"You scream, I scream, we all scream." He sneers before leaping to his feet and wheeling away the deceased man. I remain on the floor, my chest heaving and the tears falling uncontrollably.

I've been sitting for a couple of minutes when Gabe returns and kneels in front of me, "You look like you could use a bath, my love." His tone is eerily calm after his obvious psychotic episode.

He releases me from my restraint and gathers me into his arms before carrying me up the stairs. He looks to have washed up, his shirt is gone and his arms and hands are clean. The thought of him touching me with the man's blood all over him makes my stomach flip.

Once in the bedroom, he walks to the bathroom and puts me down as he begins running the bath water.

He turns and stalks towards me before placing his hands on my face. I stare at him with bleary eyes.

"Why does my father owe you money, Master?" I whisper.

He smiles momentarily before his face drops into a frown, "Why do you think, Amelia?"

My lip trembles when I think back to the journalist that disappeared. I found it odd since it was the same journalist that was causing problems for my father; his name was Mark Tipton.

"He wouldn't." I murmur.

Gabe strokes my cheeks lightly with his thumbs, "There are a lot of people who are wolves in sheep's clothing. That is your father. He was figured out, and blackmailed. When he feared that his life of luxury would end, he called me. He paid me half upfront and promised the other half once the deed was done. He never paid up, and now I have you." He pauses, his moss green eyes searching mine, "I'm a wolf, and I do not wish to cover up my sins with sheep's clothing. I'm a wolf in wolf's clothing."

I frown as I take in his words. What he said was profound in a horrific way. I knew that my father was a crooked leader. There were countless people that threatened that they would reveal his secrets of money laundering and his multiple affairs before they disappeared mysteriously. I had always assumed that it was the charm of a politician that helped him get off so many times before, that and I never would allow my admiration for my father to be tainted. Now I know that it was his order to have a man killed, a man who had a wife and young child. What happened to the others that simply vanished?

"How many?" I ask.

Gabe shakes his head, a dark look on his face.

"Get undressed, and bathe." He says before disappearing into the bedroom.

Chapter Nine: Gabe.

I POP OPEN A BEER, exhausted after beginning the "disposing" process for Mr. Jackson. I jumped into the shower downstairs to wash away the blood and bits of flesh; the scalding hot water washing away my sins.

His body is cut into small pieces, thanks to my trusty electric saw. It took me a while to find the proper one that wouldn't crap out when a tuft of hair got caught in the blades.

I seared off his prints with a blow torch and put the pieces of his body into containers which I then filled with cement. Once they dry tomorrow, I will load them up into my pick up and dump them in random places. Some will go into the river, others will be scattered throughout the woods surrounding my home.

Nobody ever questions my wealth, or what I do for a living. I was left a hefty inheritance, one which would keep a dozen different families financially well off, and then some for their children and grandchildren.

I was always "troubled" as my father would say. He made it a constant point to point out every single flaw, and my mother would just quietly look on, as if we were the fucking Brady Bunch. I didn't go around tying cat's tails together over a clothesline or anything, but I have always had a passion for pain, for blood, for the relentless pleas; they're like a song to my ears.

My father wanted me to take over his company - a corporate string of grocery stores. However, I had other plans. He was epically pissed when I joined the military and eventually became a sniper. The others who served alongside of me were devastated when they returned from our tours. Me, I couldn't get enough war. Deaths, screams... all of it.

When my father passed and my mother soon after, I went home. My contract was up with the Army, and when I was about to re-enlist, a friend of my father's asked me to do a "job" for him. That's when it all began, the rich caught wind of what I am capable of and I gained a network of trusted clients, clients who would never cross me, clients who have, and have paid the ultimate price. I'm not the man that you want to see in an empty parking garage. I would tell you to ask Mr. Jackson, but... well you already know what happened there.

Anyway, I sold my father's corporation for a pretty penny, along with the mansion where I spent my childhood and I had this beauty built up in the Appalachian Mountains. Couldn't I just snipe my victims and get it over with? Of course I could, but where's the fun in that?

I hate redundancy. I like each kill to be different. I developed a fascination with medieval culture and torment when I was a teenager. It draws me in because it was a time of extreme brutality, but it was also so primal. I feel as though society has forgotten our barbaric ways, which long ago were a necessity for survival. People have gotten too soft. I follow my primal instincts when I kill... and when I fuck. I like owning. I like claiming. I like killing.

What can I say? Some people want to fight their demons. Me? Well, I like to play with mine.

My eyes snap up to the entrance of the kitchen as Amelia slinks in. She's wearing one of my plain white t-shirts and nothing more. Her hair is damp and her eyes locked onto the floor. I'm assuming that she's wearing my t-shirt to cover up, which is annoying though she does look pretty hot in it. It practically swallows her, the sleeves hanging down to her elbows and the hem falling right above her knees.

"I see that you've helped yourself to my things, Amelia." I say sternly.

Her eyes meet mine momentarily before she diverts them again.

I take a swig of beer before stalking towards her. Her shoulders curl inward as she tries to cower.

