Black Rose Read online

  The staff is gone for the day and I will have more than ample time to torture my prey before the final kill.

  I pull the key from the small hook next to the door, unlock the deadbolt, and then place the key in my tailored pants pocket. I reach up to flip the switch on my right and make my way down the steps.

  I approach the man I have secured to the large wooden column with zip ties and hold up the black rose as I eye him.

  “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to leave this black rose with your lifeless body along with a note that will proclaim to the world I am not a mindless serial killer.

  “I have purpose and that purpose is to rid this city of the dregs of society. I need to eliminate the scum like your worthless whores who spread disease, the pimps like you who prey on the working class, and the drug addicts who steal everything that is not nailed down. You know exactly what I am speaking of—users who prey on those of us who work, users who prey on those of us who are productive members of society.

  “Your days of having your whores pick up men, luring them to hotel rooms so that you can rob them for drug money, are over. I bet you didn’t know that the last victim who fell for you and your whore’s set-up was in the hospital for close to six weeks. He lost his job, his wife, his children, and, ultimately, even his life. Unable to cope, he committed suicide by jumping from the roof of a downtown building all so you could get your next fix.”

  I can hear the man’s terrified screams behind the gag I have placed on him as I pick up the razor sharp knife, but there is no redemption in my eyes… only justice.

  The world needs to know Charles Wentworth III is not a serial killer without purpose; I am, however, a man who believes in leveling the playing field. If anything… I am an equalizer.

  Yes, people need to know I am not some sick, demented, serial killer. I am not a man who randomly kills people off for the thrill factor. What I am is a man who believes in taking out the trash and that is exactly what I am doing—taking out the trash…

  Chapter Two

  Agent Turner

  I eye Rene from across the table as I slide the file in her direction. This will be the moment of truth and my profiling expertise will come in handy tonight. She hates when I profile her and I may pay for it later on the receiving end of a crop. I don’t care because when it comes to work, I give my all which means being in charge of those who work for me and, right now, that includes her. During work hours, I am the one in charge. Sometimes I have to remind myself of these things, especially when her eyes bore through me and her threatening demeanor insinuates I’m in trouble.

  I am curious how Rene will react to this and what better way to analyze someone than with a sucker punch. It sounds cold but this kind of stressor is the best way to see what someone is truly made of. It is a sure fire way to gauge a person.

  She cuts her eyes at me as she slowly takes the file. Nothing could have prepared her for what she sees.

  She opens the file and views the picture of a man’s corpse. His body is laid, carelessly sprawled out, by a dumpster in the back of an alley.

  A black rose has been neatly placed over a note crudely pinned to his flamboyant clothing. The note appears to be done in a noir style. Some words have been cut and pasted from a magazine while others were typed. The sections of writing have been put together to form the crude message. It almost appears to be something reminiscent of an old crime movie.

  “David, I know you are there attempting to profile my actions. Well, really, you’re trying to profile me. I must admit as flattered as I am, I cannot permit you to do that. I can’t quite wrap my brain around why you are feeling compassion for this man’s well deserved plight. I don’t believe what you are feeling is really compassion though. I believe what you are feeling is a sense of justice. Seriously, Agent Turner? You actually believe this dirt bag deserves justice?!? It’s necessary for me to show the public I am not the man you think I am. I really do wish you would stop saying those nasty things about me in those press conferences you hold. I only ask that before you make any rash judgments about me that you do your homework. I’m certain you are intelligent enough to analyze the situation correctly. This really has become a game of wits between us. Don’t you think so, Agent?”

  The rose is for you, Rene. I trust you have done your research and that you know black roses are not always symbolic of evil…

  I hope I don’t incite any jealousy within you, David. I’m well aware the two of are more than…well…shall we say, friends?

  Rene closed the file and eyed me, “Decided to catch me by surprise, huh?”

  “Rene, I am not going to threaten you being able to work on this case but I need to see how you will react to various things.”

  “Always the profiler, huh, David? I don’t appreciate you trying to profile me and it seems like you use any opportunity to try and do so. I believe it’s more appropriate for me to be profiling you due to our relationship dynamics. Be careful. Your innate curiosity could cause you to be on the receiving end of corporal punishment this evening. I see this as a breakthrough, not a threat. Now we know that we are dealing with a vigilante. I know you are not going to want to do this, but I believe that it’s time to do another press conference.”

  “I completely agree, Rene. It’s time for me to piss our boy off and throw him off his game.” Her remark she managed to throw in about corporal punishment doesn’t escape me. As I stated, she hates me trying to profile her. In her way of thinking she is the one in control and the only one worthy of playing around in my psyche. As her sub, I don’t warrant the privilege of toying around in her head; it doesn’t mean I don’t try though. What can I say? I enjoy upsetting Mistress at times.

  I eye the note and observe he used Casper black as a font selection. That’s staying true to his nature because, up until now, our Black Rose has been a ghost…

  Chapter Three

  Melanie

  I exit the shower and eye myself in the mirror. I look tired—tired, plain, and hopeless. That pretty much describes how I feel too. My life isn’t at all what I expected.

