my attention on the screen placed next to the sink.

A missed call from my mom, one from Ethan, and a text from Jenna.

Fuck. Ethan.

My heart skips a beat, thinking about him and how easily I forget his existence. Yet even though I feel ashamed about it on the one hand, I can't help but admit that, deep down, I don't feel as guilty as I should.

I have to break up with him. I should have been honest with him from the beginning. With myself too. But what will I tell him?

You know, Ethan, I lied to you from the beginning. I agreed to become your girlfriend just to please you, when in reality I wasn't really interested. And I’m falling in love with a murderous, sadistic, twisted, absolutely gorgeous, fucking god-like psychopath.

Uhm, maybe not.

Trying to cast away my shame, I send him a quick text, reassuring him I haven’t forgotten about our dinner.

Abigayle

Hi Ethan,

How are you? Ready for tonight?

See you at eight.

Abby

Then I open Jenna's message.

Jenna

Hey little slut,

Why are you always disappearing lately?

Are you with Ethan or what?

I don't want you to forget about me.

Stop being radio silent.

Answer me.

Xoxo,

Jen

Abigayle

Hi bitch,

I was held up at work by a patient last night.

*Not Deon*

I'm at Ethan's tonight.

Tomorrow, wine and a movie at my place, 9 p.m.

Bring the tequila.

Xoxo.

Abby

When I reread the message I sent, a shiver grips my spine. I don't know why I asked her to bring the tequila. It's our coded message that there's something awesome to celebrate. And what would that be?

Deon’s confession about his murders or that I'm falling in love with him? I can't reveal any of that to Jenna. So, what do I invent?

Jenna's answer comes immediately.

Jenna

It must be super news if you're asking for the tequila, girl!

Can’t wait.

Get ready, beautiful, because we're going to end up drunk.

Enjoy yourself with Ethan 😜

Jen

Even though I’m stuck, I can't help but smile at her words, knowing the crazy evening awaiting us. Then I sigh. Hiding the truth when we're drunk and distraught on the sofa will be an impossible task.

Gritting my teeth, I quickly text my mom, promising her I’ll call her on my lunch break tomorrow. Then I jump in the shower to get ready for my evening with Ethan.

“You look stunning, princess.” Ethan welcomes me with a toothy smile.

He is dressed in a light blue shirt, a pair of dark blue trousers, and deerskin moccasins of the same color. The pungent smell of his cologne slaps me across the face.

Without giving me time to say anything, he leans down, crashing his lips onto mine in an impatient kiss. I stiffen like a broomstick under his touch, clutching the bottle of red wine I brought to help keep the memories of the wild night with Deon from invading my mind.

When Ethan pulls away, I try to crack a tight smile back but I avert my eyes from his, feeling like absolute shit. “Hi, Ethan,” I barely murmur, clearing my throat in embarrassment.

“Please, come in,” he says cordially, inviting me with a wave of his hand.

Walking past him, I hesitantly enter the house. The click of my heels on the wooden floor accompanies me, as does Ethan’s languid gaze devouring my body, which I squeezed into a tight red dress. My hair is pulled into a messy bun to cover the bruises and hickeys Deon left around my neck and shoulders. Even covered with layers of makeup, I can feel them throbbing under my skin as if to remind me that I belong to him.

Ethan's apartment is modern and minimalist, playing on gray, black, and white. I find myself in the living room where large windows offer a breathtaking view of the Seattle skyline.

A delicious scent of meat and spices hovers in the air, and the dining table is set with lit candles and red roses. The warm and romantic atmosphere is completed by quiet jazz music playing in the background. All together, it makes me feel even more guilty for the speech I have prepared.

Ethan's presence behind me is the shadow of shame breathing down my neck, but my eyes flutter as I remember Deon's lips grazing my neck and his cock pressed against my ass. When my bloodstream spikes at the memory, I hurry to turn to Ethan with a nervous smile.

Stepping back, I fill the silence by handing him the bottle of wine, saying, “I brought this for you.”

“Thank you, princess. You didn't have to. We’ll have it tonight.” He takes the bottle and places it on the table next to us, then stretches out his hand. “Can I take your coat and bag?”

His manners have always struck me, but they seem overboard at times. Still, I'm sure Ethan will make a woman very happy someday. But that woman isn't me.

My heart and soul belong to someone else. Someone who doesn't have the manners of a gentleman at all. Yet it is with him that I feel my body and my whole being vibrate. It is with him that I feel everything has finally found its balance. In a twisted and wonderfully disturbing way.

I hand my coat and purse to Ethan, who disappears down the hallway. When he has his back to me, I take a deep breath. My heart is racing and my hands are sweaty. He's not the first man I've dumped. It isn’t anything I enjoy, of course, but I know how to handle these things. Yet I can’t avoid feeling anxious about it.

Ethan returns to find me looking around, trying to think of anything other than Deon and his fingers, his mouth, and his cock, on me and inside me.

“Come on, Abigayle. Sit down. I'll bring the appetizers. It won't be a five-course meal, but three isn’t bad.” He smiles ironically and I almost choke on my own saliva.

“I'm not done with you, little bunny. This was just the appetizer. Get ready for the five-course meal. When you leave here tomorrow morning, you won't even be able to walk...” Deon’s voice echoes in my mind like a haunting melody and I can't help but think of him again. I can’t deny I'm obsessed with him.

“Thanks, Ethan. So, how's work going? How was your day?" Sitting at the table, I hasten to fill the silence with a banal question.

Ethan takes the bottle of wine to the black marble kitchen area and uncorks it expertly. “Intense. We're in a bit of a difficult time right now. I have many complicated cases, which mainly concern a man accused of murder and another concerning a sexual violence perpetrated on a young woman and a child.” He sighs.

This time I actually choke on my own saliva and end up coughing. Holy shit, is karma fucking with me right now or what?

“Hey, are you okay, baby?” Ethan asks with a frown as he comes back to the table.

Continuing to cough, I nod and pour myself a glass of water, downing it quickly to swallow the lump of shame stuck in my throat. “Yes, sorry. I'm just dealing with a very similar case,” I say, nervously flickering my fingers together under the tablecloth.

Ethan serves us both the wine, then heads toward the kitchen again. “What’s about? Maybe you can help me with my cases too.” The grin he casts me is mischievous.

Fuck. I stiffen in the chair, and my mind starts buzzing in millions of thoughts.

“Uhm, actually, just like with lawyers, we have client privilege. I can’t reveal any patient details.” My tone is nonchalant, but inside I am shaking.

“Oh, come on, Abby. If you tell me something about your case, I'll tell you something about mine. Nothing too personal, surely there’s something interesting. That wouldn’t betray your clients’ privacy.” He curls his lips in a pleading expression and his insistence annoys me.

Returning from the kitchen, he sets two plates featuring marinated meat tartare on a bed of salad and yuzu sauce in front of us, then grabs his glass of wine and raises it. I imitate him, rolling nervously my lip between my teeth.

He gives me a sweet smile. “Here's to us, Abby.”

My heart skips a beat and goosebumps of embarrassment run across my skin. “Uhm, yes, to the two of us,” I repeat, unconvinced.

Although he savors the wine, sipping it delicately, I end up gulping the crimson liquid, squinting when the alcohol pinches my throat.

Disconcerted, Ethan murmurs, “Oh, okay…”

Not caring what impression I’m making, I grab the bottle of wine and pour myself another generous glass, taking a few large sips.

“I see you're thirsty, Abby,” he insinuates, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes, a little,” I admit with a tight smile.

Taking a large bite of the meat, Ethan interrupts his chewing to return to the subject of work. “So, what’s your case about?”

I search my mind for the least compromising information I have about Deon as I take a few more sips of wine.

“His traumatic past affected him greatly. What he went through shaped him as a cold, heartless man, who only shows his emotions through hurting others. He’s not capable of expressing himself in any other way. He uses his charisma and manipulation to hide his insecurities and self-hatred. He refuses to accept someone showing him affection or love, because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it, when in reality, it is what he seeks the most. To be loved and understood.” By the end, the words pour out of my mouth with such intensity and feeling that the air around us vibrates.

Ethan is frozen, staring at me with a distraught expression, and I hasten to add, “In short, it's a case like any other. I see dozens like this.”

“But I see this one particularly affects you, Abby,” he whispers, his face darkening.

I shake my head. “All my cases affect me, Ethan. Anyway, tell me what you’re up to.”

Throughout the evening, I try to get him to talk as much as I can, asking him about his past, his childhood, anecdotes from high school or college, occasionally recounting some of the parties that turned into crazy drunken nights that Jenna and I experienced.

Ethan is a simple man from a wealthy family with a privileged childhood. The opposite of what Deon is and experienced.

When we finish our dessert, I try to make my speech.

“I would like to talk to you about something, Ethan…” I start, but he interrupts me.

“Come on, Abby. Let's go to the sofa.”

Taking my hand, he drags me toward the living room side of the open-concept room. I trip over my feet when he sits down, impatiently pulling me with him.

“Uhm, Ethan, I really want to…” I start again, trying to put distance between us, but he pounces on my neck, biting and licking it sloppily.

I stiffen, my skin prickling in discomfort. Gently placing my hands on his chest, I try to push him away. “Ethan, please.”

But Ethan mistakes my plea for a very different one. “Oh princess, you don't know how much I’ve missed you. I can't wait to fuck you,” he murmurs into my neck, leaving a trail of saliva with his tongue.

Disgusted, I curl my lips in irritation. “Ethan, stop. I have to talk to you.”

As if I hadn't spoken a word, he grabs my face with both hands and pounces on my mouth, seeking me out in a passionate kiss.

Struggling, I shake my head as I try to escape his revolting assault and fury blinds me. “Fuck, Ethan! Can you fucking listen to me, please?!” I shout, pushing him away and getting up from the sofa.

Confusion and irritation cross his face. “What's going on, princess? Why are you reacting like this?”

“I have to talk to you about something important,” I repeat firmly. Taking a deep breath, I start. “Ethan, you are a truly formidable man. You are polite, kind, and intelligent. I'm flattered to be your girlfriend, but this can't continue. I want to be honest with you, and I can’t stay with you and cause you pain later.” I pause as his eyes darken even more.

“I wasn't honest with myself when we got together. Because when I accepted your proposal to become your girlfriend, I wasn't quite ready. I'm still not ready to invest in a serious relationship right now. I have a lot of work. Work that takes up my mind and body almost twenty-four hours a day. I can't focus on anything but that, and I don't want to continue with you, knowing I couldn't give you what you want. I wouldn't be present with my mind and heart for you. So, although it hurts me to say it, I have to end our story here.”

Ethan's face is a mask of disappointment.

“I'm sure you'll find the right woman for you. A woman who will appreciate the wonderful person you are and give you in equal measure all the attention and love you deserve. Unfortunately, I'm not that woman. Please forgive me for hurting and deluding you. Believe me, that wasn't my intention. Never was.” I end on a compassionate note, trying to keep him from completely hating me, then wait what seems a long time for his reaction.

Ethan’s body is tense and his eyes glow with resentment. Then he sighs heavily. “I understood something was wrong. I felt you were distant, but I didn't want to investigate too deeply, thinking it was just a moment of intensity at work. But I was wrong. I don't hate you, Abby, but I can't say I'm not disappointed. I think you understand this and I think you will be smart enough to just leave.”

His cold words hit me in the chest like a punch, knocking out my breath. Fuck, is he kicking me out of his house? Not that I can blame him.

“Sure, I understand,” I murmur, nodding.

Standing, he disappears down the corridor to collect my coat and my handbag, which he hands me with a drawn and cold expression on his face. Neither of us say anything as I put on the coat and walk toward the door.

When I grab the handle, though, I turn back to look at him one last time.

“It would have been a great story, Abby,” he murmurs regretfully.

“I know, Ethan. I'm sorry,” I cast him a compassionate look and cross the threshold, closing the door behind me.

Sorry, Ethan. It’s too late to love me. My heart belongs to Deon now.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Deon

Write Down What I Tell You

When David came yesterday morning to bring me breakfast, he announced Abigayle had postponed our session to today, a move I found irritating and disappointing. It was as if she wanted to put distance between us after what happened.

After the most intense and wonderful sex I've ever had in my entire life, she dared deny me her presence and her body. So, now that she’s about to arrive, I've imagined a million ways to make her pay for refusing me something that is rightfully mine. Something I have made mine, forever.

But it will be difficult to fuck her again. I glance at the red camera light on the ceiling and sigh heavily. That fucking camera is my nightmare.

Abigayle managed to delete the video footage from last night, but I know she won't be able to do it so easily during the day with other staff roaming the halls. And there is always the chance the hospital will hire a new security officer to watch the cameras.

Before I can think of other ways to fuck her without being recorded, I hear the lock on the door click and open.

She enters slowly, clutching a notepad to her chest so tight the paper crumples under her nervous fingers. I move leisurely to my feet, letting my handcuffed wrists fall in front of me, and stare at her so intensely that even though she avoids my gaze, I feel her heartbeat spike.

My eyes wander over her body, devouring her curves enclosed in a tight dark green dress. Even the lab coat can't veil her hard nipples. Fuck, she's already aroused. And not wearing underwear of any kind. Well done, Abigayle. You understood the rule.

“Good morning, little bunny. Did you have a good day yesterday?” I ask, my tone darkly holding my sarcasm, while I watch her sit on the chair positioned in front of me.

Her ocean eyes finally lift into mine to display a blazing lustful fire. My cock hardens, pushing pleadingly against the new jeans she bought me. I must say, Abigayle managed to guess my size perfectly. She is an astute observer.

“Quite good, and you?” Her voice cracks slightly, but her lips purse downward.

She’s lying. Something happened. Something not very pleasant.

“Not good, since I was expecting to have a session with you, as promised and arranged. I think you need to learn that when you give your word, you have to keep it, Abigayle. I will find a way to teach you, and I am sure you won’t make the same mistake a second time.”

She winces and swallows loudly, stiffening and squeezing her bare thighs together. My little bunny is already growing wet. I can smell her delicious scent swirling in the air.

Taking the pen from her lab coat pocket and placing the large notepad on her lap, she covers my view of her legs. I sit down, resting my elbows on my knees and leaning toward her until I'm inches away from her face. Her orange blossom scent stuns me, reminding me of the addicting taste of her sweet cunt, and I almost roll it around my tongue.

“You're particularly quiet today. What happened, Abigayle? Did the wolf eat your tongue?” I tease her, cocking an eyebrow.

She rolls her eyes, snorting at my words as a blush appears on her face. “No, Deon. I broke up with my boyfriend last night, but that’s none of your business.”

Jealousy creeps inside my blood. “Boyfriend?”

Her pupils dilate and she nibbles her lower lip while shivering at my black expression.

Abigayle is mine. Mine to hurt and delight. Mine to drive crazy and to help overcome trauma. Mine to play with and to give myself to. Mine to hate and love. When I get out of here, I will find this bastard and kill him.

“Everything about you concerns me, Abigayle. Every thought you have in your mind. Every breath you take. Every orgasm you have. Every shadow that devours your heart and soul. I’ll kill any man that dares look at you. I’ll slowly torture and slaughter every dickhead that touches you. Including this asshole, even if you dumped him. Because he made the mistake of taking what’s mine.”

My gravel voice snatches a whimper from Abigayle, then her expression morphs from fear to irritation. “Deon, stop this. We didn’t even know each other when I met Ethan. I’m not an object you can possess and play with as you please. I’m a person with my own feelings and mind.”

My black beast paws violently in my chest, begging to be released, and my cock throbs, demanding to fuck her so hard I would erase every single memory of every other man forever.

“You always belonged to me. It’s written in your twisted blood and soul, Abigayle. As a matter of fact, I’ll find any motherfucker you ever had a relationship with and kill them all, one by one, sending you their cock as a souvenir,” I hiss, leaning dangerously close to her face.

Her eyes widen as she shudders at my raw tone. She knows it is a promise. No other man will ever lay hands or eyes on her unless they want to taste my knife and look death in the face.

“You can’t go around killing people, Deon. You can’t kill Ethan.” She glares at me.

“If I hear you repeat the name of that asshole, I’ll torture him in front of you, slash his throat, and fuck you so hard on his body and blood you will pass out. I’ll claim you and mark you on his fucking corpse while you look at his dead eyes.” My voice holds all my deranged evilness and all my raw obsession with Abigayle.

She parts her lips in dismay, shuddering again. Her pupils dilate in fear but a wicked glow twists inside them. After a few seconds of a crackling tensed silence, she straightens her shoulders. “Anyway, we're not here to talk about me today, Deon. How do you feel after our last session?”

Her tone is professional, but the question snatches a sudden laugh from my chest. My fury and jealousy subside, replaced by amusement. “Seriously, Abigayle? Do you really want me to answer that, giving you a detailed explanation of what happened between us? May I remind you our conversation is being recorded?” I say as my laughter dies.

Her cheeks turn purple as she realizes what I mean. “No, Deon. I was referring to your mother, you moron,” she hisses between clenched teeth, barely moving her lips as if to hide the words from the camera.

“Oh, what do you want me to tell you? I've never felt better in my entire life,” I admit sincerely.

“Okay, tell me what made you reveal that difficult part of your childhood to me.”

I move closer, grazing my lips with hers, drinking the surprised gasp that rolls out of her mouth.

“I'll tell you, little bunny, but in exchange you will spread your legs for me and let me play with that sweet cunt that's been begging me since you came in here,” I order her, masking my words in a wicked grin.

She chokes on her own saliva, squinting her eyes to contain a shocked cough, yet her ocean pools sparkle lustfully. With a glance toward the camera, she stammers, “Deon… no, we can’t. We are not alone…”

“Then keep the notepad on your lap and start writing down what I tell you.”

My barely restrained growl makes her wince and the excitement of the dangerous situation creeps into my blood, tickling my skin. She sucks her bottom lip hard between her teeth, then, after a moment of hesitation, spreads her legs just enough, leaning back to bend her pelvis toward me.

“Such a good girl,” I murmur as I slide my hands between her warm thighs.

Despite the fucking handcuffs, I manage to crawl under her coat. My fingers reach her naked pussy and liquid heat courses through my veins when I brush my digits over her wet slit. Maintaining control over the impulse to grab her by the neck and fuck her brutally becomes more difficult with each passing second.

“So, you would like to know how I felt after I told you about my mother and her death. Right?” I repeat her previous question, trying to make her talk just to listen to her voice crack under the bliss. While I speak, two of my fingers sink inside her with calculated slowness. She's so wet and tight that her pussy squeezes me, shooting pure euphoria to my brain.

“Yes, right.” She moans as her eyelids flutter and she crumples the sheet of paper under her fingers, quivering.

She’s wonderful.

“Start writing, Abigayle,” I order. I want to see her tremble under my touch, to try to keep up the charade but then break beneath my power.

She nods excitedly, sucking her lip while my fingers remain motionless inside her. Trying to compose herself by gripping the pen more firmly, she brings the tip to the white paper. I dive into her ocean abysses, searching for her mind and her twisted soul.

“I felt lifted. Her memory haunted me with guilt, because I wasn’t able to protect her or myself from that monster. I was powerless. And I hate to feel powerless,” I reveal with frightening sincerity as I start to move my fingers at an unnaturally slow pace, drawing a gasp from her. I withdraw them to the tip, then sink them back in with agonizing calm.

“So, you perpetuated all those crimes because you wanted to feel powerful?” A restrained moan spills from her lips as she shudders under my touch.

“Of course, Abigayle. Why would you listen to your patients’ traumatic experiences if not to feel the same? It’s a domination game, baby. And you know that.”

“It’s different, Deon. I don’t go around killing people,” she murmurs, masking a strangled gasp as I flicker my fingers inside her.

“Is that so? Don’t you kill them by submitting them to the power of your mind, stirring them in the direction you want? Even if you do it to help them. It still gives you absolute power over them. You can save them as much as kill them with a single word. A word that will seep inside their mind and grow into either salvation or damnation,” I say, drinking her shocked look. Unable to contain my frenzy, I growl, “Write, little bunny.”

Her eyes widen but she obeys. As she begins to write the first sentence, my fingers withdraw again, then I shove them in.

The pen clicks between her fingers, and the word she was writing stretches into a scribble on the page. She barely holds back a moan and her eyelids flutter. Fuck, I love this game. Even being left with a hard dick doesn't matter. Seeing her mind and body crack beneath my touch and my power is one of the most intense pleasures I can have.

“How careless you are, Abigayle. Be careful how you hold the pen or you might not be able to read your own writing. It would be truly idiotic,” I taunt her, drawing a black look from her.

To punish her for her livid expression, I sink back into her cunt and remain buried inside her while her warm juices drip into the palm of my hand.

“What about your teenage years? Were you touched by any other traumatic experience?” Her voice trembles, but she gets the words out.

Her question seeps inside my mind, summoning other memories.

“I changed foster homes fifteen times. But I never allowed anyone to hurt me anymore. Never allowed myself to feel anything other than hatred and contempt toward any person who showed me love and care and anyone who would show me violence and rules. Even the social workers went crazy with me, grateful to release me as soon as I aged out. I was a devil, Abigayle.” I grin, increasing the rhythm of my fingers.

My gaze falls on her neck, where the frantic beats of her heart pulse clearly on her skin. Her eyes, coiled with compassion and fright, look at me intensely.

“Did you… kill… anyone during your teenage years?” she murmurs, masking the words between her lips, rolling it over her tongue in a breathless moan.

The intrigued, lustful glow in her oceans spreads along my spine as the feeling of the tight cunt squeezing me in pleasure goes straight to my hard cock. She loves to hear that I’m a cold-blooded killer. That my hands are stained with death and that my soul is damned by sin.

“Yes.” I grin sadistically, admitting the truth.

Her pupils dilate so much that the blue of her eyes irises is swallowed in a pit of darkness. As soon as my word touches her, I curl my fingers and press that sensitive spot inside her. She jumps in her seat, wringing a cavernous whimper.

“Fuck,” she curses between clenched teeth as her fingers twitch, gasping under the unbearably pleasurable assault. “How old… w-were you when you k-killed your first… victim?”

Her eyelids flutter as she squeezes the notebook between her hands, shuddering in bliss.

