Page 81 of Grave Possession (Grave #2)

Chapter Sixty-eight

Mallory

I have to refrain from skipping into the shadows while following the men at a safe distance. Becoming one with the inky blackness, I hide in the void created by a stack of crates. It casts a long, dark pillar against the side of the bar which fits me wonderfully.

The two men talk animatedly while smoking until Dylan’s phone rings. He shoos the other man away, taking the call with a curt, “Yes, Boss.”

The lanky one walks by me, his worn sneakers scuffing through the rough gravel, mumbling under his breath about not being privy to whatever the Boss has planned for him. I guess he’s the low man on the totem pole.

Straining to listen, I hear the telltale squeaking of the heavy bar door. Signalling to me that this handsy loser in front of me is now alone.

His mouth pulls down in a full-faced frown, looking like a scolded child.

Whatever’s being said on that call isn’t pleasing him.

He huffs loudly, breath puffing out in a white cloud as it mixes with the crisp late October air.

Dylan pockets his phone without another word, then lights up another cigarette.

“Why so glum, chum?” I say cheerily, emerging from the darkness.

This beer-bellied fuckwit just about jumps out of his skin, choking on the smoke in his lungs.

Leaning his weight on his knees, a wheezing coughing fit ensues.

I wait patiently for him to get his shit together; it’s not every day a bitch in a mask hops out of the darkness at you.

“What the hell?” he gasps.

“I just wanna chat. Are you good?”

Dylan rights himself on his feet, inhaling another lungful of toxic chemicals. “What’s with the get up?”

“Cameras,” I respond, jutting my thumb over my shoulder at the one mounted by the corner of the building.

“Don’t worry about those, they wipe them every night. Boss’s orders.”

“Mmm, and who’s the Boss?”

He shakes his head slowly at me. “Only trusted people know his real name.”

“And you’re not one of them I’m guessing?” He sneers at me. “Didn’t think so.” I step closer to him, emboldened by the weight of the switchblade in my hoodie pocket. “Let’s start with an easier question… Did you know Randal?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you anything? I have half a mind to call the Boss back, and let him know there’s a little bitch sniffing around.” Wow, rude .

“I’ll make it worth it…” I coo, inching the zipper of my sweater down to the top of my cleavage.

This grimy fuck licks his lips as his slimy gaze rakes over me. “Yeah, okay. I knew Randal. What do you want with him?”

“He was my dealer,” I lie.

“Ah, and you’re looking for a new hook up?”

“Something like that. What about Dennis, did you know him?”

“Yeah, everyone knew Dennis. He was the head contact for Crystal Creek.” Well that’s new and disturbing information.

“What about Barbra?”

He shakes his head, “I didn’t know her, but Dennis made sure everyone knew she was his. As was her daughter. No one got anywhere near ‘em without his say so.” He was whoring my mother out too?

“What do you mean?”

“Rumour was that Barb was the brains behind the whole thing. The actual main contact between the outskirts and the city. Dennis was just the man willing to get his hands dirty so he appeared dangerous.”

“So they were a team?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, sure. Doesn’t matter much now though, seein’ as they’re both dead.”

That’s true. “So, who’s Bellamy?”

“Now that’s someone else you’ll definitely have to earn any information on.” He turns, moving into the woods behind the pub. “Come on now, I got places to be soon.”

I let the smile spread across my face beneath the mask as I follow him into the trees. He isn’t going to have anywhere to be soon.

Ghost

Like a true siren, she entrances another helpless victim, luring him to a painful demise. I move alongside them through the trees, keeping a safe distance.

I knew something was off with Mal. I’ve known it since the Haunt.

She’s been distant, lost in her thoughts.

Not in the checked-out way she was before, but more like she’s consumed by a never ending cycle of thoughts.

She’s been jumpy, unsettled, and no amount of comforting on my part has helped her open up.

It’s forced me to flip to night shift, and resume stalking my obsession.

Late into the first night, she sat at the island, pouring over things she had written out for an hour beforehand.

Only to bang her head against the granite counter top in frustration when whatever she was trying to figure out wouldn’t show itself to her.

Last night, a heart-stopping wail broke the silence.

Not knowing what the fuck was happening, I raced to the window.

Completely uncaring if in that moment I revealed myself.

When I got to the glass, she was gone. The slamming of the back door was loud in the silent night, calling me to the backyard.

Peeking around the corner of the house, I witnessed her lighting up whatever was written on those pages in the fire pit.

Any hope I had at snooping for answers went up in flames, literally.

From my old path through the trees, I watched her leave this evening.

Following behind her at a far enough distance I wouldn’t be seen.

The little blue dot on my phone stopped updating after she pulled into this shit-hole of a bar.

Evidently, she shut off her phone. I didn’t know why she was here at first, but after listening to her question the slob in the dirty t-shirt, I know she’s looking for answers.

