Page 115 of Obsession

Idrag Savannah into the warehouse after pulling her sleep shorts back up. The first sound that greets us is the insistent dripping of melting snow near the hole in the roof, and a beam of moonlight shines through to illuminate the hunched, shivering form tied to a chair in the center of the room.

I proceed to light a few strategically placed candles. The orange glow flickers wildly, casting elongating shadows on the walls covered in white streaks and water leaks.

“What is this place—” she begins to ask but falls silent when she turns around and locks eyes on the final monster from her nightmare. Michael Heikkinen, named after his Finnish father.

The man in question tries so fucking hard to keep his head upright, but after hours of fun with my fist, he’s weak. The grimy floor is littered with his teeth and blood.

On my way past the small table where my tools are laid out, I pick up a gleaming knife and inspect it in the dancing candlelight. “All killers have a lair, if you will.” My eyes meet Savannah’s, and I quirk an eyebrow as a smile spreads across my lips. “This is mine.”

Savannah whips her head around, taking in the vast, mostly empty space. The single bed with a thin moldy mattress pushed up against the wall, the small table, and the lonely chair.

It didn’t always use to be such a shithole, but sixteen years behind bars has seen this place deteriorate rapidly.

“This is where you killed your victims?”

I come to a slow stop behind Michael and hold her gaze, enjoying the way her brow creases as she tries to figure me out. “Is it?”

Her cheeks heat. “Not all of them. Some you killed in their homes, the others you lured into your car and brought here.”

“There’s my little reporter,” I whisper to Michael. “She has done her research.” Straightening back up, I grip his hair and expose the column of his throat, then point the knife at Savannah. “Why did I bring them here?”

Her eyes reluctantly leave his terrified face, and she looks at me, slightly shaking her head. “You wanted to take your time.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” Her voice is weak and unsure. “This is too remote for anyone to hear their screams.” A full-body shudder runs through her.

Leaning down to whisper in Michael’s ear, I press the blade to his throat. “Hear that? No one can hear you scream out here. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

A sob racks through him, his fear palpable in the air. I peer at Savannah through my lashes before addressing her tormentor. “See that girl? She’s grown up since you had your filthy hands on her. So here’s what will happen: you’ll admit out loud what you did, and then you’ll apologize.”

Sweat beads on his brow, and he tries to talk, but his words come out garbled and rushed. I remove the knife and whack him with the handle. His head snaps to the side as a bead of blood slides from his ear.

I step around him and make my way over to Savannah, who stands motionless. I swipe her matted hair away from her shoulder, bury my nose in her neck, and inhale her sweet scent deep into my lungs. I’m home here with her and her succulent smell that drives me to the brink of madness and beyond. Not to mention her soft breaths that mix with the sour stench of death and carnage—my favorite things.

“Tell her what you did,” I order him as I wrap my arm around Savannah’s waist and pull her closer to me. “Admit it out loud. This is the time to voice your sins.”

Defeated, he slumps and sobs pathetically, as if he deserves to feel sorry for himself when it was he, with his filthy hands and his sick mind, that defiled a young girl. There are only sinners here. The thought has a smile curving my lips.

I drag my nose up the column of Savannah’s neck, pleased when she tilts it to offer me better access. I sink my teeth into her earlobe, sucking it between my lips.

“I—” he starts, and I yank Savannah’s head back by her hair as I reply, “Go on.”

Seconds pass, deliciously charged with anticipation and terror. A heady mix, if I ever knew one.

I suck and nibble on Savannah’s neck, decorating it with bite marks and leaving my scent on her skin. She rubs her ass against the bulge behind my zipper, and needy sounds of pleasure dance on her lips. But then she stiffens when Michael says, “I raped her.”

I lift my head. Savannah’s hair is gripped tightly in my fist and her neck is bared and vulnerable, just like her heart. “You’re skirting around the subject. Don’t be modest. Admit to what you did.”

Michael’s bloodshot eyes fill with tears, and he averts his gaze. “I made her lay down on the table, on top of the money and cards, and I took her there while the others watched.”

The keening sound that slips from Savannah’s perfect lips has me seeing red.

I tighten my grip on her hair and grind out, “That’s not all, is it? You took turns.”

His chin dips to his chest, and tears cascade down his cheeks. It’s all an act. Michael doesn’t regret the past. He regrets that the past caught up with him. “We made moo noises. Mocking her the entire time.”

Rage floods through me to erase the last shred of control I have over the slumbering beast inside me. I release Savannah and cross the room, white-knuckling the knife’s handle.