Marked (A Dark Serial Killer Romance)
Marked: Chapter 5

If it wasn’t for this asshole, I would have been able to stay with Harley longer.

But I’ve never strayed from a plan before, and today will be no different. I’m just going to have to make Mr. Carpenter pay a little more for fucking up my day.

I knew Harley was special. I could sense it from the moment our eyes met in that cafe, two days ago. And then, when I saw her with her mother at that grocery store, it only cemented the idea that something deep inside of her was yearning to be released.

There’s a great pain inside her.

And I’m going to help her get it out.

But first, this fucker.

I pull my car around to the back of the barn. It’s already getting dark, but I keep my lights off.

No need to warn him I’m here just yet.

After I get the tools and things I need, I leave the car parked and make my way to the barn. The door is still bolted shut from the outside, so I’m confident he’s still tucked inside, safe and sound.

Just like he designed.

And he is.

There he is, in all his fucking asshole glory.

Little mumblings echo from the chamber he’s tucked inside of, so I kick the lid away and peer down at him.

Naked, he sits with his knees pulled to his chin. It’s the only position he can be in, unless he wants to remain standing.

And two days of standing upright would have been hell.

I would have preferred it for him. But I have a code to stick to, and that’s what I’ve done here.

He gets what he gave.

Slowly, he turns his face up to me, wincing at the brightness of the flashlight I have beaming in his eyes.

“Please,” he whimpers, shivering from the cold. It’s hot outside, but sitting with no clothes on in an underground cell with only a three-foot circumference has left him chilled. Maybe it’s the concrete walls.

I move the light from his face to the bucket next to him. He’s utilized it a few times in the last two days.

“Please, what, Dustin?” I ask.

“Please. Just let me go.”

I roll my eyes.

Pathetic.

“I’m disappointed. It’s like you haven’t been paying attention at all.” I grab the rope ladder and drop it down the well. “Come on up and bring your toilet with you.” I keep the light shining on the hole as I step back.

Slowly, he makes his way up. The metal bucket clanks against the cement wall as he makes his ascent. I couldn’t have cared less if he shit himself while he was down there, but he’d let Jessica have it when he kept her locked up down there.

Once he scrambles to the floor of the barn, I turn on the set of painter’s lights, illuminating the area.

“Leave the bucket there. And go to the center.” I point to the table in the middle of the lights.

He looks over at the setup—he should be familiar with it—and blanches. For a second, I think he’s going to puke, but he composes himself.

“Look. I’m sorry. Please.” He bends over, pressing his hands into his knees and sucking air. His hair is matted to his head, filthy and sweating from his captivity. “I’ll confess. Please, just call the police.”

I stare at him. I can’t help it. There are levels of stupidity, and this man has reached every single one of them.

“Did you call the police when you had Jessica here?” I stalk toward him until he hurries his step to the table. He stops short of climbing on.

Panicked eyes meet mine.

“Oh god no.” He sobs, breaking down just like a little baby. I shouldn’t blame him. He’s just realized, finally, what’s about to happen to him. It’s a lot to take in, but really, this is on him. He should have known.

“Now, Dustin, we’ve repeated every step, haven’t we? Did you really think we wouldn’t play out the last bit?” I drop a manila folder on the surgical table, throwing it open and splaying out the photographs inside.

I jam my finger at the police report.

“Hogtied and left in trunk of a car. See, there’s the bruising from the tire iron you had her lying on.” I grab his head, forcing him to face the photograph of the ugly bruise on the poor girl’s side.

He sobs again, tries to pull away, but he’s been weakened by his ride in the trunk, and then two more days in the pit. He’s not going anywhere.

“Then an estimated forty-eight to seventy-two hours underground.” I point to the pictures of her broken fingernails.

Two of them had come clean off. Traces of cement and dirt were found beneath what was left. I smack the back of his head, sending his forehead into the table.

“Look at the photos. Look at the cuts, the scrapes, look at the finger bruises you left on her thighs!” I punch him in the gut, making him fall to the ground with a grunt.

“I’m sorry. So sorry,” he sobs, rolling to his side and curling his knees up to his chin.

“I know you are.” I nod. “But it’s not enough. Nothing I do to you will be enough.” I grab hold of his hair, yanking him back to his feet. He’s a short man. Although he’s got an athletic build, there’s not much to him.

“An eye for an eye, Dustin.” I pull my knife from where I keep her holstered at my back. “Now, get on the table and lie on your fucking back.”

The dirt on his face runs off with his tears. His eyelashes are wet. Drool slips from his mouth, and snot runs from his nose.

He’s fucking repulsive. But it changes nothing.

He manages to get up on the table and lies back, his hands at his sides, and his eyes screwed shut. If he thinks the end is coming, he’s wrong. There’s still one more thing to do before I end him.

Before I drag my knife from his throat to his pelvis, just like he did to poor Jessica. A complete hack job, and it won’t be any prettier when I do it.

Seventeen years old. He stole her, he hurt her, he destroyed her, and then he killed her.

Death is too easy for him, but it’s all I can offer.

I flick his flaccid cock with the tip of my knife.

“Get to it.”

His eyes fly open. “W-what?” Confusion fills those beady little eyes of his.

“This is where we’ll deviate just a little,” I explain to him, grabbing the picture of Jessica and using the tip of my knife to point at the bruising on her thighs. “You hurt her using that little cock of yours, yes?”

He swallows.

“I’ll take that as a confession. I’m not gonna touch your little prick. You’ll do it. Go on, get yourself off.” I grab his hand and shove it on his groin. “Do it.”

“Why? You’ll just kill me anyway.” Ah, some sense has finally made its way back to his brain.

“That’s right. I am going to kill you, just like you killed that girl. But I’m happy to deviate a little more and start removing body parts before that happens.”

All color drains from his face.

“A toe. A finger. Another toe. Some of your thigh. A little bit of fat from your ass. I mean, there’s a lot I can remove before I get to anything vital.” I tap my knife to my cheek. “If I were you, I’d start thinking about something to get that dick hard.”

He closes his eyes, swallows again.

It takes a few minutes, but finally his cock stiffens. Right along with every muscle in my body. I know what he’s thinking about to get himself hard. I want to pummel his face in for it, but I have to keep steady.

“Go on.” I nudge his thigh with the knife.

He’s slow at first. But in seconds he’s going at it like a pubescent high schooler who just learned how good his own hand feels.

Just when I think the fucker can’t be any more repulsive, he starts fucking moaning.

Moaning!

I grip the handle of my knife. This can’t be finished soon enough.

His eyes are closed while he’s licking his lips.

Jessica didn’t get any reprieve. She saw no pleasure during the three days she was his captive. She was beaten and bruised. He’d taken the very essence of her.

He can’t possibly think I’m letting him bust his nut before this is over.

But he does. The monster actually thinks he’s going to orgasm.

He’s pumping harder, faster, and his lips are trembling.

I poise the knife.

“All right, Dustin. Open up, sweet boy.”

Just as his eyes open, I strike, plunging the knife right into his throat.