“I was sixteen. He was fifty-five. It was one of the foster ‘fathers’ I had. He was a pedophile and a child trafficker. I wasn’t the only one. There were three other boys and two girls, all younger than me. He abused them all, and when he tried one night with me, I slashed his throat with a knife. That was the most difficult one to cover. But I managed to convince the social workers he abandoned us, disappearing due to illegal trafficking. I found papers he had signed with some South American motherfuckers that attested he sold children he had previously fostered. They put a warrant out on him, but never found him. The asshole was buried too deep in the forest.”

Her eyes round in shock, but that darkness inside deepens frighteningly as her whimpers grow frantic.

“What did you feel when his blood dripped on you?” she moans as my rhythm increases.

“Euphoria. Hatred. Pleasure. Disgust.” My voice is coldly punching.

Abigayle tilts her head back for an instant, losing herself in a deep moan as I fuck her deeper and faster. I sense the battle in her mind. She is torn in two by reason screaming at her to contain herself and the desire to dive into her perversion.

I love seeing her try so absurdly to keep the status quo, fighting her true self with all the strength she has. It reminds me how I fight every day to avoid falling into this new feeling I’m growing for her. A feeling that is invading my heart with each passing second. A feeling that terrifies me yet enchants me to the point of madness.

“Look at you, Abigayle. My twisted little girl who loves to listen to sadistic details. You’re my delight, baby,” I whisper, inches from her lips, drinking her ragged breathing as I fuck her G-spot ruthlessly.

“I’m… I-I’m not…” She chokes for air, her muscles stiffen and her cunt pulses, clenching around my digits.

“Come for me, Abigayle. Come for your demon,” I breathe on her lips, capturing her pleasure and her barely contained moans and gasps, diving into that addicting darkness inside her eyes.

She’s absolutely divine. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. And she’s mine. Only mine.

“Oh Deon… yes!” she moans, biting her lip so hard a drop of blood spills between her teeth. And she squints, snapping the pen in two in her hand.

Her cunt clenches so hard it blocks my fingers while her juices and squirt of joy drip into my hand, obscenely wetting her dress.

She trembles beneath me, heaving. Dazed by pleasure both mental and physical. My gaze falls on the large patch of wet between her legs and my scar cracks in an amused grin. She follows my eyes, her mouth rounding in shock and panic.

I delicately remove my fingers, making her whimper, then bring them to my mouth, sucking and licking them thoroughly, greedily. Her sweet flavor coats my tongue, snatching a roar from my chest. She's fucking delicious and I’ll never have enough of her.

“See you at the next session, little bunny. I’ll teach you how to keep a promise. This time, I was generous in my touch, but next time you’ll learn the lesson. Good luck justifying the desperate cry of joy your pussy made.” I laugh as I move away.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Abigayle

Tequila

When I place the bowls containing chips and popcorn on the low table and my gaze grazes the two bottles of red wine, I can't help but think back to this morning.

That asshole Deon finger-fucked me so hard I squirted again, and while I can't deny that the orgasm he gave me was absolutely mind-fucking, his confession about his teenage years left me deeply troubled and euphoric, heightening my pleasure even more.

I didn't think I could feel such delight in hearing his perversion and evilness.

What’s wrong with me? I’m falling into a chasm of insanity. Insanity that has always lingered in my mind.

I will never finish discovering the whole him, all the million different facets of his personality, his mind, and his soul. He is an extremely complicated and absolutely fascinating man.

I had to invent a story about the wet stain on my dress. In the end, I told David and the rest of my colleagues I had accidentally spilled a cup of tea on my legs, and they seemed to buy it. I can't deny I felt almost happy to have that mark of pleasure visible to everyone.

A patient suffering from acute schizophrenia and autism spent at least five minutes of our session with his finger pointed at my dress, yelling "She pissed herself" in a monotonous chant. It made my cheeks burn and I vowed to pay Deon back the next time.

The shrill ringing of my doorbell pierces my eardrums and makes me jump in fright, bringing me back to reality. Jenna has arrived and I'm in deep shit now. Will I be able to not spill the truth about Deon?

I run to the front door dressed in my black sweatpants and tight turtleneck sweater. When I open it, I find a bottle of tequila shoved into my face and Jenna's head peeking out behind it with a mischievous grin.

“Hi, little slut! How long has it been?!” she squeals excitedly, bouncing like a little girl who's been promised ice cream.

Laughing, I pull her into the house. “Oh, little bitch, too long,” I admit as I give her a hug.

I take her coat and we walk toward the living room where the large flat screen is paused on the beginning of The Conjuring 2.

“So, Abby. Are you too busy fucking Ethan every night or what? You disappeared for days after Halloween!” She twists her lips in a childish pout as she plops onto the large grey-colored sofa.

A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of the party, which I still don’t remember clearly.

“Speaking of Ethan…” I start in a small voice as I sit down next to her.

Jenna’s expression changes at my unfinished sentence. Her eyes widen and her lips part in shock. “Abby, don't tell me you broke up!”

Feeling my best friend buzzing with questions, I nod and look away, afraid she can see the word DEON shining like a neon sign in my eyes.

“What happened, darling? Are you okay?” she asks with a worried voice, reaching for my hand.

“I dumped him, Jen.” I straighten my shoulders. “I'll tell you everything, but first I need at least a glass of wine. Do you want one?”

“Of course I do. What kind of question is that? Come on, serve me a nice one and start spilling the beans. I want to know everything,” she orders imperiously.

We drink wine while I start the movie, even though I know neither of us will watch a single scene and that it will only be a macabre background to accompany our gossip.

After downing the first glass in three large gulps, making Jenna mouth wow at seeing me so determined to get drunk quickly, I begin to talk.

“Jen, Ethan and I just didn't feel right. Yes, Ethan is a nice, kind, funny, well-mannered guy with a nice job, but that's exactly the problem. I don't want some kind of Barbie Ken next to me. I want to feel emotions, lose control, feel sucked into a dark abyss from which I will never return. Someone capable of turning my brain and soul to mush. This is what I want, and Ethan could never give it to me,” I confess with sincerity, omitting that I have already found that man and that he has already taken my heart.

I take another large gulp while Jenna looks at me with a proud expression. “Well done, Abby. You must always follow your heart and your instincts. So, if you're happier this way, darling, I'm happy for you. Was this what you wanted to celebrate with tequila?” she asks curiously, gesturing to the bottle on the coffee table.

I stare at it, nodding, and it seems to wink cruelly, promising it will be able to loosen my tongue enough to reveal everything. Or maybe it's my conscience that's threatening me?

A shiver runs down my spine and I look away, only to have a demon appearing suddenly on the TV making me jump. “Fuck!” I curse, pursing my lips.

“Wow, Abby, you're tight as a violin string, honey. Drink a glass, then pass me the chips and refill mine while I tell you about Ryan.” Her cocky smile makes me giggle.

We spend the next two hours drinking an impressive amount of wine, eating like two pigs, laughing at the spiciest sex Jenna had with Ryan in the last week, and remembering other embarrassing moments we had together at university.

When we attack the tequila, however, my blood alcohol level is already so high I can’t contain my nervous laughs anymore. I stumble up from the couch and see Jenna giggling as well. The ground under my feet oscillates violently, as if I were on a boat in the middle of a stormy ocean.

Suddenly craving chocolate, I head toward the kitchen in search of something sugary to eat. With my arms wrapped around the cabinet doors for balance, I look for the Nutella and two teaspoons.

“You know, Jen… I didn't t-tell you about… D-Deon,” I slur while holding the jar and digging in the utensil drawer to find two spoons.

I don't think Jenna heard me because she doesn't say anything. Instead, I glimpse her preparing two shots of tequila on the coffee table.

“Found you!” I shout, raising the stainless steel cutlery.

“Yay!” Jenna shouts, laughing as she raises her arm in the air.

As I walk back to the couch, I almost trip over my feet and lose my balance, staggering dangerously. I burst into such hysterical laughter that spill tears down my cheeks and I feel my bladder about to burst.

“Ah-ah… fuck, I have to piss. Do… you know t-that this morning I… ffuuucking pissed myself on my… dress?” I slur my words, while my brain, drown by alcohol, spits out dangerous information little by little.

“What the fuck are… you t-talking about, Abby?! Really?! Ah fuck, girl! Did you piss yourself?!” Jenna stutters the words and bursts into open-mouthed laughter.

I trudge to the sofa and sprawl out while I open the jar of Nutella. Throwing Jenna her spoon, I dip mine into the hazelnut cream and bring a generous amount to my mouth, moaning with pleasure.

“Hey, let me have some,” Jenna complains, snatching the jar from my hands.

I leave it to her, preferring to finish my own spoonful before stumbling to my feet and trudging to the bathroom. As I sit on the toilet, with the door open, catching a glimpse of Jenna licking her chocolate-covered spoon, I speak.

“Yes, that… asshole made me squirt all… over my dress… I'll make him pay, t-the next time… I see him.” I start the sentence loudly so Jenna can hear me, then end in an incomprehensible mumble.

As I flush the toilet, I feel my conscience tugging at me, screaming to shut my fucking mouth before I make a mess. But when I get back to Jenna, she is frozen, staring at me in shock.

“Squirt? Did you piss yourself in fear or what?” She looks almost dazed, and her puffy cheeks and her wide eyes make me burst out laughing once more.

“You look like a blowfish, Jen. Holy shit, you should see your face,” I say sincerely, pointing at her.

She lets out a theatrical sigh of relief, then pushes me with her arms, making me lose my balance and fall back on the sofa while I continue to giggle in the throes of alcohol fumes.

“Fuck, Abby. You scared me! I thought that psychopath fucked you and made you squirt in an orgasm,” she reveals in a tone that exudes all her false irritation and amusement.

Oh, how right you are, Jen. I would love to tell her everything, but the tiny fragment of clarity I have left takes possession of my mouth.

“You're a real nymphomaniac, Jen. You always think about sex,” I reproach her, grinning.

“What did he do to make you piss yourself?” she asks, continuing to laugh.

“He told me about his mother's death and then tried to strangle me.” The words slip from my mouth uncontrollably as memories of the night we spent together invade my mind, but not in the correct order.

Jenna takes a few seconds to react to my information, but then her eyes round and she opens her mouth in shock. “He did fucking what?!”

I feel bolts of anger darting from every pore of her skin and her eyes become two wildfires. My heart leaps at the sight and I can't help but suddenly feel guilty toward Deon for revealing all this personal information about him, about us.

“Oh, Jen. Take it easy. It's happened before. It’s his reaction when I touch delicate keys inside him. He has impulsive outbursts, but I always manage to keep him under control. Although, this time it scared me so much I pissed myself.”

He made me enjoy it so much that I squirted in pure bliss.

I don't know how my brain drowned in alcohol can formulate all these sentences with a minimum of logical sense, but I can, even if I’m revealing more than fucking necessary.

“Abby… are you telling me that psychopath has tried to attack you before?” Jenna looks at me in shock.

Her pupils are so dilated that her green irises disappear under the fear and anguish invading them. I shake my head, trying to find a way to get myself out of this mess I’ve created.

“Jen, other patients have attacked me before. I'm used to it. Sometimes they have dangerous reactions. They can't control themselves.” I bite my lip, avoiding her suddenly inquiring gaze.

A heavy, suffocating silence falls over the room and makes me shiver.

“You bitch, you're just as crazy as your patients. But if you know what you're doing, who am I to judge? It's your job. I'm not here to tell you how to do it. Just be careful. You're going to get hurt, Abby, and I'm scared for you.” Her sentence begins in a funny laugh but ends on a more serious and worried tone, and Jenna is staring at me intently.

My heart skips a beat at her words and I have the feeling my friend is right. I'm afraid I'll end up hurt by Deon.

“Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. Come on, bitch, let's toast,” I reply, reassuring her.

Mirroring me, Jenna takes her shot glass with a chuckle. “What do you want to toast to, little slut?”

My heart begins to drum madly in my chest and my ears ring. “To Deon,” speaks my fucking heart.

Jenna's eyebrows shoot up violently and her confused expression draws a gasp from me as my brain connects her reaction to my words.

“To Deon?” she repeats, horrified.

Okay, I'm definitely drunk, but I still have enough awareness to try to repair the damage I've just done.

“Yes, I'm managing to discover his past more and more each time, and it's a real victory for me and for his case,” I reveal the truth without going too far, even if the words pour out trembling and uncertain.

But given Jenna's impaired state, I don't think she'll notice. Or at least I hope so.

“Well done, my little slut. I knew you could make him sing like a bird,” she praises me while slamming her glass of tequila with mine, causing a few drops to fall to the floor. Then, laughing, she gulps it down and lets out an exhilarated cry.

“He made me sing like a bird,” I mutter under my breath to myself as I imitate her.

The alcohol stings my tongue and slides down like a scorching stream of lava.

“I have to piss too,” she mutters, staggering from the sofa toward the bathroom.

“You're going to sleep here, right, Jen?” I shout the question while placing my glass on the table, then collapse back with my legs spread.

I don't want Jenna to go. Even though I'm afraid to reveal more information about Deon, I don't want to be alone. I'm afraid of what I might do. Like drive back to Deon and have him fuck me all night.

“Of course I'm staying. What kind of questions are you asking me, Abby? You won't get rid of me that easily.”

Jenna’s tone is far too lucid. She seems to have suddenly recovered from her alcohol intake. Or maybe I'm hallucinating, because I see her trip over her feet and almost fall on top of me as she bursts into hysterical laughter on her way back to the living room. Her mirth infects me and I follow her, feeling my abdominals sore from the joyful cries. If it's not the alcohol that kills me tonight, the laughter will give me a heart attack.

“We should go to sleep. It’s after eleven, Jen,” I whine like a naughty child.

“Oh, you're a party pooper, Abby, but I love you anyway,” she slurs, leaving a kiss that smells like tequila and pride on my forehead.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Abigayle

Slap Me or Thank Me?

“Mr. White, look at me and take a deep breath. Like this. Let’s do it together.” I inhale forcefully through my nose and exaggerate the exhale through my mouth, moving my hands as part of the example.

The patient's hazel eyes are filled with pure terror, his mouth twisted in a silent scream. Rather than looking at me, he looks through me. With his hands grabbing at his hair, he shakes his head and repeats in a monotone, “No, no, no.”

Mr. White has finally revealed that his fear of the dark comes from the fact that his father put a bag over the child’s head every time he beat him. The horrific experiences this poor man has suffered have caused him to develop a dissociative disorder and profound PTSD.

Unfortunately, this time I find him in a manic phase presented by his six-year-old child alternate personality, who suffered the first violence.

I swallow hard, trying to maintain my calm, but he jumps up from the chair and starts walking convulsively from one side of the room to the other, stammering incomprehensible sentences and holding his head. Fuck, he's having a meltdown.

With David and Jeremy busy with another patient, my options are limited. Rudy is out sick and I don't know where the fuck Jeff, the other backup nurse, is. We have been understaffed for too long now. Despite multiple complaints and requests to hire more nurses, admin hasn’t responded. So, I find myself in complicated situations, having to manage on my own.

Normally I handle them with words and examples, but this time, panic is crushing the patient, making him lose control. I plunge my hand into the pocket of my lab coat, where I always keep four syringes of tranquilizer ready, just in case.

“Mr. White, look at me and repeat after me: No one can hurt me. I am strong and I can defend myself,” I tell him, making my voice as soothing as possible as I slowly get up and approach him. Although I uncork one syringe, I keep it hidden in my pocket.

Still, it seems my words don’t get through to him. He just keeps walking up and down the room, repeating, “I'm not crazy. It really happened. I… My father. I'm not crazy. It really happened…”

“Mr. White?” I call him again, approaching with uncertain steps. Fuck, this is going to be hard.

When I'm just a step away from him, he suddenly stops and stares at me with clouded eyes. My heart sinks at the sight of his panicked expression and I swallow the knot of tension in my throat to gently murmur, “No one can hurt me. I am strong and I can defend myself.”

This time, he stuns me with desperate screams that blast my eardrums.

“Fuck,” I breathe.

Adrenaline shoots through my system. Without hesitating, I grab his elbow and insert the needle into his upper arm, injecting the tranquilizer.

At my unexpected movement and the puncture in his skin, the man's free hand instinctively snaps up, smashing into my face. A searing fire spreads on my left cheek and tears well up in my eyes. A hot copper taste gushes into my mouth and I realize he has slapped me so hard my lip split. Pressing the alarm in my pocket, I take several steps back to avoid being hit again while I wait for David and Jeremy.

Still screaming, Mr. White kicks and punches the air around himself, moving frantically. I know it won't take long for the tranquilizer to kick in, but I can't help feeling vulnerable and exposed.

Although his screams continue, Mr. White’s convulsive movements eventually slow, and the nurses rush into the room just before the patient collapses. Giving me a worried glance, they assess the situation quickly and hurry to ease Mr. White into bed. While Jeremy whispers comforting words to him, David approaches me.

“Abby, are you okay? He attacked you,” he notes, staring at my sore cheek.

I'm sure Mr. White's handprint is stamped on my face, as is a look of shock. My mind is a tornado of conflicting emotions and my body is trembling.

“I'm fine. I just need to get some air. I leave him to you,” I murmur, avoiding David’s gaze.

Without a backward glance, I rush to a bathroom to be alone. My breath hitches even more when I see my reflection in the mirror. The distinct imprint of the man's fingers colors my skin. My lower lip is split open on the side and a droplet of blood streaks down to my chin. Under my eye, a purplish tinge and red blood spots are forming along with soreness.

Fuck, I'll have a black eye for days.

Taking a deep breath, I isolate within myself the shock and fear of the moment, then open the tap to refresh my face and neck. When I run a hand over my swollen cheek and lip, the sting of the water on my suddenly hypersensitive skin makes me jump. I take a few fresh sips of water, and my heart and mind slow down their pace.

Tonight, I’m scheduled to work the night shift, and for the first time, that fact makes me euphoric, because I know I'll spend the night with Deon.

I never thought I would find myself anxious for the patients to be put to sleep, for all the staff to leave, and for me to be almost alone in the building. Yet here I am. And when the last nurse walks through the front door and disappears into the dark, I’m ready for the night of madness that awaits me.

When I hurry to the utility room to disable the isolation cell camera, I can see Deon is as restless as I am.

Atoms crackle around me, like little firecrackers on New Year's Eve. With fast steps that echo like thunder, promising lightning and bolts of pleasure, I walk toward Deon.

When I arrive in front of the metal door, I stare at the handle. I have no idea what to expect this evening. After all, I never know what to expect when I'm with him. I never really know where the conversation will go, what he will do to me, or what I will do to him.

That fact increases my arousal to impressive levels, like gasoline on a fire. That's what makes me so addicted to him. That sense of danger, uncertainty and fear.

Taking a deep breath, I turn the key and slide inside, closing the door behind me.

When my eyes fall on the empty bed, a cold shiver of horror and confusion slides down my spine. Where the fuck is he? I just saw him on the surveillance video.

I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye and before I can turn, his massive body presses against my back, his hard cock rubs against my ass, and one hand wraps violently around my neck. A shock of adrenaline spreads in my veins while the oxygen I had inhaled evaporates.

“Good evening, little bunny. I've been waiting for you.” His deep voice hums on my neck, spreading goosebumps all over my skin.

“Deon…” I exhale in a faint moan, clasping his hand with mine, trying to loosen his suffocating grip.

His other hand sneaks between us, sliding along the curve of my ass in a fiery caress.

“Mmhh, maybe I'll take your wonderful ass tonight, Abigayle. Or maybe next time. We'll see how it goes.”

I hear the grin in his voice. It sends euphoric need darting through my veins. In response, I suck my lip between my teeth, but the wound from the slap stings and I wince in pain.

My head suddenly jerks to one side and Deon's fingers grip my jaw, abandoning my neck.

“What happened, Abby? Who did this to you?” Pulling away, he steps in front of me, a chilling wrath in his gaze.

As I shudder in terror, my cheek throbs again from the unpleasant memory, and I lower my head, suddenly feeling exposed. “Nothing happened, Deon.” I exhale in a faint sigh.

He raises my head again. His eyes run over the skin of my face, studying every nuance with an expression of cold, merciless anger. “Don't make me tear the truth out of you, Abigayle. What the fuck happened?”

“A patient slapped me in a moment of crisis. It's happened before, Deon. Do I need to remind you that you’ve strangled me multiple times?” I reply, feeling a blazing fire light up in my chest.

“I do it because it arouses you, little bunny. I already told you that no one can lay their hands on you except me. Tell me who this piece of shit is, and I swear he'll have his hands shoved up his ass,” he hisses, brushing his nose on mine.

I shudder at his eerie voice, knowing perfectly well he’s telling the truth.

“No, Deon. Stop that. You won't kill anyone at all. This patient has lots of problems he is dealing with. He suffers from several personality disorders and severe PTSD. He didn't do it on purpose. He wasn't himself. So, let's end this here, okay?”

“It'll just be this once, Abigayle.” He pauses, his eyes twisted by shadows. “If I find you with any other wounds whatsoever, I will kill the piece of shit who inflicted it on you, plus those fucking incompetent nurses who wander aimlessly around the hospital.”

I would like to tell him that David and Jeremy are absolutely competent, that the problem is that we are under-staffed, but I don't want to go off on that tangent.

“Deon, you can't go around killing people like it's nothing. You live in a modern, technologically advanced society. Killing another human being is a barbaric, senseless, and absolutely stupid act. And don't tell me you do it for revenge or anything else. That might have worked in Roman times, but we are in the twenty-first century. So, stop acting and thinking like a caveman. There are other ways to resolve interpersonal conflicts, such as talking. But I see that requires an abnormal effort from you, and above all, you are not capable of it.” My tone exudes annoyance and sarcasm.

His scar curls in a wicked grin as lust sizzles beneath his dark irises. “So, am I a caveman to you, little bunny? Then let's see how this caveman makes you pay for postponing the session the other morning and for these insults of yours. Maybe I'll even fuck you like a caveman. Brutal and ruthless.”

A thrill of pure terror and arousal runs through me, increasing the rhythm of my heart. I open my mouth to reply, but his hand across my face silences me, as does his steel arm being wrapped tightly around my waist. In a sudden movement, he lifts me off the ground and drags me toward the bed.

“What the fuck are you doing, Deon?!” My screech is muffled under his palm, and fear and excitement merge and collide in the pit of my stomach.

“What I should have done a long time ago. You have to learn the rules, baby. It will be a pleasure to teach you. Let's see how much your pride will try to prevent it. Know that I will shatter it into a thousand pieces until all I have is prayers from you. Prayers of supplication and gratitude.” He laughs cruelly, incinerating me with his black eyes.

