Page 9 of Lethal (Wellard Asylum #1)

“ S cream for me, pretty girl. Tell me all your secrets,” Wren sings in a high-pitched voice, to the young woman we abducted last night from our latest circus, who’s lying on the rusty, metal butcher table, as he dances around in a euphoric state.

I watch from my stool, mesmerized by how pretty her blood looks.

Bright red rivulets run down the sides of the table legs, creating an interesting abstract painting on the dirty, cracked, concrete floor.

We were so lucky to find this rundown, abandoned slaughterhouse, just outside this small town’s limits.

It’s the perfect location to spend time with our new favorite toy.

“Please! Please let me go! I won’t tell anyone who you are!

Please!” She screams until her voice finally cracks, and tears glide down the sides of her bloodstained, and bruised, face.

Stunning, she’s a work of art. All of her features are contorted into lines of terrifying misery.

I take note of all the new cuts that Wren has inflicted on her with his favorite blade since this morning, in his manic state.

Dammit, I’m either going to have to burn those to stop her from bleeding out, and getting an infection, or we’re going to have to end our fun sooner than anticipated.

No one likes to eat rotting meat. He can be so fucking reckless when he’s in this state.

I feel my rage rising at my brother, and I have to fist my hands, and take deep breaths, before I launch myself at him and knock him out.

It’s always left up to me to clean up all our messes, and honestly, it’s fucking exhausting, and takes a lot of the pleasure out of it.

I’m always the strong one, the protector, the one who has to take over when Wren is too weak, or too unstable.

It’s been that way since the moment we took our first breaths, after leaving our cunt mother’s pussy.

I would love just once to feel like I didn’t have to make all the choices, didn’t have to watch our backs, and keep us safe at all times.

Safe from the monsters like us, from the ones that made us like this. Damaged. Broken. Unhinged.

My gaze lands on her neck, which is now black and blue, and covered in both our fingerprints, from when we took turns fucking her last night.

She cried so prettily as she squirmed, calling out to her God to save her, as she tried to get away, but it was no use.

Once we have someone in our clutches, we never let them go until we’re done with them.

I glance at her heaving chest, and a grin slowly perks up the side of my lips.

Her right breast was so delicate and juicy, the best I’ve ever had, if I do say so myself.

The way I filleted it, cauterized the wound, and sewed her back up with precision, would make any surgeon envious of my skills and dedication.

Then, I had the pleasure of cooking it with some fine herbs, garlic, and a touch of butter, which would make a Michelin-star chef proud.

My mouth waters at the memory of my dinner the night before, and it makes me crave more.

It’s a good thing she has another breast just waiting for my ministrations.

My eyes glance toward her left hand, the one that is now missing all her fingers besides her thumb, and I grimace at the charred flesh.

Wren got carried away when he was craving fire-roasted hot dogs, so he cut them off with a garden pruning lopper, before placing them on some S’mores sticks and cooking them over a fire, then dipping them in ketchup.

Fucking savage, his culinary tastes tend to be more simplistic, even primitive, where I like to take my time and make a meal out of our victims.

“Ring around the shadows, they dance so pretty when she’s alone.

A pocket full of heartbeats, I want to keep them for my own.

Ashes… ashes…” A sad look crosses Wren’s face, as he stares down at Sonya Flintoft, our latest victim, and his fingers tighten around his blade until his knuckles are white.

“Bash... Bash, she’s passed out again, and is ruining my fun.

Please, brother, make her scream... I need to hear her scream.

” He bangs the wooden handle of the blade against his temple, over and over again, muttering incoherently to himself.

I reach behind me and grab the syringe filled with epinephrine, pushing a distraught Wren out of the way, and slamming the needle into her meaty thigh.

I wait a few seconds, as Wren starts to argue with the voices only he can hear, about whether she’s dead or not.

He swings the blade, cutting through the air, and then grins viciously as if he’s managed to harm one of his shadows.

Jesus fuck, he’s a nut. We both are, but he’s so much worse than I am.

