Page 17

Eve

“We kill people.”

I hear the heaviness of his words, I see the seriousness in his face, but it still doesn’t quite sink in.

“You KILL people. Just like that? You wake up, you have breakfast, you fuck me, you kill people. You say it as if it’s routine.”

I grasp his wrists with her hands, gently pulling his hands from my face and lowering them. We stand in front of the door, our hands entwined as I look up at this man I love, listening to him tell me he’s a murderer.

“I don’t just kill anybody,” he says, his voice carrying a bit of resentment at my words. “They’re selected. Curated. We choose the worst kind of people, people who slip under the radar of the law.”

I glance over his shoulder at the door, and can only imagine what’s inside.

“You have blood on you. Did you…did you kill somebody tonight?”

He falls silent, his shoulders slump slightly as a deep exhale escapes his chest as his head drops.

“Don’t hold out on me now, Jace. Right now is the time that we lay it ALL on the line, time to be brutally honest with each other. So answer me: did you kill somebody before I was brought down here?”

He takes a slight pause before lifting his head to look at me, the golden color of his eyes glowing as if alight from within.

“Yes. Does that bother you?”

I read his face, but there is nothing there. No tells, no tension, no signs of emotion or nervousness. As if-for the first time-he’s standing in his truth, too. I inhale deeply, taking in the scents around me, filling my lungs with the danger and death that permeates the air around me.

“Did he deserve it?” I ask softly, releasing his hand from mine and raising it to his face, brushing his hair back tenderly.

“He did,” Jason says, glancing over his shoulder for a moment towards the door behind him. “The people we bring here…they’re pure evil, Eve. We take our time with them, make them feel every ounce of fear and pain that they’ve caused to others. What I do…”

His voice trails off as he purses his lips, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment before shifting his weight and straightening his back.

“What I do is horrific. Brutal. But in doing so we guarantee that the public sees justice done.”

My head cocks to the side, brows furrowing as I consider his words.

“What do you mean, the public sees justice done? I’ve never heard of you guys, never seen you on the news. There’s no way you could get away with this if people KNEW about it.”

His head dips in acknowledgement as he takes a deep breath, and I watch it catch in his chest.

“Jason, tell me. HOW do you guarantee the public ‘sees justice done?’”

A long exhale blows gently across my face, his shoulders dropping as he looks down at me.

“We don’t just kill them. We torture them first. And we broadcast the entire thing to the dark web.”

I feel like I’ve just been electrocuted.

With the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end, my exposed torso leaves no way to hide the goosebumps peppering my skin, and Jason sees it.

“Ace worked for the government before this,” he continues as I gape at him, slack jawed. “Cybersecurity, anti-terrorism and violent crimes, everything. He’s seen horrible, absolutely devastating things…and has witnessed too many of these people walk free for whatever reason. People who watch the news–who see these men and women go unpunished–they want justice, too. We give them what they deserve: closure. Punishing the wicked when the system fails to do so itself.”

I let his words ruminate in my head as I frantically glance around the hallway, suddenly noticing the small wires and cords running along the ceiling and into small, bored holes that lead into each room.

“But how do you not get CAUGHT?! They’re bound to see your face and hear your voice. Ace might be a cyber-WHATEVER, but there are a TON of people out there just as smart as him.”

Jason leans back with a chuckle, putting his hands behind his head and propping himself up on the door behind him.

“Between the voice changing software built into our audio systems, and the masks we each wear, we’ve done pretty well with avoiding any recognition. Plus Ace is careful, he screens every viewer before granting them admission. He has collateral on everyone: addresses, bank accounts, destructive secrets and more. They pay a hefty amount to access our servers, so incriminating us would only incriminate themselves as well, for financing our endeavors. Call it a precautionary measure.”

I immediately remember the statement he made earlier about saving the crowbar from my house, with blood and prints on it, and I scoff at him.

“Sounds more like blackmail to me.” I say, narrowing my eyes at him and reveling in watching his face shift. “You saved the crowbar from my driveway. You REALLY think that I would rat on you?”