A shiver of fire and ice runs down my spine and his threat looms over me like a violent hurricane, ready to destroy me, but I still manage to mumble, “In your dreams.”

He turns me around in his arms until I have his whole body and his big hard cock pressed against my back again. I hold back a sigh of pleasure at that delicious contact. He's right. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of moaning and enjoying his touch. He doesn't deserve it.

“Are you ready, little bunny?” his warm breath tickles my ear.

I struggle in his steely grip. “Let me go, you moron.”

My pride stands within me like an Amazon, ready to fight to maintain her dignity and honor.

“Keep insulting me and you'll only make things worse, baby,” he hisses, sinking his teeth into the flesh of my neck.

I jump, shouting in surprise as the jolt of pain reaches my brain, overlapping with one of pure pleasure between my legs.

With quick yanks, he takes off my white coat, letting it fall to the floor, then pushes me onto the mattress. My face, freed from his hand, is now pressed into his pillow while his body towers behind me. Before I can take a breath to unload a series of insults at him, I hear the now familiar jingle of the leather straps.

“Fuck, Deon. Will you stop chaining me to this bed every time?!” I growl through clenched teeth as fury rises in my throat, almost choking me.

Not responding, he passes the belt over my shoulder blades, fastening it to the hook. As soon as I’m latched, he grabs the pillow from under my head, making my face fall against the mattress. Thankfully, the bruised cheek lands upright rather than being pressed down.

“Shit, Deon!” I cry angrily, to which he only laughs.

When I turn around to glare at him, I glimpse his fucking scar curled into a wicked smirk and his glowing lustful eyes.

“Let's lift this beautiful ass a little, baby.” He slides his hand and arm under my hips, languidly brushing my clit in the process, making me gasp, and lifts my pelvis until I’m up on my knees. He places the pillow under my belly, then pulls me down.

I gasp again, this time in fear, when he grabs the top of my skirt and jerks it down to reveal my naked ass. While my pussy throbs with desire, he slides the skirt along my legs, throwing it to the floor.

“W-what do you want t-to do, Deon?” I stammer, terrified at the idea of being fucked in the ass by his inhuman cock. I don't think I could ever take it, and without any lubricant, it would tear me. A shiver burns my nerves at that thought but my pussy cries in delight.

His silence is creepy, but even though I can't see it, I can hear it, feel it. That fucking self-satisfied, mischievous grin tugging at his lips. The heat and electricity emanating from his body.

I try to turn to look at him again, but before I succeed, a sudden, sharp burning spreads across both my buttocks, tearing a cry of pain and surprise from my chest. The snap of his palms against my bare skin cuts the silence like a thunder.

My pussy clenches at the frighteningly delicious sensation and I mumble, “Deon… did you just slap my ass?”

“You have a bit of an idiotic way of asking the obvious, don't you, little bunny?”

Before I can respond to his insult, another powerful slap hits my right buttock, making me wince and whimper. A combination of humiliation and arousal seep into my blood. “Deon!”

As I manage to turn my head slightly and catch the hungry darkness of his eyes, my mind wavers dangerously. Insanity and euphoria grip my body until I become a tangle of sexual need.

A third slap lands brutally on my left ass-cheek, making me arch my back. The fire of his blow snakes inside my skin. As it reaches my pussy, my core clenches and I realize to my horror and surprise an orgasm is forming in the pit of my stomach.

“Now thank me, Abigayle. With every spanking I give you, I want to hear a thank you.” He ends the sentence with another double blow that makes pure fury explode in my brain.

What the fuck did he say? Thank him?

My sensitive skin tingles and burns under his mortifying assault. But what burns the most is my fucking pride.

“Go fuck yourself, Deon,” I spit, glaring at him. Or at least I try. My position makes it difficult, so I grimace and clench my fists instead.

“Wrong answer,” he roars sarcastically, giving me another powerful spank on my right buttock.

I hiss between my teeth. “Fuck!”

My heart slams so hard it hurts and adrenaline prickles my veins as my skin sizzles under his scorching fingers.

“Let's try again, baby.” His tone is devilishly raw as he hits my left ass-cheek with inhuman force.

I bite my split lip hard and pinch my eyes shut, savoring the pain and the pleasure he’s inflicting on me and blocking the scream that threatens to escape my mouth. What I can’t block, however, are the tears of bliss my pussy is pouring on the sheets.

“I see you still don't understand shit, you sassy little girl. Again,” he hisses.

Both of his hands land with a powerful smack, and this time I can't hold back the moan of pleasure that rumbles in my chest. “Deon, stop…” I pant, overwhelmed by my emotions.

Anger mixes and intertwines with shame, then both start to dance with pleasure and desire, creating a powerful and disturbing rhythm.

“Thank me, Abigayle. I will continue all night until this splendid ass of yours bleeds if you don't do what I say,” he threatens, his deep voice piercing my core. Bending to place his chest and his steel body on my back, he rubs his hard cock, enclosed only in boxers, onto my ass.

“When did you take off your jeans?” I murmur, rounding my eyes in surprise, remembering a rustle of fabric between one spank and another.

“Thank me, Abby, or in addition to the spankings, I'll fuck your ass. Believe me, baby, you’ll remember it for the rest of your life if I put it inside without having prepared you a little beforehand.” He blows on my ear, sending shiver dancing down my spine.

His words are as scandalous as the delight of his breath on my neck, his intoxicating scent surrounding me, and his cock pushing between my bruised buttocks. His teeth nibble my earlobe, squeezing and licking it with disturbing delight. My eyes flutter and a gasp falls out of my mouth while my hips shamefully rock to meet Deon's, looking for his cock.

“Remember, little bunny. Only I can slap you. Clear?” he whispers, grazing the sensitive spots of my neck with his lips.

“Yes, clear,” I exhale instinctively.

His large hand caresses the skin of my waist, leaving a glowing trail, brushing up on the curve of my right buttock. I wince in pain as he grips it, squeezing it in the palm of his hand. He thrusts his hips, pushing his cock on my coccyx so hard it almost hurts. My back arches at the sensation and my pussy melts in its own tears.

“Thank me, Abby.”

The crack of another spank bounces off the walls.

“Thank you… Deon,” I whisper, burying my pride.

I can’t find any more logic or sanity in this situation. Not when I’m with Deon. He’s capable of exposing sick and perverse impulses from my mind and soul. And I know it’s toxic and crazy, but I can’t help feeling free when I enjoy it. Just as I can’t stop diving obsessively into our attraction, our bond, our tangled minds.

“Well done, little bunny. Again.”

He pushes his cock between my buttocks again and slaps once more. My skin sizzles and throbs and that sensation travels across my organs, creeping into my core, pulling my muscles even further into a blinding orgasm.

“Thank you!” I moan forcefully, feeling a solitary tear of humiliation, pain, and pleasure overflow from my eyelid.

“Again,” he growls, rising to his knees behind me.

This time, he spanks the other buttock with a brutal blow. I squint and gasp at the clashing sensations. Fire and ice, humiliation and pride, pleasure and pain, hate and love tear me apart, almost splitting my mind in two. My emotions are too overwhelming to accept.

“Thank you!” I scream, feeling my delight rise to impressive levels.

“What a sick girl you are, Abigayle.” His voice cracks under his own need and hunger.

Another spank hits me and I fall into that abyss of bliss, moaning a chanting “thank you, thank you, thank you”. My pussy clenches in delight, my vision blurs, and my pride evaporates from my soul in that depraved, unhealthy pleasure.

As I return to my senses, Deon’s hand gently caresses the throbbing skin of my ass, slowly descending to my dripping slit. With an angelic voice, he taunts me, “You like being punished, don't you, little bunny? You had an orgasm just from those spankings, like a little slut who wants to be fucked. You do, don't you?”

My eyes widen and a thrill snakes down my spine as my mind clouds under his dominant aura. I suck my bruised lip, shaken by conflicting feelings and thoughts. It's degrading to be treated this way, yet extremely exciting and terrifyingly wonderful.

“Isn’t it true?” he repeats in a roar, giving me another slap on the ass while he sinks two of his digits inside me with his other hand.

Pleasure erupts in my body, blinding me. My back arches and my eyes widen as I moan. “Fuck, yes!”

His fingers sink inside me, filling me to the hilt, then remain motionless, providing divine agony.

“Very good, Abigayle. But we're not done with the lessons. I have to teach you how to keep a promise. And I found something very nice to play with.”

His voice holds a terrifyingly cold threat, and I tilt my head to look at him. When I manage to meet his eyes, I see myself in them. They mirror my own same crazy hunger and perversion.

But it is what he is holding that makes my blood freeze in panic. In his hand, Deon has the three syringes of tranquilizer from the pocket of my coat.

How the fuck did he find them? When did he get them? But above all, what the fuck does he want to do with those?

Chapter Thirty-Five

Abigayle

Needle Me

Panic races through me like a poison, but my shocked and terrified expression just snatches a dark laughter from Deon. He tilts his head back as that sublime sound bubbles in his throat, making his Adam's apple vibrate. The sexy motion makes my pussy throb with pleasure. Pleasure that dissipates again at the horrible sight of the syringes clutched in his hand.

“Deon, what do you want to do with those?” I stammer, frightened by the perverse glow in his eyes.

“Oh, you'll see, baby.”

He slides his fingers out of my pussy, making me whimper at the sudden emptiness he leaves behind. Placing the syringes on the mattress next to him, he slips the pillow out from under my hips and frees me from the strap. Grabbing my waist with both hands, he turns me onto my back.

Before I can move or crawl away from him, though, Deon makes a calculated motion and ties my wrists again.

“Deon, please… What do you want to do to me?” I beg with a cracking voice as I stare at him in fear.

Does he want to drug me? Does he want to kill me by injecting me the three doses, that would be fatal?

His blazing eyes feast on my exposed skin as he clutches my ankles before I can kick him, restraining them with other straps, binding me to the bed.

“Have you ever played with needles, Abigayle?”

His dark voice, coming from the depths of his black soul, almost makes me choke with horror. Fear has seeped into my brain, freezing every thought in my mind, fueling the terror that flows like lava through my veins.

I shake my head emphatically, keeping my eyes fixed on his face and body, waiting and preparing for any movements he might make. Even if I have no idea what to expect. I could never defend myself from any of his actions.

“You know they can hurt when they pierce the skin, but do you know they can bring pleasure when used in the right way and in the right places?”

With my heart leaping in my chest, I shake my head again. Blurred, dark ideas whirl in my mind, but I no longer have the strength to speak or create a meaningful sentence. He has sucked all logic and all survival instincts out of me. I am at his total mercy.

His eyes pin me to the bed, sparkling dangerously while his grin spreads horrifyingly across his face. My pussy trembles as I prepare to abandon myself completely to his madness and his games.

Grabbing one syringe, he removes the cap from the needle and places both parts delicately on the mattress next to his knee.

“I want to teach you how to keep a promise, little bunny. You will learn the lesson once and for all,” he hisses.

Faced with the blazing inferno in his eyes, a squeak of terror jumps out of my throat. My red turtleneck sweater gives me a sudden heat flash, and as if he had read my physical need to free myself, he clutches the edges of the fabric with both hands and tears it in two.

“Fuck, Deon! It was my favorite! Why do you always have to destroy my clothes?” My mouth snaps on its own. I don't know where I got the courage to make my indignant voice heard, but anger blinds me. Fuck, he has to stop ripping my clothes off like that.

His eyes shine with lust and amusement. “It’s an effective way to see you walking around naked, Abby.”

Puffing out my cheeks, I snort irritably. Terror has been replaced and my desire to unload insults right into his face pricks my skin. But before I can, two of his fingers slide into my pussy again.

“Oh god,” I moan at the sublime feeling, my eyes rolling back in my head.

“Repeat after me, Abigayle: when I make a promise, I keep my fucking word,” Deon commands in a stern voice.

He towers over me with his imposing stature, kneeling on the mattress between my spread legs. His fingers remain buried motionless inside me, and the need to feel them move to bring me pleasure almost makes my brain explode.

But I just grit my teeth, glaring at him. If he thinks he will bend me again, that he will shatter my pride into a thousand pieces by pushing me to beg him, he is very wrong.

“You asked for it, baby.” Cocking an eyebrow, he shrugs. His fingers flicker and start moving in a crescendo rhythm.

I clench my fists, tensing my muscles to keep myself from falling into pleasure. He doesn't deserve my panting, my moans. He won't have them. He’s using physical pleasure to break me. He still wants control over me, my body and my mind. He wants to win, but this time I’ll keep a minimum of self-respect.

Or at least I try. Because with every thrust of his fingers, my pride trembles and crumbles little by little.

“I'll tell you a second time, Abigayle. Repeat after me: when I make a promise, I keep my fucking word. Say it.” His cold voice hits me square in the chest, knocking my breath out.

“No,” I hiss.

My mind and body have taken to the battlefield and are facing off in a merciless life-or-death war. The pace of Deon's fingers becomes impressive, and a scorching shiver slides down my spine.

The orgasm brushes my pussy, squeezing and pulling my dignity, crushing my conscience, forcing me to tilt my head and close my eyes as I choke for air, ready to free-fall into that blissful void.

I reopen my eyes just in time to see Deon take the uncapped needle and bring the sharp, glittering metal point to my chest.

The sight makes me jump and my heart skips several beats as every muscle in my body tenses like a rubber band, freezing that sublime orgasm. Adrenaline rushes to my head and a sob of pleasure and terror escapes my lips, echoing off the white walls.

“One more time, Abigayle, since you are so fucking stubborn. Repeat the sentence. Come on,” Deon roars, hellfire blazing in his black eyes.

In front of that threatening needle approaching my right nipple and his fingers thrusting inside me, I shake my head, incapable of understanding anything anymore. I open my mouth, ready to repeat his fucking sentence, but my pride catches the words in my throat and makes me swallow them.

Our need to control has taken to the battlefield and I am no longer fighting against myself, but against Deon, in a crazy and useless struggle for supremacy. We both have power over the other, but our internal demons push us to claim it every time.

He breaks into a victorious smile when he reads the struggle on my face.

He's fucking deadly, like a fallen angel with his broken black wings, but with the light of heaven still shining in his hellish eyes, remembering the divine sight of god.

His fingers slow their pace, decreasing the unstoppable rush that my body was making toward the precipice of orgasm, leaving me whirling in a limbo of delight. Before I can express my frustration, however, he leans closer and I fix my gaze on the sharp tip glittering menacingly a few inches from my stiff nipple.

“Fuck, Deon, what do you want to do?” I pant, my eyes as big as saucers.

“I’m piercing these beautiful tits with my power, Abigayle.” His voice is charged with absolute dominance and hunger.

It takes my brain a second to register the sensation, but when I feel the sharp, burning needle penetrate my nipple and Deon's fingers moving inside me again, a scream of agonizing pleasure scratches my vocal cords and my eyes roll the back in my head. Aching and delight overlap, spreading electric shivers all across my body.

This is crazy. Completely and utterly insane. He is sick. I am sick. We are two sick people.

The scorching pain of the needle piercing my nipple morphs into an overwhelming pleasure as I watch a small crimson stream fall along my skin.

“Repeat after me, Abby: when I make a promise, I keep my fucking word,” Deon orders with his voice deepened three tones. He stares at my breasts and eyes with such intensity that I feel almost flayed, as if he was sneaking his entire self inside me.

“When I…” I begin, but the words die on my tongue. Pride possesses me in a last desperate attempt to resist the delirious, euphoric madness Deon is inducing.

Deon's eyes flash and his fingers slow inside my cunt again, making the longed-for orgasm retreat once more.

“Again, little bunny,” he repeats, grabbing the second needle. He uncorks it with his mouth and brings it closer to the other nipple.

I jump at the sight. Although I still feel the first one plunged through my flesh, flaring burning shivers with every breath I take, I'm not ready to have both nipples pierced.

Yet my pride is stronger than my terror and, panting like a trapped animal before its predator, I bite my lip hard and mentally prepare myself. The contrasting sensations of pain and pleasure, of hate and love, of madness and reason that rage in my body make me understand I am sinking ever deeper into my darkest depravity.

The sting of the second needle piercing me makes my back and hips snap upward. “God, Deon!” I shout with such force that the mattress beneath me shakes. Or perhaps it’s my convulsive shuddering due to my rhapsody.

My body, my muscles, nerves, bones, skin dislocate, pull, tear under the terrifying force of the power and control Deon exerts over me. The orgasm expands in my belly, swallowing my organs in its infinite abyss, ready to implode like a supernova, threatening to kill me.

My heart pumps at lightning speed as blood rushes to every sensitive spot, heightening every breath of pleasure Deon infuses into me. The pace of his fingers increases again, sending me back toward the peak of the mountain, keeping me poised on tiptoe on the edge of that void.

The game we’re playing is exhausting yet addicting.

His diabolic grin fills my vision and he becomes all of what my senses can perceive. It’s just him. The entire universe is focused in one single point. A point in front of me, which has gulped down the infinity of eternal nothingness in his black eyes, where the light of love merges with that merciless coldness in a blindingly sparkling dimension.

“Come on, Abigayle. Let’s try again one last time.”

His undertone holds a dangerous threat and my core clenches in front of his dark gaze while my pussy squeezes his digits in a desperate plea for pleasure.

“When I make a promise, I keep…” My breath catches again.

My fucking body and mind are turning against me, manipulating me in a twisted and disturbing game.

Following Deon in his deranged reasoning and tangled spirit push me beyond my limits, beyond every moral and physical restriction, beyond the dark perversions I possess. And Deon understood this before me.

He's playing with me in a horribly wonderful way. Knowing how much he understands me and reads inside me is shockingly scary.

Deon is inside my mind, in every way.

I watch him grab the third needle. He uncaps it, then stops, his fingers motionless inside me, his eyes locked on mine.

“Do you trust me, Abigayle?” he asks me with such intensity I can almost hear his heart in his voice. His eyes exude all the love I have never seen inside him, and that terrifies me even more than his actions. He has finally revealed his human side.

My mouth comes alive on its own. “Yes, I trust you.”

I no longer govern my body and mind. Deon and my love for him does. My heart rumbles and vibrates, begging to be ripped from my chest and swallowed directly by Deon so I can physically reach his as well. Because I belong to him forever.

“I want you to repeat the sentence while I do it, Abby,” he orders.

I follow his hand holding the needle and my heart leaps.

As the sharp tip approaches my clit, I stare at Deon in shock. Adrenaline shoots white-hot electric sparks and sweat blooms from every pore of my skin, making me choke on my own breath.

“Deon…” I moan in a desperate plea.

A plea for what? To stop? To continue? To let me touch the universe with a finger? Because that's where he's taking me. Deep in the dark abyss of the universe hidden inside his eyes.

“You're mine, Abigayle, and you will always be,” he whispers as he starts moving his fingers inside me again. He withdraws them to the tip and then sinks them back in an increasingly stronger and faster rhythm until I am brushing that devastating pleasure, caressing my own madness.

I had thought death had a bitter and painful taste, but now I realize it is quite the opposite. It is the sweetest and most delicious flavor I have ever tasted.

He bends his fingers inside me, touching that sensitive spot to shoot me toward heaven, while he sinks the needle into my clit, piercing it from side to side.

My scream is so loud it shakes the universe around me.

“When I make a promise, I keep my fucking word!” I start repeating in an obsessive chant as my body shatters and explodes under a blinding orgasm.

The shock wave of bliss and pain makes my breath crumble and my heart skip several beats before rushing madly in a desperate attempt to recover.

While I am lost in my cries, in the total destruction of my body and mind, I feel Deon's fingers removing all the needles from my body, prolonging the pleasure to the extreme as my throat vibrates from the incoherent cavernous moans I’m squeaking. Pulling every piece of me to the limit. Breaking it and recomposing it ad infinitum.

“Fuck, I think I really love you.”

My mind and soul wander in the dark, meandering through that wonderful universe of pleasure, and those words tickle my hallucinatory senses.

Is this a psychotic episode that will leave my memories blurred? Is this really happening?

As I’m sucked back to reality, my gasps and broken breath thunderous in my ears, I blink hard, trying to focus on Deon's face. The intensity and profoundness of his gaze make my skin crawl and goosebumps flare up across every inch of my body.

“Have you learned your lesson, baby?” he asks as he finally releases my ankles and wrists from the straps.

My body limp, I nod feebly. I am broken, crushed, destroyed by utter delight.

“You are insanely perfect, Abigayle.” His voice is such a dark caress that I only want to dive inside his rocking tone forever.

“Take me in your arms, psychopath. Let me sleep for five minutes, then I promise, I'll suck your cock. And this time, you'll be the one to beg me,” I stammer in a disjointed sentence.

His crystalline laugh echoes in the room like a splendid melody.

I curl up on one side as he lays down behind me. Passing his arm across my belly, he pulls me toward him in a possessive grip, pressing me more against his steel body and his marble cock.

Before I fall to the bottom of Morpheus’s black pit, Deon’s fiery lips leave a kiss behind my ear, nibbling it lightly.

“Sweet dreams, little bunny,” he whispers.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Deon

There You Are

My little bunny’s breathing immediately becomes heavier, a sign Morpheus has taken her to dreamland. Blood rushes down to my hard cock, but also up to my heart, which gushes in delight at feeling her naked, fragile, and tiny body against mine.

This woman is going to make me lose my mind. I’m already sinking into obsession and madness with her. I don’t even know how she managed to make me say that I love her.

Welcoming those feelings would mean calling into question everything about myself, viewing myself in a totally different light. A light of hope that teaches me that perhaps, deep down, even I, with my black soul, can be loved and deserve someone's love.

I have always distanced myself from everyone who got close. I've never let anyone in, never let anyone show me their feelings. Afraid of being hurt, I considered myself incapable of love.

But Abigayle. Abigayle has crept under my skin, into my blood, into my head, and she has snuck into my heart. She managed to crawl inside me and take root forever, becoming my only thought when I open my eyes in the morning and the last when I close them at night.

Even falling asleep causes me pain now, because in those hours that my mind wanders among nightmares and dreams, I cannot willingly think about her. Thankfully, she is becoming a constant presence even in the black pit of twirling nostalgia at night. She is there waiting for me, ready to drag me into insane dreams, filled with her moans and her shining ocean eyes.

My cock begs, pushing against Abigayle’s wonderful firm ass, and resisting the urge to stick it inside her while she sleeps makes my spine tremble.

