Legacy (Sociopath Series Book 2)(74)

At that, I wince—not just my brow, but deep down in the places where my veins and arteries converge.

“I know, I know. Bitching about the feminists…I’m so predictable. But do I look like a feminist to you?” He snorts, throwing his arm about again. A glob of his water lands on my cheek before running down to soak into the pallet.

Please, God, take the pain in my belly and my shoulders. Make this all go away.

“You know why men hate feminism?”

I shake my head, eyes closed, trying to locate the soft rush of the waves. But it’s not easier in the dark.

“Feminism wants women to come together and be kind. And sure, there’s all the patriarchy crap—destroy the patriarchy, dethrone the dudes—but really, it’s all about the sisterhood. Because women have to stick together. You know when men are told to stick together?”

I shake the chain of my handcuffs in response.

“When we’re fighting! That’s the only time. When we’re playing a football match or fighting a war, then, we’re brothers. And then the rest of the time, we’re pitted against each other for sex and jobs and turf and dead baby jokes and whose name got misspelled the worst at Starbucks. Vaginas get together just to braid each other’s goddamn hair, but men are competing for everything. It’s f*cking exhausting.”

And it’s lonely.

I know.

“Though my boy in there, he got awful good at it, awful fast. Have to say, I was impressed by the stories his mother told me. I wasn’t around much. I should’ve been, I know—you don’t have to tell me that, Cock Sleeve. But I always kept tabs on what was going on.”

It feels like a stone plummets into my stomach, burying through layers of ache to make me nauseous. Mr. Abel here, if he’s telling the truth, isn’t just Aeron’s biological father—he’s Asher’s, too. The resemblance is too strong, and why else would the FBI have wanted Ash’s DNA sample?

“I thought I was f*cked up.” He peers over at me, his eyes greasy in the candlelight, like glass blotted with fingerprints. “I always thought, maybe if I was just a better person, I’d have made more money. Had more status. You know? Only my boy’s on a whole ‘nother level, and he hit the f*cking Forbes list before his thirtieth birthday. Explain that to me. That’s the world we’re in? That’s how it works?” He pauses. Then a chuckle bursts from the back of his throat; it sounds almost like he’s gargling. “You’d have probably hit the list in a few more years, eh? All through your own efforts, obviously. Not because he’d ever have made you a Lore.”

I don’t know what hurts more; the assertion that I won’t be around to make the Forbes list, or that Aeron would never marry me. It all just spins together in the dark, circling down to catch me in its cold shadow-hands.

“Now there’s no windows in here,” he says in a quieter tone, “so you can’t see outside, but it’s night time out there. Blacker than a tar pit. I’ve been thinking about how I’d like to do this, and I want to make it real scenic. Not romantic—don’t get it twisted. You’re really not my type. The problem with doing it in busy places is that you have to be so careful, and yet I realized, the more I did it—”

It being the killing. Murder. Death.

“I realized, it’s the most natural thing in the world. I honestly wasn’t going to finish her, that first time…I just wanted to know why he did it. Wanted to test my theory out, if you will. But then the thought came…and the rush…it felt inevitable. I laid her out so the world could see what I can do, and it was beautiful, beautiful. I thought I’d feel crazy, but it’s not like that at all.” He sighs. Puts the bottle down. Then his hand lands heavily on my thigh, and he grasps at the flesh there, pulling to loosen it. “I knew after that, if I wanted to really understand, I had to kill his darlings. It would send a message. Only he didn’t want to hear it, did he?”

I cough around the balled panties, and it shakes the chains on my cuffs again.

“Point is…I’m going to get that message across good and proper, make the most of this last time. I like sunrise or sunset for the symbolism. What do you think?” He chuckles again—that horrible, dirty sound. “Haven’t made my mind up yet. But I think when I take you, I might finally understand.” He turns, gets up on his knees. Leers over me. Then his fingers begin to prod between my legs.

I hold them together, but it’s no use. There’s no fight left in me; the last of it flew out when I cried to Aeron. Or maybe that’s not right—maybe it’s waiting until I’m able to use it. Hibernating. Settling like silt in the slow current that meanders through my veins. Or is that just resignation? My body’s given up.

Abel watches my legs spread under his hands. He scoops my thighs up with one long, lean forearm, chewing his dry lips as I’m exposed. I should probably feel violated, but it seems like the feeling is somewhere on the other side of the room; even if my arms were unchained, I wouldn’t reach it.

“I’m saving all the special things for the ending.” He prods my * with blunt fingers. He’s bunched them, shifting his knuckles and pressing down until they pop inside.

I yelp around the panties, then gag as the sound sucks them further down my throat.

“But there are other things…huh…” He jerks his knuckles in and out of my labia roughly, as if he’s trying to shove a key into the wrong lock. Every now and then, he gets another knuckle in for a second and the sting of it makes me howl. “You’re really not my type, Cock Sleeve,” he repeats.