  I’ve spent years trying to get out of the living situation I was subjected to as a child. We moved to a different trailer park every few months when my mom forgot to pay the rent, or worse, couldn’t because she spent all the money on booze. A plethora of men was the norm and I found myself instinctively avoiding them upon reaching puberty. I think the worst memory I have of her is when she walked in on one of them trying to attack me and became jealous, screaming that it was my fault and I had led him on. The woman who was supposed to be protecting me was my worst enemy.

  I determined right then that I was going to college. I researched how to get a grant, got a job at a truck stop as a waitress, and spent a year of living in a pay by day motel, surrounded by hookers and pimps screaming and fighting in the early morning hours while I studied, but I made it happen. I took control of my life and started to make something better of myself. I was going to be different. Everything was going as I planned until my worthless boyfriend at the time thought it would be funny to poke holes in the condom he wore. That joke of his changed my life in more ways than one.

  I pick up the razor I keep loose in the medicine cabinet and twirl it between two fingers, fascinated by the fact that something so small can hold the choice of life or death within it. I place it back in its allotted place, dry off, and run a brush through my hair. I keep that razor in the medicine cabinet as a reminder that I still have a way out.

  Cries from the bedroom pull me out of my thoughts and I quickly head towards them. I pull on jeans and a t-shirt and make my way over to the only good thing in my life—my son, Tommy.

  He kicks his little legs and reaches for me, cooing, and all the bad just washes away. He is the reason the razor blade sits in the cabinet unused.

  “Did you sleep good, buddy?”

  His kicks become more rapid in excitement when he catches sight of my face. He only sees the good in me and he makes
me want to do better, to be better, for him.

  I go through the necessary motions to ensure he is changed, dressed, and cleaned up so he can escort me to my job to pick up my check. He will be the only man escorting me anywhere after all the bullshit I have experienced. I refuse to allow a man to enter my life and threaten my son’s happy existence. It is evident no man worth his weight in salt is going to want anything to do with a single mother living in the projects, so I have opted for celibacy and I am fine with that decision.

  I grab his bottle, throw jackets on us, and we make our way out the door. Once again, I go through the motions of struggling with Tommy and the stroller to make my way down the steps and out the door. An upstairs apartment was the only thing available when I moved in. Though it is harder to juggle Tommy and all his belongings, it does offer safety in the sense that it would be harder to break into. I console myself with that thought each time I have to struggle with Tommy’s stroller.

  The men seated on the stoop don’t bother to move and I find myself standing behind them saying excuse me three times before the large man seated directly in front of me stands. He eyes me like he’s undressing before he steps out of the way.

  I lift the front stroller wheels and use the back ones to navigate Tommy safely down the steps and on to the sidewalk. I hate this fucking neighborhood but, most of all, I hate the fear that plagues me on a day to day basis. I’m always afraid of something or another. I’m afraid—afraid I won’t be able to pay the bills, afraid for Tommy’s and my safety, afraid social services will come take my baby away from me, and I’m afraid that I will no longer be able resist the temptation to end this fucked up journey I’m on called life. The only thing that keeps me sane and alive is my son.

  We make our way to the field that we walk through because it will shave ten minutes off and lead us right up to the back of the large truck stop parking lot where I work. I use it quite a bit. Oddly enough, this field, which is overrun with dilapidated buildings and littered with shards of broken glass, is safer than the streets of my neighborhood. Every car which slowly cruises down the streets of my neighborhood is a potential drive-by shooter. Here, in the field, there are no cars and, therefore, no threats of a stray bullet killing Tommy or me. I may not have a choice about a lot of things in my life, but if I die it will be on my terms.

  Tommy giggles as the unlevel ground gives him a bouncy ride. He is the happiest baby I have ever seen and I love him with all my heart and soul. All that I do, or don’t do, revolves around him.

  I peek around the stroller and see him chewing on the nipple of his bottle, causing a break in his gleeful laugh over the bumpy ride. I peek around the corner of the stroller and speak to him. “You are a trip, little man. I love you.” He waves the bottle in acknowledgement and goes back to enjoying his ride.

  We make our way to the edge of the field and onto the smooth parking lot. I weave between the eighteen wheelers, carefully aware of any potential danger. It is quiet right now but later on, the parking lot will be full of prostitutes and the men they service. I know my sorry ass boss takes payoffs for letting the girls work here. He is the greediest human I have ever had the displeasure of meeting.

  I open the door with one hand and wheel Tommy in with the other. It doesn’t take long for a single mother to learn the little tricks that make handling a baby alone easier.

  I make my way to my boss’ office to pick up my check. The familiar stench of stale cigarettes and body odor almost makes me gag. He looks up at me with contempt and hands me my check. I immediately notice he has docked my already menial pay.

  “I wasn’t late,” I speak in defense of myself.

  A disgusting leer crosses his face as he responds.

  “There are things that you could do to cause me to be nicer to you.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you and, in case you aren’t aware, there are laws against sexual harassment.”

  “You let me tell you something, Little Miss High and Mighty, I bet social services would love to get a call saying you’re a negligent mother.”

