Page 83 of Obsession

Mark Archer—Keith Campbell’s best friend—was an asshole back then, and he’s an even bigger monster now.

Cracking my neck, I clench my jaw. Every nerve ending in my strung body is buzzing. I’m so fucking ready for him.

By the time he finally begins to stir, flurries of snow sail through the air from a hole in the roof at the back of the building. It’s cold, but I’m too wired to feel it, though my breaths are visible in the air.

“Wha…” he begins, blinking his eyes open and scanning the room. “What the fuck?” Then it seems to dawn on him that something is seriously wrong. He looks down at his naked body and the ropes that secure him to the metal chair. “What the fuck is this?” He tries to wiggle free, and his eyes flick up tomine, widening with recognition as I slowly rise from my seat. “Hammond? Robbie Hammond?”

“Long time no see, buddy.”

“But you’re in jail. They caught you.” His attempts to break free grow more desperate as terror slips into his eyes.

When I step closer, he flinches and visibly recoils. I crouch down in front of him, pretending to inspect the curved hunting knife in my hand. “They did catch me, but I broke out.” I smile at him, tipping the blade in his direction. “You hurt my girl.”

“What?” he blurts, leaning back as far as he can to get away from the knife. “What girl?”

“Campbell’s daughter.” I cock my head, watching him struggle against the bindings. It’s futile. He won’t escape until I’m done with him.

His eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to spew lies, no doubt, but I cut him off, “I always knew you were an asshole, Archer. But I never took you for a child molester.”

“You’re judgingmenow?” he spits, anger flaring through the haze of fear. “You killed all those women.”

“I never claimed to be anything other than a cold-blooded monster.” I rise to my feet.

Sweating, Archer begins to stutter when I unbuckle my jeans and pull my zipper down. “Look, man, I’m sorry. It was a long time ago, just like with you and those girls. We’ve both changed—” His words turn into splutters when I take a piss on his face, treating him to a nice golden shower to warm him up before I cut him into pieces.

When I’m done, I zip myself away and run a hand through my hair. “Do you know how much I’ve missed killing? The fucking rush?”

Drenched in piss, he spits profanities at me. I fist his hair and press the knife to his cheek, snarling in his face, “I’m going to enjoy slaughtering you slowly.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks when I grab his hand and forcibly uncurl his fingers. “What the hell? Let me go, Hammond.”

Holding his finger steady, I let my tongue lick a slow path over my bottom lip.

“Fuck, man, let’s talk about this. It’s not like I physically hurt her. You can take a look for yourself. She hasn’t got a single scar on her body. It was just a bit of innocent fun. I never fucked her. Not like Keith and Dave.”

Inhaling a breath, I savor the fear in the air and then offer him my most chilling smile. “This will only hurt a little.”

His scream rips through the building and sends birds erupting from their hiding places on the roof when I shove the knife underneath his nail. I peel it off, chuckling beneath my breath. “I’ll need a good, hard fuck after this.”

Gripping the next finger, I don’t wait for him to stop sobbing before I dig the blade under the nail and lift it away from the nail bed. I repeat the process with each finger until all ten bloodied nails lie scattered on the cement floor amongst the dried leaves and debris.

I smack his face. “We’re only just getting started. Don’t pass out on me yet.” After pulling my chair around, I plop down onto the seat and unbuckle my belt once more, then free my aching cock and wrap my bloodied fist around it.

“You’re fucking sick,” Archer spits as I beat my cock in front of him.

“Different kinks,” I admit with a grunt. “You like to defile innocent minds. I like to inflict pain.” My mind spins, painting the most vivid, delicious image of my own Savannah, spread naked before me with her pink pussy on display for me. I groan, fucking my hand harder as I imagine her pale thighs coated in blood and cum.

“What the hell are you doing now?” Archer all but screams when I let go of my hard dick and walk up to him.

“Tell me,” I whisper darkly, reaching for his hand again. “What did you enjoy the most about her back then?”

“You’re sick, Hammond. Certifiably sick. What the fuck are you doing?”

Cracking my neck, I sever his finger with the knife. The rusty, dull blade is not as sharp as it used to be, and it takes effort to cut off all ten fingers on his hands.

By the time I’m done, my cock is leaking precum.

I sink back onto the seat and toss the thumb back at him before grabbing my cock and stroking the aching length. He’s so out of it that he can barely hold his head high.