Chapter 4

As the trailer door softly clicks shut behind her, I step out of the darkness, a twisted sense of need coursing through me at her vulnerability toward me, despite her brave act. While thinking about my next move, I stand there, fixating on the door.

Should I break in now and fuck her senseless against her will, or should I play twisted games? This little dolly might not be an easy victory, but she is a challenge I'm eager to fucking conquer. The thought of having her as my prize fuels me like nothing I have ever encountered before.

The sickening desire to break her the fuck down has consumed me from the moment I first set eyes on her, like an unbearable force, driving me to reduce her to nothing more than my little fuck toy, to pleasure, to hurt, to dominate in every way my deranged mind can think of. Every fibre of my being wants to bend her to be mine only, to get off on the power I could have over her.

With a clenched jaw, I draw a cigarette from my pocket and bite it between my lips, attempting to stop myself from doing something psychotic and horrific. Once I have lit it with a match, I take a deep drag, the smoke swirling around me as I plot my plan of action.

My attention sharpens as soon as I notice a light switch on inside the trailer, causing me to take purposeful steps forward. While I draw closer to the window, I can hear water running from the shower. As I peer inside, I immediately spot her in the small space, her back turned to me while she lifts off her hoodie.

Her soft, wavy blonde hair cascades down her back, framing the curve of her spine and reaching to the top of her ass. My eyes linger as she pulls her black sports bra up her body, revealing a glimpse of the curve of her perky tits and the subtle bounce as they are freed. The sight of her threatens to unravel my lack of self-control, tempting me to give in to the urge to break in to break her. As she moves to remove her denim shorts, I find myself unable to tear my eyes away, like any normal man should, because it's wrong, but I'm not fucking normal, so I stay fixed on her like a predator stalking its prey.

She drags her shorts and panties over her rounded ass, swaying her hips from side to side and bending over slightly, offering me a perfect view of her peachy cheeks, until the fabric is dropping to her ankles. Once she steps forward, she holds her palm under the water, checking the temperature and the action offers me a side view of her exposed body.

An intensity surges through me that borders on addiction as she steps under the spray, turning to face me frontally. My growing cock suddenly expands in my tight jeans, straining against the fabric, my piercings catching as a low, involuntary growl escapes me and I have to adjust myself to be more comfortable.

Each movement she makes is captivating, compelling me to soak in every inch of her naked body, taking in the sight hungrily and my insane instincts scream at me to take what I fucking want.

Her good-sized pair of tits draw my attention first, and to my surprise, both of her little pink nipples have silver piercings. The look of her sends lust coursing through me like I have never felt before, making it difficult for me to stop myself any longer, fantasizing about the sound that my tongue piercing would make when it collides with them and how loud she would cry for me if I bit them.

As the water flows down her silky skin, she tilts her head back with her arms raised above her while she runs her fingers through her hair. My gaze continues to greedily roam down her flat stomach, tracing the path of the water until I land on her perfect pussy, glistening with moisture. The ache in my dick intensifies, and I clench my teeth, squeezing the tip in a useless attempt to squash the overwhelming craving I am feeling. Fucking hell, I'm losing control.

I analyse the slashed scars that decorate her forearms and inner thighs, like ladders drawn onto her tanned skin. Despite them being there, they only make her even more beautiful.

There is a twisted satisfaction in delivering pain, for me at least, but it's even more intoxicating when you find that your obsession seems to revel in the sensation of it. As soon as I looked into her icy blue eyes, a possessive hunger ignited inside of me, but the moment my gaze followed the contours of the pretty scars that mark her body, I knew she had to be mine.

Movement to the right suddenly catches my eye, and my gaze narrows as a guy enters the shower area, pulling his boxers down his legs. Rage surges through me at the sight, my insides burning with wrath as he joins her in the shower. With his back to me, he corners her, leaning in close to her throat to kiss it before he lifts her around him and presses her back against the tiles.

I know when he sinks his dick into her because her soft, plump lip's part. As he continues to screw her, she stares blankly, almost lost in a daydream, until she snaps out of it, her fingers taking his hand from beneath her thigh. With a gentle touch, she lifts it, whispering words I strain to hear.

She places his hand on her throat, and he raises his head, their eyes locking in a silent exchange. He gives a small headshake, then returns his hand to the back of her thigh, lifting her higher and disregarding her pleas for dominance.

He continues to fuck her with a gentleness that only stokes the flames of my fury. There's no violence, no pain—just a dull, pathetic fuck against the tiles, devoid of the pleasure my Little Dolly so desperately craves. I can see it in her eyes; she's not enjoying it—he's failing to deliver what she needs. There are no screams, moans, or even eyerolls, just a silent acceptance of his pitiful fucking performance.

When it's finally over after a matter of minutes, she lowers herself down, and I seethe with annoyance at the sight of her unsatisfied, betrayed by the motherfucker who couldn't even make her come. They both glance down toward his cock before they look at one another. She gives him a reassuring smile and then it dawns on me; he's not even hard for her. Is this cunt fucking blind? What the fuck.

He tilts his head down, capturing her lips with his, and when they part, she offers him another smile, but it's full of lies and emptiness.

As he starts to shower, her eyes suddenly catch mine with an almost magnetic pull. I notice her stomach muscles tighten, her eyes widening, but despite her reaction, I casually bring my cigarette to my lips, taking a deep drag, not fazed that she has caught me watching her getting miserably fucked in the shower.

Scream, little dolly and I will break in, kill him and make sure you scream louder for me.

