Addicted In Cold Blood (24 page)

“You are a disgusting son of a bitch and I hope you burn in hell!”

And she continues to purposefully try to anger me now, to gauge my reaction, in order to find a weakness in me...nice touch, Officer Knight.

Xzion took another sip of his drink. He knew real anger when he saw it, and this was mostly water. She was an excellent actress, but he could still read through her. Smell had a scent; anger had a taste. This was bland, though her fear propelled her to continue trying. No effort was futile.

Regardless, this
definitely
wasn’t going the way he wished. Though he knew what she was doing, it didn’t stop his physical reaction. It was more than he could bear. The pang in his chest returned. She was pretending to be fuming, but a tiny bit of it was
real
...and it was all directed toward him, and he didn’t like it. It made him, dare he admit it—uncomfortable.

Just keep your cool. Let me try something else...

“I know some of this anger isn’t actually toward me. It’s the fact that I let you see what the FBI had done, and you have no one else to take it out on. Whatever I say to you won’t change anything, it won’t matter. I’ve told you things are not what they seem but I do wish to offer my apologies to you regarding the teenager. He was a witness, thus, he impaired the operation. You came inside of my home—you didn’t have a warrant nor were you invited, thus, you impaired the operation. I did not take out anyone that was not...”

“A big time dealer.” She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know that that was always your plan, but if someone saw something, they got smoked! You’re just a psychopath that can’t handle your own delusional shit.”

That’s it. We’re done!

“Why do you feel so comfortable talking this way to me?” His tone turned icy as he slowly stood up. He suddenly had no control over himself. It felt like an out-of-body experience. He realized what was happening—he cared about her, but within that emotion, another was born inside of him. Anger. He’d had no idea what it would feel like. He likened it to being high, on a bad trip. He was tired of her mouth...of hearing her go on and on about things she knew nothing about. She irked his nerves, and he just wanted her silenced...

She looked up at him, catching his gaze.

“Huh?!” He sucked his teeth and threw his napkin down, then marched over to her. He grabbed her wrist, twisting it, causing her to wince and struggle. Her teeth clenched as she clawed at his fingers to no avail.

“Now look, Jayme, we should be on a first name basis now.” He grinned—but there was no joy in it. “I’ve let you get away with a hell of a lot...a
hell
of a lot. You’re manipulative, mouthy and nosey, but I answered many of your questions, anyway.  I understand that you’re trying to stay alive, to figure out how to push my buttons, get me to respond...but you’re scared, too. You don’t know me. You only know what you’ve read, seen here and what I’ve told you, but this shit stops right here!” He increased the stronghold, eliciting a whimper and muttered curse. “I do not have your wrist to hurt you, Jayme. It is to immobilize you so that you will listen.”

He put his face close to hers and she closed her eyes tight. He felt her tremble before her body showed him.

“I know what stunt you just tried to pull here, another reverse psychology tactic. Get the captor angry, see what sets him off so you know what to push later, right? I’m one step ahead of you all the time, Knight. Now, let’s talk about what
really
happened, shall we?” She violently shook her head and tried in vain to scoot away as she writhed about in his grip, in obvious pain.

“You got fucked over by the FBI. They led you to
me
, this disgusting son of a bitch, as you so beautifully coined me to be. Get pissed at
them,
not me! Damn
them
to hell!” He yanked her face toward him, digging his fingers into her cheek. “Look at me!” His voice echoed in the room and startled him. He’d never heard himself speak so loudly before.

She stared up at him, afraid...so very afraid though once again, she tried to hide it. However, those big, beautiful brown eyes told on her as they sheened over. She was a trooper, she’d continue to hang tough, and all that did was turn him on. Her strength made his dick hard. She refused to cry, refused to beg him to stop, refused to ask for one goddamned thing...

“You found my lair, just like the FBI wanted you to and they were hoping that you’d then inform them of my whereabouts and be slaughtered! I didn’t kill you. Now, you have the damn advantage over them, you are
now
in the know! But instead, you’re too busy seeing me as a walking crime scene that you’ve failed to understand that I’ve given you a second chance by alerting you of the damned truth! You are the only one to still be alive after getting close to someone like
me
...that’s power!”

“Ugghhh!” she grunted, struggling.

“This is your shining moment, not the day you were hired by the backstabbers. I will
not
kill you. That would please them since you didn’t give them what they wanted—that being
me
. You have my word, now believe whatever you want!” He threw her hand down and released her face, his nostrils flared as he seethed.

Wait a minute, I’m not finished with her...

He swooped down, grabbed her about the waist and pulled her body flush with his, his chest against hers, causing her to gasp and submit to his powerful grip.

“I do not know why I still have you here, but I’m starting to figure it out, day by day. You are not the only one that is vulnerable right now! My life could very well be in jeopardy by allowing you to live. I’ve
never
been caught, apprehended or even questioned and please don’t think you are so crafty, that you’re the special mother fucker, the golden one that found out where I reside. I
let
you follow me...you simply gave me an excuse for us to get better acquainted... You failed your mission. Welcome home.”

To drive his point home, he pressed his lips harshly against hers, then angrily pushed her back down in her seat like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly cut.

Fear and defeat...so that is what distress looks like in the eyes of a strong woman falling apart in my arms...

She looked as if she may have passed out; her eyes rolled and her body seemed to lose its frame. He held her up and carried her away in his arms, back to his bedroom...

