6. Crave

I usethe bolt cutters on the padlock. It's annoying, but at least they're doing something.

You should have destroyed it when you still had the chance,my mother's voice says. Stupid, stupid boy.

"And where would that leave my legacy?" I ask.

I toss the bolt cutters into the dirt, then whip open the gate. My boots pound into the floor with the same determination as an adopted son ready to shake some goddamn sense into his legal mother. I scan the first floor of the Galloway House through the mesh screens of my mask.

Gray and brown shadows cover the kitchen. My mother's voice rings in my mind again.

I told you to stay down there,she says.

I tried to leave. Tried to stay far away from this place. Tried to move on with my life. But this desert town always haunts me, begging me to stay.

And now, it's called Rae here too.

After unlocking the basement door, I flip a switch. A dim light illuminates in the back corner like the embers of a dying fire. A few objects come into view: a stool, a table, a ladder, and a shower stall in the corner. A red, sticky stain marks the floor. I'm lucky that no one goes down here.

The door upstairs creaks open. Right on time.

Ballet flats shuffle against the stairs. I stand tall, my boots giving me extra height, and with my shadow, I must look too tall to be real. I grin behind the mask, knowing that this kind of thing gets to a woman like Rae. She likes knowing I can squash her in a second, but no, I'd rather fuck her instead.

It's not about sex for me, though. It's about using her. Her body. Her mind. Her fucking soul.

Rae stops on the bottom step. Wavy red hair straddles her shoulders, her black eyeliner thicker than usual, a mask of her own that says, Don't fuck with me.

She's already fucking with you,my mother—that stupid inner voice—says. I ignore it.

Rae raises a small handgun. Aims it at me. Her shoulders are tight. Her arms quiver under the weight, not used to a real weapon. She thinks she's going to shoot me.

"The little girl got herself a gun?" I ask.

"Don't move," she warns in a voice that's impressively confident. A gun always does that to a person. She takes another step forward and joins me on the ground floor, her body filling with bravery. "I just want to talk."

I undo the metal zipper over my mouth, exposing my lips. She focuses for a second too long on my mouth, then shifts back up at my mesh eyes. The dirty little bitch.

She aims the gun at my chest, then at my stomach.

"You killed those people the other night," she says. Her chin curls up, her brown eyes locked on mine. "Why kill them here?"

"Why not?" I say.

Her eyes inspect every inch of me. My body is covered in leather, a second layer of animal skin. I imagine her in leather too, a bondage mask clinging to her face.

Rae hasn't killed anyone, but there's a lack of remorse in the things she does. The way she takes. The way she doesn't see humanity in others. The way she only sees herself.

That's what this is. She sees an opportunity in me, just like I see one in her.

I sniff deeply, sucking in her natural scent: pineapple and vinegar. A sweetness in the tang. The floral stench of jasmine perfume tries to cover up her natural funk, but when you're aroused, you can't hide something that sour under a flower's perfume.

"You didn't answer the question," she says.

Smart girl. I can give her an answer.

"No one cares about this place," I say. "It's as simple as that."

"Nothing is ever that simple."

My lips twist. I hold back my laughter. She fidgets uncomfortably, the gun's aim sinking, then she raises it up again, the silence eating away at her.

"You broke the lock," she says. "I know the mall owner. I can make it so that no one knows we are here."

We.

Her eyes flicker back and forth across my mask, searching for answers. People don't like it when they can't see your emotions. I don't have many, but I like how the mask hides the few that I have. Anyone can buy a bondage mask at a leather shop. You can even order a customized one with zippers and mesh. All it takes is a down payment in cash.

"There was a husband and wife that were murdered here twenty-five years ago," Rae says. "You're going to steal the evidence from that case for me."

"Am I?"

"Or I will give the video of you murdering those people to the police."

I can't help it. My loud laughter ricochets against the walls. This little girl thinks she can control me?

"A round of applause for the brave little girl," I mock. Her eyes betray her, widening as she tries to figure out why someone like me—someone she knows is a killer—would find entertainment in this situation. I give her a clue: "A little girl using coercive measures to get a murderer to steal for her is absurd."

