Kyle took a deep drag of his cigarette and sank back against the headboard. His exhale turned into a satisfied sigh as he stared out over the ocean, moonlight glittering on the waves. The far wall of the room was a pane of glass, allowing a completely uninterrupted view of the Caribbean Sea.
“I’m so glad you remember this place so well.” He took another quick drag before handing the cigarette to his right.
Ryka grabbed it and followed suit. “Mm.” He was blissed out, preoccupied watching flames dance between the fingers of his free hand. Kyle glanced over before returning his gaze to the view they had enjoyed at a resort years before.
He had once thought Ryka was too busy paying attention to people to worry about the scenery, but had very quickly learned otherwise. If he had been there even once and gotten a good look, Ryka could easily replicate the place in his dreams. Sometimes with his own little touches added in, as evidenced by the manacles hanging off the wall to their left.
Although they were reveling in a perpetual night, Kyle knew that back in the waking world, the sun would be coming up soon. His body was sprawled out on a bed in a Chicago hotel room, asleep as far as anyone looking at him could tell. Really, though, he had been up all night. It would be a difficult day, but it was worth it.
Ryka stamped out the butt in an ashtray that had appeared quite suddenly on the bedside table next to him. “Your wakeup call is here,” he muttered, scowling.
“Shit.” Long ago, Kyle had learned that setting alarms was pointless. It took Ryka no effort at all to silence them, and meant that too often, Kyle wasn’t woken until housekeeping came pounding on the door. Having an actual person come to rouse him was more effective – Ryka’s desire to protect his host meant he was always hyper-aware of what everyone in the vicinity was up to. And someone knocking at the door was impossible for him to ignore. “Sorry, dear.”
Ryka shrugged, then leaned over for a kiss. “Thanks for the abuse.”
“Anytime.”
“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”
Kyle just rolled his eyes. “All right, let’s not make this poor bastard knock on the door all morning.”
The room seemed to dissolve around him, and moments later Kyle found himself face down on the bed of their current hotel – a posh high-rise in the middle of the Windy City. It took a minute for the sound of the concierge knocking to register, and when it finally did, Kyle rasped out a hoarse “I’m up, I’m up,” in response. The sound ceased, and Kyle propped himself up on his elbows.
Maneuvering to the edge of the bed was just as unpleasant as waking up had been. The sheets were glued to his legs and stomach. It had been a busy night.
But he managed, and within half an hour, was on his way out the door and into the city.
***
Wow, do you think there’s maybe been a murder or two recently? Lying was beyond Ryka’s abilities, but sarcasm certainly wasn’t.
The headline was everywhere, flashing on the sides of buildings, blasting from every TV: “Two more victims discovered in string of grisly call boy murders. Killer still at large.”
The two young women in line in front of Kyle at the coffee shop were talking in hushed tones about the news. Well, they thought it was hushed tones. With Ryka’s assistance, there wasn’t much that could slip by Kyle anymore.
“Can you believe it? That makes ten total now,” one whispered, eyes wide.
“Those poor guys.”
“It’s so sad. They’re our age. Or were.” Both were focused on one of the screens behind the counter. Photos of the two young men were up, and Kyle’s first thought was that they seemed so young. They were both noted as being in their early twenties.
“Oh, they were both really cute,” the second girl remarked, sounding almost ashamed of herself for judging two murder victims on their looks. Then Kyle felt both their gazes fix on him. He pretended not to notice, but wondered why two women, also in their early twenties, thought him worth the glance. Wasn’t he so much older?
You only feel that way, stud. These two think you’re their age.
Sometimes he forgot that regardless of how many years he had been alive – and he had well passed middle-age – that he still looked twenty-four. The same age as one of the escorts.
Hmm, what a coincidence we find ourselves here when there’s some sicko roaming around slaughtering highly fuckable young men.
Kyle’s eyes went wide, and he fumbled to get his earpiece in so he could at least pretend to be having a phone conversation. He started without giving Ryka any more of a chance to speak. “Hi. I’m sorry, but really? This is why we’re here? How did you even know?”
Just one of those feelings.
This wasn’t the first time the demon had been compelled to suggest a travel destination due to “a feeling.” Kyle assumed it was a beefed-up version of his usual sinner-hunting instinct. But they had been in Denmark, and when asked for an idea of where to jet off to next, Ryka had suggested Chicago without hesitation.
