Monster Of Ruin: A Dark Serial Killer Romance (The Dark Angels Book 4)

I’ve been here for what feels like months, but it’s probably only been about two weeks. I’m trying to mark the wall with each passing day, but I’m not sure I’m keeping track right. Your mind starts to play tricks on you when you’re held in captivity for so long. Being alone makes a person go crazy most times. Lucky for me, I’m used to being alone.

However, I’ve never been this lonely.

A small part of me looks forward to the time of day when Elliott comes up to talk to me. Isn’t that sick?

I still don’t know what he’s got planned for me, but after seeing what I saw last night, I’m even more scared than I was before.

He killed a man.

I wasn’t sure what he was doing when he brought that guy here and let him go into the woods. I was curious and I stood at the window watching. When he went into the woods shortly after the guy, I never would’ve imagined he’d drag him out bleeding. Morbid curiosity got the best of me and I stayed at the window until he came out of that shed.

The man was in pieces, and I lost whatever was in my stomach.

He hasn’t been to the door since that and I’m beginning to wonder if it’s because he’s planning the same fate for me.

I tried to relax in the shower last night, but it didn’t help. I hardly slept because every time I closed my eyes, I saw Elliott dragging that bleeding man.

Now I know for sure he’s going to kill my father and I fear I’m on that list too.

The insane thoughts I’ve had about him in the past two weeks now make me wonder if I’m starting to lose my mind. His deep voice soothes me. The way he somehow always knows when I’m asleep so he can deliver necessities to me. I saw it as him being a caring guy. I thought maybe he was attracted to me.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He’s holding me hostage and I’m wondering if he’s watching me while I sleep.

I scrub my face as I sit on the edge of the bed. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I don’t like being alone. My entire life I’ve felt alone and now I truly am. It’s terrifying and the sick part of me wishes that I’d hear Elliott’s voice.

I get up and look out the bedroom window to see if he’s home and I spot his truck in the driveway. I go to the window in the hallway but don’t see him outside.

As I do every day, I walk around, checking each bedroom. I make up stories as to who they belonged to and where they are now. After Elliott told me about his grandparents, I wondered if maybe the boy’s room belonged to him and possibly the girl’s room belonged to a sister.

In the kitchen, I like to imagine small dinners being made and a little family around the table eating together.

It’s all fantasy of things I’ve wanted and never got. Things that I will clearly never experience because I’ll never make it out of here alive.

“Clara?”

My damn stomach swims with butterflies as I hear his voice. I walk to the door and sit down on the floor, leaning against it.

“Yeah?”

“How’d you sleep?”

I close my eyes as exhaustion washes over me. “Well, after seeing you kill a man, I didn’t sleep too well, Elliott.”

“He deserved what he got,” he hisses.

A tear runs down my cheek and I swallow roughly.

“What about me?” I whisper.

“What about you?”

I take a deep breath and wipe my tears as I stare at the yellowing flowered wallpaper I’m all too familiar with now.

“Will I get what I deserve?” I ask.

“What do you think you deserve, Clara?”

Sometimes I don’t know if he’s honestly curious or if it’s some kind of a test. I’ve learned it’s best to be honest because he rewards me with treats and comfy clothes when I am.

“I deserve to live,” I say.

He’s quiet and tears run down my cheeks. I guess he’s more of the silent killer.

“Tell me about your childhood.”

What the hell? He’s so random sometimes and if I wasn’t so scared right now, I’d think it was kinda funny. But I think he’s playing some kind of mind game because it’s confusing and kinda comforting that he asks me things like this.

“It was lonely and loveless,” I whisper.

“I need more.”

I sigh and close my eyes. “My father gave me no attention. None whatsoever. Never talked to me, never spent any time with me. He never checked my homework or ate a meal with me. The nannies took care of me, and he did whatever he did.”

“And what was he doing?” he asks.

“Since I never knew where he was and never talked to him, I wouldn’t know. Maybe fucking the new nanny, maybe sitting in court, maybe traveling the world. I have no idea,” I reply.

