Hell (Black Heart Romance)

And so am I. My last night with her.

As always, my mind rejects this idea. Nevertheless, I knew it was coming, knew that eventually, we would have to go our separate ways. There would eventually be a final encounter, one last time.

And I knew then, as I do now, that I cannot accept that. There’s no way this is the end. There can’t be an end, not at all. Because now that I’ve had her, I can’t go the rest of my life without her. I could hire anyone to do what I make her do, could pay them any amount of money, but I would never find the satisfaction I find when I’m with her. There’s something about her in particular that makes everything… More. Stronger, sharper, all-consuming. Better.

If she was willing to give the money back, that tells me it wouldn’t be so easy to keep her. But I have to. There must be something I can do, something I can offer to make her want to continue this arrangement. More money? Certainly, her life could use an upgrade. I doubt she has much of an education, but I know she’s been reading during her long, otherwise empty days. She’s not a stupid girl. I could offer to fund her schooling, could subsidize her lifestyle so she wouldn’t have to work. She could have a decent start in life, one which would’ve been impossible were it not for my generosity.

Surely, she can’t be hoping to stay in that rathole of an apartment for the rest of her life. And eventually, once enough time passes, and she no longer hears from her recently departed ex, she’ll come to understand he is no longer a threat. She will feel greater freedom. And then what? I could lose her forever.

I can’t let that happen. What’s that line from the movie? I’ll make an offer she can’t refuse. And if my first offer isn’t good enough, then I’ll make another, and another. Eventually, I will break her down the way I’ve broken her body for my pleasure. I will have what I want. What I’m starting to suspect I need.

Headlights in the distance catch my eye, and I watch as the two orbs of light grow larger. That has to be Rick—no one drives out here, especially in the middle of the night. There isn’t a neighboring house or cabin for miles in any direction, which is how I like it. Even when I’m not using the house for activities like the ones I plan for this evening, I prefer to keep my distance from others. My idea of hell involves chatty neighbors.

Sure enough, a familiar SUV passes through a pool of moonlight, and I get a good look at it. My instructions were clear: drop her a half-mile northeast of the house. Then tell her to run. That’s it. She’ll be given no other direction but that. She has no idea where I am or even that I’ll be hunting her.

Tonight, it will be me alone. I’m not going to share her, not like last time. As enjoyable as that was, sharing doesn’t come naturally to me. Especially when I’ve stumbled upon something remarkable. Something like her.

Anticipation quickens my pulse, and adrenaline begins running through my veins. It’s been a long time since I’ve performed a hunt at night, and this is the perfect sort of night for one. I’ll keep her guessing, keep myself at a short distance long enough to give her hope that she might escape me. Of course, there is no hope. I hold all the cards.

In the back of my mind, I can’t let go of the idea that this could be our last time. That no matter what I offer, she’ll refuse. That little flash of independence she revealed in the library changed the game and left me wondering about her. It seems that no matter how much I learn, there’s always more to know. Now I see she’ll never be some trembling, weeping, thankful waif I rescued from a life of unspeakable pain.

I can’t pretend I didn’t know that spirit was somewhere in her. I admired it from our first encounter. Even though she was afraid of me that night in my office, she didn’t cower. She didn’t cry. She accepted the situation even though it terrified her. It was charming, then intriguing, almost delightful.

My attitude has changed.

The car pulls to a stop, not fifty yards from where I’m standing, half-hidden in shrubs. The woods are thinner here, which is why I wanted him to drop her in this place. It’s deceptive enough to lead a person to believe the going will be easy with so many thin, scattered trees around. Twenty or thirty yards in any direction, however, tell a different story. The woods close in fast, and they’re thick. Sometimes impenetrably so. Only the barest hint of moonlight will filter through the branches, and everything will look the same. She won’t be able to tell where she’s been or whether she’s doubled back on her tracks.