She doesn't indulge in my twisted games, unfortunately; instead, she remains unfazed, her gaze holding mine without a flicker of emotion, but the subtle rise and fall of her chest betrays the fear stirring inside her, a natural reaction to the danger lurking in my eyes.

After a moment of intensely staring at one another, her jaw tenses in annoyance as she slowly turns away, reaching for the soap, and with her back to me, she begins to wash herself, giving me a view of the perfect curve of her ass.

Brave, brave girl.

Despite the murderous thoughts swirling in my mind, I stay and watch them for a few minutes longer, making her feel uncomfortable. When her curious gaze finds mine once again over her shoulder, my teeth clench and I reluctantly decide to walk away, leaving them to their empty charade.

After entering the woods, I continue deeper, my boots crunching over the brittle leaves beneath them. I take a deep drag of my cig before flicking it away, feeling the need to relieve some of this sudden anger and I have the perfect solution.

A woman getting under my skin from the moment I first laid eyes on her has never fucking happened before. I have an obsessive personality, but not for desperately wanting people. Hurting people, maybe, yet never like this.

Once I arrive at a clearing in the trees, I trail over the small field until I reach its centre, where I pause to peer down at the hidden door in the ground. A quick glance around confirms my solitude before I lean down, gripping the small handles and pull them wide open, revealing the entrance to my underground chamber.

I begin descending the stairs, the darkness engulfing me as I reach the bottom. The musty, earthy scent is all too familiar as I make my way towards one of the rooms below. Ripping my hood away from my head, I push down the handle and step inside.

As soon as I walk in, my eyes immediately land on him, exactly where I left him—secured tightly to the torture machine I constructed.

Chains hang from the ceiling like sinister ornaments as I walk through the dimness. Above him, a single bulb shines down on him in a sickly light, turning him into a centrepiece of execution. His frantic struggles and screams against the machine draw my attention, and I fix my gaze upon him.

A metal cage encases his head, screws aiming menacingly toward his eyes and temples, his bloodshot eyes held open by clamps. He is shackled by the wrists to the chair's arms, each finger connected to the vile apparatus.

Despite his desperate cries, his terror fails to move me. It's a horrific scene for someone of a normal mindset, but it's one I've orchestrated countless times, and I am now numb to it. As a member of the Shadow's Society, I am known for my cruelty, my methods sick. These victims are no more than pawns, feeding my hunger for suffering and nurturing the darkness within me.

Without wasting any time, I head over to the small camera sitting to my right, aimed directly at him. His screams stop abruptly as I press the button on top, the red light blinking to life.

Now, he is being live recorded, my client watching this horrific scene unfold, I take a calm seat by the back wall opposite him. His eyes fix on the camera, realizing that whoever placed the hit on him is now watching. As predicted, he starts shouting, desperate to get the last word in and the anger spills from him, but let's be honest, nothing he says will change the fact that he's about to be fucking murdered in the most brutal way possible. I release an unbothered sigh, hearing the same routine so many times before.

Finally, I press the button to my right, bringing the torture machine to life. I settle back in the chair, my arms draped over the armrests, legs spread wide. My gaze locks onto him as he thrashes in a measly attempt to escape, and the machine's metallic clinks and clangs echo around the room.

The sound is almost peaceful to me, a symphony of soon to be death. With each precise click, the machine activates, lifting his fingers upward, and stretching them to their limits. The screws spin at the same time, inching closer to his exposed eyes and temples. His bloodshot eyes, forced open by the clamps, dart frantically, searching for any sign of mercy.

I can't help but admire my creation. Every movement is calculated, designed to inflict maximum psychological and physical torment.

His veins bulge against the restraints as he struggles, muscles straining, but there's no escape. There never is. The screws inch closer and I savour the moment, the wait of his suffering rushing through me like a dark thrill. As his fingers are bent back brutally, I hear his bones snap, each crack is a sickening reminder of the machine's efficiency. His harrowing screams escalate, piercing the air with raw agony as the screws enter his eyeballs, spinning relentlessly. Blood spurts from his eyes, painting a gruesome scene as the other screws penetrate his temples.

The machine's finale begins now that he is securely clamped, and the cage slowly turns, forcing his head to an unnatural angle. I watch with detachment as his neck twists further and further. The tension in the room peaks, the air thick with his suffering and his screams, then abruptly, it's cut off with a final snap as his neck and the machine stops, its purpose fulfilled.

I close my heavy eyes, inhaling deeply, the dark satisfaction settling over me. The silence after his death is almost sacred and I throw my head back, allowing it to rest against the wall behind me.

Once I've fully revelled in the aftermath, I lift my hand and slap down on the camera button, shutting off the live stream. Rising from my seat, I grip the chair arms, pushing myself to my feet and I cast one last glance at his disfigured, lifeless body, before turning and leaving the room.

Walking down the short corridor, I push open another steel door and my eyes immediately land on the large pin board mounted on the wall, decorated with photographs of my victims—countless faces staring back at me, each representing a life I've taken. Retrieving a photograph from my jeans pocket, I approach the board, pinning the latest in its rightful place among the others.

Stepping back, my eyes wander over them all, each image telling a different story of how I murdered them, but smack bam in the middle of the sea of faces, one stands out, its presence like a thorn in my fucking side.

With a surge of bubbling anger, I tear the photograph from the board, holding it between my fingertips as I gaze down at it. With her head tilted down slightly, her long dark hair obscures most of her features in the photo. It's frustrating because it offers little to go on. This is the only image I have of her, but I've been told she has blue eyes. She's the only one that has ever escaped me—the killer of my cousin, Haze. And she will be the only woman I will ever murder. Harley.