I walk up to him, pressing my body against his, but not with a sense of desire. No, I was pissed. This man that I love, that I trusted with a secret that could’ve put me behind bars, just saw me as another threat. A possible crack in the mask of normalcy that wears.

“Eve, try to understand where I’m coming from: you killed that man in self-defense. Even if the cops found out, we could spin it in your favor: them stalking you from Clover, all of it. We could make it work.”

He presses back against me, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me tightly against him.

“But with ME? I’ve been doing this for YEARS, Eve! The number of people I’ve killed, the bodies I’ve burned…I can’t remember them all. And after asking for help from Maya with disposing of the body from your driveway and getting the rest of the group involved, Ace insisted I have collateral, just in case shit went sideways…”

His voice trails off as he searches my eyes for some semblance of understanding, my body waging war between my love for this man, and the betrayal and lack of trust I feel at his hands.

“Eve, you’re different,” he says, pulling me closer, his pelvis grinding into mine, and for a moment I forget where we are and what lies behind the doors that surround us.

“Something about you, something IN you is like me. You don’t shy away from violence. You EMbrACE it when necessary. And even more, you know now how to stay in control, how to think THROUGH a situation like that. You understand the need for violence, for killing, when it’s necessary. It’s a beautiful thing.”

My eyes remain fixed on him as I weigh everything I’ve been told, everything I’ve been shown. I let it all sink in, and for the longest few seconds of my life I really consider what this man means to me. Can I accept him, knowing what he does? What he IS? If he’s willing to trust me with the reality of his livelihood, then can I trust him with my life in return?

I know the answer.

I lean in and plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you. Thank you for sharing your truth with me. Although one day we need to have a talk about that damn crowbar.”

He laughs, pulling me in for a hug, yet even as I place my head on his chest, I can’t stop thinking about what’s behind that door. About the person he had tortured only moments before I was brought here.

“Jason,” I say as I push away from him, moving to his side and positioning myself closer to the door. “If I’m going to know about your world, I want to know everything.” He watches me like a hawk, his head following me slowly as I take a few steps around him. “Let me see what’s behind this door. Let me see what you do to them.”

Raising my hand, I reach for the door handle, but Jason is too quick. He grasps it before I do, and puts his other hand on my chest to stop me.

“Eve, telling you my secret is one thing, but I really don’t think you need to see everything.”

I bring my arm up to my chest, putting my hand over his.

“You know me,” I coax gently, curling my fingers around his palm. “You told me I was like you. You helped me to embrace my darkness. Now let me embrace yours.”

The silence that hangs between us seems to last forever, until a sigh escapes Jason’s lips.

“There’s no going back after this. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he mutters as he pushes down on the door handle.

There is no sound as the door swings open, a bright, fluorescent light blinding me as I follow Jason and step inside. I can smell it before I can see it: the smell of burnt flesh, of blood, so thick it is suffocating. It settles on my tongue as my eyes adjust, scanning the room. A long desk with a computer and camera, a tool rack, tv monitors…and a table…

A table, with a black sheet covering something on top.

Looking up at Jason, he remains silent. He simply motions to the room, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture as if to say have a look around.

So I do.

The computer desk is cold, lifeless, the screen black and setup simple. I follow the direction of the camera to the tool rack sitting on the far side, drawing my attention as I see an assortment of instruments mounted on the shelves. Turning from the desk, I begin my trek over to the rack, noticing the impossibly large amounts of blood pooled along the base of the table, gathering around a blowtorch that had been left on the ground. The burnt smell is permeating my pores, and for a brief moment I feel my stomach jump. My mind fabricates image after image of what the torch was used for, fantasizing about the disfigurement that must’ve befallen the person under that sheet: imagining what that person’s victims must’ve gone through, to warrant that level of vengeance.