Fuck, I have no control with her anymore. I'm adrift. My little bunny has me in her grasp, but I don't think she even realizes it yet.

Her orange blossom scent clouds my senses, dazing me, and my lips can't help but gently brush the line of her neck. I reflexively tighten my arm around her waist, pulling her further onto my cock, molding her against my body.

I would give anything to stop time and space in this very moment. Crystallize it forever. The two of us together in each other's arms. But I know that reality will soon hit us like a bucket of freezing water and all of this will end.

Caressing the soft, silky skin of her belly with my fingertips, I rest my head on the pillow next to hers, feeling that warm shadow of drowse creeping under my skin, seeping into my blood, making my eyelids grow heavier with each passing second.

It's the first time in forever that I’ve fallen asleep in the same bed with someone and, more importantly, the first time in my life that I've slept with someone I love with all my heart.

With that realization, Morpheus gets the better of me and I abandon myself to the darkness that swallows me.

I emerge little by little from the realm of sleep, feeling something twist around one wrist, then the other. That sudden squeezing sensation sharpens my senses and calls me back to the surface. What makes my eyes snap open, though, is the fabric of my boxers being pulled down my thighs and away from my feet.

As my brain focuses on the scene in front of me, my scar curls upward and my blood rushes between my legs with disturbing force.

Abigayle is staring at me with lustful eyes and a mischievous grin painted on her lips. She's still deliciously naked, kneeling on the mattress between my spread legs, her open hands resting on the white sheets. Her long brown hair is falling in soft waves over her shoulders, down to her breasts. Her outstretched arms crush her tits together, giving me a wonderful image. My gaze wanders to her stiff bloodstained nipples that beg to be licked, bitten, and sucked.

My hands spring toward her impulsively, wanting to materialize that thought, but something blocks my wrists, constricting them. Casting a quick glance over my head, I chuckle, amused by the situation. My little bunny wants to play with me, and for the first time, she managed to tie me up, taking revenge for all the times I did it to her.

“I'm curious to see what your plan is, Abigayle,” I challenge her.

My hunger and need for her, the exciting situation, and my nervousness at losing control flow through my veins, burning every inch of my skin and hardening my cock. Abigayle's ocean eyes catch the movement and they round in shock at the sight of my desire.

Another laugh gurgles in my chest at her expression. Her pupils are dilated but her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

I grin, taunting her. “What's the matter, little bunny? Aren't you used to my big cock yet? You should be. You’ve already taken it multiple times, and you’re going to for the rest of your life.”

She casts me a dirty look, a dangerous glow in her gaze. “This time, I'll be the one making you beg me to stop,” she says, a squaring her shoulders, dark promise in her sensual voice.

I cock an eyebrow at her, a grin stretching across my lips. What a defenseless little creature. I can't wait to see her in action and witness the moment she realizes she dug her own grave. Because my little bunny won’t be able to escape the power I have over her body and mind. She hasn’t understood it yet. “Let's see what you're capable of, then,” I challenge her.

Her gaze lingers languidly over my body, slowly caressing every inch of me while she rolls and sucks her lower lip. Bracing my heels into the mattress, I lift my hips and nearly slam my cock into her face, earning a shocked gasp from Abigayle.

“Do you think you'll be able to handle my cock on your own, baby?” I taunt her again.

Her gaze darkens with a coiling black insanity as she clenches her jaw. “It’s of you to tell me, baby,” she hisses between her teeth, her eyebrow raised defiantly.

Before I can respond, she grabs the base of my dick in her hand and slides her soft lips from my tip to the back of her throat.

“Fuck,” I roar as heat courses through me and a dart of pleasure shoots to my brain, suddenly silencing all thoughts. The feeling of her warm mouth around me, her fingers squeezing me tight, and her moan of pleasure vibrating on my sensitive skin all daze me.

Before I can collect my rational side from that otherworldly feeling, Abigayle withdraws with agonizing slowness. Her silky tongue brushes my length to the underside of my crown, lingering with disturbing pressure on my pulsing veins. My organs twist at the sensation and at the sight of her eyes pointed straight at mine as her pulp lips caress my girth in an unholy warmth.

She swirls her tongue on my tip, hollowing her cheeks to suck it while she starts to pump with her little hand. Letting my tip out with a noisy pop, she sends my eyes to the back of my head as a fiery shock shoots up my spine.

“Fuck, Abigayle.” An ecstatic growl rumbles in my chest, but it's going to take a lot more than that to make me lose control completely.

“You're delicious,” she murmurs in a hoarse voice, sensually licking her lower lip.

“Abigayle…” I hiss in warning, letting her know that she better not play with fire too much if she doesn't want to get burned.

Grinning, she sucks me again, taking me deeper, causing tears to spill down her cheeks as a shiver crawls on her skin, hardening her little pink nipples even more. I dive into her lustful eyes as my cock plunges further into her tight throat, my core clenching in bliss. She's fucking divine.

She traces the same path as before, but this time she sucks me harder and her hand picks up the pace, pumping me faster, ripping a cavernous roar from my throat.

“What did we do the night of Halloween, Deon?” Her determined voice hums. Her other hand grabs my balls in a delicious grip, cupping and massaging them as she swallows me deep again.

My muscles tense under the unbearable pleasure and avoiding moaning becomes closer to impossible with each passing second. I grit my teeth, curling my hands into fists as I suck a sharp breath of air through my nose. Instead, I smirk. “Try to remember, little bunny.”

The way she desperately wants to recall her memories of that night is admirable. But the wall is one she built. I’m not the creator of her defense mechanism. I’m only the creator of her increasing insanity.

She purses her lips, showing me her teeth as she sinks them lightly into the sensitive skin of my cock, grazing them in a sharp caress all the way to the tip. Her dark threat twisting inside her dilated pupils is only gasoline to my own euphoria.

“Try it, Abby, and you'll find your neck broken before you even realize it,” I hiss, snatching a shiver from her.

As she withdraws, my hips snap up, slamming my cock back into her throat, catching her off guard. Her eyes bulge, filling with tears again, and she squeezes my balls tighter in response, increasing the rhythm of her hand pumping me.

With a sudden movement, she pops my dick out of her mouth, her eyes twitching and darkening even more, a gruesome smile curling her red lips. “Did I fuck you, Deon? Did I ride your cock until there was nothing left of you? I remember your hands on my hips, your plea to kill you with my own pleasure. Did I do it? Did I kill you?” Her deep, distorted voice is a coiling trip and her aura grows blacker, her grin widening as her hand strokes me murderously.

“Did you not? Did you not chase that sick fantasy in your own head? Did you not followed that dark voice pushing you to do it?” I say as I dive into her darkness.

Without any warning, she abandons her grip on my cock and balls, climbing on top of me to sit astride my hips.

My heart skips a beat and my core clenches as her dripping slit rubs over my dick, hovering over it, pulling my hunger and frenzy to the limit. My muscles tense and I pull reflexively on the straps with the need to grab her and take the control. The need to fuck her ruthlessly, savagely, murderously.

“I want to kill you, Abigayle.” My cold voice collides with the scorching passion between our bodies. Between our sick minds. I want to love you until there is nothing left of me is what I wish I could say instead.

She presses her palms on my chest, violently scratching my skin until red streaks bloom on my flesh, ripping a wild hiss from my mouth. That burning sends darts of pain and pleasure throughout my entire body, summoning my dark shadow. The dark shadow that invokes her own.

She sinks into my gaze, creeping and penetrating my soul, reading every most intimate secret, every trauma experienced and my love for her. “But I’m going to kill you, Deon.”

Her voice morphs into a deeper one as she tilts her heads slightly. She lowers herself suddenly, swallowing my cock deep inside her tight cunt.

A euphoric pleasure shoots up my spine and I roar as my muscles snap. A dull thud thunders around us as the restrains around my wrists loosen.

Abigayle’s body freezes but her expression is gruesomely dangerous. A deep, evil laugh gurgles in her throat as her murderous grin widens and her own darkness overshadows her face. She dips her chin, staring at me with a terrifying glow twisting inside her dilated pupils. And I finally see her. She’s finally here.

“There you are, my little copycat killer.” I smirk proudly, facing my own soul. Facing my gorgeous, twisted serial killer. The woman I’ve waited for my entire life. The woman that will forever be mine.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Detective Davidson

Suspects

“So, what do we have here?” I ask, looking down at the swollen, naked body.

The salty mist of the seawater mixes with the flashing police lights in a macabre dance against the black sky.

I stare at the forensics team delicately drawing their cotton swabs across the grayish-putrid cadaver to take various samples, then run my gaze over the ravaged stomach and limbs of the victim, capturing different stab wounds on the chest. It is hard to tell what was the result of a knife and what was gnawed by fish and saltwater.

“White male around thirty years old. Approximately six foot five.” Ryan begins his summary. “The body was discovered an hour ago by some teenagers partying on the beach. The victim seems to have been underwater for two weeks. Forensics place his death on the 31st of October, Halloween night. It seems he was weighted down, but the knots around his ankles weren’t tight enough and the ropes loosened, allowing the body to resurface. Considering he had to be dropped far from the shore, it’s likely the killer took a boat, so we’re questioning all the owners of boats in the nearby marina about that night.”

I huff, annoyed to have to face a new case when I’m still focused on the Blender Killer and his copycat. Unless this murder is somehow linked to them. But this crime is nothing like what we’ve seen from those monsters. Could it be a crime of passion? Vengeance? Mafia related?

“Do we know the cause of death?” I ask, casting Ryan and one of the young forensics a glance.

Arya’s dark eyes glow with an intrigued light and her black ponytail dances as she jumps up, a euphoric smile on her lips. She’s one of the best in her field, but she and the medical examiner have a real fascination for gore and macabre cases.

“It’s difficult to say at this advanced stage of decomposition. We suspect he bled to death after being stabbed. We have some knife wounds over his chest, abdomen, and neck, but Emily will be able to better analyze the body. Unfortunately, the water destroyed any DNA evidence, but I’m sure we’ll be able to find something.” Arya speaks with enthusiasm, as if she was talking about going out with friends rather than describing a swollen, stinking, putrid corpse on the beach.

Disconcerted, I look back at Ryan. “Do you have any potential missing persons from the last two weeks that could match the victim here?”

“I received a list of names just twenty minutes ago,” he says as he scrolls on his phone, searching for the email. “Albert Kingard, fifty-three; Louis Milestone, forty-five; Tom Quinnland, thirty-seven; Dean Bishop, thirty-two…”

Ryan stops suddenly, snapping his head and eyes toward Arya. The girl, crouched next to the victim in her white bodysuit, jerks her face to Ryan, her eyes bulging in shock.

“What?” Her voice cracks slightly and her gaze wanders over the victim’s corpse, lingering on his swollen, purplish face. Slowly reaching toward his closed eyes with gloved fingers, she delicately lifts one eyelid to look at his glassy irises. Her breath catches and she snatches her hand back. “Oh my god!”

I look back and forth between her and Ryan in suspicion. “You knew him?”

The detective sighs heavily as he pinches the bridge of his nose, dropping his eyes to the ground. “We met him the night of Halloween. He’s … He was one of Jenna and Abigayle’s university friends.”

Hypotheses flood my mind and I stiffen, bothered that my own fucking detectives are now potential suspects. But a name echoes in my ears. “You said Abigayle? Abigayle who?” I stare at Ryan, my suspicions growing stronger.

My detective tenses beside me as he inhales sharply, his eyes still locked on Arya’s distraught ones. “Abigayle Roland,” he says finally.

As soon as her full name is spoken, certainty hits me like a bucket of freezing water. That twisted little psychologist… I felt something strange in her, but I thought it was because she works with crazy cases herself. Could she be involved in the killing of Dean Bishop? Or is one of my detectives?

“Are you aware that, being among the last to see him, you all are potential suspects now?” I hiss at them.

It’s fucking annoying to search for a potential killer inside my inner work circle. If anyone finds out, I’m screwed. My reputation will be destroyed. My name will be stained and I could end up in jail if this shit ricochets on me and they discover I made up evidence to incriminate that piece of shit Deon Knight. What if the Blender Killer is one of my own employees? What if the copycat killer is?

“Yes, we’re aware.” Ryan’s irritated tone interrupts the thoughts swirling in my head.

My gaze drops down to the body and Arya’s white expression. I plunge my hands in my pockets. “Bring the body for the autopsy. I want to be updated as soon as you have any information. Ryan, Arya, and Jenna—you call her, Ryan—you’re all suspended from this case. I want to see you all tomorrow morning in the interrogation room,” I say authoritatively, shooting them a glower.

“Shit,” Ryan grinds behind me as I stomp toward my car.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The Copycat

Imperfect Soulmates

I stare at the black inferno blazing in Deon’s eyes and repress her screaming voice deep down in the back of my mind.

The expression of fascination and devotion on Deon’s face fills me with pure satisfaction. It is clear he has fallen for Abigayle, even though he hasn’t pronounced those three words yet, or perhaps was I in a delirium?.

The bliss is heightened by his big cock inside me, so I start rocking my hips on him. A moan rips past my throat when he violently grabs my waist, digging his fingers on my flesh and pushing me further onto him, controlling the rhythm I know will kill me.

That’s what I wanted. I wanted to kill him and thereby kill Abigayle, as I did to all the motherfuckers who tried to break her heart. That would’ve let me take the front position in her mind, pushing her down that black chasm to never resurface. But I don’t want to anymore.

“So, I finally get to meet Abigayle’s alter-ego, the man or woman lurking under the surface.” His deep tone wraps around me, like his arms around my body, imprisoning me in a passionate embrace.

I gurgle a sarcastic laugh. “I’m a lady, Deon. You can fuck me as you fuck her, no problem there. We are exactly the same, she and I, only I’m a psychopathic serial killer. Just like you,” I say, gripping his shoulders and savoring the feeling of fullness as he starts rolling his hips in deep, rhythmic strokes. “I’m delighted you suspected. No one else ever guessed. Not her mother, not her best friend, not her colleagues. I’ve always been careful not to reveal myself and only step in when the moment asked for it.”

“I recognized that look and that darkness the moment I met you. But I had the certainty of your existence when I fucked Abigayle in the shower and you showed your face for a split second.”

Sitting up, he grabs my knees, making me wrap them around his waist as his thrusts increase. My eyelids flutter as a shock wave of pleasure blazes my nerves. When he shoves his cock deeper, a choked gasp falls from my lips.

“How many have you killed, little psycho?” he asks, his tone dripping with hunger and pride.

“Fifteen. No, sixteen, counting Dean on Halloween. I played with Abigayle, driving her crazy that night. I wanted her to finally see me. Now she knows.” I chuckle as her voice pleads in the pit of my stomach.

“And do you always fuck them before killing them?” He hums on my lips, grazing my mouth with his like a razor blade. That contact flares tingles down to my clit and I moan as his strokes become faster.

“Oh fuck!” I arch my back, the orgasm building in my core. Gasping for air, I pant, “No, not always… I only fuck them if they’re attractive enough. And… Dean was. He was so similar to you. His cockiness and charm always attracted us, but he was such a son of a bitch. It was so easy to blur Abigayle’s mind and play with both of them.”

“Abigayle…” his chilling tone is punching, his black eyes flashing with murderous jealousy.

“I’m Adelaide,” I say, pinning his gaze with mine. I trace my fingers between his soft black locks, then snap his head back, exposing his neck.

He hisses between his gritted teeth and his dick shoves with such brutality that I shudder as a burning bliss wreaks havoc in my core. In response, I graze my teeth and tongue over the column of his neck. His delicious scent of amber and musk, the sweet and salty taste of his skin, and the pulsing of his heart into his jugular send my mind into overdrive.

“You’re fucking delicious.” As my hoarse voice leaves my lips, my teeth sink into his flesh and an animalistic grunt rumbles powerfully in his chest as copper-flavored blood gushes on my tongue.

His jabs become criminal and I bounce on his cock. His hands squeeze my hips violently, pushing me on him until the aching of his merciless clutch merges and intertwines with the euphoric delight his dick is inflicting on me.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of being copied by you, Adelaide?”

He twists my name on his tongue so sensually I moan on his neck, brushing my tongue over the bite, licking his blood, savoring the stingy, copper salty essence. Savoring his poisonous madness. I can’t feel hatred toward him anymore, only a consuming need to take everything of him and give everything of me in exchange.

“I started killing with your signature to fuck with the police and blur their suspicions. Because at first, I hated you, as I’ve hated every fucker that hurt Abigayle, but I’ve become fascinated by you, attracted even, and eventually started liking you. Most of the time, I still want to kill you, though.”

I choke on my own breath as he grips my hair at the scalp, inflicting delightful torture on my neck. A scream burns my vocal cords when he sinks his teeth into my flesh, the scorching of his tongue brushing over my wound.

“Why, little psycho?” he hums on my throbbing skin as he repeatedly thrusts his tip against that sensitive spot inside me, pulling my mind and body into a spiral or pure insane pleasure.

Releasing his locks and tilting his head straight, I dive into that glowing darkness in his eyes as I brush the tip of my nose with his. With his lips still stained with my blood, I brush my thumb over his lower lips smearing my ruby liquid onto his chin. “Because it will be the masterpiece of my concert. My own universal creation. Killing the most wanted serial killer is the final crescendo to the best symphony ever, don’t you think? I couldn’t let the police ruin my plan by putting you in jail. I could never allow it, as I could never allow you to hurt Abigayle. Or me.”

My vision blurs and my legs tremble obscenely, squeezing his waist, as my cavernous moans mix with his ragged breath and the smacking of our bodies to create the perfect melody.

“You’re your own masochistic and sadistic master, Adelaide.” He grins ruthlessly.

“As are you, Deon. Can’t you see you fell for her as much as we fell for you? Can’t you see you’re starting to accept your feelings for her as we are for you? That your evil heart is as capable of love as ours is? Love that you always craved. Your own demons speak to mine, Deon. Aren’t we the most perfect soulmates in the infinite imperfection of our own minds?” Abigayle’s voice slips into mine and we speak in unison, articulating our horrendously insane hatred and love for Deon.

Our obsession for Deon. Our need for Deon. Our devotion to Deon.

Before that destructive orgasm detonates and I collapse into the music of our body, minds, and hearts merged together, he wraps his hand around my neck, squeezing forcefully.

My eyes bulge as his thrusts stop and he lifts me off him. A strangled scream gets stuck in my throat as I am spun around, landing hard on my back. His blank expression and the merciless glow twisting inside his eyes send a chilling shiver down my spine, and Abigayle tries to resurface from that black chasm.

I am still choking under Deon’s grip and my own mind, when he violently grabs my thighs, spreading my legs, he shoves his cock back to the hilt in a single brutal stroke.

“Fuck!” I shout, squinting, tears of delight and pain spilling down my cheeks.

“Save your tears, little psycho, because now I'm going to fuck you so hard that you'll cry in ecstasy and then you'll cry in pain when you realize you can't love a psychopath like me. I will hurt you until I destroy you because the only way I can express my feelings and love is through sufferance. Because none ever taught me how to do it properly, until you.”

His sharp words stab me. My vision twitches, everything wavers inside me, and I scream inside my own head as I’m grabbed by the ankles and swallowed into nothingness.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Abigayle

Who Won?

As I resurface from my infinite black fall, I gasp for air, convulsing. Yet what leaves me breathless more than anything is not Deon’s cock shoving mercilessly. It is his devastating words. Words that carry a horrendous threat. Words that tear my heart to shreds.

“You thought you could control me, Abigayle? You thought you were stronger than me? You thought you could love such a monster? You can’t, little fool.” His cold voice dances in my muffled ears, increasing the choking weight on my chest.

I frantically claw at his big hand on my neck as my blood compresses under his ruthless grip. I shake my head in an attempt to free myself from his clutch and from his harsh words.

A sudden evil laugh gurgles in his chest as his cock hits that spot inside me again and again, sucking all logic out of my brain. And the physical need I have for air in this moment is nonexistent when all myself is growing frighteningly inside my core ready to send me to heaven.

“My plan worked. I manipulated you, crushing both of you under my power and my will. Can't you see I brainwashed you to have you at my total mercy? I made you fall in love with me to push you to fuck with the police and free me.”

His words hit me so hard I can almost taste their bitter and lethal flavor on my tongue. My heart sinks into my chest. Even if I’m staggering into unconsciousness, I can tell Deon feels stripped of his power in this moment. He wants to push me away, to hurt me so that his love for me doesn't win against his self-hatred.

Deep and strong, his brutal thrusts only increase the delirious frenzy of my love and hate for Deon, engulfing every atom of my being.

“You were so easy to manipulate. I led you right where I wanted you, pushing you to do my desires. Because that's been my interest all along, bending you at my mercy to find my freedom again. And I knew the only way to do it would be to creep inside you every day. To make you believe everything you were so desperate to hear. To invent traumatic stories from my childhood to fuel your interest, just to tease your need to feel powerful over a sick man like me. To make you believe love was growing inside me, a feeling only you were able to give birth to, increasing your obsession with me.”

His diabolical voice, coming from the depths of his merciless soul, tears my heart with such violence that death itself would be a sweet departure compared to the torturous pain Deon’s inflicting on me.

My body trembles and burning tears fill my eyes again, spilling acid down my cheeks.

The last residue of rationality in my brain tells me he’s doing all this because he’s afraid of the feelings he has for me. He feels stripped naked by this love he always refused.

I shake my head, clawing convulsively at his wrist. I don’t believe him. I can’t believe him. Because if I do, it will really be the end of me. Of us.

Deon's callous grin widens and his glowing black eyes choke me even more. “What a shame, Abigayle. What a shame you let yourself be influenced so easily. Just one orgasm was enough to make you give in completely. But that’s to be expected from a hypocrite like you. A woman who flaunts her morals and professionalism in everyone’s face when you are the first to chase your own disgrace. Your own disgrace in loving someone so disgustingly wrong like me.”

All I see in this moment is that nothingness, that infinite cold void in Deon's eyes. I feel sucked inside that deafening silence as unconsciousness crawls up my blood, numbing my body, blurring and heightening all my sensations. Increasing my pain and pleasure to otherworldly levels.

My heart pumps madly as I try to cling to life, and I desperately call to her. But there is only silence now. She’s not there. She’s stuck deep down. My brain built a wall between us, as if it was turning against me. As if it was accepting this hurtful destiny. As if it was pushing me to the limit of my reason even more.

And I’m powerless. I’m struggling. I’m begging, but no one is listening, as no one ever listened. No one but Deon.

