17. Him

17

HIM

I woke with a start. Fuck. I'd passed out. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept for more than a few hours at once. The lingering pain was a son of a bitch, nearly as agonizing as the nightmares that always ended with my face burning off and melting into a puddle in my hands.

PTSD was one sick fuck. It turned your mind against you. And there was no escaping that shit.

"Frank, you fucking listening?" Donnie's prattling was grating on my nerves. For a man of few words, he sure had a lot to say right now. "Or was the cunt just that good?"

I pushed to my feet, tugging my pants up to my waist while shoving my cock into my briefs. My back was to Emily. I really didn't feel like dealing with her moods this early. And I knew she would be less than pleased with me after the game I'd played with her last night.

That said, it was exactly what I needed. Other than a little bit of muscle tightness, I felt like a million bucks.

"Cunt was just fine. Now what the fuck do you want?" I ground out between clenched teeth. The bastard knew better than to come down here. Everyone did. I liked my privacy. We all had our vices. And this basement was mine.

"Casper got fucked up real bad. Needs ya to stitch ?em up."

"And where the fuck's Adrian?" The kid wasn't my problem. Neither was his coke addiction.

Donnie shrugged. The dumb fuck wasn't good for much more than disposing of a body and even that was questionable.

"I'll be there in fifteen. Now get the fuck out." I slammed the door in his face, waiting until I heard the elevator doors ding before grabbing Emily's wrist and dragging her back to her room.

She kicked and screamed and spit along the way but it was all in vain. We both knew there was nothing she could do but surrender. To me and everything I was planning to do to her.

I keyed in the code to the door, disengaging the lock, and shoved Emily inside her little cell.

"Wait! Frank!" she called out as if she'd just uncovered some deep, dark secret of mine.

I turned on my heel and grinned at her. What was left of her hospital gown hung off a shoulder. Her pussy was bare and the one breast bounced with her heaved breaths. Her hair was a rat's nest while her cheeks and lips were flushed with the afterglow of being properly fucked. I grabbed at my cock and readjusted it in my pants, wondering if fifteen minutes was enough time for another round. Then quickly dismissed the idea. I didn't need the rest of those fuckers coming down here looking for me.

"Your name," she tried again. "It's Frank. Frankie. I don't know a Frankie." She sounded so sure of herself. So proud that someone else had unraveled the riddle she was supposed to put in the work to solve.

"Wrong answer, pet."

Her eyebrows drew down, her jaw bobbing as she tried to shove together what was left of the puzzle. Only to realize she was missing most of the pieces.

"Don't look so confused, sweetheart. It's a nickname, short for Frankenstein. On account of my face. Idiots think they're clever—except they're too stupid to realize that was the name of the doctor, not the monster."

"And you're the monster…" she whispered, her words trailing off as her posture seemed to deflate along with them.

"You bet your sweet ass I am."