"I like it." I whisper and she narrows her eyes at me. I play with a loose strand of her hair and she bites her lip.

"You scare me." She whispers, her lip quivering.

I cock my head to the side, I'm an apathetic bastard. I could give a shit less if I scare someone, but sweet Amelia is different. So small. So innocent. So delicious.

I tilt her head up and brush my lips against hers, her once frigid body begins melting into me. I pull at the hair at the back of her head and she sighs as my tongue makes its way into her mouth and past her teeth. Her trembling hands begin running up my sides and she stops abruptly and pulls away, her eyes finding mine.

"I-I'm sorry Master." She whispers.

I sigh as I run a thumb over her soft cheek, "Do you want to touch me, Amelia?"

I see the rose red rise to her cheeks as she hesitates.

"Yes, Master." She responds, exhaling the shaky breath that she's been holding.

I pull the shirt from over my head and throw it onto the counter. I gently grasp her wrists and place her hands on my chest, "Touch me."

Her eyes don't leave mine as she runs her hands from my pecks and then down to my abs. She stops and breathes in sharply once she gets to my happy trail. I smile as I grab her hand and lead it to the bulge that has grown in my pants. She almost loses her balance and I grip the small of her back and hold her tightly against me. We stand like that for several minutes, her brown eyes look into mine with so much emotion, want, hesitance, fear. I grab her hand and lead her to the stairs.

Chapter Ten: Amelia.

HE'S A BAD MAN. He kills people. He killed Mr. Jackson right in front of me. I've only heard of hit men in movies and books, I never thought that I would be sharing the same roof as one.

There's something about Gabe, which is so intriguing - so sexy. I've heard of people falling for their captors and depending on them. I think that may be happening to me. I believe they call it Stockholm Syndrome. But, what else do I have? Where do I go from here? Gabe is a murderer, however, my father is too. He ordered for Gabe to kill people. So that makes him just as guilty. Gabe hasn't hurt me. He scares me - but his touch is always gentle, and the things that he does to my body ignites a fire in me that I've never known before.

So, this is where I'm at now following my captor to his bed... willingly.

I'm only eighteen, and this man is most likely in his mid-thirties. He's a man, not a boy. I have no idea what I'm doing. I've only kissed one other person in my entire life. The way he touches me; the things he does to my most intimate parts tells me that he is not only skillful in killing. I feel like a terrible person, giving into the touch of a serial killer but God how I want it. I need it.

Once we get to his bedroom, he bends down and brushes his lips against mine before lifting his shirt that I've been wearing over my head. I'm not wearing any panties, perhaps I knew what would occur when I sought him out earlier.

He kneels before me and grasps my hips before burying his face between my thighs, inhaling deeply.

"Lay down, Amelia." He says quietly, his beautiful green eyes finding mine. I follow his orders, and my mind kicks in to high gear. I'm suddenly asking myself why I'm allowing this. My sheltered past could be to blame. I've craved a man's touch when I read the erotic books in my family's library, and now I have it. His touch is ridiculously delicious. Dammit, I just need to turn my mind off and allow myself this one thing to allow Gabe to fuck me.

"Are you on birth control?" He asks and I nod my head. I just got my shot before he captured me. He smiles as he stands over me and pushes my legs apart.

"So beautiful." He murmurs as he runs a finger through my folds. I gasp and squeeze my eyes shut, embarrassed by my current position.

"Open your eyes, Amelia." He demands.

I watch him quickly remove his pants, my eyes growing wide at his size. It suddenly looks even bigger now that he's about to enter me.

"Scoot up." He orders, and I oblige, "Amelia, do you want this? Do you want me to fuck you?" I nod slowly and he continues, "You must understand, you are giving me a precious piece of yourself. When you do that, you become mine. You belong to me fully."

"Yes, Master." I respond shakily.

"I'm a big man, Amelia. It will hurt, and this is the only time that I will be this gentle. When I say that I will fuck you day in and day out, I intend to fuck you hard. I intend to soak the sheets from your juices and mine combined. Do you understand?"

I'm taken aback from his words, and all I can do is nod stiffly.

He crawls over me and his lips crash into mine. I moan at the impact, my core burning with so much need. He pulls away and his green eyes lock onto mine as he positions himself at my entrance. Our gaze remains locked as he begins to fill me, stretching me. My muscles scream with resistance, but he doesn't stop until he is about halfway in.

I clench my jaw to keep my lip from trembling. The burning pain is almost unbearable and I try to grab at the sheets above me to pull my body away from him.

His eyes become clouded with desire as he grips my wrists and squeezes them together above my head. Tears fill my eyes as he slowly moves in and out of me, picking up the pace with each inch.

My breath hitches as he pulls out almost completely and then slams through my virginal wall with extreme force, burying himself to the hilt - I swear I feel him in my stomach.

"Ah!" I shriek.

"Mine." He growls and his pace quickens, the burning pain begins to dissipate with each thrust and I find my hips begin to meet his rhythm as he pumps into me.

