A Love So Deadly (3 page)

“Just let me go,” I insist. “I won’t tell anyone what happened. Not even my partner. I’ll just go home and—”

“You’re not going anywhere until I get what’s mine!”

I cringe away from the fury in his voice, arms flinching up to cover my head before I can stop myself. I drop my hands back to my sides as quickly as I can, but I’m shaking all over and I know Pitt’s seen it, seen how scared I am.

He sees it, and he likes it. I swear it’s like he grows three inches as he stands up straighter, spine stretching as he feeds on my fear.

“If that’s true, then you’re right. Your partner will be able to figure out where you are…sooner or later,” Pitt says. “And when he does, I’ll be ready for him, and make sure he knows how very upset I am, and what it’s going to take to get you back.”

A cold ball of fear knots in my chest, but I do my best to keep my expression neutral. Pitt can’t know the truth. If he figures out no one is coming for me, I’ll have no leverage at all.

“He’s no dummy,” I say. “He’s not going to walk up to your front door and ring the bell. We broke into your house once without you knowing about it. He’ll be able to do it again. You have to sleep sometime…”

I let my words trail off as I lift one shoulder. The unspoken threat hangs heavy in the air for a moment before Pitt grunts.

“Then I’ll take the offensive.” He crosses to the left side of the room, reaching up to adjust something in the shadows near the rafters. I can’t see what it is, but his next words give me a pretty good idea.

“You can give me your partner’s name and address, and I’ll send him a free preview,” he says, still tinkering in the shadows. “Everything’s ready to go. I installed the camera and the new recording system a few weeks ago so I’d be prepared…just in case.”

“In case of what?” My throat threatens to close as a red light flashes on above Pitt’s head and I realize I’m being recorded.

“Well,” Pitt says, voice pitched differently, lower and more confident, as if he’s aware of being on camera, too. “As soon as I realized the DVDs were missing, I knew that there was a chance they had been destroyed, or hidden somewhere I’d never be able to find them. I knew there was a chance they were gone forever, and I would need to find…a replacement.”

I swallow, pulse fluttering wildly at my throat as Pitt walks toward me.

“Well, not a replacement. No one can replace Mother,” he says, voice soft, chilling. “Nothing can ever take the place of the memories you stole from me, but new memories can be made.”

Not new memories, new trophies.

Gabe and I may, or may not, be sociopaths, but Pitt is a flat out psychopath, a monster with a taste for human suffering who looks like he’s on his way to being a serial killer.

If I don’t find a way to escape, Pitt will kill me…eventually, of that there is no doubt in my mind. It will simply be a matter of how many days, or months, or years he’ll keep me captive, torturing me the way he did his mother, before he gets bored and decides it’s time to slip a lethal overdose into my food.

The thought sends a wave of terror and rage sweeping through me so powerful my trembling becomes quaking. I grit my teeth and clench my hands into fists, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t quit shaking like it’s nine degrees in the attic instead of ninety.

“Take off your shirt, Caitlin,” Pitt says, a gleam in his eye that is more predatory than sexual. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m not wearing anything but black bikini panties under my sleep shirt and I refuse to be all-but-naked in front of this man.

“No,” I say, in a low, firm voice that sounds like I’m talking to a dog. I might as well be. Pitt’s worse than a dog, he’s an abomination, a freak of nature that should have been put down before he could grow fangs.

“Take it off,” he repeats. “We earn our privileges here, and clothes are a privilege, not a necessity. Not in heat like this.”

“No.” I edge toward the mattress, eyes darting back and forth, scanning the floor, looking for something to use as a weapon.

“You’ll be more comfortable,” Pitt says in an upbeat voice. “And I bet your partner will enjoy seeing you naked. You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

I press my lips together, fighting a whimper as Pitt gets closer, so close he’ll be touching me soon if I don’t do something.
Find
something.

My panicked gaze lands on the box of stuffed animals, but there’s nothing in the soggy cardboard filled with moldy toys that will do any damage. Pitt is only five six and on the slim side, but he was strong enough to carry me out of my house and up the stairs to the attic. I have to find something heavy or sharp or—

The tea set.

