Page 65 of Double Obsession

God, he wished he had paid more attention to the curriculum and less to the chicks in his community college Psych 101 class. “Yeah, babe. Aren’t the voices telling you we should seal our love?”

She tilted her head so that her ear was parallel to the ceiling. “Yes. Yes, they are. I’m so glad you hear them too.”

“Yeah, babe. I hear them loud and clear. Why don’t you set me free, and we can work together on our matching love marks?”

Her index finger waved back and forth, ticking like a windshield wiper. “Oh, no. I can’t let you go. You might hurt yourself.”

His cheeks puffed as he swallowed hisfuck. Still, he was onto something. This was just a slight deviation from his half-assed plan. Exhaling, he said, “Do you think you can make them match by yourself?”

“Yes!” Her stained sneakers attempted a jig.

“Help me sit up,” he said.

While she propped him against the wall, he considered head-butting her. The problem being, as poor shape as he was in, it would knock himself senseless, and she would arabesque away thinking it was a love pat.

“A Level Twelve Cutter can carve a little shape, right?” he asked.

Up and down, she nodded with frantic enthusiasm.

He had to do this now while she was pliable. “You could use the knife and carve one on your chest that’s exactly like mine.”

She clapped, then disappeared, returning with the knife she had dropped. Hopefully she bled to death or passed out from the pain.

She used her index finger to trace his scar. Her lips parted, and her breaths came faster.

He tensed, trying not to shudder. “You can do it, babe. Make it look just like mine. In fact, make it bigger to prove how much you love me.”

Her eyelids dropped as she peered down at her faded shirt.

“It’s okay. Take it off, babe.”

She gasped.

“Don’t worry. I won’t look at anything but our love mark.”

She set the knife on the table, turned her back to him, and unbuttoned her shirt. It fluttered to the ground. She faced him and shyly crossed her arms over her yellowing bra.

His gag reflex had a mind of its own.

“Bring that mirror here so you can see what you are doing?” He pointed to the dusty relic that had scared the shit out of him the night before. While she retrieved it, he fought with his bonds.

She sat the mirror against the bricks and stared into it.

His voice soft, he cajoled, “Go ahead, babe. Make us match.”

She grasped the knife, and while staring at her reflection, held the blade to her chest. The cracks in the glass distorted her face, elongating one eye and minimizing the other, making her resemble a gargoyle.

And Hunter’s own reflection—Christ! All he needed was a set of incisors, and he’d look like the emaciated undead: Count Stone with blood dripping down his cheek. “You can do it, babe.”

The point sunk into her skin, and she cried out. Blood trickled.

Cringing, he looked away. He steadied himself and returned his gaze to their reflections. “Level Twelve Cutters ignore pain.”

She gritted her teeth as the knife traced a sloppy path that didn’t resemble a crescent in the least. “Perfect, babe. It looks just like mine.”

She whimpered as her skin split and red liquid oozed.

He was a genius—a genius going to hell, but a genius. “Make it deeper, babe.”