Chapter Thirty
The killer watched the gray-haired woman as her eyes pleaded with him, her arms and legs secured to the bedposts. She’s probably thinking about her grandkids and wondering if she’ll ever see them again. The several times he’d broken into her house when she’d gone to her book club, he’d seen the framed pictures of her grandchildren on the top of the piano in the living room. Hanging on the wall, in a large gold picture frame, was an old black-and-white photograph of a younger version of her and a young man in uniform on their wedding day. He’d stare at the picture each time he broke in; it reminded him of his grandparents’ wedding photograph.
A small whimper brought him back to the bedroom and his victim. When he’d awakened her, she hadn’t yelled. It was funny how some women wouldn’t say anything; they’d just do as he said, hoping it would end soon. The look of regret, desperation, and terror was the same in all the women he’d attacked, but whether they spoke to him or not, or screamed out, was always different. The fear was predictable but the reaction was not.
Placing the knife flat on her breasts, he ran it across the tops of them as she whimpered like a wounded dog. Watching sadness and terror sink into the lines of her face, his pants grew tighter and his arousal began to escalate.
“I saw your wedding picture on the wall. You were a pretty lady. Your husband was lucky.” He continued to caress her skin with the knife and smiled when he saw two tears slip out of the corner of her eyes. “Are you scared, pretty lady?” When she nodded, a rush of desire flooded him, and he placed the knife on the nightstand.
Bending down low, he whispered in her ear. “I’m going to fuck every hole you have, and I’m not going to be gentle. I bet your husband was, but I’m a bastard. But first I’m going to bite your tits real hard. After that, it’s up to you to guess what I’m going to do.” He pulled back and grabbed her underpants. Balling them in his fist, he commanded her to open her mouth, then stuffed them inside. He knew what he was going to do to her would be painful, and he wanted to make sure no one would hear her cries. And she would scream out. It would be instinct.
With narrowed eyes, he lowered his head and sucked one of her nipples. His tongue flicked and played with it until he bit down hard. Very hard. Eyes on hers, he kept biting as he pulled and twisted her other nipple. Her muffled screams, streaking tears, and horror-filled eyes pushed his brutality further until he was hard as granite. Heavy panting, gagged yells, and her body thrashing against the sheets pierced the stillness of the quiet neighborhood.
After several hours, her abused body lay still on the saturated bed sheet. He straightened up and swatted her ass. “Get up,” he ordered.
She groaned as she pushed off the mattress, and he grabbed her roughly and took her into the en suite bathroom. A yellow toothbrush rested on the shelf in the medicine cabinet.
“Here. Brush your teeth, tongue, sides, and roof of your mouth. Now.” He glanced out the window. The blackness in the east was beginning to fade; he needed to be finished and out of the house before the sun rose. He’d been so worked up that night, he’d taken much longer with her than he’d intended.
When she handed the toothbrush back to him, he shoved it in his pocket and pushed her toward the shower. Checking the water, he made sure it was warm before he shoved her in. He watched as she scrubbed her body. Some of his women scrubbed themselves raw, as if trying to wash away what had happened, and others did a crappy-ass job and he’d have to help them out. This one was scrubbing hard—he wouldn’t have to get wet.
After she patted herself dry, he took the towel and shoved it into a plastic bag, then told her to go back into the bedroom. He collected all evidence that may have any of his DNA, then stared at her. The rush of exhilaration that normally surged through him as he prepared to leave was missing. That rush was what he craved and needed until the monster resurfaced and he went hunting again.
Slipping the knife out of his pocket, he came up behind her and yanked her head back, forcing her to look at him.
“You promised you wouldn’t kill me. You told me if I did everything you said, you’d leave. I did everything you said.” Her voice hitched before soft sobs filled the air around him.
Without a word, he sliced her throat, then let her drop to the floor with a thud. Gasping breaths and gargling blood through her severed windpipe were the only sounds in the room as he watched blood squirt out of her carotid artery while she lost consciousness.
As he left the room, he laughed out loud. Someone’s going to have a real mess to clean up.
On his way home, his body was still vibrating from the high he’d had when he’d cut her throat. In that one swipe, all the tension, all the pressure, had just vanished, dissipated. He was on top of the world. He switched on the radio and sang along loudly.
Pulling into his garage, he decided to hold on to his euphoria for as long as he could until the monster came back and overtook him.
Humming, he opened the back door and went inside.