The porcelain tea set that made me want to cry last time I was in this attic is still there on the ground, laid out for a party. The cups and saucers are too small to do any damage, but the pot is grapefruit-sized, maybe big enough to knock Pitt out if I use enough force, and take him by surprise.

I turn back to Pitt and reach for the bottom of my shirt. “Okay.” I edge along the end of the mattress, toward the tea set on the far side. “I’ll take it off, but I don’t want you to look. Turn your back.”

Pitt stops, crossing his arms. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re not interested in seeing me naked,” I say, praying I’m right. “I can tell it isn’t like that for you.”

Pitt smiles, sending my heart diving into my stomach. “Oh, it
is
like that, Caitlin. It very much
is
, but you’re right, I’m not going to touch you.” He steps closer, showing no sign of stopping or turning his back.

I shuffle another step closer to the tea set, holding Pitt’s gaze as I keep the teapot in my peripheral vision, forcing myself to wait to reach for it, knowing I’ll only have one chance.

“But later, when I go back and watch the tape,” Pitt continues, his voice sludgy and slick, like slime oozing between my toes. “I’m going to get hard, and I’m going to take out my cock, and I’m going to jerk myself until I come all over the screen, all over your pretty face. I’ll do it again and again, as many times as I want, because you are mine now. And when I’m tired of this tape, we’ll make another, and another, until I have a new collection to fill the void left behind by what you stole from me.”

I bite my lip, holding back a scream. I hold my terror in, allowing the tension and fear and panic to build inside, fueling my body, tightening my muscles, giving me strength.

One shot, one shot, and I’m not going to screw it up, I’m not going to let Pitt’s prophecy come true, I’m not going to be his victim.

“Now, take off your shirt.” Pitt steps closer, until I could brush his chest with my fingertips if I held out my arm. “Show me your tits.”

I swallow, blood rushing in my ears, and then, with one swift movement, I rip my shirt over my head and throw it at his face. His hands come up a second too late to catch it and while he fumbles with the fabric, I whirl, snatching up the teapot and bringing it over my head.

I don’t think about the fact that I’m basically naked, or that I’m inches shorter and smaller than Pitt, or that I’m shackled and he’s free. I come at him with all my rage and hatred and loathing, I come at him like
I
am the monster and he’s the bug I’m going to squash beneath my foot.

I bring the pot down with every bit of strength in my body, a savage sound erupting from my lips as it shatters on his skull. The skin on his forehead bursts and blood rushes from the wound, but I don’t take time to appreciate the crimson running into his eyes. I’m already lifting my hands back into the air, threading my palms together into a single combined fist and bringing it back down on top of his head. I land two more blows—pounding his skull like I’m driving a fence post into the ground with my bare hands—before he lunges forward, tackling me, sending us both flying.

My back hits the mattress and my breath rushes out. Before I can pull in another, Pitt’s hands are around my throat.

He screams, howling into my face, blood dripping from the wound on his forehead to fall onto my cheeks, my lips, into my mouth as I gasp for air. I taste the salty filth of him and know I would be sick if I could pull in a breath. I bring my hands to his face, shoving at his nose and mouth, gouging at his eyes, but it’s like he can’t feel my fingers stabbing away at him. His grip only tightens, and soon the air around his face goes blurry and gray, then fuzzy and black, and then there are flashes of light bursting in front of my eyes and my hands begin to go numb.

I flail my arms, but I’m not sure if I’m hitting him anymore. I’m not sure of anything except that I am dying, and Pitt is getting it all on tape.

My head is pounding, but my heart is slowing. The frantic thrum in my chest stutters, skipping a beat, then two. I lose sensation in my limbs and my vision narrows to a pinprick of light at the center of a long tunnel of black. I’m seconds away from passing out—passing out and sleeping my way through the last few seconds of my life—when something hits Pitt, knocking him off my prone body, and air rushes into my lungs.

