Page 88 of My Girl
Now, I know. She is normal. Good. Just likethem.
My fingers flex around the handle of the hacksaw, the urge todosomething with her growing stronger by the minute. I’ve lost interest in her, but I’m not going to waste the knowledge that I’ve gathered; I’m going to use that information to kill her properly.
Good girls bore me, but good girls still deserve to die.
Evening comes, and I pick up an extra taxi shift. I put the hacksaw under the driver’s seat, then I park the car on the curb beside Rae and her latest boyfriend. He opens the car door for her, and she slides across the back seat, her stockings swishing against the leather. She never leaves her legs exposed, always covering herself up with sheer stockings, the picture of purity.
The boyfriend stumbles in after her and immediately grabs her breasts. She smacks his arm playfully, then tucks her red hair behind her ear.
“You have to wait,” she says coyly.
My skin crawls at those words. It’s boring, how predictable she is. The experiment is over. The good stay pure, and filth like me rots. I don’t need to keep her alive to confirm that.
I’ll kill her tonight.
Chapter27
Crave
present
The shock radiatesacross Rae’s face as my cock explodes in pleasure. She twitches against me, bracing herself against my shoulders, too distracted by my identity and her survival to focus on the raw sensations.
My cock gives one last pulse inside of her, then I pull out. I use a pocket knife to cut her down. She falls to the cement, yanking the noose from her neck.
“You,” she rasps. “It’s you. You?—”
“Mask got you fooled, huh, ma’am?” I say, in my fake Southern accent. I zip my pants. She scoots back like a crab, my cum squishing out from between her legs.
“How? I—” she whispers. “I don’t—Why did you?—”
“Why not?”
We stare at each other. The confusion is so palpable on her face, I can taste it. Bitter and sour, like biting into a cake and realizing you’re allergic to the main ingredient. Watching her process the information is like pumping the energy straight into my veins.
“You forced me to eat your ass,” she says. “You raped me.”
“I raped you in that mask too, but it was fine when you thought I was some sexy masked vigilante, wasn’t it, little girl?” I ask. “You enjoyed it. You enjoyed every fucking second of it. You even said youwantedto eat my ass. You fucking begged for it.”
Her whole body crumbles into a ball of jerky vibrations. I lean against the wall, looking down at her with mild amusement.
It’s funny how we hide ourselves from our own truths. Rae needed the mask to pretend like it was okay to fuck a man like me, because at least she could pretend I was a hot murderer underneath the leather. A man who would protect her even when everything went to shit.
I used to lie to myself too. I told myself I wasn’t a killer. I simply killed my adoptive family because I wasforcedto. It was the only way I could survive.
Now, I know better.
“You are a monster,” Rae stammers. She pulls herself to her feet, then backs away from me. “You used your position as a security guard to corner me. To protect this house. This—this place where you killed people!”
“If I remember correctly, youlikethat I kill people.” I chuckle, then mimic her girly little voice: “I just want someone who sees me for who I am, even if you did kill my daddy.”
“You disgust me,” she spits.
With those words—those three little words—I’m back to that nine-year-old boy with hate growing in his heart, knowing that no matter how hard I tried, I’d never be enough for Mrs. Galloway. I’d always be the rat hiding in the basement. The diseased vermin. The pest she needed to get rid of.
But when it comes to us, Rae doesn’t get a fucking choice.
I race forward, grabbing her hair. She claws at me, scratching my face. I whip her around like a ragdoll.