There was no help for it, now. Ryka knew there was someone worth hunting, and he needed Kyle as bait. It still struck Kyle that he really didn’t mind. Sinners were dealt with, and as a consequence, innocent people got to go on with their lives. Trying to sound exasperated, Kyle finally replied. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
That’s the spirit. It makes you feel a little better, too, right? Gets one more vile fucker off the streets.
“‘Off the streets?’ More like off this plane of existence.” He was trying to sound exasperated and failing. “I already said I’m in. So let me get some coffee and start looking into this.”
The only response this time was wicked laughter, and Ryka’s hungry grin turning up the corner of his own lips.
***
Many times, the sinners found them. Kyle would be attempting to mind his own business, and someone would feel the need to try to mug him, or sexually harass him, or - in a few traumatic instances - even take him hostage. But sometimes, he had to play detective to figure out how to lure in a particularly nasty sinner.
Really, Ryka could have eventually tracked them down. But it was easier, and more satisfying, for the demon to make them come to him. He missed tormenting the damned, and this was as good a fix as he could get.
So, Kyle found himself back at the hotel – now with crisp, clean sheets on the bed – scouring the internet for information relating to the recent spate of murders in the area. And there was no shortage of articles and news clips, many with lurid details of the call boys’ untimely deaths.
The victims were known escorts, but no two had been picked up at the same place, or even in the same part of the city. Some the killer picked up in bars or clubs, and some he found online. Two he had invited into a car from their street corners in seedier parts of the city.
But their evenings with their unknown john all ended the same – dead in a hotel room. Tied to a chair, with their own mutilated genitals left stuffed in their mouths, and one finger missing. A different finger on each one so far, and Kyle knew these were his trophies. His teeth clenched as he pored through the articles. This was why he no longer felt guilty helping Ryka find his victims. They deserved it.
They do. And this one’s going to get it. Kyle could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and knew Ryka was already planning out exactly how he was going to dispatch his next victim.
Hope you’re ready to work, stud. We need this one to take you home.
***
Hunting serial killers wasn’t easy, Kyle was quickly learning. Neither was pretending to be an escort, and turning every single customer away. He wasn’t doing a very good job building a reputation, in person or online. His profile got a lot of hits, and he received plenty of invitations, but it was harder for Ryka to judge without seeing the johns in person, so online was a bust. And he wasn’t having any better luck in the clubs. Ryka knew instantly that everyone who approached him wasn’t their intended target, so Kyle had to make a lot of excuses for not going with them. He was starting to get nasty looks from the other men plying their trade.
“I’ve seen choosy, but this is ridiculous. Honey, how do you plan to make money like this?” one scoffed.
“I’ll know Mr. Right when I see him,” Kyle returned, feeling vaguely nauseous at the thought.
“Well, until then, you’re gonna have to go with Mr. Good-Enough before you drive all our business away.”
This, Kyle realized, was the perfect opportunity to try and dig up a little more information. Something the news outlets wouldn’t know. “I’m sorry, really. It’s just … I’m new here, and with what’s been going on lately, I’m a little scared.”
The other man’s expression softened. “I get it, honey. We all are. But bills don’t pay themselves.”
“Don’t I know it,” Kyle agreed. He’d had firsthand experience in that arena. “I just want to stay safe. Have you heard anything about this guy? Any idea what he looks like? Or if he has a type?”
The other man looked around nervously. It was just he and Kyle in the vestibule of a rather nice gay bar. It was early in the evening yet, so not many patrons were coming in; most were still just getting out of work. “Well ….”
“I just want to know so I can stay the hell away. And stay alive.”
That seemed to be the push the other call boy needed. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that he’s a blond. Wavy hair, shorter than yours. You might be taller. And you might be in better shape, at least a little.” The other man gave Kyle an approving look. In his mesh t-shirt and tight nylon shorts, Kyle really wasn’t leaving anything to the imagination. But lots of the young men he had met dressed similarly – they were selling their bodies, and buyers wanted to know exactly what they were getting.
“Thanks, and thanks for the info,” Kyle replied with a wink.
“See, honey, you can do it. Why don’t you flirt with the johns like that?”
“I will. I’m a little less nervous now.” Kyle wasn’t nervous at all, but he really had gotten so much better at lying. “Oh, does he seem to have a type? I’ve seen some pictures on the news, but just faces.”
The other man looked Kyle up and down again. “Just be careful,” he offered, heading into the bar.
