Page 86 of Deeper

Callen

Rylan is waiting for me in the woods.

My job. My rules.

I’ll get Number Two and bring him to her.

I can’t have Rylan near before things are completely in my control. In the woods, where we don’t have to worry about leaving evidence, is where Rylan and I can live out our darkest fantasies. Out there, we can be ourselves.

Number Two, Abraham Montgomery, checks over his shoulder, as if he’s waiting for me. I’m a little surprised he even left the house, much less left this late at night. I am also amazed he doesn’t have any security with him. He’s loaded, and he can easily afford it. This one couldn’t have made it any easier on me.

I park out of view, further down his path, and wait for him, for my opportunity.

It’s coming.

Number Two keeps walking, keeps looking over his shoulder. When he passes the alley where I’m waiting, I lunge for him and plunge a needle into his arm while pulling him deeper into the shadows. The tranquilizer does its job while I drag him out of sight and to my truck. His body goes limp right before I toss him into the back. After taping his wrists, elbows, and knees, I climb into the driver’s seat and drive him to my girl.

Rylan.

Pink and red. The girl and the blood. It’s all one now. There is no longer a distinction.

When I arrive, she’s pacing the clearing deep in the woods where I dropped her off. She eyes the lifeless form heaped over my shoulder as I walk to her. My shoes sink into the dirt with my heavy load. I drop Abraham at my feet and throw my pack down next to him.

Rylan stands on her toes and throws her arms around my neck to greet me. “Everything go smoothly?” She can’t hide her excitement.

My fingers trace her throat while I pause to seal my lips against hers. She hungrily returns my affection. My tongue fills her mouth, and we kiss as if it has been ages instead of hours.

I only pull away long enough to answer her, “Couldn’t have gone more perfectly.”

She looks down at our victim. “He isn’t dead, is he?”

“No, baby. I wouldn’t finish the job without you.”

“Will he wake?”

“Worried you won’t be able to see the fear in his eyes when I take his life?”

“Would you look at me differently if I said yes?”

“No, baby. He’ll be conscious soon. What do you want to do till then?”

“I want to start. I want him to wake confused, terrified, and in intense pain.”

Even though this is my job, even though I love this side of her and have even felt the same pull, her desire for these things is a little unsettling. Not knowing what she’s hiding underneath the brutality—and I’m certain she’s hiding something—makes me anxious.

“You want to watch, or do you…” I let the question hang.

She answers quickly, “I want to do it. I want to hurt him.”

I stand back and let her go at it. She overturns the bag I dropped and picks a scalpel before kneeling by his body. Her eyes close, and her face tilts up to the sky. I’m fascinated by every move she makes. She opens her eyes, looks down at Number Two, and presses the blade to his flesh. Tiny spurts of red bubble from his skin as she presses down. She starts slow, but soon, she’s covering him with tiny surface wounds. I kneel on the opposite side of the body for a better view.

Her eyes never flick to me.

Her twisted smile produces dimples on her cheeks.

Satisfied noises fall from her lips.

The sight of her captures me, worries me, makes my cock hard as steel.

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