He is the only one who ever understood me enough to cure my traumas, to destroy the demons manipulating my mind, to play with me and my alter in a psychotic game. But he is also the only one with the power to destroy both me and Adelaide.

Before I can fall into unconsciousness for eternity, I realize with disconcerting force that I would let him. I would let him destroy me, take everything from me. All of my mind, my heart, and my soul, because I love him so much and so desperately, so obsessively, so insanely that I would kill myself to give it to him. And I know he feels the same, but he still refuses to accept it, as he thinks himself unworthy of love.

My orgasm pulls my muscles in an agonizing bliss, but before my body blacks out, falling into that universal oblivious pleasure of death, Deon loosens his grip on my neck, finally allowing me to suck in oxygen.

And his lips on mine infuse air into me. Air that I avidly gulp down as electricity shoots to my brain and every nerve ending in my body.

Growling, he pounces on my lips like an animal. His tongue captures mine in a frenetic and divine dance. He devours me with such intensity that I’m sent into darkness once more. Into the darkness of his mind, of his tormented black soul, and of his ruthless—yet capable of love—heart.

I sense the furious battle taking place in his body and brain. I feel his control shattering, his power bursting, his authority ripping to shreds. He is both defeated and yet has won. Against me.

Deon shifts his hips slightly and his cock hits that sensitive spot inside me in an incessant, otherworldly bliss, making my eyes roll and my back arch as we follow that disturbing and toxic pleasure in one another until it’s so big it explodes in a damaging, oblivious love.

“I hate you, Abigayle. I hate you with all my heart and I will hate you forever,” he declares with such a deep tone that I shudder.

Those cruel words resuscitate the opposite feeling inside me, causing my orgasm to break free, and I scream my euphoric love for him over and over again, crying and sobbing my rhapsody, my pain, my madness. My back arches up with a snap as my legs convulse, my cunt pulsing achingly around Deon’s cock, sucking in all his love for me, all his hate for himself, and for both of us together.

Everything around me darkens, smashed to dust by the devastating emotions he caused.

His cum and my juices drip between my legs in a chilling warmth that echoes the horrible words he just flung at me, stabbing my heart, slaughtering my mind, killing me in the most horrific way.

With a knot of pain choking me, I place my hands on his chest, pushing him away with all the strength I possess while agony and hatred swirl in my core like a hurricane. He lifts himself, then falls to his knees on the mattress, breathing raggedly and staring at me with a blank expression.

Although I stumble as my legs buckle, I quickly get up from the bed to pick my clothes from the floor. Feeling his piercing gaze on me, I put on my skirt and white coat with trembling fingers. My tattered red sweater is shoved into one pocket while the syringes go in the other. With my mind on autopilot, my thoughts frozen, my emotions wreaking havoc in my chest, I find my shoes and slip them on.

Ignoring the jarring ache of my screaming, shattered heart, I head toward the door. I can’t look at him. Here's my salvation. Here is my death. I didn't expect the two would have the same face. Deon's.

I grab the handle, but I stop before lowering it and finally turn back.

Adelaide’s indignant voice resurfaces from the pit of my mind, merging with my annihilated one. “I didn't think I would say this, but you're right, Deon. I am a hypocrite who allowed herself to be manipulated and deceived, who fell in love with a toxic man. Today, I lost everything. But you have never had control over one thing: the you that now lives in me. The you that was reflected in my eyes every time we looked at each other. You didn't win against me today, Deon. You lost against yourself.”

I stare at his petrified expression, capturing for the last time his black abysses, now filled with regret and pain. Then I slip away, closing the door behind me.

And the click of the lock thunders deep inside my core, marking the end of everything. Marking the end of Deon and me.

Chapter Forty

Abigayle

Confessions

“Sweetie, I came as soon as I could. Fuck, you told me it's a code red. What happened, Abby?!” Jenna's anxious gaze and worried voice greet me as soon as I open the door.

I took a sick day at work and spent the entire time curled up in bed, sobbing and crying my soul out. Desperately needing to throw out all the pain, to share everything that’s happened to me, and to be reassured by the only person who would never judge me, I texted Jenna.

Now that I stand in front of her, with my red and swollen eyes and my third glass of red wine in hand, she immediately takes me in her arms. Her jasmine scent caresses my senses and I savor her reassuring contact.

“Help yourself to a glass and drink it quickly. You’ll need alcohol for what I'm about to tell you,” I murmur in a faint voice.

Jenna loosens her embrace and her wide eyes scrutinize me in worry, but she nods. Closing the door, I follow her to the living room with shuffling steps.

She says nothing as she pours from the open bottle of wine and gulps down the full glass. When the goblet is refilled, she sits cross-legged on the couch, facing me. “I’m listening, baby.”

I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself. “Jen, there's something I've been keeping from you for a while. Something that devoured my soul and heart until it totally destroyed me. Something about Deon… and me.”

Her pupils dilate in surprise and her mouth drops open in shock, but she doesn't say anything, just nods at me to continue.

I take another sip of wine to calm the knot of tension stuck in my throat, then speak. “From our first meeting, something clicked. I don't know if it’s the fact that he kissed me the first day we met, before he even knew me, or that sense of danger, terror, fascination, and desire that he instilled the moment I saw him, but I gradually became obsessed with him. He crept inside every inch of me.”

I pause, taking another sip and peering under my lashes at Jenna. Paler than usual, she drinks her wine in a single large gulp before helping herself to another glass.

For the next hour and a half, I tell Jenna everything. All the times I fucked Deon, what we did, his confessions, his traumatic past, the violence he suffered. I even reveal my own rape from when I was fifteen.

I burst into tears telling her about my trauma, but my mouth doesn't stop. It's a fucking raging river breaking its banks and spitting everything out. Every moment of weakness, every moment of elation, every joke from Deon, every look, every kiss, every orgasm. I tell her everything.

Everything except Deon’s confession of having murdered those twenty-five pedophiles. Or about Adelaide. She prevents me from speaking about her, to protect us. But I hear her growl in my mind that she’ll make Deon pay for the pain he inflicted on us. And I know her revenge will be excruciating. She won’t kill him. She will do worse.

When I get to the end of telling Jenna about my last interaction with Deon, I can't help but burst into tears again.

“Darling, fuck! How did you keep all this inside for so long? Why didn't you tell me before? You know I would never judge you,” she scolds me gently, taking me in her arms while I curl up with my head on her legs.

“Because it's all so fucking complicated and crazy, Jen. I don't understand anything anymore. I think I've completely lost my mind. I'm no longer the Abigayle I once was. Something has changed inside me forever. I will never be the same again, whatever happens at the trial and after,” I stammer through sobs.

I dry my tears with another tissue, which is soon added to the mound on the carpet.

Jenna doesn’t ask me about Deon's report, making no attempt to influence me one way or the other. Instead, she focuses on me. Stroking my hair, she says, “No, Abby, you haven't lost your mind. Believe me, I understand you. The heart wants what it wants. Fate placed Deon in your path for a reason. Maybe the point of this whole thing wasn't to make you end up with Deon, but to help you find yourself, to discover every part of you, even the most hidden and dark ones. I think what happened with Deon was therapy for both of you, even if he didn't understand the fucking point of it, like the fucking idiot, asshole that he is. He's an absolute moron, and I’m furious for what he did to you.”

“I can't hate him, Jen. I love him, but he hurt me. He pushed me away, destroyed me. So now I feel lost, torn between love and resentment. And I don't know what to do next. I don't know what will happen. I don't know what I want to happen,” I admit in a whisper.

“Oh, love, if I had the answer, I would give it to you. The only thing I can tell you is to wait. Wait for the stars to rise and perform a miracle, making that dickhead understand he screwed up by treating you the way he did. Or accept that maybe it wasn't meant to be and that it was just a learning experience for you.”

Jenna's reassuring words hit me hard, shattering my heart, and tears fill my eyes again. I don't want it to end like this. I don't want it to end at all. But Jenna is right. I can't change Deon and I would never want to. Feeling sorry for myself and despairing is useless. The best I can do in this moment is vent the tsunami of conflicting emotions crushing my chest.

I know it will take time to recover from the wounds he inflicted, and I'm not even sure I will ever fully heal, but I sense my pride and determination rising from the ashes like a phoenix. And Adelaide is already planning every detail of my return.

After a moment, Jenna sighs, a nervous expression on her face. “I have to tell you something, Abby. I know it’s not the best timing, but this really can’t wait.”

A chilling shiver snakes down my spine at her heavy tone. “What happened, Jen?”

She sighs again, darting her eyes away from me. “It’s Dean. He’s been missing since Halloween, and his body was found yesterday. Someone killed him. We were the last ones to see him, so we’re now all suspects. Detective Davidson suspended Ryan, Arya, Emily, and me from the case, and he interrogated all of us this morning. Your name came out as well and they want to speak to you tomorrow.”

Jenna’s words make my blood run cold.

She looks at me with a concerned face. “You were the last one to see him, Abby. What happened? Do you remember anything?”

Anguish and panic rush through me, spiking my heartbeat. As the jarring pumping of my blood muffles the world around me, my mind splits and my darkness takes control. I’m still here, but Adelaide has taken over my body and my voice.

“I have to confess something, Jen. Before coming to the party, I drank half a bottle of red mixed with benzodiazepines. Sometimes I take them to help me sleep, as you know, but it fucked with my memory. I have flashes of images that come from time to time,” Adelaide starts with a guilty voice.

Jenna’s pupils dilate and she grabs my hand. “Girl, you can’t mix anxiety pills with alcohol! You could get seriously fucked up. What were you thinking?! Promise me you won’t do that again, okay?”

“Promise, Jen. I’m sorry. I was anxious about the situation with Deon and I didn’t think about it,” Adelaide lies, putting on her best innocent expression.

My best friend nods, accepting the reasoning.

My alter-self continues, “The night of the party, as soon as you all left and I was alone with Dean, he received a weird call. I don’t know who he was talking to, but he seemed worried and irritated. He said they couldn’t meet that night, that he had other things to do, and tried to dismiss them. But then the color of his face changed, becoming paler, and he agreed to meet whomever it was as soon as he could. He excused himself and disappeared, leaving me there all alone. With the anxiety pills and all the alcohol—I mean, we were taking tequila shots—I-I… I couldn’t resist. I drove to Deon.”

I wince internally at Adelaide’s excuse. Is she trying to use Deon as my alibi? As if he would play along if questioned. He will destroy me even more, sending me to jail for life.

“He won’t,” Adelaide whispers inside my head.

What the fuck is she doing?

“After we fucked, I tried to go back to the party, but I had a panic attack on the way and took another benzo. I remember parking my car, but then everything is black until you and Ryan brought me back here,” Adelaide murmurs, lowering her gaze on the fingers she moves anxiously to give credibility to my regretful tone.

As soon as I stare at my hands, she pushes me back to the front and retreats inside the dark meanders of my mind, grinning wickedly. I take back the control of my body and mind, lifting my gaze up to Jenna’s distraught expression. My friend stares at me for long seconds as my blood rushes madly and I shiver, imagining she could never believe my story.

But then Jenna’s face morphs and she bursts out laughing, spiking my heartbeat even more in a renewed panic.

“You little bitch! You always accused me of being a nymphomaniac, but girl… you couldn’t resist Deon’s cock even if they paid you thirty million dollars!”

Her amused gasps send a dart of relief through my body and I collapse in giggles as well.

“Maybe for thirty million dollars I could manage… but only for a week,” I stammer through laughter.

When I realize I will have to go without him, though, and for free, my amusement dies, replaced by sorrow and desperation. Burning tears well up in my eyes as I shudder under the renewed avalanche of agony.

Before my tears can spill, though, Jenna clears her throat. “I know I shouldn’t speak about that asshole Deon again, and he should rot in jail for the rest of his life even if he’s innocent because he hurt my best friend, but I can’t put righteous man in jail just for that.”

I look at her in confusion as she pulls her phone out of her pocket, but I wait for her to continue.

“This morning, before I was questioned, I was joining a colleague for a coffee and I happened to pass by Davidson’s office. He was inside with Torrance and the door was slightly open. They were talking about Deon and… I recorded their conversation. Listen to this, Abby.”

“Did you bring Deon’s boots back to the evidence room like I told you, Torrance?” Davidson’s harsh tone thunders.

Torrance stammers back, “Yes, boss. But are you sure they won’t notice you altered the evidence to incriminate Mr. Knight?”

“What a fucking question to ask, you idiot! And lower your fucking voice! Do you want the entire office to know we’re sending an innocent man to jail? Even if that asshole is no innocent. I can feel it deep down in my bones. He’s hiding something, just like that little bitch Roland.” Davidson’s irritated voice and shocking words send fury shooting through my veins.

“N-no… Sorry, boss. I was just wondering if we’re doing the right thing. I-I don’t want the fate of an undefiled man on my conscience… I-I…” says Torrance, but Davidson interrupts him.

“Then you don’t understand shit about this work, Torrance. You can’t be kind and compassionate in this job. You’re dealing with monsters that could kill your girlfriend, your future kids, or other loved ones. You have to destroy them before they destroy you. Is that clear, idiot? If your morality counts more than this job, then you can fuck off. You don’t have the balls to be a detective,” Davidson insults him.

Torrance sighs heavily. “S-sorry, boss.”

“Before you disappear from my sight, I want to know about Abigayle Roland. Did you research her like I told you to?”

As soon as my name echoes in my ears, I stiffen.

“Yes, boss. But Miss Roland is clean. I didn’t find anything. There is nothing suspicious about her,” Torrance answers.

“Everything about that little bitch is suspicious. A woman working in a psychiatric hospital can’t be sane. I’ll make her sing as soon as I have her in front of me. You’ll leave me alone with her, understood, Torrance? I want to take my time with her. I will make her open her seemingly innocent mouth like the little slut she is and I don’t want anyone to come disturb me. Is that clear?”

Davidson’s imperious voice and words crawl up my spine, twisting my stomach in disgust.

“Now get the fuck out of my office. And send Jenna in. I have to question her about this fucker’s case.”

The recording ends there, and a tornado of contrasting emotions and thought swirl disturbingly in my mind. Resentment wins above the others. Even though my blood sizzles with pure hatred toward that disgusting pig and I want to kill him myself, I know exactly what I’ll do.

A mischievous grin curls my lips as I feel Adelaide’s darkness seep inside my mind.

“Thank you, Jen, for letting me know what to expect.” My voice is chillingly cold.

“What do you want to do, Abby?”

“Nothing that he didn’t ask for.” I smirk, picking up my glass of wine.

Chapter Forty-One

Detective Davidson

Things Seems Exactly as They Are

With my excitement growing the closer I get to the interrogation room, I lick my lips in anticipation as my cock hardens at the idea of finding myself alone with that twisted little bitch.

I pass the two policemen who just escorted her in, then cast a quick glance around. Jenna is walking toward me, studying a sheet of paper in her hand, but only mutters a muffled greeting as she passes.

After peering around again, I divert my path and go to the technical room at the end of the hall. The technician’s head snaps up as I enter. “Good morning, Detective.”

“Morning, Jeff. I need you to deactivate the camera in the interrogation room,” I say sternly.

Surprise and confusion cross his face, but he has the good sense to do as I command. “Of course, Detective.” He sighs slightly, turning off the system focused on the girl sitting in the chair.

“Good. See you later, Jeff.” I shoot him a knowing glance as I close the door behind me. I am just turning around to head to the interrogation room when Ryan’s imposing body blocks my path.

“Sorry to bother you, Davidson. It’ll only take a minute, but I have an important update concerning the case of the Park Killer.” His serious expression and voice irritate me.

I huff, annoyed by his fucking timing. I want to reach that delicious and crazy little psychologist. I don’t give a fuck about the Park Killer right now. That asshole is already rotting in jail.

“What is it?” I tap my foot and look at the clock with a motion as conspicuous as possible.

“His trial has been postponed to next year. It seems the judge is prioritizing other urgent cases. He emailed asking if we could send him the report of the case.”

“You’re stealing my precious time to tell me the trial has been postponed?! I don’t give a fuck right now, Ryan. I have problems that need my attention. For example, Miss Roland is waiting for me in the interrogation room. Send your requests to Torrance. Don’t bother me with this shit today. Okay?” I spit harshly, earning me a glower from Ryan.

I try to pass him, but he steps in my way, blocking me, and I shoot him an irritated look.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, but then moves in front of me just as I try to go around him.

Irritation sizzles in my blood as I try a third time to pass on his other side and he bumps into me again. Is he fucking with me on purpose?

“Sorry.” His tone is conciliatory but his face holds a smirk.

“Move, Ryan,” I hiss, shoving past him, feeling his contemptuous gaze on my back as I hurry to my destination.

I catch a glimpse of Jenna hastening toward her office, which seems odd, but I’m too preoccupied by what is waiting for me to focus on whatever bullshit she might have been doing.

A satisfied grin spreads across my face as I close the door behind me.

Just me and the little bitch, all alone.

My gaze falls on her ocean-like eyes which glow with a disturbing darkness and the creepy smirk curling her lips. Her expression sends goosebumps of unease across my skin but excitement down to my cock. She looks delicious with her hair gathered in a ponytail and her red lipstick. My desire to stick my cock inside that little mouth heats my blood, making sweat bloom across my forehead.

“So, Miss Roland, you’re aware of why you are here today, aren’t you?” I ask in an ironic tone as I grab the empty chair, making it screech as I drag it close to her.

Her bare legs catch my gaze, pulling it from her crossed knees to the edge of her short, tight skirt. My cock throbs at the sight and I tense my jaw, resisting the impulse to bend her over the table and fuck her.

“No, not really, Detective Davidson.” Her throaty, sensual voice crawls down my body, but the little smirk at the corner of her lips tells me the twisted bitch is lying.

“Really, Dr. Roland? You weren’t aware your friend Mr. Dean Bishop was killed the night of the Halloween party and that you were the last person to see him alive?” I taunt her, studying her face, searching for every nervous micro-expression that could betray her.

Instead, her pupils dilate and her lips part in dismay as her grin falters and she grows pale. “Oh my god, Dean’s dead?!”

Her reaction is so sincere that I am suddenly confused. Either she is a masterful liar and actress or she’s truly shocked. Could she really not know?

“I’m surprised your friend Jenna didn’t explain all this to you.”

My contemptuous voice snaps her eyes to mine and tears of sadness spill down her cheeks. “I haven’t talked to Jenna in more than a week. We had a fight about something going on in my life…” she sobs, her voice cracking.

Her words catch my attention and pique my curiosity even more. There you are. I knew she was hiding something.

“And what is going on in your life, Miss Roland?” I demand, leaning slightly toward her, dazed by her delicious perfume.

Unable to keep my eyes off her bare legs, I wipe my hands to brush away the sweat that blooms on them. She uncrosses her thighs slowly to cross them again the other way, and as she does, I glimpse between them and my core clenches as the image of her naked, hairless cunt disappears again under the fabric of her skirt. I swallow hard, my mind a confusing tangle of thoughts with all my blood rushing down to my cock.

This little slut came in here without panties. I knew she was a twisted little whore.

“I-I’ve been entertaining a relationship with a toxic man,” she confesses, drying her tears with the back of her hand, shuddering on the last whispered words.

“Who is this man, Miss Roland?” I interrogate with an imperious tone, suddenly feeling my blood sizzling with jealousy.

Although she bites her lower lip and refuses to meet my eyes, she remains silent.

“What happened the night of the Halloween party with Mr. Bishop, Miss Roland?” I ask, changing my technique, ready to snatch a confession from her pretty little mouth.

She shudders again at hearing the victim’s name and a sob cracks in her throat. “My god… I-I still can’t believe he’s dead…”

Her voice is so coiled with sorrow I’m starting to think her reaction is sincere. Without waiting for her to answer the last question, I shoot another. “What was your relationship with Mr. Bishop, Miss Roland?”

She lifts her head up once more and pins me in place with her overwhelmingly beautiful eyes. Her still-dilated pupils are two pits of darkness. “I knew him in college. We were friends at the time, but had lost contact with each other over the years. Only sporadically texting from time to time. Jenna invited him over to the Halloween party. I didn’t even know he was there until I arrived. We chatted and reminisced, then we all played a game, but I don’t remember very well.”

Her words pass through me, hardly registering. The image of her naked cunt just a few inches from me, screaming to be fucked hard, is all my brain is able to process. Leaning back, I clear my throat, casting that unbearable desire out of my mind. I stretch my legs in front of her, taking a more comfortable position, devouring the entirety of her gorgeous body with my eyes.

“Why don’t you remember, Miss Roland?” I ask as she peers at me from under her long eyelashes, sensually sucking and rolling her lower lip between her teeth.

“I-I took some anxiety pills before the party, mixing them with alcohol. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I didn’t think about it. I just felt so overwhelmed.” She pauses with a sigh, then reveals hopefully, “Although my memory is blurred, I do have clear flashes of some bits and pieces.”

“It’s really reckless to mix pills with alcohol, Miss Roland. You know that.” My voice is raspy with arousal at hearing her fragility.

Uncrossing my legs to sit in a more composed position, I place my elbows on my knees and lean closer to her, locking my eyes with her as I slowly brush my fingertips over the silky skin of her knee. Her pupils dilate even more and I smirk when I catch her biting her lower lip again.

“I know, Detective Davidson. Sometimes I’m a real naughty girl …” she breaths the words, twisting my name sensually over her tongue.

Is she playing with me now? I really can’t tell anymore. I feel sucked inside her coiling power. My sixth sense flashes disturbingly in the back of my head, but I ignore it. My desire is stronger in this moment.

“What kind of game did you play with Mr. Bishop?” I murmur, drawing little circles over her skin with my thumb.

She shudders at my touch, diverting her gaze from my hand over her legs, and she tries to sit more composed, suddenly stiffening. Embarrassment and discomfort dart from her body, but her reaction only fuels my desire.

“A game he invented, called catch the killer before he catches you.” Her voice cracks as she whimpers when I grip her thigh, squeezing her warm flesh between my fingers.

That contact shoots euphoria up to my brain and an uncontrollable hunger down to my cock.

Her eyes snap toward me as her breathing hitches. When my hand slowly travels up her leg, dangerously approaching the edge of her skirt, she stammers, “D-Detective Davidson… What are you doing?”

Moving uncomfortably, she tries to squeeze her legs together to prevent my hand from crawling between them.