***
In order to preserve the illusion that he really was an escort, Ryka grudgingly suggested that Kyle let himself be picked up. Of course, Kyle knew this was a practice round, and Ryka would find a target nearly as bad as the serial killer.
So the next night, in the same bar, Ryka directed him to butt in on a conversation between a very anxious-looking escort and a burly man with more facial piercings than Kyle could count. He assumed that by the end of the night, they’d be easy to tally at zero piercings, and lots of blood and torn flesh.
“Sorry to intrude, but I saw you from across the room,” Kyle interjected, practically shoving the other young man out of the way. But it must have been a relief, because the other boy thanked him and scurried off to the other side of the bar.
“Pushy, are we?” the pierced man asked.
“When I see something I want, I just go for it. Is that so bad?”
“Not at all. Name’s Ted.”
“Kyle. Nice to meet you.”
They chatted a bit, Kyle flirting as best he could. Ryka encouraged him with images of the ways he’d be rewarding his host for completing this disgusting task, and Kyle managed to convince Ted to take him to a hotel.
It wasn’t until they were in a pay-by-the-hour room that Kyle realized that Ted wasn’t pudgy, as he had appeared in the dim lights of the bar, but brawny. He was solid muscle, and Kyle knew that without Ryka’s help, this man would beat him into the ground if he pissed him off. Which he was planning to do shortly.
And beating people into the ground is what had led Ryka to suggest this particular target. He likes to play rough, whether or not his partner does. And when they put up a fight, he loses it. The kid you chased away knew it, which is why he was happy to leave and let you deal with this one.
Kyle lowered the lights in the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. “So, Ted, what gets you off?”
“You cut right to the chase, hmm?” Ted didn’t seem at all turned off by this, and sat down next to Kyle. He reached a hand over, and Kyle instinctively slapped it away.
“Answer my question first. Please,” he finished, dropping his tone. Inside, he was squirming.
You’ve got this, stud. And don’t worry; I won’t let him touch you.
That was a comforting thought, but Kyle had to push it aside to focus on Ted, who was finally offering an answer. “You into BDSM at all?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. And I know it’s kind of weird, but I’m fine with either role.”
“Really?” Ted seemed genuinely surprised by Kyle’s lie. In truth, Ryka was the one who submitted to him, but Kyle wanted to lure Ted in, not push him away. “I only do one.”
“I can guess which,” Kyle cooed. “But you know, it’s fun to be controlled sometimes. Do you think maybe we can try, just a little?”
Ted hesitated, and Kyle was afraid he’d lost him. Biting his lip, he shifted on the bed, trying to draw attention to the very short shorts he was nearly falling out of. “Well, it can’t hurt, right?”
Oh, but it will.
“I’ll let you do anything, and I mean anything, you want after. Just let me blindfold you and tease you a little. I’ll go easy on you, sweetie.” Kyle nearly threw up in his mouth, but managed to maintain his flirty grin.
You should have gone into acting, stud. All those times they had hired companionship gave Kyle plenty of material. It wasn’t too difficult to emulate the corny lines they had used on him.
“You make it really hard to say no, Kyle.”
“You bet I’ll make it hard. Now go sit in that desk chair. You get comfy while I dig some goodies out of my bag.” The contents of Kyle’s backpack would be more appropriate for a kidnapper than an escort, and Kyle carefully dug through to find a blindfold and some plastic zip ties.
Grinning like a fool, Ted sauntered over to the desk chair and took a seat. It was only a few moments later that Kyle had him blindfolded and tied to the chair. Ted had balked at the bonds, but Kyle got him secured before he could put up a real fight. “Sorry, Teddy, but I lied a bit. Well, a lot. I’m not going to let you do anything to me. And I’m not doing anything to you.”
“What? You little shit, untie me. Are you just going to rob me?”
“You’ll wish that was all. No, we’re here because you’ve made mistakes. Big ones. Beating up all those poor kids.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Who’s ‘we?’”
“Your sins, Ted,” Kyle calmly explained. “You beat escorts. And not in fun, and not with their consent. That ends tonight.” Kyle could barely remember a time when talking like this would have been far beyond his ability. By now, he wasn’t just bait for Ryka’s traps, he was his emcee, too. And it was a role he didn’t mind playing.
“Who else is here? I’ll kill you both!” Ted strained against the ties, and the arms of the desk chair started to give.
