She stayed silent, afraid of saying the wrong thing again, and he continued. “Here’s an example of ‘love and respect.’” He pivoted suddenly, showing his back to Cait, and raised his shirttail. He was not wearing an undershirt, and Cait clamped a hand to her mouth in horror at the sight of his skin. Puckered scars criss-crossed his back, raised and angry, hundreds of them, tiny ridged welts, remnants of the torture he claimed to have received as a child. “My entire body is like this,” he said, “practically every square inch of skin that could be covered up to hide the evidence. My father was an animal, but he was also very careful.
“So don’t sit there and try to tell me how wonderful it is that I was given up for adoption. I have no idea whether what you’re saying is true, whether that dried-up old bitch back there is my mother, but if she is, I consider her just as responsible for what happened to me as a child as my adoptive parents.
“Now,” he said, dropping his shirt into place and turning slowly back toward the couch. “Any more bright ideas about how you’re going to soften me up so I won’t carve you like a Thanksgiving turkey?”
Cait closed her eyes, breathing in short gasps, trying to control her burgeoning terror and mostly failing. There was nothing she could say to save them. Family meant nothing to this man. He had been broken beyond saving, maybe by his adoptive parents, maybe by genetics, but any connection she had hoped to forge with this lost but terrifyingly dangerous soul was turning out to be a pipe dream.
It was over.
She was going to die and so was Kevin, and if there had been any chance, no matter how unlikely, that Victoria would survive what was about to happen here, that was likely gone as well.
CHAPTER 47
Milo could not believe how the fucking little bitch had tried to manipulate him. Her efforts had been transparent and pointless, and, if anything, served only to increase the black rage coursing through his system. He had never heard a more bullshit story in his entire life. She was his sister? It was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.
Then again, she had known about the visions he had been cursed with his entire life, and she had known he was adopted. It seemed highly unlikely that could be a mere coincidence.
But still, suppose she was telling the truth and she really was his sister, and the old hag taped to the kitchen chair really was his mother. Say for just a second that it was all true. What did that change?
Nothing.
It changed nothing, except, as he had informed his “sister,” it now became all the more critical that he complete what he had set out to do here today.
Now, though, instead of skinning one victim, he would do two. His intention from the very beginning had been to kill everyone when he was done with the young bitch, despite what he had told his “mother” earlier about not hurting her. It only made sense. It would serve no good purpose to leave any eyewitnesses.
So in reality, his plans only required some minor tinkering. Rather than making it quick with the old broad, if there was any time left after finishing off the girl, he would take his time and have a little fun with Mommy Dearest as well. It seemed only appropriate, just on the off chance the younger one was telling the truth about the familial relationship. He had meant it when he said his biological mother was responsible for his horrific upbringing. If she hadn’t thrown him out like yesterday’s trash, he wouldn’t have been adopted by his psychopathic father and willfully unseeing mother and permanently damaged.
It made perfect sense.
The young girl had stopped trying to soften him up. It was obvious she had finally reached the conclusion that there was nothing she could say to change his mind about what was going to happen here. Her eyes were closed and she seemed terrified but resigned to her fate.
In some ways, that was a bit of a disappointment. Milo liked it when his victims struggled. It increased his arousal because it demonstrated his dominance over them, thereby making the experience even more enjoyable.
At least for him.
There was one advantage to this new development, though. Less struggling meant the process would take less time, and although he would normally have preferred to go slowly and do the torture right, the dead cop cooling in the doorway changed everything. He would soon have lots of company.
In fact, he was a little surprised more pigs weren’t here already. With all that had happened since his arrival here in Everett, Milo realized he had completely lost track of the time. It seemed as though it was moving simultaneously fast and slow.
He picked up his duct tape and unrolled a decent-sized strip, then wound it around his “sister’s” ankles. She barely struggled and didn’t utter a word, and for a moment Milo wondered why. It seemed this goddamned girl was keeping him constantly off-balance and he hated that. Then he realized she was still half expecting to be raped, and the act of tying her legs together rather than apart had come as such a relief that she wasn’t sure how to react.
Whatever.
She would find out soon enough that being raped would have been a walk in the park compared to what she was about to experience.
He ripped off another even longer strip of tape and secured her ankles to one end of the couch, winding it over her legs and around the armrest. He slapped the silver surface to ensure proper adhesion and allowed himself a moment to soak in the sight of his next, and arguably greatest, triumph.
She was a good-looking piece of meat, much more desirable than Rae Ann the Schoolgirl Hooker. More desirable than any of his previous playthings. For one thing, she appeared fresh and girlish, rather than used-up and cynical as all the prostitutes did, no matter how young or new to the game they were. And while his college girl victims weren’t hardened and cold like hookers, none of them had ever possessed the kind of worldly self-assurance and dignity this girl seemed to. It was a real turn-on.
As an added bonus, she was perfectly proportioned; he could see that now with her body stretched out in front of him, her attributes barely concealed by her bra and tiny black panties.
He ran his eyes up and down his “sister’s” form and licked his lips slowly, not because he felt any sexual arousal from the sight of her near-nakedness, but because he knew it would confuse and terrify her. It was all part of the game, designed to keep her off-balance, and even though she had been the one keeping him off-balance so far, things were about to change.
Winking at her with a sly smile, he rose from the couch and strolled to the window to check on the scene outside the house. He knew he should be rushing to get the job completed and get the hell out while he still could, but he was just having so much fucking fun that he couldn’t bring himself to hurry.
He pulled the heavy blue crushed-velvet curtain to the side—Milo always thought his adoptive mother had had horrendous taste in home furnishings but this broad’s house put her to shame—and sucked in a breath reflexively. Police cars were scattered all over the development, parked haphazardly, and cops were scurrying around like ants at a fucking picnic. A big, armored SWAT van was idling at the curb halfway up the street.
The moment he appeared at the window a couple of the blue-uniformed motherfuckers did a double take and raised their weapons. They seemed so surprised by his appearance they were temporarily frozen in indecision. He let go of the curtain and it slid closed with a thick swish of material.