29. Crave

The early morninglight follows me into the apartment. In the bedroom, Rae lies on her back, an unusual position for her. She's completely gone, seduced by the cold medicine I saw on her counter.

She can't stand to think about what it means to be my daughter.

Society believes it's immoral to be intimate with our families. We can't fuck them—no, never—otherwise, our spawn will be cursed to wear our sins on their deformed bodies.

I got a vasectomy not long after I raped Rae's mother. The feeling of my piercings abusing my victims was too heady to give up, and in cases where I let them live, I didn't want to have to take care of any brats. I don't give a shit about society's rules, but perhaps one day, the knowledge that we can't have children will comfort Rae. Or perhaps it'll depress her, knowing that I never wanted her to be born in the first place.

I don't give a shit either way.

A sleepy grunt flares through her nostrils. The comforter lies loosely over her stomach, exposing the top half of her oversized shirt. Her eyes are closed, and there's an innocence to her. She looks like an angel. Even if she is twenty-five years old, she's nothing more than a child. Especially compared to me.

Family is nothing more than a prefabricated human need for survival. A bond that clings to you so that your group can survive the winter. But when you're adopted into a group where the parents hate you, the word "family" takes on a different meaning. It's not survival, nor is it a bond. It's a relationship that's chosen for you.

Samantha tried to save Rae. Tried to raise a child that would do good in the world. And by all means, she put in the time, effort, and love. That "familial love" was chosen for Rae before she was born. Even so, Rae still came looking for her father.

And she fucking found him.

Her laptop is open on top of her dresser. I drag my fingertips over the mouse pad.

A bus ticket to Vegas with an eight a.m. departure.

Funny.

She thinks she can run away, back to mommy. As if dear old Samantha is enough to save her from me.

My vision sharpens as I contemplate the years I've put into this insane experiment. I knew, from the day I found out about her existence, that I should've killed Rae and her mother. With the death of Michael and Miranda Hall, I needed to clean up the loose ends, including the one bitch I fucked while impersonating Michael Hall.

But curiosity won me over, seeing that dark-haired infant in the bitch's arms. I snuck into the resort's childcare center, posing as a maintenance worker, and I got the DNA sample for an acquaintance to confirm it off-the-record. With those results proving our shared blood, I knew what I wanted out of Rae.

An experiment. A daughter raised by a good woman. A woman who never intended to sleep with a man like me. How would our daughter turn out? Would she be good like her mother, or would the sadistic streak in her blood run so deep that she had to let it out? Would she end up being my girl?

I rub my dick as I look at her body. In the beginning, my fascination with Rae was merely scientific. It wasn't until I had her in my taxi the night I planned to finally kill her, that everything changed. The smell of her cunt and the devious look in her eyes intrigued me. She saw others, even me, as less than her. And I wanted more of that.

Her chest rises and falls, and her nipples are smooth under her shirt, like she's begging for my attention. By all definitions, she is my daughter. My blood. Half of my DNA. But it's not as simple as that. Family doesn't mean anything to me. Why should family suddenly mean something when it comes to Rae? We're simply bodies, and we both want more than "family" out of each other.

I pull the comforter down until she's exposed. The oversized shirt. Her thong. The makeup stains dry on her pillow.

I slide onto my stomach, moving myself between her legs. I pull the fabric from her pussy lips, exposing her slit. I tongue her folds, tasting her. Sourly sweet, like forbidden fruit. She moans, and it reverberates down to her thighs. Her hand grasps my hair.

"Little girl," I whisper, my words tickling her cunt.

She flinches sharply, then kicks me in the shoulder. I climb over her body and pin her to the bed before she can focus. Her eyes widen, shock huffing through her lips.

"What the fuck?" she screams. "You fucking freak!"

"You're not making that bus," I say. "You're staying here with me."

"No—"

I cover her mouth and press my hips down, my hard cock resting between her legs, the metal rubbing against her clit.

"This is who you are, Rae," I murmur. "Accept it."

She jerks her head to the side, desperate to get out of my grasp. I adjust my grip, pinching her nose and mouth in my fingers. Panic dances in her eyes as her face reddens, practically matching her cherry-red hair.

"Are you ready to accept it?" I ask.

She squints her eyes, and I chuckle, then I carry her across the bedroom to her bathroom mirror. I shove my hand down the front of her thong, the other hand clutching her throat, forcing her to face our reflection. My head leans against hers, and in my boots, I'm taller than her, like her masked killer, but the face is Officer Gaines.

She pants, her mouth hanging open, lust hazy in her eyes. I'm everything she hates and everything she wants, and fuck, my dick gets hard knowing how it gets under her skin.

"No," she whispers. "No, no, no?—"

In the mirror, she sneers at me, her teeth bared.

I lick her cheek. "My little girl knows she's mine, doesn't she?"

She quivers, her body reacting to what she knows she shouldn't want. But my little girl can't help it.

"I don't want you," she says.

"You do." I breathe into her neck, nuzzling into her. "You like knowing that your daddy knows he shouldn't want you too. He knows he should let you go. He knows he shouldn't be following you for years. But you like that he can't help himself. Isn't that right?" She shivers against me, pushing her ass into my cock. My length strains against her, eager to be inside of her. "I told myself I was waiting for the perfect time to kill you, but as soon as I saw how much you liked watching people die, I knew you needed my help. I knew you needed the encouragement to try it for yourself. A daddy always helps his little girl shine."

She trembles. "Don't?—"

"Don't what?" I snarl, curling a finger into her slit as I choke her, forcing her to watch her mirrored face as she loses oxygen. Her cheeks tint pink, then red, then purple. "Tell me, little girl. Tell me what you want. If you want me to stop, I'll stop right now."