I keep my boots cemented to the moist earth as I watch this man curl his hands around my woman’s upper arms, and push her into a tree.

Red hot rage infiltrates my mind, snuffing out rational thought.

How dare she put herself in danger. Maybe I won’t swoop in to save the damsel in distress.

Serves her right for not confiding in me, or asking for help from the person she claims is the other half of her soul.

She lets the stranger grind up on her, nuzzling his grungy fucking face into the crook of her neck.

Mal moans, this breathy sweet sound that’s meant only for me, and something in my chest cracks.

“Lose the mask, it’s killing the mood,” he says, hands releasing her arms, and moving to fumble with the zipper on Mallory’s sweater. My sweater.

Ignoring his request, her hand slips out of the hoodie pocket, caressing up his arm, and around the back of his neck. I watch devastated as her fingers twist and tangle in small curls of his hair, while her other hand dances across his shoulder, and trails up the back of his neck.

Gently, her fingers trace up and down the top of the man’s spine until he’s shivering from pleasure in her embrace.

“Take off your pants,” she whispers, and my heart stops.

The man groans against her as he releases her body from his touch.

His hands move in between their bodies, fumbling with his zipper, as Mal pushes his head down into her chest.

I must be a glutton for punishment because why else would I subject myself to this shit. I should turn and leave. Maybe go sleep in a holding cell at the station? I’ll lock myself in so I don’t do something I’ll regret.

One last look, I tell myself, then I’ll go.

That’s all it takes to witness how devious my little siren actually is.

Mallory’s fingers move up and down over the back of this man’s neck, slowly, methodically, as he laps at her cleavage like a drooling fool.

She moans way too fucking loud, and it grabs all of my attention.

Her fake as fuck panting breaths and mewling whines cover the metallic sound of the switchblade popping out of the hilt in her hand.

My cock fires to life just as quickly as I watch her slam the blade into the back of his neck.

Right where she was rubbing her fucking fingers.

The man staggers back, gasping like a fish searching for air out of water. He drops at Mallory’s feet like a sack of potatoes with a sickening thud. Slowly, she crouches down, rolling him onto his back. “Sorry, Dylan, the knife has to stay in for now so you don’t bleed out,” she coos.

How is he still alive?

Silently, I move closer. Watching the man’s eyes flutter, darting around in panic.

“How’s it feel to be trapped? Helpless? At the mercy of someone with nothing but bad intentions?” she softly asks.

He gurgles in response, unable to form words.

“Shhh… I took away your voice, severed the nerve th at controls your breathing, but not your ability to feel pain. You’re just a warm piece of meat ready to be carved up. Maybe you should’ve kept your hands to yourself.”

Fuck, she’s brilliant and twisted. I palm my rigid cock over my jeans, trying to relieve some of the pressure so I don’t cum in my fucking jeans like an idiot.

Mal pulls a bright yellow utility knife from her pants pocket, sliding the blade up and locking it into place.

She removes my sweater, tossing it to the side, leaving her in a skimpy black tank top that barely contains her tits.

Quickly, she slices through the man’s cotton shirt, flipping the sides open and exposing his chest.

This is it.

Anticipation slithers around me as I wait with bated breath for her to let her deepest darkness unfurl unknowingly before me.

I do feel like I’m imposing on some intimate moment though…

like this is a part of my woman I shouldn’t witness without her consent.

But as she moves with a fluid grace, slicing into the man’s skin, those morals evaporate almost instantaneously.

All I want to do is bend her over and dominate the most lethal woman in the country. Having her submit to no one but me is something I need more than my next breath. She can hold onto his ribcage for support as I fuck her with a brutality unlike anything she’s witnessed from me thus far.

A choked sound of pain ruptures from the man’s throat, pulling me from the fantasy noosed around me.

He sputters a breath around the blood in his mouth, splattering Mallory in a beautiful speckling of red across her mask and chest. Fuck, I want to smear that warm wetness over her naked tits as she rides me.

Unbuttoning my jeans, I slip my hand beneath the fabric, palming my cock.

Maybe if I cum now, I can fuck her for an eternity next to the corpse of the first kill I get to witness, even if it’s unknown to my little siren.

My thumb sweeps over the crown of my cock, rubbing over my piercing as the sight of her pulling apart her victim’s skin almost brings me to my knees.

Unfortunately, I’m too enamoured with the vision of her before me, sinking her fingers into the steaming chest cavity of her latest victim, to hear the approaching threat until it’s too late.

“What the fuck,” a twig of a man whispers to my right.

Mal freezes, realizing she’s been snuck up on.

My mind launches into action, righting my pants as I assess the situation.

Lucky for me, this man is too gobsmacked by the blood-covered siren in front of him to hear me sneaking up behind him.