I step closer. She refocuses the gun's aim on my chest.

"What do you think you'll find exactly?" I ask. "It's not like that couple has anything to do with you."

The corners of her lips sink. "My father died here."

"Michael Hall," I say. Her lips quiver. "He committed suicide."

Her gaze lowers slightly, then comes back to me. "No," she says. "He was murdered."

I clap my gloved hands together triumphantly, and she jumps, almost tripping on the wooden step behind her. I meet her at the base of the stairs.

"Good for you, thinking on your own," I say in a low voice. I move closer, eating up her personal space until we're inches apart. "And you think a little girl like you is going to find this killer?"

"I know I will," she says. "Maybe it was you."

I chuckle at that. She's good. I'll give her that.

"Do you know how long it's been since the murder-suicide happened?" I ask. A flash of disgust ripples across her face. I click my teeth. "If it is a murderer, they wouldn't stick around Pahrump now, would they?"

"Murderers like to revisit the places where they committed their crimes," she says. "It's in their blood."

"Textbook information. A well-versed murderer would know that. It's an easy clue. A way for the police to find him again."

"Not if he's good at covering his tracks."

I pore over her, licking my teeth. There's a haughtiness to her words, a confidence that annoys and intrigues me. A confidence that I want to strip away from her right now.

I rip the gun from her hand. She reaches for it. I immediately wrench the barrel under her chin, forcing her to look up at me. She strains her neck.

She could fight me. The fiery expression in her brown eyes knows this. Instead, her breathing quickens. The adrenaline fuels her. She may not know it, but she likes her own primal reaction. Being forced to endure. To stop thinking. Being made to do exactly what I want.

"Tell me," I murmur. "When you turn in the footage, are you going to tell the police how exciting it was to see those people die?"

Her thighs tense. The sour scent of her arousal mixes in the air, swirling around us, my head soaring higher.

"Blackmailing a murderer," I say. "What if I save us both the trouble and kill you right now?"

I lick my lips. A large gulp eases down her throat.

"If you kill me, Ned knows to give the video to the cops," she says.

Anger flutters inside of me. The owner of the mall. The technical owner of this house. That Ned. Another pathetic little freak hiding behind a good boy disguise.

If she told Ned anything about this, she wouldn't be here right now. Neither of us would.

I grab her jaw, force it open, and put the gun between her teeth. Her eyelids flutter, her pupils dilated. The little girl likes the oral stimulation.

I pull back the hammer.

"You think you can fuck with me, Rae?" I ask. Her eyes widen, wondering how I know her name. "I've always been ahead of you." I smirk. "I will always be ahead of you. Stronger than you. Better than you."

I grab her neck, keeping her in place, then I move the gun, putting it under her chin again. Her pupils flicker back and forth, shining with the faintest hint of light. She shivers. Her musk and fear tinges the air, and I drink it in. With one hand still fixed on her neck, I slide the gun back into her purse.

"I can smell your cunt," I snicker. "You like this, don't you? You depraved little slut. Being powerless. Being weak. You can't think when you're like this. You can't use your sexuality to control me. You're just a pathetic little girl. Better yet, an object. A toy that I'll use, get tired of, and eventually throw away."

She whimpers. "No?—"

I shove her shoulders, slamming her down to her knees. I unzip my pants, bringing out my cock, heavy with desire, the metal jewelry shining in the light. Six goddamn piercings. A fucking weapon, a metal and skin cock, ready to tear her insides apart. To render her throat useless like the used-up cock whore she is.

Her jaw hangs open, and I shove myself inside. She blubbers in pain, but those brown eyes glaze over. I know her. I've watched her for years. She's used to giving others what they want, so she can get what she wants.

This isn't about giving though. It's about taking what I want. And I want more than to come. I want her to realize that I'm in control. I owned her long before she stepped foot into this house.

Her tongue darts across my pierced tip. She inches forward, grinding her pussy into the ground, and I snicker in amusement. I bring my boot forward, kicking the steel toe between her legs until it's resting under her folds.

