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"Master," I say. "Please, Master."

"There you go," he says. "Just relax and let me use you. I want my flesh, too. This is what happens to bad girls who get horny slicing men to pieces."

"You're so big," I whimper.

He groans in response, and I think I know what might push him over the edge.

"Your dick is so fucking huge it hurts," I moan.

He spreads me wider, picking up his pace until he finally stills deep inside me, filling me with cum.

"Oh…fuck," he groans. "You fucking whore."

When he pulls out, I roll onto my back. He traces the bloody heart on my lower abdomen with his gloved fingertip, and I watch, still desperate to feel skin on skin.

"Different side of the same coin," he says again.

"Fucking and killing?" I say, breathless. I stare up at the ceiling, sated but not quite satisfied. "Yeah. Almost."

The thing on the bed shifts beside me, tucking his cock back into his pants.

"Are you going to sleep in all of those clothes?" I ask him. "And the mask?"

"Teagan, I'm not going to sleep in here with you," he says, pushing off the bed and heading for the door.

And then he just leaves me there, closing the door behind him, and I…

I lie there cold and alone, my body sore and used, and stare up at the ceiling. It doesn't feel good.

Once I no longer hear his footsteps on the staircase, I leave the room, too, grabbing the clothing I'd discarded from the kitchen floor and taking it with me into the bathroom. I close the door behind me and clean myself up before wetting a towel and scrubbing the blood from my wrist and the bloodyI'm sorryheart from my stomach.

I won't cry about this.

I step back into the unlabeled boxers, pull on the t-shirt, and stare at the girl with the matted curly hair—the serial killer—in the mirror.

Is this who I am? Is this what I am now? Is it the best I can hope for?

I return to the bedroom but linger in the doorway, just staring at the bed instead. I don't really want to sleep there.

The blanket is a bit bloody, but I take it anyway, dragging it behind me to the bathroom, where I curl up beneath it on the heated slate floors.

Just to feel something warm against my skin again.

My body hurts when I wake up the next day on the warm, hard rock floor. As much as I'd like to stay there and act like the rest of the world doesn't exist—squeeze my eyes closed and pretend it all isn't real—I know I can't.

After all, this isn't even a home.

I step out into the main living space; the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the valley are now covered in thick blackout blinds. The midday light seeps from the small gaps in between, pushing grey light into the grey space.

I don't see Bone Saw until he speaks, sitting on the couch reading a goddamn newspaper.

"Your car is in the garage," he says.

I don't bother asking how it got there.

"Aren't you worried about me knowing where this place is?"

"No," he says. "If you ever tell anyone or show up uninvited, you'll be dead."