At the crease of her lips in disgust, I am overcome with irritation. I jerk my hand off her leg, rising slowly to my feet. Staring at her, I circle the room to stop behind her chair. “That’s an interesting name for a game, Miss Roland… What were the rules?”

I brush my fingers over her shoulders, gripping them until she whimpers and answers.

“The killer had to name a victim, then ask everyone a “never-have-I-ever” question. If the victim had done the thing the killer said, she had to drink a shot of tequila. If she didn’t do it, she could avoid the tequila and run away, but if the killer caught her after, he would have to fuck her.”

My cock throbs, pushing pleadingly against the fabric of my pants, at hearing the sexual game and imagining this delicious twisted bitch getting fucked by another man. I slowly slide my left hand down her shoulder, over her collar bone, and I can feel the rumbling of her frightened pulse under my touch. I love having power over the situation. It rarely happens, so when I have the chance, I don’t miss it for a second.

My gaze falls on her gorgeous, perfect breasts peeking from the opened buttons of her shirt and I lick my lips in anticipation as my fingers flicker impatiently.

“Who was your killer, Miss Roland?” My salivation increases while I continue to stare at the curves of her tits.

“Dean,” her voice cracks with a shiver.

Even though I can’t see her face, I feel her eyes darting uncomfortably from one side of the room to the other, ashamed and embarrassed by my inappropriate, violent, assaulting touch. I don’t give a fuck. The camera is disabled. No one can see what I’m doing and no one will ever know. She wouldn’t dare accuse me. She wouldn’t dare turn against the embodiment of justice on this earth: a detective, the police, the law. No one will ever believe a crazy psychologist working in an asylum against a respectable representative of the police force.

“What happened next, Miss Roland? Did you fuck Mr. Bishop like the crazy little slut you are and then kill him, stabbing him thirty-four times in the parking lot across from the bar? Did you take his body to the bay, steal a boat, and tie bags of rocks around him before throwing the corpse into the water?” My voice reveals my twisted pleasure yet disgust and hatred in imagining her doing those horrible things.

She shudders, whimpering a choked gasp when my hand sneaks inside her shirt and grabs her right breast, squeezing it hard.

“P-please… stop,” she begs, a sob spilling out of her lips. She starts trembling in fright and shame.

“Answer my question, little slut,” I hiss through my teeth as I sneak my fingers inside her bra, gripping her nipple between my fingers, twisting and pinching it.

Her whole body is wracked by shudders under my touch.

“No, I didn’t do any of those things… Dean received a weird call soon after the others left. I-I… I don’t know who he was talking to, but he seemed nervous. At first, he refused to meet the person, but then he changed his mind. I heard him say they could meet by the bay. He excused himself and just left me there alone. P-please… s-stop.” Another squeezed sob gets stuck in her throat.

New hypotheses spin in my head and I stop moving for a moment, considering them. Could he be involved with illegal trafficking? With the mafia?

“See, Miss Roland, the problem is that while all the others have an alibi and witnesses confirming their stories, you don’t have any. You could be lying to me in this very moment. I wasn’t promoted to head of the department for nothing, little whore.”

On the last words, I squeeze her breast as hard as I can. Her warm and silky skin against my palm almost makes me cum and my need to fuck her is blinding.

She represses a choked cry of pain at my violent touch, but she suddenly stops trembling.

“I’m not lying. I have an alibi and a witness.” Her sensual voice joins her dark aura in the room and I sense her lips curling in a smirk. Her attitude suddenly changing into something chillingly creepy.

“Oh really? And who would that be?”

“Deon Knight. As soon as Dean left, I took my car to the hospital to fuck him.”

My body freezes and my heart skips a beat in shock as the information reaches my brain. Anger, disgust, and contempt all flood my chest. I knew this little slut was hiding something. That’s why she was so protective toward that bastard the last time I saw her.

“And how did you find yourself unconscious outside the bar, then, you little whore? Hm?” I hiss, my fury and hatred toward that motherfucker Deon growing.

“Because after being fucked to oblivion by him, I rushed back to the party to avoid being discovered. I had a panic attack for the mess I was making and took another pill. I parked my car and the only thing I remember after is waking up in my apartment after Jenna and Ryan found me. If you don’t believe me, you can verify my alibi. You won’t be disappointed, I’m sure, to hear the details of how Deon destroyed my cunt.”

Her teasing, shocking words travel up to my brain, and blinded by disgust and jealousy, I crush her tit in my hand once more and grab her ponytail with the other, violently tugging, snatching a pained sob from her throat.

“You’re just a disgusting whore who fucks her patients. But now I’m going to fuck you, you dirty crazy bitch,” I thunder.

Before I can snatch her up and bend her over the table, three knocks on the door freeze me in place. My hands fly off Abigayle and I retreat a step as a dart of adrenaline shoots up my spine just before the door cracks open and Jenna’s head pops inside.

“Sorry to bother, Davidson, but…” Jenna’s voice fades when her gaze falls on her friend’s face, wrinkled shirt, and her expression twists in worry. Stepping inside, Jenna asks sharply, “Is everything okay in here?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. The interrogation is over. You can ask Berny and Tom to escort Miss Roland out of the station. I have to confirm her fucking alibi now,” I growl as my cock throbs in frustration at the missed opportunity.

I stare at Abigayle’s back as she walks determinedly toward her friend.

She turns slightly on the threshold, just enough for me to catch her wicked smile as she murmurs, “It was a pleasure to see a real detective take an honest confession from an innocent girl. Sometimes things are exactly what they seem, right, Detective Davidson?”

Her sarcastic repetition of the sentence I said the last time we met echoes in my head, a clear threat. Then she steps outside, followed by a worried but smirking Jenna.

Chapter Forty-Two

Deon

Remember, you are under Oath

The smell of wood and leather floats in the courtroom, adding to the weighty atmosphere.

My wrists are constricted by handcuffs, but a smirk creases my scar. My lawyer, Damien O’Hara, is the best in the area, and although I never confessed the full truth to him, I made him understand I was not entirely innocent, so he could get me out of this shit.

From my vantage point, I have a good view of the jury to my left and the judge in front of me. The judge is a sixty-something-year old man with sunken cheeks and an authoritative frown.

Although they are now at my back, when I entered the courtroom, I scanned the several dozen people here to watch the trial, but I recognized only Jeremy and David. Most of the others probably belong to the families of the assholes I slaughtered.

My heart sank when I realized she wasn’t in the room as I had hoped. That means she will come later to provide her expert testimony. Part of me had held onto the belief that her report would be enough and that she would not be called, which would free her to come watch the trial.

Instead, it seems she still wants to avoid me as much as possible, a fact that fills my heart with sorrow and remorse. How can I blame her? After what I told her, any sane person would react that way, although part of me still hopes she's crazy enough to come back to me.

I'm a fucking contradiction in flesh and blood. I myself am disgusted by my asshole attitude. I wouldn't be surprised if she felt the same. Yet it was my fear gripping me in a vortex of madness when I spat out those harsh words. My self-loathing spoke, destroying my own delight in finally feeling and accepting her love for me and mine for her. I was terrified, as I always have been. Terrified to trust, abandon, and devote myself to this otherworldly, obsessive feeling I have for her.

The prosecutor’s opening argument is a monotonous, incessant babble that makes me sigh with boredom and roll my eyes when I hear the words “guilty,” “heinous crimes,” “respectable men” flying from his mouth, is a fact that doesn’t surprise me. Peter Hallay has always been boring as fuck. Unfortunately, the jury seems captivated by the dickhead, even sending me judging glances from time to time.

The first witness the prosecutor calls to the stand is that fucker Detective Davidson, a caricature of a bad cartoon. As he approaches, I sit more comfortably, ready to grin at their desperate efforts to corner me. These morons don't have concrete evidence against me, apart from the few grainy images from the final house.

“Detective Davidson, can you please tell us what we are seeing in this image you said comes from a hidden camera at the home of Mr. Curling?” asks the prosecutor, waving a hand at the blurred, shadowed image of a living room on a large screen.

“Of course, Mr. Hallay.” Davidson smirks, turning to the video showing a man dressed all in black, with black gloves and a dark hoodie covering his face.

Watching myself on that screen spikes my pride and excitement, and while I show an imperturbable expression on the outside, on the inside I have a wicked smile.

“As you can see from the footage captured by a hidden camera in the living room, the physical constitution of the killer resembles the accused, Mr. Knight. His large stature, the square shoulders, and long muscular legs are the same. But what distinguishes him the most is the scar near the mouth that both the killer in the video footage and Mr. Knight share. You can see it here…” The detective pauses, pressing a button on a remote control, and the image on the screen changes from the video to a screenshot zoomed-in on the man’s scar next to a photo of my face, taken by the police the day they interrogated me the first time.

“The two scars resemble each other in the curve, length, and depths, as you can see here.” He smirks as he points to that cracked line.

That fucking scar is my nightmare.

“As we can see if we replay the video one more time, the killer walks outside the crime scene at precisely two forty-seven in the morning. The victim’s time of death has been confirmed at two in the morning. This means the murderer had already killed Mr. Curling and cleaned the crime scene.”

The detective pauses again and the prosecutor asks him a question about the crime scene. This time, Davidson presses a button to show bloody photos of my victim’s mutilated body on the armchair positioned at the side of the living room, just outside the angle of the hidden camera.

Shocked and horrified gasps spill from the jury and other scattered people in the room. A wave of pride and pleasure swell in my chest in seeing the asshole I slaughtered plastered on a big screen like a piece of butchered meat.

“The entire area surrounding the victim’s body has been cleaned of any traces of DNA or blood other than that of the corpse. This shows the killer was very attentive, almost obsessive in hiding his tracks. However, in the backyard, we found a clear imprint of Mr. Knight’s culpability in those crimes in the form of a boot print…” Davidson’s eyes snap to me, a malicious smile peaking from under his thick mustache.

What?! What the fuck is he talking about? I was always extremely careful and I’m more than sure I left no traces, even in the garden, where I wore large covers over my boots, precisely to avoid leaving any footprints.

A chilling fury creeps into my blood, stiffening my muscles into steel pillars when the detective shows the photos of a pair of black boots they retrieved during the search of my house beside some neat shoe prints in the earthy soil of the dead asshole’s back garden.

My lawyer’s eyes narrow, worry and fury mixing on his face as he searches the documents he received from the prosecutors about evidence.

These sons of bitches made up proof to send me to jail. My hatred and rage sizzle in my blood and I gnash my teeth, trying to keep my murderous impulses at bay.

“Objection, your Honor. Notice and disclosure. We were not informed of this evidence in discovery. This needed to be shared in pretrial motions.” My lawyer’s baritone echoes through the room.

The judge takes a few seconds to scrutinize us as he readjusts the sleeves of his black robe. “Overruled. I will allow it, Mr. O’Hara.”

I vibrate, a chilling, coiling fury devouring me in the pit of my stomach. If I manage to gain my freedom, these sons of bitches will all die in excruciating pain.

“Continue, Detective Davidson,” adds the judge, turning his gaze to the motherfucker.

The asshole smirks, casting a quick taunting look my way. “Thank you, your Honor.”

Violence and madness shoot up my spine, gripping my nerves in a blinding wrath. I clench my fist on my knees, visualizing different atrocious ways to end this fucker’s life.

“As you can see from the pictures here, if we juxtapose the sole print of Mr. Knight’s boot, it matches perfectly with those found at the crime scene, outside Mr. Curling’s house.” He presses a button, making the two patterns overlap on the screen.

The prosecutor starts asking questions about other potential suspects but the intentions in the detective’s voice are more than clear and I am lost in my loathing, unable to hear what Davidson says. He doesn’t give a fuck if there are other leads that could match the physical description and mouth scar with another suspect. He has decided that I have to be sentenced to jail in perpetuity, and he’s doing everything in his power to ensure it happens.

My lawyer intervenes several times, announcing “objection,” “assumes facts not in evidence,” “calls for speculation,” “irrelevant,” “improper characterization of evidence,” mostly to no avail.

Upon descending from the stand, the detective casts me a victorious look. But his smile falters when he meets my eyes and sees the gruesome murderous darkness that burns in them.

Throughout the day, the two attorneys war against each other with barrages of big words and judgments. Tension rises and fills the room, infusing the trial with an even darker and heavier feeling, but adrenaline shoots through my veins when they suddenly announce the name of the next witness. My mind abruptly stops planning my revenge against all these motherfuckers, and I snap my head up.

“The prosecution calls Dr. Abigayle Roland to the stand.”

While my heart skips a beat and then rumbles into an insane staccato, I straighten up in my chair, looking for her in the room.

I haven't seen Abigayle for two weeks. Since I shattered her heart with my words. Since I killed us with self-hatred. Since I destroyed everything.

Her colleague, Larson, took over the last four sessions, but it was lost time. I didn’t speak a word. He understood he wouldn’t gather anything verbally, so he made me complete different written tests. I didn’t protest, preferring to give him something to make him shut his fucking mouth and help Abigayle with her report. It was the least I could do for her.

When my eyes finally capture her, a lightning bolt of love and remorse hits me square in the chest, knocking my breath away.

She's divine.

I devour every inch of her figure. Brushing her bare long legs, elegantly outlined by a pair of black high-heeled pumps that click rhythmically. Caressing the curve of her hips and perfect ass, enclosed in a black skirt. Unbuttoning her tight white blouse, along her delineated breasts up to the sensual line of her exposed neck and her low messy bun. My cock throbs at the sight of her gorgeous body and my heart aches with pain and guilt.

Her strong aura spreads until it fills the room, sucking all the oxygen from my lungs. I know from her expression that Abigayle is in control right now, but I can sense Adelaide lurking wickedly beneath the surface of her mind. I catch it from the slight mischievous ripple of her mouth and that glowing darkness always dancing in the pit of her ocean eyes.

Looking around the room, I notice that the power she gives off with every step attracts the gaze of everyone present. Men and women alike devour her and stare at her with jealousy. A shiver of anger runs down my spine and I clench a fist on my knee, blinded by the sudden desire to gouge everyone's eyes out.

Abigayle is mine.

When she passes me, I can tell she feels the electricity between us because even if she pays me no mind, her fingers reflexively squeeze the documents in her hands.

My eyes don't leave her for a single second. I can feel the frantic beating of my little bunny's heart from here and would give anything for her to dive her eyes in mine. But she avoids looking in my direction.

Once she is on the stand, she readjusts her skirt, lowering it slightly to cover more of her legs as she tucks a non-existent lock of hair behind her ear.

“Dr. Roland, please raise your right hand,” the judge orders, staring at her.

Nibbling her lower lip, Abigayle turns toward the man with her hand up, then repeats the oath calmly and decisively before sitting down at his command.

My gaze falls to her legs as they slowly overlap. Through the wooden bars of the stall, I glimpse her bare thighs and… fuck. Her naked cunt.

My heart leaps in my chest and my core clenches in a sudden rush of euphoria. My little bunny is still without underwear.

Hope touches my heart at that thought. She only ever did it because I asked her to. After mistreating her like I did, I thought all was lost. So why is she still following that rule I imposed? To take revenge? To show me her authority and her power over me? To provoke me?

She squirms slightly, making an almost imperceptible movement clasping her thighs together. It escapes the eyes of everyone else, but not mine. My little bunny is aroused and nervous by the tense situation.

Peter Hallay, a dickhead in his forties with black hair and angular features dressed in a Hugo Boss suit, holds his chin high with a superior attitude as he approaches the stand with slow and calculated steps. He rolls his languid and lascivious eyes over Abigayle’s body, lingering on her bare, crossed legs. His tongue quickly darts out of his mouth to moisten his lower lip before he speaks.

I barely contain a growl as sizzling jealousy heats my blood and a primal hatred fills my chest.

“Dr. Roland, as the psychologist who followed Mr. Knight for the last three months, can you please present your psychiatric assessment of him? Introduce him to us from your point of view,” he orders with a mocking smile.

I take another deep breath to keep the black shadow at bay and focus on Abigayle, staring at her intently. I don't know what to expect from her. After everything that happened, I am sure she will try to destroy me. Yet a part of me remains eternally optimistic. Abigayle and Adelaide are unpredictable. She could say anything, from the truth to a completely manufactured story.

With a carefully schooled face, Abigayle begins. “I met patient #18666 Deon Knight, during my shift on October 7, 2023. Our first interaction was short, but I managed to establish contact with him and determine that he possessed a precise lucidity and unquestionable space-time orientation.” She pauses and I feel exposed and vulnerable.

Abigayle has power and total control over me in this moment. She’s always had it, from the beginning. She is about to dissect my mind and my soul in front of an audience of strangers, revealing my deepest and most intimate traumas as if I were a laboratory frog.

I have switched places with the frogs I tortured and killed as a child. Abigayle is the executioner and I am the poor defenseless creature fighting for freedom. The irony of the situation is not lost on me and a nervous smile creases my scar as I roll my eyes. `

Fucking karma.

“From the first moments of our initial interaction, Mr. Knight presented a cold and controlled attitude. He didn’t show any anxious or nervous behavior, expression, or micro-aggression. He remained clear-headed throughout all our brief exchange,” Abigayle declares, nibbling on her lower lip for a fleeting moment.

The memory of our first kiss, of that kiss I snatched from her, that I forced on her, that I stole from her, comes back more vivid than ever, and I can't help but suck my lip between my teeth, as if to savor her delicious flavor on my tongue again.

“Why was your first interview short?” asks the prosecutor, a suspicious tone in his voice.

Abigayle’s shoulders stiffen slightly and her jaw clenches for a brief moment. The piece of shit is giving her a hard time.

“Objection, your Honor. Irrelevant,” my lawyer announces, earning a glare from Hallay.

“Overruled.” The judge’s bored reply makes my heart race with anger.

Fuck, that asshole is a sellout. The glances they exchanged tell me he and the prosecutor know each other. Neutral judgment my fucking balls.

“So, Miss Roland, why was your first meeting with Mr. Knight short-lived?” The son of a bitch repeats with a serpentine smile, taking another step closer to Abigayle.

My fists clench and my knuckles go white as the beast within me throbs.

Abby clears her throat and composes herself slightly, opening her chest with determination, inevitably attracting the asshole’s gaze on her tits. Is she doing it on purpose? To distract him?

A dark glow dances in her blue eyes and I recognize Adelaide’s shadow peeking out. Although a sense of pride for her ingenuity brushes my heart, I can’t ignore the anger and jealousy in my veins.

“I had a personal emergency and had to interrupt the session,” she lies with extreme skill, remaining serious and composed.

The nervous squirms I hear from Jeremy and David behind me send a shiver up my spine. They seem to remember all too well finding us in each other's arms. If those incompetent dare to speak or contradict anything, we're in deep shit.

Peter Hallay scrutinizes Abby's face as if looking for proof of her lie, then sighs dejectedly, taking a step back. “Go ahead, Miss Roland,” he urges with a haughty gesture.

“Our second session yielded more… interesting results. Mr. Knight's collaborative attitude to the exchange revealed a tendency toward manipulation. Toward an attempt to control the situation. He is skilled and convincing in arguing, and spoke with intense charisma as well as a slightly inflated view of himself.”

She stops for a moment and my muscles almost fray like a rubber band from how tense I am. Fuck, my little bunny is revealing that I'm a charismatic and narcissistic psychopath. This is not good.

“This controlled attitude, however, wavered in the following sessions when Mr. Knight became more candid with me. If at first, he was cautious and argued with skill, showing his mocking and unfiltered side, it seems that as the discussions proceeded, he loosened up. He became much more impetuous, gradually revealing experiences from his past, specifically his childhood.”

Abigayle's firm voice hits me like a punch, shattering my breath. I have never felt more exposed in my entire life. My little bunny is peeling off every layer of my mind in front of all these strangers, stripping me of my dignity and personhood. Presenting me to everyone as the manipulative and hideous monster that I am.

“Could you explain to us what type of tests you used on Mr. Knight to be able to describe these attitudes?” Peter asks, pinning her to the chair.

“Objection, your Honor. Inflammatory.”

“Overruled,” the judge replies quickly without even sparing us a look, too intent on studying the battle of glances between Abigayle and Peter.

“Of course, Mr. Hallay,” she replies in kind, raising her chin. “I used the MMPI test, the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory, and the PTSD scale for DSM-5. The first consists of using a spectrum designed to assess personality traits and psychopathology. This data helps to draw conclusions about the test taker’s psychopathy or to explain psychological facets compared to the norm. The second is a structured diagnostic interview that evaluates posttraumatic stress disorder, known as PTSD. Both are employed to understand the individual's persona and his behavior toward himself and others, looking specifically at traumas the subject has experienced. And that's what I used with De… uhm, with Mr. Knight.” She clears her throat, biting her lip when she realizes she almost said my name.

My heart leaps in my throat, rumbling furiously.

“And how exactly did you perform these tests on Mr. Knight? From what I saw in the report you submitted, there is no written proof of those.” The dickhead’s tone is sly, as if he has caught her in a lie.

“Objection, your Honor. Hearsay and narrative,” my lawyer growls, clenching a fist on the table. He's getting pissed too.

The judge rolls his eyes, huffing slightly. “Sustained,” he finally replies, glancing at me and my lawyer.

The prosecutor gives us a dirty look, reformulating his question. “Could you tell us, Miss Roland, how you subjected Mr. Knight to these tests?”

Abigayle’s determined and blinding smile catches the fucker’s attention even more. “Through a game of conversation,” she replies resolutely, earning a confused look from Peter.

“What do you mean by “a game of conversation,” Miss Roland?”

The treasure hunt. Abigayle's eyes glow with that coiling darkness I know too well and my cock throbs in pleasure.

“It’s a game I invented to push the conversation. I revealed information about my own experiences to incite Mr. Knight to do the same with his. Because a classic written test wouldn’t have worked with Mr. Knight due to his manipulation, I found a different technique to get what I wanted,” she replies deftly.

“Go ahead, Miss Roland.” Mr. Hallay nods, sinking a hand in his pocket and brushing his gaze over her body once more.

I will kill this asshole slowly, with excruciating pain, as soon as this is over and I'm free. Or at least I hope I'll be free.

“When Mr. Knight gradually opened up about his childhood experiences and the traumas he faced due to a violent stepfather and a drug-addict mother, his narrative became intense, precise, and particularly oppressive. The result was a very deep contact through which Mr. Knight was able to communicate moods, emotions, experiences, and reactions. Despite this, his tendency to hide and detach himself was still strongly present. It’s a defensive mechanism of isolation. What didn’t change from the beginning, regardless of the complexity of his expressions, of the ambivalences of his tone, of his bold but also highly conflictual and insecure manner, was the need to place himself in a position of power, to manipulate the situation. Mr. Knight presents a repressed yet intense aggression and a low tolerance of frustration, linked to the pain associated with his traumas.”