"Look at you on your pedestal," I say. I brace the sides of her head, shoving her head down on my shaft until she's gagging on the metal. "Be a good little fuck hole and take me."

Her throat muscles squeeze. I keep her there. Her nose is smashed into the curly hairs above my cock. The bitch can't even use her nostrils right now.

"Relax, little girl," I say, dragging out each word. "Don't be afraid. It wouldn't be so bad to die like this, now would it? It's what you're good at after all."

A moan tumbles out of her, the noise vibrating against my dick. I pull back. She gasps for air, holding herself up with her fists on my thighs. I shove right back down, then angle her until she's pinned against the wall with my hips.

"Don't you want to make me come?" I ask. She holds her breath, her body loose, and her throat relaxes. She's trying hard, so fucking hard, to open herself up for me. "What would you do if your mother saw you like this?" I ask. "Should I record you? Show her what a pathetic little slut you really are?"

A sharp pain surges from my dick to my temples—her jaws snapping down, biting my shaft. The fucking chompers on this bitch. I toss my head back, slapping my hand into the wall, the sensation spreading through me like wildfire. She's still pinned underneath me, and I'm still fucking that tight little throat.

I love it when they bite.

I smack the side of her head, and she cries, her jaw easing its grip. I fist her hair, raising her until she's on her toes. I lick the salt from her throat, the teeth of the zipper scraping across her saliva-covered flesh.

"You're going to have to bite harder than that," I murmur.

Rae pants on the verge of hyperventilation. I reach a gloved hand inside of her skirt, her stockings, between her legs. Her thong tangles against my glove. My leather fingertips slide along her folds. She loosens, her eyes glazed.

She wants it. Badly.

I drag my finger down lower, teasing her puckered asshole. Her eyes stay on mine, unconsciously begging me to penetrate her there.

I remove my hand and step back.

This will destroy her. She won't be able to think until she can make me come. She wants that control over me.

And I refuse to give it to her.

"That's it?" she asks. "That's fucking it?"

"What?" I chuckle. "Are you sad you couldn't make me come like your other love sick boys? Like your precious Ned?"

"Fuck you," she snarls.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

I keep our eyes locked as I lick her juices off of my glove. Tangy. Sweet. A spicy pineapple, ripe and waiting for my tongue.

Her thighs twitch, her lips open in hunger. It's going to be harder to seduce me than that.

I zip up my pants. Rae takes a long, slow inhale, leveling herself.

"What's your name?" she asks, her tone back to business.

"You can call me Crave."

"Crave," she whispers. "Crave and Rae," she says, louder this time, processing the information like it's a clue. Like there's meaning there.

A name is just a name. A couple of letters that produce a sound. A string of symbols which make it easier to communicate. She can use any name for me as long as she knows that I'll always be in control.

"Do we have a deal, then?" she asks.

I keep her locked under my stare. The lust is still there, but it's dampened by the authority in her stance, her determination to get what she wants. There's a hunger inside of her that surprises me. A confidence someone like her shouldn't have. A power she doesn't know she has yet.

She startles herself out of the daze.

"There might be more evidence that the police overlooked. I'll find out where the police keep the evidence for the Hall murders, and then I'll tell you how to steal it," she says with a brusque voice. "Until then, search this place."

She walks up the stairs. Her ass bounces under her short skirt, her legs subtly trembling from the skull fucking. The scared little girl is trying to reassert her control again.

Rae thinks she's strong, thinks she's smarter, better than everyone else. And she thinks that the truth will prove her superiority.

I love seeing a woman like that suffer.

One day, she'll bend to my will, and I'll lose interest. That's when I'll kill her. When she accepts—truly fucking accepts, with her body, mind, and soul—that she's a killer, just like me, then that's when I'll end her.

It doesn't matter where you come from or how you're raised: sometimes violence is inside of you.

She disappears behind the basement door, and I rub my cock through my pants. An experiment like this takes time. When you savor a possession for as long as I have, you make every second count.