But there was no panicked response from his captor, only silence. Well, near-silence. To Ted, it sounded like someone was shaking out a leather jacket. Veins bulging in his neck and forehead, he continued to work at loosening the chair arms, until one finally snapped.
“Aw, stud, I thought you’d be better at that by now,” a deep voice remarked. It was definitely not the voice of the guy that had secured Ted to the chair. “You should have tied his hands together, then to the chair. That way he’d have to dislocate at least one of his shoulders to get out. Though he’s already bleeding pretty good. You made those tight. Good job on that.”
“Who the fuck?” Ted muttered, managing to shake the blindfold loose, and instantly wishing he hadn’t.
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The creature that stood before him looked vaguely like Kyle. But it had huge black wings that reached the walls on either side of the room, and glowing blood-red eyes. Its hair fell down around curved horns, and a barbed tail lashed angrily behind it.
“Name’s Ryka. And I’ll be your escort for the evening. To Hell, that is.” With a grin that turned his blood to ice, the creature advanced on Ted, reaching a clawed finger toward his face. Ted didn’t even have the nerve to try and fend it off as it hooked a nail under one of his eyebrow rings. “But first, a taste of what awaits you in the afterlife. Brace yourself, fucker, this is gonna hurt. A lot.” Somehow grinning even wider, it yanked its hand back, taking Ted’s piercing with it.
Ted screamed, and Ryka showed off a mouthful of pointed teeth. “Keep it up; you’re doing great.”
***
And Ted had continued to do well, screaming and struggling right up until the time he bled out. When Ryka had run out of piercings, he’d made a few new holes at a few very strategic locations. Ryka had destroyed the evidence - including Ted’s corpse - by lighting the room on fire. At least it broke up the headlines the following day.
“That’s not the hotel you went to last night, is it?” his source from two nights before asked Kyle when he showed up at the bar.
“No, luckily. We ended up a few blocks from there, though.” Kyle had carefully researched the locations of other sleazy hotels, just in case he needed to mention one by name. But his new friend didn’t pry that far.
“Oh, whew. How’d you manage with the rough-looking guy? I’ve heard some things about that one, too.”
“He was fine – you just have to know how to handle someone like him.”
The other man looked pleasantly surprised. “Well, look at you. Not so nervous now, huh?”
Kyle shook his head. “Not at all.”
***
It was five more nights and one more victim – this one had his body dumped into a river after a bloody rendezvous in a city park – before they finally hit their jackpot. Kyle was back at the same bar, chatting with the same man in the entryway when a blond with wavy hair and a trim build walked in.
Finally. I thought this bastard would never show.
Kyle watched him pass by, as did his friend. “He’s not too bad looking,” the other escort said, apparently forgetting their conversation from a few days earlier. “Hmm .…”
“He’s mine.”
The other man held up his hands and stepped back against the wall he had been leaning on. “Knock yourself out.”
Trying not to seem like he was following their target, Kyle wandered into the bar’s main room. He sidled up to the bar a few seats down from where the killer sat and ordered himself a water. He sipped at it, occasionally glancing up and trying to make eye contact with the man they had been chasing for more than two weeks. It seemed to take too long, but their eyes finally met, and Kyle looked away shyly.
Here he comes. Kyle could hear the hunger in Ryka’s voice.
“Hi, there,” the man greeted, squeezing in next to Kyle. “I’ve been here a lot, and never seen you. Are you new to the area?”
“Yeah. Just moved here a month ago. Name’s Kyle. Nice to meet you.” Kyle held out a hand, but instead of shaking it, the man lifted it to his lips and kissed it. “Oh, my.” It would take lots of scrubbing to wash that feeling away.
“I’m Tyrone. Pleasure’s all mine.”
Tyrone was certainly less abrasive of a conversation partner than Teddy had been, but he was far too eager to invade Kyle’s personal space. But since Kyle needed to lay on the charm, and lay it on thick, he didn’t pull his hand away when Tyrone reached for it, and he let the other man brush hair out of his face far too many times.
For nearly an hour, Kyle flirted as best he could, and tried not to look visibly ill every time the other man touched him. He was starting to worry they’d be stuck talking in the bar forever, when Tyrone suddenly looked away, blushing.
“Uh, I’m sorry if this is rude, but I feel like I should have asked sooner – are you an escort?”