I'm shattered listening to the accurate and precise description Abigayle is giving about me. This woman is a goddess.

“From these ambivalences comes an attitude that oscillates between intelligence and sensitivity, and a contrasting underlying rudeness. Between the posture of a charismatic man and a more primitive one who wants and needs to present himself in a mocking and brazen way to maintain his feeling of power and control over himself and others.”

Her voice remains firm and strong, her posture upright and proud as she unrolls my entire being from her tongue. Through it all, she looks at everyone in the courtroom. Everyone except me.

“So, Miss Roland, you are telling us that Mr. Knight was absolutely aware of the crimes he committed and therefore perpetuated them with sense and clarity?” Peter implies, grinning frighteningly at Abigayle.

Damien jumps up from his chair, glaring at Peter. “Objection, your Honor.”

The judge puffs out his cheeks and nods. “Sustained. Please, Mr. Hallay, ask specific, non-argumentative questions. Rephrase or let Miss Roland continue her testimony.”

Dickhead Peter raises his hands in surrender and takes a step away from Abby. “Please, Miss Roland, continue.”

My little bunny moves her papers finding the right one, then goes back to staring at the jury and the asshole in front of her.

“Certain ideas in Mr. Knight's mind tend to assume a prevailing value. On the one hand, the trauma of having been mistreated, abandoned, and abused repeatedly as a child led Mr. Knight to form a core of disappointment, resentment, and constant desperation. On the other hand, the idea of being a loner, condemning himself to solitude, with the continuous and inevitable failure of every interpersonal relationship. With the inability to establish a lasting emotional bond and instead locking himself in solitude and pain.”

As she says this, Abigayle's eyes rise and meet mine for the first time in days. Love, hatred, and pain all blaze there, and my heart sinks, swallowed by remorse. Abigayle’s words echo loudly in my ears.

I didn't win against her. I lost against myself.

In reality, I lost the first day I met her and kissed her. The moment my heart, soul, and mind were stolen by her.

Abigayle looks away from me, shivering, then she speaks again.

“Every time Mr. Knight noticed our relationship was tending to slip toward the sentimental but still professional side, in his opinion, it had to end. I saw this as a protection mechanism, due to the great anguish of painful, tormenting, dangerous, and frustrating experiences in his past. Never confiding in anyone seems to have been his motto, but also his condemnation. Inflicting constant torture and constant punishment on himself, as if to atone for sins he was never guilty of but which, in his eyes, had a universal value, was his only purpose.”

When she pauses again, I realize I am about to sink into hell forever. Or perhaps ascend to heaven? I have always been in limbo, waiting for my sentence to be declared. Now I am stripped bare in front of all these strangers. Stripped bare in front of myself.

And what I see is a ten-year-old boy with eyes filled with desperation, begging me to stop inflicting hatred and pain on myself. Because I never deserved it. Because I am the victim and the one executing my own pain. There is no point hiding from my own wounds when a person has been able to see them, appreciate them, and love them, with all their ugliness and deformities.

If that woman was capable of loving every aspect of me, even the most perverse, dark, and disgusting, why can’t I love myself? Abigayle was never against me, but with me. She was never a poison, but a cure. She was never a curse, but a salvation.

Swallowing the sudden knot of tension choking me, I stare at Abigayle, waiting for my sentence to be passed by those silky lips.

Taking a deep breath, she locks her eyes with mine again and speaks. “In summary, I can state Mr. Knight has a complex personality structure. A personality that deludes itself of the power and control that he thinks he possesses. He is a man who deceives himself to avoid any pain, because he is already too crushed by his own self-hatred. Thus, he created an omnipotent and emotionally untouchable self that must never be hurt, under penalty of inflicting psychological and physical suffering on himself and on others who love him. Deeply marked by traumas experienced throughout his childhood, upon growing up, he has found himself locked in a prison of torment and loathing of his own building. Mr. Knight needs to address that love he possesses within his heart toward the most important person: himself. And only then will he be able to win against himself forever. Mr. Knight is not guilty of the crimes you accuse him from, he’s only guilty of murdering himself every day with his own inner demons.”

My mind explodes and I find myself gasping for oxygen, as if I was suddenly thrown into a universe of light where the only air is granted by a lover. Abigayle.

But before I can lose myself inside my total acceptance, a voice echoes through the courtroom. “Everything she just said is a lie. Miss Abigayle Roland entertained a sexual relationship with Mr. Knight from the beginning of the case, your Honor.”

Detective Davidson rises from his chair, grinning wickedly.

Chapter Forty-Three

Deon

The Power of Manipulation

Gasps swirl in the air, breaking the tension in the room. I stiffen at Davidson’s words and a homicidal desire to slash his throat grips my spine, jerking me up from my chair.

Damien rises to his feet next to me, gripping my wrist as if to block my impulse, but I’m blinded as the eyes of the spectators jump from me to Abigayle to Davidson in a disturbing choreography.

Davidson’s smirk widens, and that sight is only gasoline on the black fire devouring my chest. But before I can move, charging that son of a bitch, another voice speaks.

“You’re absolutely… wrong, Detective Davidson. The same cannot be said of the evidence you falsified to frame Mr. Knight and send him to prison. Or your sexual assault when you interrogated me on another case.” Abigayle’s chilling voice thunders in the court room, drawing more shocked gasps from the jury and spectators.

My head snaps toward her as I freeze for a split second, my rage growing to inhuman proportions when I connect the meaning of her words.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Deon. Wait, please.” Damien shakes my wrist, hissing between gritted teeth.

Davidson chuckles. “You don’t have any concrete proof, Miss Roland. It’s your word against mine. Against my concrete evidence of Mr. Knight’s culpability in those crimes.”

“Order! Order!” Thunders the judge, hammering on the table.

“Too bad for you, I have concrete evidence of your crimes, Detective Davidson,” Abigayle replies darkly, grabbing the remote control from the edge of the stand in front of her.

While her dark coiling aura hypnotizes everybody in the courtroom, Davidson’s face grows suddenly pale, losing its smirk. Then his harsh voice booms from the TV speakers although the screen remains black.

“Did you bring Deon’s boots back to the evidence room like I told you, Torrance?”

“Yes, boss. But are you sure they won’t notice you altered the evidence to incriminate Mr. Knight?”

As the two voices speak the truth all too clearly, and Davidson’s expression morphs to fury and terror, the knowledge of Abigayle’s power and manipulation skills stuns me. Damien withdraws his grip on my wrist, silently sitting down as he stares around the room, speechless.

As soon as the recording ends, the judge shudders. “What does this mean, Detective Davidson? Have you falsified evidence? What—”

He is interrupted by Abigayle, who has a perverse glow in her eyes. “That’s nothing, your Honor. I invite you to watch how the embodiment of the law uses his power in criminal ways.”

She presses another button on the remote control, and this time, the image of an interrogation room opens on the screen. The angle of the camera, positioned behind what seems to be a cup of coffee on another table in the corner of the room, allows a view of Abigayle sitting in a chair and Davidson’s ruddy physique standing behind her, gripping her shoulders.

“P-please… stop,” she begs, a sob spilling from her lips. While she shivers, her dilate pupils desperately dart from side to side as that bastard’s hand slowly descends on her collarbone, on the edge of her white shirt, sneaking inside, harshly gripping her breast.

“Answer my question, little slut,” Davidson hisses through his teeth, squeezing her once again.

She shudders more vigorously and sobs. “No, I didn’t do any of those things… Dean received a weird call soon after the others left. I-I… I don’t know who he was talking to…”

Her voice blurs in my ear as my black demon chokes me with loathing. He dared touch her. He dared violate her. He dared take what’s mine. I’m swallowed into a chasm of madness as my mind crumbles.

“You’re just a disgusting whore who fucks her patients. But now I’m going to fuck you, dirty crazy bitch,” Davidson thunders on the video.

Those last words rip me to shreds. Everything becomes darkness and my mind goes silent as my core clenches in an insane hatred and my legs move. My only focus is Davidson. Adrenaline darts through me with a burning force, pumping my heart savagely, and muffled screams dance in my ears as my fist smashes on Davidson’s face.

“Deon!” Abigayle’s voice reaches me as my jarring hatred pours onto the fucker’s fallen body. I only manage to shatter his nose and mouth with one blow before two pairs of strong arms lift me up, dragging me away from him.

Time and space seem to have frozen as my eyes register two other policemen grabbing Davidson’s body from the floor, helping him stand. Blood drips copiously from his broken nose and lips as he moans in pain, avoiding my murderous gaze.

But nothing from the chaos around me matters—not the people being shuffled out of the room, not the judge and prosecutor talking frantically, not Damien’s sighs. My focus is entirely on Abigayle.

“Detective Davidson, you are suspended immediately. You are hereby under arrest for falsifying evidence and for sexual assault.” The judge nods to the two policemen standing next to Davidson.

“You piece of shit… You! This fucking bitch! This whore, and that slut Jenna! And Ryan! They all planned this! Fucking psychopaths! You all are!” Davidson’s fury bursts in an incoherent, mad speech while he struggles between the clutch of the other two men, who start to drag him toward the door.

“Dr. Roland, have you entertained a sexual relationship with Deon Knight at any point during these three months?”

The judge’s cold voice makes my eyes snap to her. She is only a few yards away, observing the scene with a satisfied darkness on her face and a wicked grin curling her lips.

“No, your Honor. I’ve never had any interactions with Mr. Knight in any form other than a professional one. I can assure you of that. Detective Davidson, on the other hand, approached me various times during these months, harassing and threatening me. He thought there was something going on between me and Mr. Knight, and he started stalking me, even trying to frame me for the murder of Mr. Dean Bishop. Only because he wanted to have sex with me, until he tried a few days ago when he interrogated me.” Her voice is so innocent and determined that for a split second I almost believe her.

“Mr. Knight, you will spend the night in jail while the state determines whether to press charges for this courtroom violence. For the charges of murder, I declare a mistrial, with prejudice. Depending on any further charges you may or may not receive, you will be free to go. Dismissed,” announces the judge, casting me a stern look. After pounding his gavel, he sighs in exasperation, then leaves the courtroom.

The two court officers drag me toward the back exit, to take me back to holding. Although a part of me registers that I am almost free, my mind is still clouded and I suddenly feel sucked into my own sorrow for having almost lost Abigayle, for what that son of a bitch did to her, for how she stripped me naked in front of everyone. And yet it is in this very moment that I feel the most intense, choking, insane love I’ve ever felt.

A blinding love for myself and for her.

Before passing the threshold, I raise my eyes to meet those two abysses of twisted hatred, lust, and love. And I see her peeking from the inside, as Abigayle’s lips curl slightly in a mischievous, victorious smile.

I won’t ever stop searching for her. I’ll never stop playing with her or stop loving her to madness.

Both of them. Abigayle and Adelaide. My psycho twisted killer soulmate.

Epilogue

Abigayle

6 Months Later

“You little slut! We still have to decide where we're gonna have the bachelorette party and we still have to pick out dresses for the ceremony! Fuck, Abby, there’s too much to prepare!” Jenna breathes heavily on the other end of the phone.

I roll my eyes, shaking my head in amusement while I rearrange the pillows on the chair where my next patient will sit.

After leaving my position at the psychiatric hospital three months ago, I opened my own private practice in a small rented apartment only three blocks from my home. Here, they have a safe refuge, where their words and experiences can be shared and remain within these walls.

“Jen, don't worry. I'm all yours on Saturday. We can go around as many wedding dress shops as you need to find the right one. I'm taking care of the bachelorette party. It’s a surprise, okay? Stop trying to control everything. Do you know who's planning Ryan's?” I reassure her, heading toward the small modern kitchen to get a cup of tea.

“Don't even make me think about it. Ryan's bachelor party is in the hands of that idiot Jake. He scares me. He’s a womanizer. I'm sure he'll take Ryan to a strip club to get him drunk and he'll end up fucking and cheating on me with another woman!” she whines.

I chuckle as I sink into the pillows of the little sofa, warm mug in hand. “Don't worry, Jen. Never gonna happen. Ryan's too in love with you and he's marrying you, so calm down. I'll talk to Jake and give him a nice little speech. Okay? I have to go, little bitch. My last patient arrives in five.”

“Okay, Abby. But don't forget we’re meeting at Good Karma tomorrow at nine for a crazy night!”

“I'll be there. See you tomorrow!” I laugh, ending the call and throwing the phone onto the cushion next to me.

Taking another sip of tea, I open my notes and start to read a few lines. The sudden shrill ring of the doorbell makes me jump in fright, my core clenched in excitement.

“Fuck,” I mumble as I set the cup on the table and take a quick look at the clock. Six in the evening. Closing the folder, I head toward the door, my heart beating faster with every step.

Adrenaline tingles my skin and my mind darkens as I slowly open the door. My eyes are immediately chained by two black abysses with a perverse glow and by that mischievous grin, wrinkling his scar in a disturbing sensual way.

“Good evening, little bunny.” His deep voice sinks into me, immediately wetting my panties.

Still leaning with his shoulder against the doorframe, dressed in his black shirt, black jeans, and leather boots, his arms crossed over his chest, he is already undressing me with his eyes. That insane tension between our bodies rises and I almost choke on the suffocating desire burning in me.

“Deon,” I moan, breathless.

Even though we resumed our sessions three months ago, I am moved like this every time I see him. He takes my breath away.

After that day in court, Detective Davidson was charged and found guilty of various crimes and sentenced to years in prison, where he remains. Even though I suspect Deon is meticulously planning his death. For his attack on the former detective, Deon was ordered to attend therapy for another three months. If at that point he was deemed to be safe, all charges would be dropped.

I recommended another psychologist be in charge of his treatment, but my colleague refused categorically, explaining I had done an excellent job up to that point and Deon trusted only me. Still, I had refused as well. I couldn't continue to destroy my mind and heart for him. So, I let time pass, three months in which neither of us went looking for the other.

Until one day.

I'm sitting at a table on the terrace of my favorite restaurant. The March sun warms my cheeks in a sweet caress while I breathe the fragrance of the magnolia flowers lingering in the air.

While waiting for my order, I sip my iced tea and reread the resignation letter typed up on my computer screen in front of me.

Despite the sun, a cool breeze hits me, sending a tingling shiver down my spine. I adjust my black leather jacket and cross my legs, shrugging my shoulders, but that cold sensation doesn't disappear. Instead, it spreads through my body, twisting my stomach and giving me goosebumps.

I feel someone's gaze on me. A penetrating and dangerous gaze.

Confused by the strange feeling, I look around for the source of my sudden discomfort, but can't see anyone. There are only a few people scattered on the terrace, eating and chatting among themselves.

Chasing away the discomfort in my belly, I turn back to my computer.

A fleeting movement catches my attention again and when I lift my head to scowl at the person who had the fucking nerve to sit at my table, I freeze.

“Deon…” That name coats my tongue with its delicious flavor as my eyes are chained by his, despite the black Ray Bans that hide his ebony irises.

My heart rolls, pumping at dangerous levels, and my belly tightens in delight at seeing him.

Dressed in a tight black shirt and matching jeans, with a few messy locks falling across his forehead and his sexy scar curled into a wry grin, he stares at me, leaning back in the chair. “Hello, little bunny. It’s been a while.”

His deep voice sucks all the oxygen from my lungs, leaving my brain a pile of sludge in front of his powerful aura. Although my sunglasses block the glare I send him, he doesn't miss my gritted teeth and tensed jaw.

Tilting his head, he smirks. “I see you're still pissed at me, Abigayle.”

I puff out my cheeks and sigh heavily, a tsunami of conflicting emotions rising in my chest. Anger, resentment, desire, and love.

But I don't reply, preferring to ignore him. I turn my attention back to my computer, but my brain can no longer concentrate on anything except the man who tore my heart away and trampled on it. The man I obsessed over every fucking minute of every fucking day for the last three months. The man I was desperately hoping would search for me. The man who is now sitting right in front of me.

He waves to attract the waiter and I observe him carefully, grateful I wore my sunglasses, so I can take in the sharp, masculine lines of his face and body.

“I'll have what my girlfriend ordered and a beer, please,” he says when the server arrives.

I’m hit by a rush of pure pleasure, but I immediately push it away. “What are you doing, Deon?!”

“Isn't it more than obvious, little bunny? I'm having lunch with my girlfriend today.” He smirks, leaning over the table until the tips of our noses touch.

My heart skips a beat at the sudden intimate proximity, his delicious scent of musk and amber, and the way the word “girlfriend” rolls sensually off his tongue. Arousal seeps into my belly, sliding down to my pussy. My brain and my dignity scream at me to move away from him, yet my body doesn't stir, fossilized by his ruthless beauty.

The one part of me that does work is my voice, so I hiss at him again. “Deon, I don't want you here. Go away. And stop calling me your girlfriend. I’m not. And how did you know where I was? Actually, you know what? I’m not interested. What I care about is that you get out of my sight.”

Deon's eyebrow cocks into a sarcastic frown, his lips curling in a sexy smile so handsome he should be outlawed. Fuck, how does he take on the features of a devil and an angel at the same time? He’s otherworldly.

“I followed you, Abigayle. I’ve followed you since the trial. Since I found my freedom again thanks to you. I’ve been waiting for you to make up your mind and follow the judge's orders to resume our sessions. I let you have your space. I also confirmed your alibi for the night of Dean’s murder. But I think it’s time to end this useless waiting game. Don’t you agree?”

He grins frighteningly again, staring at me with such intensity I shudder. My stomach twists in pleasure and my heart pumps like crazy.

“You're sick. Stop following me and leave me alone. I think I was wrong to give you freedom so easily. I certainly didn't help you so you could stalk me,” I spit between my teeth, keeping my expression resolute, even though everything inside me is wavering and trembling dangerously under the earthquake that is Deon.

“Why did you do what you did, then?” he ask sarcastically, his sexy fucking scar curling even more.

“I… I… I mean…” I stammer.

I did it because I love you madly. Because you deserve a happier life than the one you have known so far, and who am I to deprive you of it? I wanted to give you a second chance, one destiny didn't give you. It wasn’t to have you back with me, because I never really had you for myself, only for yourself. That's why I did it.

But I don’t say that out loud.

“Look, Deon. It doesn't matter what the reason was. Now, move that perfect ass of yours and leave,” I growl in indignation, but flush when I realize what I said.

His eyebrow jumps even more and a deep laugh bubbles in his throat.

“My perfect ass, Abigayle? I think you'll find this perfect ass sitting next to you for the rest of your life. As you will find my eyes staring at you while I rip screams of pleasure from your throat every time I worship your tight cunt. As you will find my cock inside you every fucking day until we both take our last breath.” He takes off his glasses to stare at me with an insane glow of love.

His deep voice and words hit me in the chest, shattering my breath, drowning my brain, and my pussy screams its desperate needs in my panties. I gasp for air, unable to think, unable to move, unable to speak.

“So, little bunny, will you forgive me for being a dickhead to you? You know how much I hate to apologize, and if you really want to know, this is the first time in my life I've ever done it. So, appreciate the effort and go back to being my good little girl, because I know you want to. You can't hide it from me. I know you too well by now,” he adds, brushing his lips against mine.

That touch sends an electric shock through my body, silencing reason, pride, and animating my battered heart, which pumps with the sick love I still feel for him.

“Deon… I… I need time. You can't ask me to forgive you on the spot like this. I have to think about it,” I stammer, distancing myself from his body. His presence turns my neurons to mush and summons my insanity, splitting me in two.

“Take your time to think, Abby. But I’ll be by your side every day this time. We will resume our sessions, as the judge ordered. If you want me to disappear from your life forever after that, I will. Give me three months, then you can choose what to do with me. Okay?”

A moan threatens to roll out my lips at the visceral need I have to be fucked by him, but we are interrupted by the waiter arriving with our plates. I don't even look at the cheeseburger in front of me. It feels like the entire universe has stopped spinning, that all the people have disappeared, leaving only the two of us here on earth.

Taking a deep breath, I groan and roll my eyes, then point a finger in his face. “Fine. You have three months, Deon. Don't make me regret it.”

“Oh, you won't regret it, little bunny. It will be the best decision of your life.” He smirks mischievously, then opens his mouth to capture my finger between his teeth, and lightly squeezing my knuckle before wrapping his lips around me, he withdraws slowly, sucking and brushing his velvety tongue over my skin.

Electric shocks flare, spreading throughout my body, squeezing the muscles of my pussy in delight. My breath catches in my throat, but a loud and strangled gasp escapes my lips.

A wicked glow twitches in his eyes as he murmurs, “From today, we write a new chapter, Abigayle. A chapter of our own, where we are the only undisputed protagonists of our story.”

During these three months, Deon and I have met twice a week for our sessions. But I never managed to maintain my professionalism, I preferred to use my unprofessionalism to stick out more information from him. Every single time, we ended up fucking insanely. The need and hunger we have for each other is blinding.

Outside of the planned sessions, the psychopath followed me wherever I went, regardless of who I was with. I’ve found him at evenings with Jenna, at meetings with former colleagues, and even at my mother's house when I visited for her birthday. He kept me glued to him as we were Siamese brothers and never hesitated for a single time to murder with his gaze any man who tried to pass the ‘Hi’ conversation.

My mother was speechless the first time she saw him, shocked by how gorgeous and tall he is. Everyone who meets him is stunned by his charisma, by his skillful ability to manipulate them into loving him. Even Jenna has gradually grown to appreciate him, even if she threatened to kill him if he ever hurt me again.

Adelaide resurfaces occasionally while we fuck during some of our intense, deep sessions, taking the experience to wild levels. The bitch is so unhinged. She decided to played with knives during sex. In that case, Deon ended up with a scar in the shape of an “A” on his chest while I got a “D” on my pussy mound. Now we are forever marked on each other’s skin, as if our tangled, sick minds and hearts weren’t enough.

So far, we have kept our mutual need to slaughter assholes at bay, burying it with insane sex. Still, I doubt we’ll resist that black impulse forever.

Although our sessions never end without an orgasm, we managed to have a normal conversation from time to time. I can't deny that these last three months have been the best of my life. Even if in a bizarre way, because Deon isn't the classic guy who sends sappy messages or gives bouquets of flowers, or even calls to see how I'm doing.

