"Hello, have you almost… Oh, this is interesting." Boner stopped beside the box to look down at us. "Looks like I got here right on time. I wouldn't have wanted to miss this."
My face heated. I wasn't embarrassed about fucking Harlow. Not even a little bit.
This though? This was…unusual.
"Don't be embarrassed," Boner said before I could say anything. "We all have our kinks. I know some people love small spaces. What are statistics on that?" he asked over his shoulder.
Of course Archer was here too.
"I don't know. About seven percent of the population suffer from severe claustrophobia," Archer said. "I'd think this was much more rare."
He stepped over and looked at us like we were an exhibit in a zoo. Or exotic fish.
I pushed Harlow to her feet and helped her out of the box before taking the gag off her face.
"Spur of the moment," she said, starting to gather up her clothes.
"Ms. St. James, do you also have a torture device in your apartment?" Boner looked impressed. "I thought Archer and his bath were cool, but this is something else." He tapped the side of the Perspex.
"You don't?" she asked tartly. "Don't all serial killers have one?"
"My neighbor is a torture device, but he usually only tortures me," Boner said dryly. "Looks like I'm going to need to up my game. And the ball gag?" He made a 'chef's kiss' gesture.
"We can take that with us," I said, tucking it under my arm.
"I wonder if Jules would open up for it," Boner mused. Without dislodging his smile, he added, "I bet he'd wish he could use it on me. To stop me talking, not for anything sexual. Although, if he's there for it, I might be too."
I suspected the only way anyone would get a gag on my brother was if he was dead, but I didn't say that. Boner mightsee it as a challenge. And when I say 'might,' I mean 'absolutely would.'
"I'll pack up some clothes," Harlow said. "I won't be long."
Knowing she'd be tossing clothes into a suitcase with my cum on her thighs made my cock twitch.
I would have preferred her to move into my apartment, or me move in here with her, but I'd be with her at least. I could keep an eye on her and vice versa.
Whoever that man in the video was, I wasn't letting him get anywhere near her. I'd never killed anyone, but if he tried? That might quickly change.
The idea of anyone touching her made me want to hit them over the head with my laptop.
Okay, my weapon of choice needed some work. I had time to figure that out. I could use a knife for slicing food, how hard could it be to stab a person?
A couple of weeks ago, if I had these thoughts, I would have checked myself into a mental health facility.
Now? They almost seemed normal. My stomach didn't even turn. It hadn't when I saw Erin's blood on the wall, and the floor in the restaurant, and I'd known her, albeit briefly.
Should I be worried that this stuff didn't bother me anymore? What kind of person was I becoming that it didn't? Was this how it started?
I didn't choose the murder life, the murder life chose me.
Should I have that on a bumper sticker, a t-shirt or both?
Seriously though, from the moment they touched my brother, I was headed here. Whether it was with Harlow or not, I would have ended up in the same place. With her and the other guys, I stood a chance of making it out the other side alive and possibly even sane.
"What are the chances of no one noticing us walking through the streets carrying a big-ass plastic box?" Boner asked. "I'd love to take this with us. I have a feeling it'll come in useful."
"We could dismantle it and bring it with us," Archer said. "The chances of not being noticed are slim to none. Unless we did it at night."
Boner huffed. "Fine, we can always come back later. In the meantime, there's your bath. As long as we have that, no asshole will go un-tortured." After a beat, he grinned and added, "I want that on a t-shirt."