CHAPTER THREE
Caitlin
May the devil make a ladder of your backbone
and pluck apples in the garden of hell.
–Irish curse

My back arches and pain shoots through my nerve-endings as I suck in one greedy breath after another, agony slamming from my fingers to my toes, before rocketing back to my head, making me groan. My head feels like it’s going to explode. My eye sockets ache and my temples throb like someone took a hammer to my skull and my throat hurts so badly I can’t believe I can still draw in breath.

But I can. I’m not dead. I’m alive. I’m alive and breathing, and slowly, the shadowed ceiling of the attic comes back into focus.

The moment the agony becomes manageable, I sit up, shoving myself into a seated position with half-numb hands, and falling onto my hands and knees on the mattress.

“Gabe.” I croak his name, tears springing to my eyes as my breath shudders in and out and relief floods through my chest.

I don’t know how he knew, how he found me, but there he is, the man I love, pinning Pitt to the ground, wrapping his hands around the monster’s throat, showing Pitt what it feels like to be on the receiving end of a strangling. It’s bizarre to see Gabe not dressed in his blacks in a situation like this. His light blue polo and dark blue jeans seem too civilized for the setting, making the moment even more surreal.

So surreal that Pitt is turning purple by the time I realize Gabe doesn’t intend to stop.

He’s going to kill him. Gabe is going to kill Pitt. I know I should stop him, and we should go to the police, but a part of me doesn’t want to. A part of me is crouched on her haunches like an animal, howling for Gabe to finish this. She can’t wait to see Pitt dead, to dance around his body and celebrate the stilling of his evil, fucking heart.

I would have let it happen, I know I would have, but just as Pitt is going still, Gabe cries out, hands flying to grip his head. He moans and sways, falling off of Pitt, hitting the floorboards with a thud that makes me flinch.

I’m already on my way to him when Pitt sucks in a liquid breath and begins to choke.

I freeze, gaze flicking from Gabe moaning on the floor, to Pitt choking right beside him. I have a split second to make my choice, and then I’m on top of Pitt, picking up where Gabe left off.

I don’t know what’s happening to Gabe, but if Pitt gets up off the ground, we’re both screwed. I’m still chained to the wall. If Pitt recovers enough to get up and out of reach, I will have lost the upper hand and might never get another chance to save myself, to save the man I love.

The man who calls my name as I straddle Pitt’s chest and lock my hands around the bastard’s throat, leaning forward until all of my body weight is bearing down on his windpipe, sealing it off. I hear the encouragement in Gabe’s voice, know he wants me to do this, to save myself, to save us, and I grit my teeth and hold on.

Pitt thrashes beneath me, but not with near the strength he was thrashing when Gabe started this. He’s weak and that one gasp of air he managed to suck in isn’t going to hold him for long. He’s going to die. I’m going to kill him. I can feel the truth in the way my fingers crack as they dig into his flesh, see it in the way Pitt’s beady eyes bulge from his face, smell it in the tangy, sour smell of urine that soaks the front of Pitt’s pants, making me grateful I’m sitting on his chest.

I don’t want any more of his piss or blood or spit or breath on me. I want this to end. Now. And then I want to set everything on fire and watch it burn.

I grit my teeth, a sob catching in my chest as Pitt continues to wiggle beneath me for what feels like an eternity. His death stretches on forever and then…suddenly, it’s quiet. It’s quiet and still and I can feel the change in air pressure that is one less soul occupying this space, one less monster to hide in the shadows, looking for something beautiful to destroy.

I don’t know if I’m a monster like him or something else, but I know that I’m so fucking glad it’s over.

Slowly, with a concentrated effort, I unpeel my fingers from Pitt’s throat, one by one, staying perched on his body long enough to make certain he’s not coming back to life before I turn and half-fall to the ground beside Gabe. I’m crying, sobbing, tears streaming from my face, but not because of Pitt, at least not just because of that. It’s because of all of it, because it’s too much and I don’t know how to hold everything that’s happened in the past few minutes in my head. I just know I need to get to Gabe, to make sure he’s okay. If he’s okay, everything will be okay.