I ignore the table for now as I approach the tool rack, my eyes hungrily grazing over the countless items that dress its surface. Pliers, screwdrivers, knives, hammers…and a crowbar.

I hear Jason approaching me from behind, placing a hand on my waist with a slight chuckle.

“No, Princess, that’s not YOUR crowbar.”

I smile as he presses his lips to the back of my neck, my fingers tracing the crowbar before catching on the drill and small handheld saw that lie on the shelf, a space between them that looks just large enough for the blowtorch sitting on the floor behind us.

Pivoting to face Jason, I do my best to sort through the dozens of questions that are racking my brain.

“How do you choose what to use? Does it depend on the person?”

His arm falls from my waist as turns slowly to walk towards the table. I follow, listening to his voice resonate and bounce off of the walls around us.

“It does. Our goal is to have them confess on camera. It helps our audience to feel more…validated…in their desire to watch us. If these people really ARE monsters–and ADMIT to it–then it makes it seem less like we’re cold blooded murderers, and more like we’re punishing those who have slipped through the cracks.”

We walk up to the head of the table, ignoring the lakes of blood at our feet, and together we stop as he grasps the corner of the sheet. His other hand caresses my chin as he gently tips my head up to look at him.

“Are you sure you want to see this?” His voice is thick with concern, and as we lock eyes, I offer him a reassuring smile.

“Jason, baby, I’ve never been more sure. I want to understand you, and in order to do that I need to see what you’re capable of.”

With a solemn nod, Jason slowly pulls the sheet back

And within seconds I’m questioning my decision.

The carcass lying before me is covered in blood–his throat slit–and there are fingers lying on his chest. His legs and arms are peppered with various stab and puncture wounds, and as my eyes travel over his body, I see the nubs at the ends of his hands, the flesh of his fists burnt, twisted and disfigured.

A sharp inhale fills my lungs as I step away from the table,, but the blood under my bare feet is slick and my stomach lurches as I lose my footing. Jason is quick to grab my arm and keeps me from falling, but I can’t bring myself to look at him yet. It’s not fear, disgust or horror that I’m feeling as I keep myself fixated upon the body before me.

It's…intrigue. Fascination. Curiosity.

Jealousy.

My mind is racing with the images of all of the torture and sacrificial rituals I’ve studied over the years, of the ways pain was used as a tool for confession and punishment, and I can’t help but to be jealous of Jason. Whereas I only read and dream of how dark humanity can truly be, how far we can dive into our own depravity, Jason is here LIVING it.

Steadying myself, I look up at Jason, unable to hide the wonder and envy on my face. His eyes widen but his mouth is in a frown.

“Eve, are you ok?”

I nod at him as I reach up to touch the hand he has around my arm.

“I’m fine, Jace, really. You can let go.”

He does so, and I hold the edge of the table as I walk around the body slowly, my eyes covering every inch as I take it all in. There are restraints keeping the man bound to the table, bruising forming around his arms and legs where he fought to break free. There are long, deep marks where Jason had slipped in a knife: every mark was deliberate, planned, with great knowledge of the human body.

Jason points his finger to the throat, shaking his head slightly.

“That wasn’t my work. That must’ve been when Ace told Jack to come finish him off.”

I hear him, but his words fall on deaf ears as I finally make my way around the table and back to Jason.

“You’re an artist,” I say with admiration.

Jason barks out a laugh, his rich baritone bouncing off of the walls and filling the room with genuine amusement.

“It’s not meant to be ART, per se,” he says as he unlocks the restraints holding the body to the table. “It’s torture, Eve. There’s nothing glamorous about it.”

He folds the sheet back over the body, hiding it from view, but I cannot tear my eyes away from the table. Not even as I continue to ask questions.

“So wait…how do you get rid of the bodies when you’re done? I mean, you can’t just carry them out the front door.”

“The Jokers-the guys who came to your house-they are our cleanup crew. After one of us finishes a kill, they come to dispose of the bodies and clean the rooms. We have a back exit here that takes you out to the loading dock, where they take it away.”