I keep her locked in my arms, but I let go of her neck, giving her the ability to breathe.

"Tell me to stop," I repeat.

She squirms in my arms, her jaws snapping over her shoulder. She misses. Her juices slide down my fingers.

"Say it," I demand.

"Fuck you."

"Funny, isn't it? You won't tell me to stop," I say in a low voice. She stills, hanging onto my words. "Deep down in that fucked-up little brain of yours, you like that I worship your pussy. You like that I'm a killer. That I bring you bloody presents. That I hide behind a mask. You like knowing that I am your fucking father, because it means I've always been here, always watching you. You like knowing that you're mine. And I'll be fucking dead before I let go of you."

"I hate you," she whispers harshly, a tear running down her face.

"Then tell me to leave. Tell me you don't want me. Tell me to stop, little girl. Tell your daddy how best to love you," I mock. "And if that means you want me to go away, I'll listen, baby, like a good daddy should."

She shakes violently; the words don't come out. I shove another finger inside of her. Another tear. A delicious fucking tear. My tongue licks it up, tasting her salt, her skin, her trashy makeup. Her own disguise she wears so proudly for the world. But a mask like that won't hide her from me.

"So fucking wet for me," I say. "Your tears. Your cunt. Your brain can scream ‘no' all it wants, but your sweet little pussy always says ‘yes' to me."

"I hate you."

"You hate yourself. You hate that you still want me. Even as Officer Gaines. As your father. All I need to do is put on a mask, and you could pretend that I'm your dream man. Ain't that right, baby?" I change my voice to that husky tone I put on as Crave: "How does it feel, little girl? Knowing that I'm everything you hate."

I let go of her pussy and grab a knife from my pocket. I flick it open and hold it to her neck.

"Would it make you feel better if I wore a mask?" I tease in my gravelly, masked killer voice. Blood pools at the cut, and she whimpers into me.

"Crave," she says.

"Daddy," I correct. "Say it for me."

She sobs uncontrollably, still thrusting her ass onto my cock, begging me to take her.

"Crave, please," she whines.

"No, baby," I murmur. I taste her blood, that acrid, metallic substance slipping over my tongue, filling me with power. Euphoria washes over me in a blinding heat. Blood. Our shared blood. "Say it for me now," I whisper. "Call me by my real name."

I keep the knife on her neck and move my free hand into the front of her thong again.

"Daddy," she whimpers.

"I used to dream of killing you and your mother. You know that?" I ask. "If I had known about you while you were still in the womb, I would've killed you then. Two birds with one stone. A dead baby and her mother roasting under the desert sun. But I found you too late, so instead, I watched over you. Watched you grow. Saw you in the resorts. In the childcare centers. In the private schools. In the nightclubs. Took you in my taxi and even gave your last big conquest the surveillance footage to prove that you stole his firearm?—"

"No!"

"—and got your ass fired. Look where you are, little girl. Isn't it funny?" I chuckle. "Daddy's here. You found me. Aren't you proud of yourself?" I lick the tiny stream of blood dripping from the shallow cut on her neck, and she shivers, her mound humping my palm. "And I still won't kill you, little girl. You're too amusing to throw away now. You're mine, baby. All fucking mine."

I flip her around so that she's facing me, her ass on the bathroom counter, and I pull out my dick, stroking myself. Her eyes are heavy, her pupils wide, her lips wet and open. Her tongue drifts across her bottom lip, and her hungry eyes betray her as she glimpses at my cock.

"Disgusting little girl," I say. She crumbles. I reach forward, holding her ass, squeezing her skin, relishing in the fact that she's literally my blood. Everything about her is mine. I click my jaw. "You and me, baby. We're disgusting, and we always will be. There's nothing we can do to change that."

She sucks in a gasp. I pull my gun from my holster, raising the muzzle to her temple. Her eyes water.

"Say it for me, now," I say. "Tell me the truth. If you have any last words, any last requests, you say them right now." I study her face, and she stills, so gentle, so compliant, so unsure of herself, that it fills me with excitement. Even Rae doesn't know what she'll choose right now. It's thrilling. She could choose anything, and that unpredictability fills me with anticipation. "What do you want from your daddy?"

Her brow crinkles. Her knees part. Her mouth opens.

"Fuck me, Daddy," she finally whispers.

I impale her on my dick. Her thong bunches up to the side of us as she wraps her arms around my neck, fear and desire coursing through her, every ounce of adrenaline running through her nerves, bringing her closer to me. Then vacancy subtly clouds her brown eyes, but I spot it. It's like she knows she needs more; she just doesn't know what it is.

Lucky for her, I know exactly what she needs.

The gun rests on her temple. She closes her eyes, losing herself on my dick. Her pussy constricting me.

Someone needs to die.

I could kill her right now.

I should kill her. I made my point.

Maybe it's not her who needs to die. Maybe it's me.

I've thought about killing myself before, but I'm not entertained enough to do it. Logically, I know the world would be safer without my DNA; Rae proves that. But I don't give a shit about the world or its people. I'd rather live just to see what I can get away with.

Still, I picture the roles reversed: Rae holding the gun to my head, killing me as I fuck her.

And I come.

She grimaces and pulls me closer. Our bodies are hot against each other. Our breaths panting.

I never wanted a kid. Rae isn't supposed to be here. But I won't kill her now. It's my choice. I want to see what she does in this world, even if she ends up killing me.

"You," she says, snapping back to reality, snarling at me once again. "You tricked me?—"

A knock bangs on the door.

"Rae?" a muffled male voice asks. "I heard screaming. Rae? Are you all right? Open up! Let me in!"

I grin, immediately recognizing the voice.

Ned is here.