"Gabe... Oh God, Gabe... Please." I whimper.

He growls in my ear as he fucks me harder and harder, my breasts bouncing with the impact, I feel the tingling in my core as my pussy starts to pulsate around his throbbing length. I wiggle my wrists from his grip and place my hands on his broad shoulders, trying to find something to hold on to needing to touch his strong body, but he once again grabs my wrists and locks them above my head with one large hand. His other pushes my leg up to my ear so he can get deeper.

"Baby, oh God. I'm going to fill you up. Your pussy is so fucking tight." He rasps out.

He sits up on his knees and grasps my hips before he lifts me and fucks me with more force than I ever thought possible.

I grip at the blanket above me as another orgasm builds. Finally, we both unravel; him throbbing inside of me as he spills his seed into my opening, and me pulsing around him, milking him of every drop that he has to offer.

He falls forward and his weight rests on my chest. After a moment, our breathing calms. He lifts his head and grasps my jaw, kissing me passionately before pulling away abruptly.

"I'm not even close to finished. I'm going to continue to fuck you until the early hours of the morning. When the sun starts to rise, you will have my come spilling from your pussy." He growls.

"Oh, God." I breathe out as he starts fucking me once more - harder, rougher and with abandon.

Chapter Eleven: Gabe.

I STAND BEHIND THE LARGE TREE AND WATCH. Mrs. Brooks is bent over in a children's playhouse. Her lover is fucking her from behind. Once finished, he pulls up his pants hastily and kisses her passionately before hopping onto his crotch rocket that's parked right next to her shiny, black escalade that she had bought with her wealthy husband's money. He takes off as she pulls her pin-striped skirt back down over her legs and buttons her white dress shirt.

Once he's no longer in sight, she stands and pulls out her compact mirror. She attempts to clean up her smeared lipstick and fluffs her bleached hair. I begin walking towards her, a look of surprise shows across her face when she sees me.

"Oh, hello." She says breathlessly.

I smile, putting on the charm as I respond, "Hello."

I look like I've been running, dressed in black sweat pants and a hoodie. Ear buds dangle from my ears, and I have my hoodie zipped down about halfway so she can see my naked chest. I poured a bottle of water over my head, so I appear to be soaked with sweat.

"Well, you look... hot. It is a hot night in Boston. Would you like to cool off in my car?" She asks flirtatiously.

I smile in response and nod, my best attempt to look sheepish as I follow behind her. I didn't expect this to be this easy of a target I know she's not the brightest bulb, but what kind of woman just allows a complete stranger inside of her car in the middle of the night? Well, her obviously. She's an old, wrinkled bag pumped full of silicone. I guess fucking younger guys must make her feel youthful. Well, Mrs. Brooks, I'm sorry to say that it's not working. Bathing in the come of young guys hasn't helped the fact that you look like a wrinkled, overused nut sack you should lay off of the tanning bed.

"So, what are you doing out so late? It's close to midnight." She says, never looking over her shoulder. I unplug the earbuds from my iPod and begin wrapping the cord around my fists.

"Oh, you know just clearing my head." I respond as I pick up my pace.

"Me too, I-"

I lunge towards her and wrap the cord around her neck, pulling back on it.

She's trying to gasp for air as she claws at my hands with her long, fake nails, not fazing me.

Finally, she passes out. I'm sure not to kill her here. I've got to get her in the escalade and her back to my place unnoticed. So I can scratch the urge that's been burning away inside of me. I lift her and throw her into the back of the car. Her head smacks into a small chest in the back and I shrug.

I reach into her Coach bag and retrieve her car keys before jumping into the driver's seat.

I turn the key and head to the house.

I pull onto the long, narrow dusty road and once I get to the house, I pull my phone from my pocket. I have an application that controls literally everything in my house. Not to mention it allows me access so I can watch my sweet Amelia from the hidden cameras scattered throughout the interior. Technology, it certainly makes being a psychopath easier.

I press the button and the garage door creeps open. I park Mrs. Brooks' shiny toy inside before shutting it once more. The oxygen in her brain should be restored shortly, so I need to get her to my playroom quickly however, I cannot pass up the chance to fuck with Amelia first. I make my way up the stairs to my bedroom and unlock the door. She's on the second floor, so she doesn't dare jump from the window in fear that she might snap her legs in half.

Amelia sits on the edge of the bed while she reads a book, wearing one of the saucy numbers I've bought her. This one is pink and frilly, making her look innocent and shit.

I stand at the entrance and stare at her before blowing her a kiss. She quietly closes the book and offers me a little wave quite honestly the most adorable thing that I have ever seen.

"Come with me my love, I'd like some company while I get Mrs. Brooks situated."

All she does is nod and respond, "Yes, Master." as she follows me from the room and into the study. I punch in the code and the door creaks open. She steps in beside me and I basically drop Mrs. Brooks onto The Rack. Amelia stands at the far side of the room with her arms crossed over her chest as her wide eyes travel over my playroom. Mrs. Brooks begins moving about and I quickly tie her hands above her and her ankles on the other end.