“And do what with it? Bury it somewhere?”

Jason looks down at me with a wry smile.

“You’re a smart woman, Eve. Take what you know about me, about the other members, and see if you can figure it out.”

I push against him playfully. Chewing the inside of my cheek, I look down at the body, my eyes slowly darting from side to side as if my brain is a computer, processing the information in my head. As the pieces of the puzzle come together, the realization of everything hits me all at once.

And it makes perfect sense.

“The mortuary,” I say with a laugh. “You take them to the mortuary and burn them.”

“Very good,” Jason says with pride in his voice. “The Jokers take the body to Everlast, where they have it cremated. We try our best to make sure our kills align with the same day we have an actual cremation on the books: burning one body after the other ensures that we have a ‘legitimate’ cremation as an alibi in case anybody comes knocking. Which they never do.”

I’m in awe. I thought I loved Jason because of how I feel when I am with him–his dominance, his acceptance of me and the completely feral way we physically connect–yet seeing this side of him has me feeling something entirely different.

Envy.

“All my life,” I mutter as I step away from Jason, heading back to the tool rack. “All my life I’ve studied pain. The science of it, the art, the cultural differences and meanings behind every act. I’ve immersed myself in it, until I didn’t think there was anything else to learn.”

I slowly pick up a knife from the tool rack, holding the point against my finger and lazily twirling the handle until droplets of crimson welled up against the cold steel, the twinge of pain almost arousing.

Turning to face Jason, I offer him a smile, betraying what my brain is really planning.

“Jason, you put into practice what I’ve been reading about for years. I don’t think you understand how lucky you are.”

In seconds, Jason is at my side, grasping my waist and pulling the knife from my hands.

“What are you talking about?! Eve, this isn’t fun and games, this isn’t something I do to satisfy some morbid curiosity: this is my profession, my life.”

My eyes narrow dangerously and he immediately stops talking.

“Well I’m sorry my interests are ‘morbid,’” I chide at him loudly, marching towards the door. “I mean, YOU were the one who encouraged me to accept myself for who I am, and now you’re saying my curiosity is ‘morbid??’”

I crack my knuckles grabbing the door handle as I hear the rush of footsteps behind me. I barely get the door open when Jason slams his hand on it, forcing it closed and glaring down at me.

“Eve, look at me.”

I don’t acknowledge him as I pull against the door as hard as I can. Jason is cemented against it, and the door doesn’t budge an inch.

“LOOK AT ME!” he roars.

I don’t think I could glare at him with more murderous intent if I tried. His eyes dig into mine, challenging me, daring me to defy him.

“You don’t get to run out on me! Not after everything I’ve shared with you. Everything WE’VE shared. I’ve seen the REAL you, Eve…I saw the way you looked at the body of the man in your driveway.”

I freeze.

I know exactly what look he was talking about. The epiphany following my brutal vengeance on the man who was trying to kidnap me, the clarity that I felt after the adrenaline had worn off: I was proud. I felt empowered, strong, fulfilled in a way that I never felt before.

I couldn’t hide that look at that moment, and I can’t hide my face now.

Or the grin that slowly spreads over it.

“Yes, Jace,” I say, my voice dripping venom as I step close to him, pressing my body against his. “You want me to admit I enjoyed it? I did. You want me to tell you I would do it again? I would. There is still that one motherfucker that ran away, and I swear to GOD that if I find him, I’m going to carve his heart from his chest!”

The laugh that comes from Jason’s mouth is startling. His low chuckle grows into a full-bellied bellow, and as I stand huffing in all of my rage and fury, it takes everything in me to not slap the shit out of him.

“What the fuck is so funny!?” I yell, shoving against him. He barely moves, and instead takes his arm from the door and wraps it around me. I ignore the pain in my back as I stare at him, puzzled and pissed off.

“‘Carve his heart from his chest,’” he says, his laughter dying down as he coughs and clears his throat.

“Oh Eve, you have no idea how alike we really are.”