“It’s not rude,” Kyle assured him. “And I am. Is that okay? I wasn’t trying to lead you on.”
Tyrone beamed. “No, no, it’s fine. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I was hoping you were. Because I’d really like you to leave with me tonight.”
For a moment, Kyle wasn’t sure he’d win the battle of the wills against Ryka – he wanted to give Tyrone a flirty smile, but he could feel his lips starting to curl back in a gleeful, murderous grin. He was sure the former won out, though, because Tyrone didn’t bolt for the door. “I’d really like that. Let’s go.”
Tyrone paid their tab, then grabbed Kyle’s hand and all but dragged him out onto the street. He called for a cab, and while they waited for it to arrive, laid out his plan for their evening. “I’d like to take you to a nice hotel, not one of the hourly places.”
So no one will come looking for your body until at least tomorrow midday.
Kyle wasn’t sure he appreciated the commentary, but couldn’t help but be a little impressed. But he knew Ryka didn’t want to do this in a hotel, he wanted their killer to bring them to his house. It was up to Kyle to figure out how to get them there.
“Isn’t that too expensive?” he asked innocently.
Tyrone shook his head. “Not at all. I’m not worried about the cost.” A subtle way to tell him he didn’t care about Kyle’s hourly rate. “No price is too high for a night with you.”
Even your life? Kyle almost laughed at that one, but managed to turn it into a cough. It bought him a few seconds to think.
“That’s sweet. But I’ve gotten into a bit of trouble at some of the hotels around here.” That surprised Tyrone, judging by the look on his face, and Kyle continued before he could ask. “I get a bit loud,” he explained, biting his lip.
“Is that so?” Trying to keep his cool, Tyrone cleared his throat and shifted on his feet.
Watch it, Ryka warned. Get him any more worked up, and he’ll be trying to fuck you in the cab.
As if on cue, their ride showed up, and Tyrone held the door open for Kyle to get in. “Well, Kyle, what do you suggest then? Your place?”
“My apartment is a mess right now. Besides, my roommate’s home, so we wouldn’t have much privacy. How about your place?”
Teenagers could be conniving, but the child and adolescent psychology classes Kyle had taken in college hadn’t prepared Kyle for untangling the inner workings of a serial killer’s mind. But he had been exposed to enough sinners to know that most eventually took dangerous chances. So far, Tyrone had done all his killing in hotel rooms. Maybe it seemed too risky to bring escorts home and get stuck with an abundance of evidence. But Kyle fervently hoped he was ready to take that plunge.
For a moment, there was a heavy silence in the cab, and Kyle was worried he had pushed too far. He could see Tyrone struggling with the decision, weighing the pros and cons of bringing his next victim right into his house. Thanks to Ryka’s fine-tuned senses, Kyle just caught Tyrone’s almost imperceptible shudder.
“Sure, we can go to my place.” He typed his address into the cab’s screen, and off they went.
***
Tyrone’s house was a half an hour drive outside the city. It was a long thirty minutes of avoiding being groped, and since cab drivers were a thing of the past in the age of self-driving cars, there was no one to shame Tyrone into behaving himself.
Somehow, their victim managed to sneak a kiss in, and Kyle was almost certain they’d arrive at their destination with Tyrone’s insides splattered all over the interior of the cab. But Ryka controlled himself, though Kyle’s vision turned an alarming shade of red.
His monochromatic view of the world was fading when they finally arrived at Tyrone’s house. Nowadays, it was rare to live in a single-family home, but Tyrone did, something which surely made his hobby easier to manage.
So he was fairly wealthy, Kyle realized, though his home was older, and dwarfed by some of the others in his well-to-do neighborhood. They stepped out of the cab, and it drove off to pick up its next fare. “Welcome,” Tyrone said, once again taking Kyle’s hand. His palm was sweaty, and Kyle could feel him shaking.
He was only given the briefest tour of the house, with Tyrone pointing out the highlights – kitchen, bathroom and, finally, bedroom. “Did you want anything to drink, or ….?”
This had already dragged on long enough, so Kyle shook his head. “I was trying to control myself on the ride over. I really don’t want to wait any more, you know?”
He saw Tyrone swallow hard before nodding. He motioned toward his bed, and Kyle started in that direction. He heard the door close behind him, and could feel Tyrone’s breath on the back of his neck. Go on and let him know that you know his little secret.
“I really hope this night ends better for me than it did for those other ten boys you picked up.”