No, Deon imposes himself with arrogance as he has always done, showing up at my house even at unlikely times to fuck me. Or he sends mischievous and provocative digs as messages, or brings steel handcuffs and leather straps.

“These are my gifts to you, Abby. I give you absolute pleasure every time I make you cum. You don’t like it?" he told me once when he had finished licking and finger fucking me until I squirted with delight on his face, and I had half-complained that he never made a purely romantic gesture.

The truth is, I have never really been a woman attached to material things, so his delicious gifts are more than fine for me. But the gift he hasn't given me yet is the one I'm looking for the most—hearing him say he loves me. Because he kind of did it while he was killing me, but was it really real or a delirium?

Despite everything we've been through, I'm seriously starting to doubt whether he's ever felt an ounce of love or whether all this is just pure physical attraction.

So now, at the end of our court-ordered therapy, I don't know what to expect from him or from myself.

“Won't you let me in, little bunny? It's our last session today.”

My stomach twists in anticipation at the sound of Deon's voice. Moving slightly, I let him enter the apartment, locking the door behind us, isolating us from the outside world, ready to sink into our own universe.

“Come on, Deon. Sit down,” I stammer, keeping at bay the desire to lift my skirt and bend against the door at ninety degrees to get fucked mercilessly.

“No, little bunny. This is our last official session together. I want it to be unforgettable. I have something in mind.”

My heart leaps in my chest in pleasure and fear as I automatically take a step back, feeling his dark, lustful aura suffocate me.

“Have you ever played hide and seek, Abigayle?” He smirks, closing the distance between our bodies with one step.

“Yes, when I was little,” I murmur as my bloodstream spikes.

“Then you know the rules. I'll count to ten. If I find you, I'll fuck your ass.” His raw tone seeps inside my core, making my pussy weep in need.

“W-what? But D-deon, there aren't even any real hiding places in this house,” I stammer in a small voice, rounding my eyes. Not even really registering that he will fuck my ass with his inhuman cock if he catches me.

“Then you're already fucked, little bunny.” A dark laugh rumbles in his chest, sending a scorching shiver running down my spine. “Ten.”

My body shudders as adrenaline shoots through my system, burning every nerve.

“Nine,” he growls, cocking an eyebrow.

“Eight.” He licks his lower lip slowly.

At that, I jump, my heart in my throat, and spin toward the bedroom-turned-office.

“Seven,” I hear him say behind me, but his voice fades as I slam the door and lock it.

I pant, out of breath, my mind a tornado of confusion. I don't even know why I want to escape him, fueling this twisted game. Knowing perfectly well that hiding will be of no use. He will always find me and make me his.

Despite the visceral desire and deep love I feel for him, I always experience a hint of danger and fear with him. And frankly I hope that never changes. Because I love it.

“You're not very clever, Abigayle. I expected better from you.”

His dark voice taunts me from the other side of the wooden door. My knees buckle and my guts tremble with excitement and fright. Again, the idea of Deon's monstruos cock in my ass is pure madness.

“Four,” he roars. I know he's grinning. I can feel it in his voice and on my skin.

With my core clenching in excitement, I look around quickly, then dart from the small bathroom to the closet on the opposite wall.

“Three,” he announces in a scary voice.

At that word, I close the sliding door and curl up, pulling my knees to my chest and placing a hand on my mouth to muffle my breath.

“Two,” he growls.

My spine vibrates, as does my dripping pussy.

“One,” I hear him pronounce.

A sudden deafening silence falls on the room, the calm before the storm. A storm that will destroy me.

Then a thunderous thud makes me wince and a jolt of adrenaline burns through my body, almost making me yelp. Fuck, he kicked open the door?! Fear mixes with arousal in a lethal cocktail of emotions.

“What a shame, little bunny. You're not very good at this game. But I can't blame you. You're right, this apartment doesn't have many hiding places. Unlike the three-floor, seven-bedroom, eight-bath, pool-and-cinema mansion with a three-acre garden overlooking downtown Seattle in Queen Anne Hill I bought for the two of us just the day before yesterday.”

A squeak rolls out of my lips, but I'm too dumbfounded by his statement to care about being found. I don't even hear his light steps approaching the closet, only see the blinding gleam of the light when he throws the sliding door open.

“I found you, little bunny.” He smirks wickedly.

Grabbing my ponytail, he drags me out of my hiding place, making me crawl on all fours as tears of confusion, joy, and humiliation pinch my eyes. When we reach the bed, he grips my jaw with his free hand, raising my face toward his, locking his black eyes with mine.

“D-deon, w-what? Which villa?” I mumble in confusion.

“Our mansion, Abigayle. The house I bought for us, which we’re going to move into in a few weeks.” His intense voice punches me, as does this shocking revelation.

“Deon, we can't move in together. I mean… I’m not your girlfriend. I still haven’t decided yet.”

His gruesome smirk grows wider. “Oh yes we can, Abby. Because you are my girlfriend. You always have been. And soon you will be called wife and then mother. You decided the day of the trial, little bunny. I let you play this delusional game, but we both know you can’t live without me anymore, as I can’t even breathe without you.”

The sudden intensity of his tone and gaze fills my heart with gushing love.

“Now, what did I say?” he hisses, suddenly ruthless.

A shiver grips my spine at the sight of his lustful expression.

“What?” I stutter.

“If I find you, I'll fuck your ass to the hilt, Abigayle,” he roars, inferno in his eyes.

As I gasp, he pulls me to my feet by my hair, then pushes me onto the bed, trapping me beneath his massive body. Without even giving me time to react, he clutches the collar of my blouse and tears it in two.

I frown, anger mixing with pleasure in my chest. His obsession with destroying my clothes hasn't gone away. I’ve had to buy a new wardrobe because of him.

Deon's raw eyes devour my skin, brushing my naked breasts and stiff nipples that beg to be licked and sucked. With a growl, he says, “You are fucking wonderful. The most beautiful creature I have ever seen in my life. And you are mine, Abigayle. Only mine. Forever.”

I stare at his still-covered body, but before I can complain, Deon wraps his fingers around the waist of my skirt and slides it off my legs, sending it flying to the floor behind him. Grinning evilly his eyes feast on my belly, down to the scar on my mound, and my already dripping cunt. “Fuck, Abby.”

“You're still dressed, Deon,” I meow with the little breath I have left.

His obsidian eyes snap to mine and a mischievous smirk curls his scar. “Then undress me, little bunny.”

Putting my elbows on the mattress and looking straight up at him, I sit up and start to slowly unbutton his shirt.

“Why do you want us to move in together, Deon? What makes you think I want this?” I murmur, trying to push him to finally reveal his feelings.

His gaze narrows—he understands why I am asking—but his mouth is still curled in a smirk, filling me with a sense of pulsating love.

“Because I want to have you by my side for the rest of my life, every single fucking minute of my existence. I want to wake up next to your wonderful body, breathing in your divine orange blossom scent. I want to fall asleep holding you in my arms, dragging you into my dreams. I want to give our children all the love I always wanted. I want to grow old with you, kissing you even when we no longer have the strength to breathe. I will suck the last breath from your mouth before following you into the afterlife. But there too, Abigayle, we will meet again. Our souls and minds will intertwine, merging forever, and will endlessly dance with our demons in an eternal nothingness.” His voice is so deep, his eyes so bright, his words so shockingly sublime that my heart bursts in my chest with absolute love.

The last residue of oxygen that remained in my lungs evaporates and I remain petrified by Deon's declaration.

Yet those three little words are still missing. They are suspended in the air between our bodies.

“Deon…” I breathe.

“The longer it takes you to undress me, the longer I will fuck your ass raw, little bunny. Keep waiting and you'll find yourself broken and bleeding,” Deon hisses, now once again possessed by a dark and lustful demon.

With my heartbeat in a mad rush, I take off his shirt to reveal his sculpted and angular muscles, then trace the snake tattoo on his left pectoral with my fingertips, following the curved lines of the animal. I caress the scar I gave him, smirking at the sight, then brush down to his leather belt.

“You are breathtaking,” I murmur, blinded by love.

A broken gasp escapes his lips when I unhook his belt with a quick movement. Opening the button and lowering the zip, I grab the waist of his trousers and boxers and slide them down on his muscular thighs together.

His cock jerks out, the tip grazing my chest. I moan in pleasure at the sight and sensation, as my eyes flutter and pussy vibrates. Even though I have seen it many times now and taken it inside me just as many, I can't help but pant with excitement and terror every time I see it, touch it, suck it, and fuck it.

He shoots me a mocking grin, his eyebrow cocked sarcastically. “Give my cock a kiss, baby, and thank me for fucking that wonderful tight ass you have.”

His lewd words hit me, pulling a whimper of lust from my throat. The speed and ability with which he is able to go from an absolutely shocking declaration of love to violent vulgarity and arrogance leaves me disconcerted and absolutely fascinated. This man is the complexity of the mind and soul personified.

Chaining my gaze to his, I grab his dick, squeezing it and snatching a hiss from him. His nostrils flare and he curls his lips, showing me his teeth. He's a divine beast. Without taking my eyes off those infernal irises, I brush my tongue onto his cock.

“Thank you for fucking my ass like the little whore I am,” I murmur in a deep voice.

Pursing my lips, I leave a long, slow, wet kiss on his tip. Then my tongue darts out again in one swift motion, surprising him, and I can’t help myself to lick his crown from the underside of his head to the tip. His taste and scent flow in an incandescent stream down to my pussy and a moan dances on my vocal cords in bliss.

“Abigayle…” He growls like an animal, clenching his fists as if to hold himself back.

With a diabolical smile, I take off the shirt still clinging to my shoulders and let myself fall back onto the mattress. I arch my back and spread my legs, showing him my dripping cunt.

“I'm your slut, Deon. Come on, fuck me, break me, kill me.” Adelaide’s voice merges with mine and we speak in unison as I feel my mind darken and my eyes burn in a disturbing wildfire.

Deon's fearful grin becomes triumphant while his eyes shine with pride. “What a good girl. My wonderful, crazy little whore. My two little sluts in one fucking perfect body.”

With a lightning-fast movement, he grabs my jaw, squeezing my cheeks and pouncing on my mouth in a violent kiss. His warm and velvety tongue slips inside, seeking mine, and when the two touch, a passionate shock spreads throughout my body.

A moan jumps from my mouth into Deon's, and his lips devour mine, his teeth biting and sucking every inch of me. My hands fly to his hair, my fingers digging into the soft black locks, pulling and playing with them as the kiss deepens.

Before I can pass out from delight and lack of oxygen, Deon pulls away. He gets up on his knees and grabs my hips to turn me onto my stomach, making me gasp.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him take a tube of lubricant from his pocket and squeeze a generous amount onto his hand. The sight of him spreading the gel onto his cock makes me swallow hard in fright and need. Sweat blooms on my neck and my heart pumps fast in my throat.

When I feel the cold liquid land on the crack of my buttocks, a whimper echoes in my chest and my spine vibrates. As Deon's fingers slide over the curve of my ass to reach my puckered hole, spreading the lubricant, I stiffen.

“Deon I…” I mumble, turning to look at him, suddenly unsure about letting him take that virgin part of me.

“I will take your tight ass, Abigayle, claiming it as mine, as I will for the rest of my life with every other part of you. Physically and emotionally. Remember, little bunny, you belong to me now,” he murmurs in a deep voice, a voice coming from the depths of his soul.

My heart skips a beat at his words and at this new twisted declaration of love, but then it jumps back into my throat, my muscles tensing when I feel his entire body molding onto my back and his steel cock pressing on my tailbone.

His hot breath tickles my ear, drawing a deep gasp from me.

“I love you, Abigayle Roland. I loved you the moment I saw you, even if I didn't understand it yet. I loved you when I stole that kiss from you. I loved you when I made you squirt with pleasure. But most of all, I loved you when you destroyed my demons one by one, when you revealed the depths of me as a person in front of all those strangers. I loved you when you finally showed me that I have always loved myself, but that I repressed it every moment of my life to punish myself, to destroy myself, for not having been able to save myself. And I will always love you for having freed me from every chain, bringing me peace within myself.”

His whisper brushes my ear with such intensity that my soul leaves my body to ascend directly to heaven. The universe explodes around me in a terrifying and divine Big Bang, sucking us into an infinite spiral of heavenly bliss.

I turn and stare at him, speechless.

Before I can react, Deon straightens up again, grabbing his cock with his right hand and brushing his silky tip on my pussy. He slides his other hand beneath me, his fingertips reaching my clit, and he starts grinding in circular motions, applying just the right amount of pressure.

My moans and gasps begin to resonate off the walls in a unique and incredible melody until Deon thrusts into my pussy. A cry of pure pleasure rips past my vocal chords when my muscles pull to accommodate his diameter and length.

“Fuck, Abby! You're always so fucking tight. A real delight,” he growls as his voice cracks and his fingers increase their pace.

An impressive orgasm crawls into my organs and scorching shivers run across my body when Deon withdraws slowly just to thrust inside me again, sinking deeper with every new stroke. Until I feel it all the way up to my throat.

I arch my spine, gripping the sheets. My eyes roll to the back of my head as moans and pants dance frantically on my tongue and the pleasure pulls and contracts my muscles in an insane bliss.

“Oh fuck, yes, please, Deon,” I exhale as delight silences every thought in my mind.

“Keep begging me, baby. I'll drown your mind and body in madness,” he roars, his jabs becoming brutal.

My organs clash with each other as Deon's fingers grind my clit at an inhuman speed. But before I lose total control over my body and bliss pushes me into a free-fall, Deon pulls out, panting like an animal.

His fingers don't leave my clit and I remain suspended, lingering on the edge of that blinding, euphoric, insane precipice. I'm about to explode and shatter into a thousand tiny pieces when Deon grabs his cock and rubs the tip on my puckered hole, inferno in his eyes.

My heart skips a few beats as my muscles reflexively tense up.

“Say it, Abby.”

His deep voice seeps in my chest, summoning my darkness and my rhapsody as he pushes against my entrance.

Deon's circular movements on my clit increase and I feel myself teetering on the edge of the cliff, but then I choke down a cry when Deon's entire tip enters.

“Fuck!” I curse, digging my nails into the mattress as the delicious burning spreads to my pussy, increasing that delusional pleasure.

“Fucking say it, Abigayle,” Deon roars, thrusting further into me, making me sob in agony and delight.

As my body adapts to his inhuman size, my guttural moans start escalating in a cavernous, primitive melody. With his free hand, he grabs my hair at the scalp, tilting my head up, arching my back in an unnatural curve, automatically sinking further inside my ass.

“Oh fuck, fuck, Deon!” I shout, my eyes as big as saucers as I gasp from the unbearable sensation. Pleasure and pain twirl on my skin and my heart flies in a wild rush as a devastating orgasm grows inside me again, swirling in my core at a frightening speed.

“I want to hear you say it, Abigayle. If you don't, I'll fuck your ass until it bleeds.” he growls in my ear, leaning over me and entering ever more inside me.

My breath breaks, my moans turn into howls, and my body trembles from the avalanche of deliciously contrasting sensations. Meeting his blazing eyes, I pant, “I love you, Deon! I will always love you!”

“What about Adelaide?” he hisses, diving into my gaze to find her.

As if summoned, that darkness crawls into my mind, blurring my vision, and I feel myself split in two as she pushes to the forefront. Together, we stare at him, then my morphed voice speaks. “I love you too, crazy psycho. But I will always try to kill you, even if only with pleasure.”

Leaving a smirk on our lips, Adelaide retreats.

A triumphant smile opens on Deon’s face and he leans down to catch my lips in a devouring kiss. As our tongues meet, he shoves his dick all the way in.

“Oh my fuck— Oh god!” I cry out onto his mouth, squeezing my eyes shut, gripping the blankets so tightly my hands cramp up. My whole body trembles and every nerve shatters to the point of fraying.

“Fuck, baby your ass is so tight, it's crushing my cock,” he roars, remaining still, allowing me to adapt to him.

There is a rushing sound in my ears, the pounding of my heart echoing, and I gasp for air. The circular motions of his finger on my clit increase as he slowly withdraws. I whimper from the combination, then start to moan, a long chanting sound that bounces off the walls and makes my throat vibrate.

With a stronger thrust, he shoves it into me again, snatching an animal cry out of me. My eyes tear up and goosebumps bloom along my arms from the insane delight.

“Fuck, Abby, you have it all inside.”

At his cracking voice, the sublime stimulation of the clit, and the monstruous thrill of his cock in my ass, that blinding orgasm pulls my core muscles to the limit, ready to explode.

“Deon, Deon, please…” I gasp, delirious.

Pushed by my words, his dark beast snaps, and I welcome his brutality.

“I’m gonna fill your tight ass with all my cum, you won’t be able to take it all and every time it leaks from you, I want you to remember that I was there, thinking of the next time I will destroyed it again, baby,” he roars, possessed by lust.

His strokes become savage and my joyous screams reach impossible octaves, then everything disintegrates. That universal bliss pushes me over the cliff into the fall toward total insanity, the fall into the eternal darkness of our twisted mind and soul. It is the absolute perfection in our imperfection.

And Deon joins me in our perverse and crazy universe. We are locked forever inside our love and our infinite bliss, in each other's arms.

When I return to my senses, my body still convulsing. Deon’s breathing is ragged, his cum dripping from my ass. I feel myself floating in the creation of our absolute perfection. In the masterpiece of our concert.

Deon pulls out of me gently. I whimper at the sensation and catch his wicked smirk curling up again. It makes my mind darken in the best way possible.

Before he goes to the bathroom to find a warm little wet towel to clean me up, I take his wrist, turning around.

“Later” I sultry whisper facing him and opening in a gruesome smile. I feel my black shadow glowing in my eyes and know he sees it too, as he opens in a victorious smile.

“Then, I'll count to ten, Adelaide, and if I catch you, I'll fuck your ass again with the handle of my knife while I fuck your cunt with my cock. Let's see if you can take both, little psycho.”

His raw, dark voice shoots a shiver of pure euphoria up my spine while my muscles tense and I prepare to sprint.

“Run, little bunny, run.” He grins, an unholy light of love and insanity in his black eyes.

Squealing in excitement, I jump out of bed.

Yes, it is certain. Deon and I are locked inside our madness and the love we feel for each other.

And we will remain so forever.

Acknowledgements

Let me start first and always with my readers. I can never thank each and every one of you enough. It is because of you that my books are finally finding their beautiful (fucked up, as me) readers. You’re the light of my day and I’m so grateful for each one of you!

To my editor Lida, who did amazing work on my previous books and editions. It’s great to work with you. You’re such an amazing person, and even in difficult moments, you were there. Get ready for the fourth book!

To my betas and ARC readers! I can’t describe my gratitude. Really, I could not do this without you. Our wild discussions and late-night chats about Deon and Abigayle, the plot twists, the “oh shit!” moments were unique, fun, special. I hope you loved the book and I thank you for all your input. You’re amazing.

Just… thanks. Thank you so much to all of you for making my dream possible. Thank you.

About the Author

Faith Raven is a Dark Romance author who loves to create universes where limitations and morals do not exist, universes where the bad boy is the hero and the not-so-innocent girl succumbs to the charm of the villain, falling into lust and perversion.

With fiery Italian blood running through her veins, Faith Raven lives in the South of France with her husband, daughter, and cat.

When she’s not losing herself in her own writing (hello, book-boyfriends!), she’s listening to true crime shows, watching horror movies, and hanging out with her family.

She hopes her readers will fall for her villains the same way she does every time she brings them to life.

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MORE BOOKS
BY FAITH RAVEN

THE SYNDROME DUET

BLACK SYNDROME, 1st Vol.

RED SYNDROME, 2nd Vol.

Contents

Locked Inside

Prologue

Chapter One. Abigayle

Destabilizing Presence

Chapter Two. Abigayle

Crazy Attraction

Chapter Three. Deon

Disturbing Words

Chapter Four. Abigayle

Traitorous Thoughts

Chapter Five. Abigayle

Naked Truths

Chapter Six. The Copycat

Requiem

Chapter Seven. Abigayle

Panic Attack

Chapter Eight. Abigayle

Squirting Madness

Chapter Nine. Deon

Frightening Memories

Chapter Ten. The Copycat

Imperfection in Perfection

Chapter Eleven. Abigayle

Escape?

Chapter Twelve. Abigayle

Treasure Hunt

Chapter Thirteen. Abigayle

Unorthodox Therapy

Chapter Fourteen. Abigayle

Play by the Rules

Chapter Fifteen. Deon

How to Cure a Psychopath?

Chapter Sixteen. The Copycat

Scary Decorations

Chapter Seventeen. Abigayle

Ghostly Presences

Chapter Eighteen. Abigayle

Tequila Tricks or… Treat?

Chapter Nineteen. Abigayle

Hysteria

Chapter Twenty. Abigayle

Is That Your Testimony?

Chapter Twenty-One. Abigayle

Somnophilia

Chapter Twenty-Two. Deon

You Leave Me Breathless

Chapter Twenty-Three. Abigayle

When the Fish Comes to the Surface

Chapter Twenty-Four. Abigayle

Shameful, Delicious Cocktail

Chapter Twenty-Five. Deon

The Pain of Loss

Chapter Twenty-Six. Detective Davidson

A Missing Person

Chapter Twenty-Seven. Abigayle

Hesitating

Chapter Twenty-Eight. Abigayle

Kneel for Me

Chapter Twenty-Nine. Abigayle

You Are Killing Me

Chapter Thirty. The Copycat

Voices in my Head

Chapter Thirty-One. Abigayle

Too Late to Love You

Chapter Thirty-Two. Deon

Write Down What I Tell You

Chapter Thirty-Three. Abigayle

Tequila

Chapter Thirty-Four. Abigayle

Slap Me or Thank Me?

Chapter Thirty-Five. Abigayle

Needle Me

Chapter Thirty-Six. Deon

There You Are

Chapter Thirty-Seven. Detective Davidson

Suspects

Chapter Thirty-Eight. The Copycat

Imperfect Soulmates

Chapter Thirty-Nine. Abigayle

Who Won?

Chapter Forty. Abigayle

Confessions

Chapter Forty-One. Detective Davidson

Things Seems Exactly as They Are

Chapter Forty-Two. Deon

Remember, you are under Oath

Chapter Forty-Three. Deon

The Power of Manipulation

Epilogue. Abigayle

6 Months Later