My fingers reach for her pulse, watching how her chest barely rises.

She can’t die yet, it’s too fucking soon!

I haven’t had my fill yet. I grab another syringe and slam it into her other bruised thigh, and within moments, she releases a huge gasp as her body tries to rise off the table, and our restraints hold her in place. Thank fuck.

“There you go, my sweet, back with us in the land of the living. You almost had me worried that you were leaving our company too soon.” I grin down at her, as she stares with unfocused eyes up at me.

I lean forward and place a gentle kiss on her forehead, trying to soothe her fright.

“It will all be over soon, my sweet, just not yet.”

I’m ripped from my memory as my little toy enters the room, her heels clicking on the floor to a staccato tempo.

“My apologies for the delay, gentlemen,” she utters, without looking in either of our directions.

The orderlies who manhandled us into her office nod respectfully to her, and with one last menacing glance toward me and my brother, they leave the room, closing her office door behind them.

I tighten my fists, hating the fact that I’m tied down like a rabid animal.

She moves quietly toward her desk, grabs her notebook from its surface, and then makes her way over to us, sitting primly in her chair, ensuring she tucks her skirt below her thighs.

All of it is a farce: her control, this image of primness, her professionalism.

I wish I could slice her open, to allow the real woman to escape the confines she places around herself.

Soon. Soon, I will get my chance. I just have to be patient.

Her office is small, stale, and in dire need of a renovation.

The aged floral wallpaper is depressing enough, without adding the chipping, deep tan wall paint to the mixture, and the furniture that looks like it has been here since before any of us were born.

There’s nothing notably personal about her in the space to give away glimpses of her personality.

I wonder if it’s done deliberately, so patients like me can’t get a read on her.

A hint of her perfume fills the space, something that smells fruity, like strawberries.

I am beginning to crave that smell. It invades my dreams, and I’m not even a fruit person.

I wonder what she would taste like if I bathed her in strawberries and blood?

Does her pretty cunt taste the way she smells? I’m eager to find out.

The aged tube lights flicker overhead, but my toy barely notices.

She’s utterly focused, with her eyes locked on my brother, Wren, sitting across from her.

Who, at the moment, is too busy tracking the cockroach that is currently crawling up the wall across from him, to pay her any mind.

He licks his lips, as if the bug was a treat just out of his reach, and the doctor’s eyes narrow on him as she makes a quick note in her book.

Always watching, and dissecting every move we make.

She’s observant and careful, much like I am.

It’s why she’s the perfect little toy that I crave to have.

My cock hardens at the thought of all the fun we can have together, if she would just release me from these fucking cuffs.

I wonder if she would even bother to scream, if I could get loose and wrap my hands around that sexy, swan-like neck of hers.

Would her breath hitch, and her cheeks pink up, as she struggles for air?

Somehow, I don’t believe she would react like all the others.

She’s different, a whole new species for me to explore.

She’s just waiting for me to cut her open, and look deep inside at the parts of her that she hides from the light.

The thoughts and actions she keeps secret, perhaps even from herself.

I can help you discover all that, my sweet toy, just let me loose.

She clears her throat, trying to get Wren’s attention, but he’s completely distracted.

The way he stares intently at the cockroach, climbing up the wall behind our pretty little doctor, tells me he swallowed at least one of the pills the charge nurse forces on us.

A part of me wants to be angry at him, because he knows better, but another part of me fully understands the need to escape from our miserable reality, inside these decaying, and oppressive, walls.

The voices in his head have been louder lately, and he’s finding it harder and harder to resist them, despite my insistence that he not give in to them.

I’m not stupid. I know these sessions with the doctor have something to do with it.

She’s triggering him, triggering us both, if I’m honest with myself.

I need to amputate her hold on us, before either of us falls under her spell so completely that we will never seek to be free from her, or this place.

I have to protect Wren at all costs, since he can’t protect himself.

I must save Wren from himself. I’m the stronger twin.