Kyle took a few more steps, but Tyrone was no longer right behind him. Instead, he was frozen in the middle of the room, gaping at Kyle. “What do you mean?” Even Kyle could tell his calm was forced. There was a tremor in his voice, and he was clenching his fists nervously.
“I mean, I hope I don’t end up dead. Mutilated and humiliated, with my throat slit and a finger cut off for your collection.”
This man was much better at playing it cool than their other recent victims had been. “Oh, that’s all over the news, isn’t it? But you’re wrong – that’s not me. That’s horrible. What made you think I could do something like that?”
All the while Kyle had been talking with Tyrone, Ryka had been searching the room as best he could from within his host. Sights and smells that were too subtle for Kyle were obvious to him. His trophies are in the closet.
“Maybe it’s the collection of fingers sitting in your closet.”
Somehow, that still wasn’t enough to set Tyrone off, but now he was visibly shaking. “Why would you say that?” As if he were going to prove Kyle wrong, he headed toward the closet. Now it was Kyle’s turn to be nervous. He saw Tyrone reach out for something on his way, a something that flashed cruelly in the dim light.
But Ryka would never let him come to harm, he knew. And before the knife blade was even pointed at him, the demon was out. Tyrone turned to face his accuser, and promptly dropped the knife. His muscles twitched to start him in the direction of the nearest exit, but not nearly fast enough.
Air rushed out of his lungs as his back hit the floor, and with a hand tight around his throat, he found it nearly impossible to fill them again. He gasped feeling claws pierce skin on the sides of his neck, and flailed helplessly against the strength of his attacker.
With his free hand, Ryka ripped off the remaining shreds of Kyle’s shirt. “Care to try lying again?” he hissed.
Tyrone shook his head. His face was starting to turn blue, and when Ryka judged he was just about to pass out, released his grip on the sinner’s throat. “Now get up.”
It took their victim a few minutes to struggle to his feet, and Ryka’s patience was gone by the time the man finally made it upright. Growling, Ryka grabbed him by the throat again, but this time shoved him backward into a desk chair. “Do you know why I’m here?”
Tyrone was obviously too stunned to speak. In fact, he could barely manage shaking his head. Ryka wasn’t deterred. Never taking eyes off his prey, Ryka flung the closet door open. “I know you’re just so proud of these, but your trophies weren’t given to you – you took them. There’s a price to pay for rape, torture and murder, and I’m here to start collecting. You’ll have eternity to finish paying, but why not start eating into that debt now, hmm?”
Ryka looked behind him, drawing Tyrone’s gaze with his to the containers displayed on what looked disturbingly like a shrine. A sharp chemical smell wafted out, but it still couldn’t mask the scent of flesh, of the ten human fingers preserved in their jars. And even the formaldehyde was quickly being overpowered by the delicious aroma of fear.
“So, shall we begin?”
Now, as Ryka stalked back toward Tyrone, the tears started. And the begging. “Please, I’ll do anything.”
“I know you will. And you’ll start by bringing me whatever you used to collect your precious little trophies.”
The conflict raging within Tyrone was clearly written on his face: take his chance on running and getting caught again, or do as the monster asked and suffer horribly?
“No, you’ll suffer no matter what. Now go.” At those last words, Tyrone’s mind went briefly blank, and he felt himself rise to his feet. His brain was shrieking at him to flee, but his feet slowly and purposefully brought him back down to the kitchen. His captor trailed close behind.
Blubbering apologies, Tyrone watched his hands open the cabinet near the back door and pull out a large pair of pruning shears. “Well done,” Ryka told him, snatching them away. “Now, we don’t want you to bleed out too soon. That ruins my fun. So I’ll be nice and make sure we cauterize everything as we go.”
To his horror, Tyrone watched as the shears started glowing red-hot in the monster’s hands. His free will suddenly returned, and he decided to make a break for it. Once again, he found himself on his back. This time, he landed with one hand under him, the other pinned over his head, with the monster’s foot crushing his wrist. But that pain was all but forgotten when he felt the burning kiss of the pruning shears around his thumb, then the excruciating sharp pain as it was cut off.
The scream that followed was pure delight, and Ryka quickly lopped off the pointer finger as well. That shriek wasn’t disappointing either. “You never got to hear them scream when you did this, did you? They were already dead by then.” Tyrone only whimpered in response. “You really missed out. You need to wring everything you can from them before you finally end it. Allow me to show you how it’s done.” With the shears now in one hand, Ryka pulled Tyrone back to his feet by the front of his shirt and dragged him to the living room.
