Chapter Sixteen
Dexter
The eyes of a little lamb, the core of a warrior, and the heart of Satan all wrapped in an enticing package. Those were the thoughts I had when handing Megan the blade I used to silence Lucy’s taunt. I should have cut out her tongue before killing her to teach her how detrimental words can be to a person’s sanity when used the wrong way, but her brutal collision with the wall left me short of time—unfortunately. From what I sampled before Megan’s big, consuming eyes secured my attention, her tongue was mighty tasty.
I didn’t take Lucy to my room with the intention of having a threesome with Megan. I wanted Megan to experience the fury I felt when she chose Nick over me, to show her what she missed out on from denying me.
She derailed my campaign in less than a second.
I expected her to pluck the brunette’s eyes out of her sockets with her nails, or at the very least, hide in the bathroom for the next several hours. She did no such thing. She blew my challenge out of the water in a way I never anticipated. She surprised me. My little skitzo isn’t just all shades of fucked up; she makes me use the left side of my brain—the creative, experimental side that hasn’t been exercised in years.
If I didn’t have sirens wailing in the distance and a father demanding a virgin to hunt, mount, then display in his trophy cabinet, I’d be exercising that side of my brain right now. I’m as hard as fuck, the taste of Megan’s nipple in my mouth and her head resting in my crotch equally responsible. Just a couple of inches higher, and her pants of breath would be enough to get me off.
I suggested Megan hide because Lucy’s screams meant meddlesome guests spotted me slipping into my car where Megan was waiting. The authorities are looking for two people, so it was best to keep her hidden.
That issue became non-existent when I swapped my GTO for an old truck some geezer left idling at the gas station two hundred miles back, but since I like having Megan close to me, I made her stay. Sue me.
* * *
I travelanother hundred miles before the heaviness of my eyelids becomes too great to ignore. I’m cutting it close to thirty-six hours without sleep, but that isn’t the reason I’m pulling over for some shuteye. The vicious twang in my lower back won’t take no for an answer, much less the cotton wool lodged in my throat.
Since he is dead, I’ll never get confirmation, but I’m fairly confident if I hadn’t killed Joseph last night, he would have gutted me like a dog. He wanted Megan, and he was willing to do anything to get her—including drugging me. That’s why my head was so woozy. It wasn’t a mental break or coming face to face with whiskey after a prolonged stint of absence. It was Joseph’s weakness for fair-skinned woman with big, innocent eyes . . . and perhaps the adrenaline little Ms. Psycho’s attention overdoses me with.
Megan is making me unhinged—even more than usual. If I weren’t relishing the high, I’d be pissed. But alas, you can’t be both angry and turned on.Well, normal men can’t be.
* * *
“Come on,Megan, I got us a room.”
I dig a room keycard into her thigh, endeavoring to wake her up. She moans before burrowing her head more profoundly into the truck’s bench seating.
“Megan. . .”
I dig the card in harder this time.
Still nothing.
Pissed at the delay, I jog to the passenger side of the truck, hook her ankle, then drag her out of the vehicle. I intend to let her fall to the ground, but before she gets halfway there, my arms dart out to catch her. I still can’t hurt her. I want her to bleed via my knife while lying naked in front of me, not some gravel rash ooze that would only satisfy my craving for a few seconds.
I feel two stitches in my back pop open when I pull Megan to my chest before striding to our hotel. Cautious our truck may have been reported as stolen, I parked several miles away from our hotel to make sure we remain under the radar. Now, I’m wishing I wasn’t so cautious. Megan isn’t heavy, but the weight of her closeness is enough to kill a man.
I want her beneath me, but I’ll be dead if I touch her. One sniff, and my dad will know she isn’t pure. He requested her untouched, which means I must deliver her untouched.
Obeying my father’s command isn’t foreign to me. It is how I survived my last twenty-eight years. But the adrenaline that pools in my brain when Megan is close is just as hard to ignore.
The fiendish glint in her eyes is magnetizing, but the way she looks now—a perfect, limp little doll—makes a switch inside of me flick on. It’s one I haven’t used in a very long time. My impish heart breeds evil faster than it pumps blood, but when Megan is in my arms slows it down.
I buried desires deep inside me years ago thanks to my father’s demands. He was looking out for me, ensuring I saw the world for what it is instead of how it made me feel. It was for the best. The world is brimming with cruel, sadistic people. I’m merely staying one step ahead of the pack.
* * *
After grippingMegan’s ass with one hand, I wave a hotel keycard across our room door. After kicking the heavily weighted door shut, I merge deeper into the affluent-smelling space. The hotel clerk had to shuffle reservations to grant me the room I requested. A double would have been adequate, but a king deserves to sleep in surroundings matching his reign. That’s why we’re not staying in a standard dime-a-dozen motel on the side of the highway. We’ve got the presidential suite. It’s the least I can do considering this weekend will be Megan’s last with a pulse.
I lay Megan on the massive bed in the left wing of our suite before tugging off my boots, shirt, and jeans. Once I am naked, I set to work on undressing Megan. I want her scent imbedded in my skin even more urgently than I want to sink my cock into her fragrant, enticing cunt.
“Shh,” I tell Megan when she slaps my hands away in the process of removing her blood-stained shirt from her body.
It’s not her blood. Its Lucy’s blood that Megan removed from the razor blade before cradling it in her palm like a precious gem. Since she is without the floral dresses she donned every day the past two months, the razor has become her security blanket. It makes her feel safe. I’m glad. I doubt she’s felt safe in years.