*
***

Jayme pulled the covers tightly over her body. She looked around the pitch black room, barely able to see her hand in front of her face. It was as if he’d cut all the electricity to the house; even the windows seemed hidden. She sighed and sat up, glanced at the clock and sluggishly rubbed her shoulder. Four in the morning.

She’d tossed and turned the better half of the night, thinking about all the things he’d said. The longer she stayed with him, the more confused she became, but she knew he was right about at least
one
thing. If he wanted her dead, that would’ve occurred days ago. His lustful glances seemed to mature and evolve, and it sickened her to think about how somewhere inside of him, he may in fact believe he cared for her a great deal. She’d begun to wonder about how he seemed to understand her fears nevertheless—that now, she did have to contend with the fact that she’d been led straight to the devil, and was given a ball of ice as her only weapon to throw in his hellish domain, seconds before it melted.

She couldn’t call him a liar though, and that was the most disturbing thing. She’d read the emails in depth, twice actually. She’d accessed the text messages and even heard some of the recorded phone calls. She’d been had. The realization was devastating, and she mulled over what he meant about her being given a second chance, that this was her shining moment? Would he let her go? That sure sounded like the plan but she didn’t want to be reliant on hope.

Hope had a way of letting people down...but what about all the other stuff?

Serial killers didn’t give their prisoners filet mignon and fine vintage wines, either. Serial killers didn’t explain themselves and try to soothe hurt souls. He gave her expensive soaps and sulfur-free shampoos, for God’s sake.  He even asked her about her hair—was there anything she wanted or needed for it? She conceded, saying she didn’t care how it looked. She ran her fingers through her wavy new growth as she continued to deliberate.

He purchased her clothing that cost more than she made in a month or possibly even two...and it all fit her to a ‘T’, the form and the style. Then, he did the unthinkable. He delved into racism as it pertained to racial equality. She wanted to finish that conversation actually, but she couldn’t get past what... he...
was
.

Maybe he’s lonely? Did he lie about any of it, any of it at all?

She shrugged and shuddered. The temperature seemed to be dropping even further, though he said he kept her room at an even seventy-two degrees. She wondered if he were actually in the house. What frightened her most was that she truly wanted him to be...

I’m losing my damn mind...

Xzion lay in the tub for over two hours, covered with ice, up to his neck. The headache he had wouldn’t let him go, kept him captive, just like he’d done to his sweet Jayme. All he was certain of was that after he’d gotten upset, it came on like a sledge hammer, and now that he’d had a taste of what anger felt like—
true
anger, not the watered down shit he was accustomed to when things didn’t go quite his way—he’d never be the same.

Was this what love did? Make you pissed, too? That’s why he didn’t want to go
there
. He knew the first time he laid eyes on her he was in trouble, but by then, he’d already sealed her fate with his right eye, snapping shots of her through his peripheral vision. And now, he was eternally doomed. He stood. The ice fell from his flesh in a cool, clear heap. His paled body slowly regained its color as he stumbled to the mirror. He looked down at his wrist, then back at his reflection. He wanted to smash the mirror to jagged bits. The self-hatred was now spreading to full awareness. It seemed that love had a strange way of forcing other emotions to come forth, boiling deep within, making his stomach churn with pain...and he could take pain, he was rarely hurt, but this left a sting, a burning sensation he didn’t know how to rid himself of.

He stumbled out into the hall, holding his gut, and staggered toward the second bedroom he’d been using as his own personal hotel. Before he could open the door, he heard a click...and there she was, walking out of the exercise room, only a few feet from him in the dark. He’d left the bedroom door open for her, allowing her to now go in and out of the room by herself. She couldn’t get past the hallway, it was blocked, but at least, this way, maybe she’d relax a bit more. He had that set up before the dining room incident. Now, he regretted it.

If she tries anything, I’m going...to have to hurt her. I don’t want to have to do that...please Jayme, don’t make me hurt you...

They stood there, gauging each other. Her eyes widened as she scanned him up and down, taking in his pain and discomfiture. Nakedness wasn’t an issue, but he didn’t want her to see him weak, possibly try to take him down—that was the whole damn problem right then. Emotions were debilitating, and this was the wrong time to be caught slipping. She could try to make a getaway, too...try to disarm the light-rayed hall, and then he’d have to push past his injured state, wrangle her and lock her away. He grunted, bent over, and caught himself before he vomited. Love was making him sick...

He gripped the doorknob, pushed himself through, but not before he felt her warm hand on his forearm.

“You’re ill,” she said softly. Her touch made his skin sing...like the pores had mouths…and he instantly began to feel better. He limped to the air mattress and fell down upon it, breathing heavily as he continued to clutch his stomach. The agony subsided a little, giving a tiny slither of relief as she stayed near.

“Was it something you ate?” she offered as she stroked the side of his face.

He wasn’t sure if this was another manipulative ploy, but either way, it was working. He reached for her, pulled her down, gripped the back of her head and kissed her with all of his might. His breathing harsh and erratic, his chest heaved against the blue fleece of her nightshirt and he was losing himself, completely. Initially, she fought, biting his lip and moaning loudly in distress....but then, she quieted and relaxed. He rolled over top of her, pinning her down, forcing the flimsy mattress to bend at the added weight. After a few moments, he pulled away, and ran his fingertips over his lips. The heat was fresh, his stomach no longer cramped and she’d intoxicated him.

She
was the reason for the pain, and the medicine that cured it.

How ironic. He wasn’t an expert at this by any stretch of the imagination, but he prided himself on being a good lover, and her reciprocal affection didn’t appear forced—it  felt...
real
. Nevertheless, he second guessed the circumstances.