There was an empty wall at the back of the room, and it was against this that Tyrone found himself. “Let’s see just how obedient you can be,” Ryka growled, kicking Tyrone’s feet apart so he was standing with his legs spread. “Hands up, too.” Tyrone’s arms shook with the effort of fighting their upward ascent. “Now stay.” The words echoed in his head, and limbs locked up, no longer under his control.
He could still open his mouth, and he let out a strangled groan when he saw the pruning shears melting in the monster’s hands. The rubber handles dripped away, spattering on the floor, but the metal softened and lengthened into a rope. At least he thought it was rope, until the monster lifted its hand, and he could see that the glowing metal now tapered down to a fine point. Eyes blazing, the creature grinned, and fire flashed down the whip from handle to tip before extinguishing.
Kyle had been horrified the first time he had seen this trick, more due to the circumstances, but it had still been impressive. And Ryka’s precision with his weapon was truly astonishing. Now he was backing away from his victim, letting the whip burn a trail across the floor. Without any further taunting, he flicked it out once.
This time, Tyrone only knew to scream when he saw the middle finger of his already mutilated hand land on the floor between his feet. But screaming was all he could do. Although the pruning shears, and now the whip, were red hot, he could still feel blood trickling down his arm.
When he saw the whip lash out again, he closed his eyes, but still heard another finger hit the floor. “Look at me.” Now it was impossible to even blink. Two more lashes, and the thumb and pinky from his other hand joined their companions on the ground.
The room was starting to swim, black dots blotting out the edges of his vision. “Poor thing,” came the gravelly sneer. “Have you had enough?”
Although it was surely a mistake to do so, Tyrone nodded. But the monster understood. Dropping the whip, which cooled and hardened in a pool on the floor, Ryka strode back over to his victim. “I’ll leave you those three for now. But let’s start a new collection. Pick them up.”
As if he were being released from bondage, Tyrone’s body slumped forward, away from the wall. He landed hard on all fours, staring down at his severed fingers. He could feel bile rising in his throat, but completely forgot his nausea when his face slammed into the floor. Choking on blood and at least one broken tooth, he lifted his head. More blood was gushing from his now broken nose.
His body was back under his control, but his will was broken. With loud, gurgling sobs, he crawled around, struggling to pick up his lost digits with his few remaining ones. He could feel the creature’s burning gaze as he struggled into the kitchen. The scabs over his cauterized wounds rubbed off on the floor, Leaving crimson trails behind him.
Ryka snatched up his trophies, then quickly completed his collection. Tyrone’s scream as he had his three last fingers ripped off was enough to give Ryka chills. “You’ve done so well. But we’re not done quite yet.”
It seemed impossible to Tyrone that this torture could go on much longer – blood was streaming from the stumps on his left hand where his fingers had recently been. For one blissful moment, he thought he’d be allowed to bleed to death quickly.
But then the demon’s hand – with red flame dancing across its skin – enclosed his own, and Tyrone heard himself screech. Exposed nerves sent waves of pain screaming through his body, and although he knew better than to try and flee again, he muscles involuntarily tried to jerk free. But the hand closed tighter, and the flames grew brighter.
It took only another few moments for the smell of his burning flesh to reach his nose, and he promptly vomited. The monster stepped deftly out of the way, never releasing his prey. The room was tilting again, and tears blurred Tyrone’s vision, but he felt himself pulled back to his feet.
His world was now only pain, and he had no way to tell if it took them seconds or hours to reach the other side of the room. But suddenly cool water was pouring over his head, and he realized he was staring at the bottom of the sink.
He gasped, drinking in water, but the respite was brief. “You know what I am now,” the demon told him, and Tyrone nodded. “And you know that this is just the beginning. That this is what you get for deciding who dies, and how.”
Almost gently, Ryka backed Tyrone up against the fridge and tilted his head back, one hand loose around Tyrone’s throat. “Have you had enough? Yes? Then I suppose I’ll end this before company gets here. How about a good-bye kiss?”
To Kyle, this was nearly as awful as kissing Tyrone himself. But he knew what was coming, and how much more vile it would be. How contaminated he’d feel after this moment of violent intimacy.