  The fear I’m so familiar with crashes over me at his words. I do the best I can to hide my emotions and turn to make my way out of his office. Even if they didn’t find me negligent they are bound by law to come and do a visit when they get a report. Something like that would stay on my record and only put me in their system. I can’t let Tommy go through the shit I had to go through growing up.

  I wait until I have exited the restaurant and I’m at the edge of the field before I allow the tears to roll down my face. Once again, due to being at someone else’s fucked up mercy, I have to bite the bullet. I’ll cash the check and hope I have enough to pay the bills for the week…

  Black Rose

  I watch her run her errands as I do each week. It’s getting harder and harder to let her go back to her shitty neighborhood. Timing is everything though so, once again, I resist the urge to drug her and forcefully take her to a better life. I make certain she is back at home safely before I begin the journey back to where I have the flavor of the day bound and awaiting me.

  The ride home is spent in a sense of despair and discouragement—two feelings I am becoming all too familiar with. Until Melanie, I can’t remember a time in my life I have felt so discontent.

  I pull into my garage and make my way in. Maybe what I need is a good ole fashioned fuck mixed with a healthy dose of degradation.

  I make my way into my playroom and eye the beautiful blonde I left here restrained, partly because I’m an asshole, but mostly to ensure Melanie and Tommy’s safety.

  I need release and this stranger will do… at least, until I have the woman I really want.

  I start to undress until I am standing shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but jeans left unbuttoned for comfort’s sake. My normally business groomed, sandy blonde hair lies in tousled curls due to the fact that it isn’t a weekday.

  I cut my eyes at Danielle as I remove a knife from my pocket and prick her skin. Her eyes are wide with fear as she watches me. The point of the razor sharp knife glides through her skin like hot butter. I run my finger over the blood smearing it but I never take my eyes off of hers. The fear swirling in their depths is making my cock hard. The contrast between the blood red smear and her porcelain skin is a beauty to behold.

  The air is thick with the two things that sexually excite me the most: a woman’s fear and my complete control over her.

  I jerk her head back so I can hiss in her ear. “Now, you do understand you are not the woman I want, but I’m sure you won’t mind me fucking you while I fantasize about her, right?”

  She nods her head up and down, giving her consent.

  Reading my mood and body language, she knows instinctively not to speak. She also knows I’m using her as nothing but a toy. However, I know if she was to be honest with herself, she would admit that she is using me too. She is using me for kinky sex because regardless of the fact that I can’t stand any other woman but Melanie lately, I’m always good at what I do. I have spent years studying the female anatomy because I’m a perfectionist in every area of my life. There isn’t anything I do half-assed and that includes having sex.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think that you would mind,” I say more to myself than her. I’m a bastard but an honest one when it comes to my sexual partners. I tell them upfront that it is nothing more than sex. I tell them upfront that I am going to use them, degrade them, and purposely humiliate them all for my fucked up entertainment. Yet, they still stay and, many times, beg me to do it again. I have never desired more with any woman until now… until Melanie.

  I make my way to the end of the gynecology table and sit on a stool with rollers. I reach around and wheel a metal table over so I can have the instruments I’ve planned to use close at hand. It is fully stocked with every toy I need to torment and humiliate this woman just for the mere fact that she isn’t Melanie.

  I grab a tube of KY jelly and liberally squirt it between her legs coveri
ng any orifice I might decide to defile. I grab a large dildo in one hand and a vibrator with the other. Her legs have already begun to quiver in anticipation. I twirl the dildo at her opening, taunting her as I swirl the vibrator over her clit. Her hips begin to rise trying to make better contact.

  The sting of my slap on her leg causes her to cry out in pain and tears begin to roll down her cheeks. Now we’re getting somewhere. I like tears, I like pain, and I like to humiliate and embarrass my sexual partners but she knew that going into this. She had full disclosure on the fact that I’m full-fledged, self-serving bastard.

  “Did I fucking give you permission to get fucked by this phallus I’m holding?”

  “I’m sorry, please don’t stop.”

  “You worthless slut, you get fucked when I say you get fucked. Tell me what a slut you are for letting me use you.”

  I resist the urge to get up and smack her in the face as hard as I can. I’m pissed. I’m pissed she isn’t the woman I want. I can tell she is confused and embarrassed and it’s turning me on because I’m a sick fuck. I know I’m going to have to get Melanie in my clutches soon or someone is going to die.

  “I’m a slut. I’m begging you to fuck me because I’m a slut who needs a stranger to fuck her.”

  Much to my surprise, this chick is getting off on being degraded. I plunge the fake cock up into her, turn the vibrator back on, and, in a matter of seconds, she is coming. I don’t stop though, not until she has come so many times that she is begging me to stop because it hurts. I toss the toys to the side and make my way to the head of the table, grabbing a handful of her hair and demanding that she open her mouth. I pull my cock out from my jeans and begin to stroke it as I lower the top of the table and make my way back up to begin throat fucking her. I resist the urge to choke her to death with my cock lodged so deeply in her throat that she can’t breathe. I can feel my balls clinching so I rapidly pull my cock out and spray cum all over her face to further humiliate her.