Smiling, Ryka leaned in, sliding his hand up to force Tyrone’s mouth open. Tyrone’s eye went wide when he felt the demon’s lips on his, and wider still when he felt a hot tongue in his mouth. Somehow, his body relaxed, at least until he felt the teeth. But by then, it was too late. There was more pain, and the taste of iron in his mouth.
Ryka backed away, spitting Tyrone’s tongue onto the floor. He clapped a hand over Tyrone’s mouth and held him back against the fridge.
Blood filled Tyrone’s mouth, and with no other choice, he swallowed. Bile rose to meet it, and he started choking. He flailed the stumps of his hands against Ryka’s forearm, but the demon didn’t flinch. It didn’t take nearly as long as Ryka would have liked for Tyrone to start to turn blue. Knowing his fun would very shortly be interrupted, he let Tyrone asphyxiate. As soon as he heard Tyrone’s heart beat its last, he opened his victim’s mouth and reached in to grab his soul. Ugly and black, it writhed in his grasp.
Ryka’s shadow crept out from under him, and opened its mouth just enough to accept the soul before disappearing again. It understood time was of the essence. “That was worth the wait,” Ryka remarked, dragging Tyrone’s body to the living room. The new collection of fingers came as well, and Ryka shoved them one by one into Tyrone’s now-empty mouth. He left the former serial killer propped up on his couch, dead eyes staring vacantly at the coffee table, where Ryka left the jarred fingers he retrieved - along with Kyle’s bag - from upstairs.
Before giving up control of their body, Ryka went into the backyard and took a quick dip in the pool there. Just long enough to rinse the blood off. Kyle didn’t mind watching those who deserved it die, but something about that much blood still made his stomach turn. Sirens were audible in the distance as he shook himself dry. “Get dressed and get the fuck out of here,” Ryka said before retreating.
Kyle came to swaying on his feet - an improvement over facedown on the ground. Still a little woozy, he changed into the clothes he had stuffed in his backpack then disappeared into the neighbor’s yard.
“How did they know?” he inquired, referring to the police cruisers whose lights he could now see.
I’m guessing your idiot friend from the bar finally remembered the description he gave you. But some other poor sucker was supposed to come here tonight, and that asshole back there was going to die in a shootout with the cops.
Kyle said nothing, but sprinted quietly through the remains of suburbia until he was in a busier part of town. There, he hailed a cab back to the hotel. Since Ryka had no fingerprints, Kyle’s didn’t belong to anyone living, and their DNA wouldn’t register as human, Kyle knew they were safe, at least for a few days. He had a feeling the escort that had tipped off the cops wouldn’t ID the man who had last been seen with a serial killer that was about to turn up dead.
And a few days would be just enough time for Ryka to burn off his pent-up sexual frustration. Tyrone had performed very well, and Kyle knew his partner needed release. What better way than to spend the next forty-eight hours than living out their wildest fantasies?
Kyle was surprised that Ryka didn’t take advantage of the cab ride, but suspected the demon wanted to be somewhere more comfortable, not cruising around the city in a cramped taxi.
At their destination, Kyle grabbed a sandwich at the hotel’s café and ate it on the elevator ride to their room. “Just let me shower, then I’m up for whatever,” he managed through the last mouthful as he unlocked the door to their hotel room. He bathed as quickly as possible while still making sure to get all of their victim’s blood out from under his fingernails. That much he could manage without feeling faint.
And knowing he was about to be handsomely rewarded for his assistance didn’t hurt. Ryka knew that the most stomach-turning part of these endeavors wasn’t how he dispatched their prey, but how Kyle was forced to interact with them. So he always made sure it was well worth any discomfort Kyle experienced along the way.
Kyle stepped out of the shower and toweled off, but didn’t bother dressing himself. He grabbed a quick drink of water before getting into bed. He changed his wake-up call from nine in the morning to six at night – at some point he’d need to get up, at least briefly, to keep his body functioning properly.
Sorry that he had to be such a creep, and that I let him touch you.
“It’s okay. He had it coming, so ….”
That’s just the start. Kyle shrugged - Ryka wasn’t wrong. You know, stud, as much as I miss how easily you used to get embarrassed, it’s even sexier when you help me hunt. Especially because you want it to - to see them get what they deserve.
Maybe, long ago, those words would have offended Kyle. Now he just smiled. “And I’d really like to get what I deserve.”
Anything you desire, Master, it’s yours.