He asks about my father like I have answers. I don’t. I have no idea what kind of shit he’s mixed-up in. I was never privy to anything he did or anywhere he went.

“Did you ever ask where he got all the money?”

Anger fills me as I turn and face the door. “Why the hell would I ask that? Money was put into my account, and I used it. It’s not like he was trying to buy my love, he was just paying me to stay out of the way. You seem to know more about him than I do, so why do you keep asking me when I have no answers?”

Getting angry with a man that clearly has no problem killing somebody probably isn’t smart, but I’m already being held against my will. Death is inevitable at this point.

“That anger you hold is going to darken you,” he says.

I give a humorless laugh as I stare at the wooden door. “Is that your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“You killed a man,” I shout at the door.

He chuckles and I hear the chair he must be sitting in scrape against the floor. “Oh my delicate flower, I’ve killed many men.”

I push away from the door quickly and my back hits the wall as fear wraps around me. “How many?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

It matters to me.

“More than five?” I push.

His voice is closer now as he says, “A lot more.”

“What the hell?” I whisper.

“Focusing on that isn’t going to change anything, Clara. I do what needs to be done. There are people in this world that don’t deserve to live. There are real victims that deserve justice,” he says.

“So, you justify killing people as what? Revenge? Justice?”

“If someone could’ve saved you from your father as a kid, do you think you’d be different now?”

That’s a question I’ve given far too much thought to. As a kid I often wished my mother would just somehow surprise me and take me away. I wished that another man would come and say I was his real daughter and give me the life I dreamed of. As I got older, I just wished I’d find a man that would sweep me off my feet and show me what love was.

None of it mattered though because none of it would ever happen.

“I think that everyone would be different if they were dealt a different hand,” I say.

“I know what you mean.”

My eyes widen. “Wait, what happened to you?”

Silence.

What hand was he dealt? Obviously for a man to kill with no remorse means he probably didn’t have the best upbringing. Even if he might have grown up here.

“What happened to you?” I ask again.

There’s more silence and then I hear the chair scrape once more. Like he’s gotten up from it.

“Clara, I have to go.”

I listen to him walk away and I know I’ve stumbled onto something. Maybe he’s killing people because of something that happened to him? Maybe he’s like a dark knight in shining armor? Maybe I’m fucking delusional.

He’s a serial killer and I’m his next victim.

Elliott never came back and it’s now dark out. He’s home because I saw his truck pull up about an hour ago, but he never came back to the door.

I’m tired from not sleeping and the constant loneliness I’m feeling, so I showered and went to bed already. It’s weird that I’ve never seen him up close. Most nights I lie awake imagining what he looks like. Are his eyes brown or blue? Or green even? Do they light up when he smiles?

Does he even smile?

There’s a twisted part of me that hopes I fall asleep and wake up when Elliott comes to drop off something. I’m not sure what would happen, but I don’t like being alone and even thoughts of having the company of a killer are starting to sound good.

I’m sitting up in bed, resting my back against the metal headboard as I stare at the moonlight shining through the window.

“Clara.”

My head jerks toward the hallway because his voice sounds closer than ever before.

“There are cameras,” he says.

I look around the room and wonder where the hell a camera could be. I’ve had enough time to explore every inch and I’ve never seen anything.

“They’re well hidden.”

“So, you watch me?” I ask, looking out the window.

“Every move you make.”

It’s creepy. It’s scary. It’s an invasion of my privacy.

So why is my stomach swimming with butterflies?

“Do you watch me shower?” I ask, feeling a tingling between my legs growing.

It shouldn’t turn me on. I should be disgusted at the thought of a strange man who likes to kill people, watching me shower.

What the hell is happening to me?

“Oh Clara, watching the water run down your naked body is like a fucking drug. I can’t get enough.”

My breathing shouldn’t increase at his words, but it does. He watches me while I’m naked and it’s turning me on. I tense my legs together, trying to quench the feeling growing there.

I won’t admit it though. He’s good at screwing with my head. This is just another game of his. So, I try to switch it around.

“You can see me naked, but I can’t even see your face?”

“You’ve seen me,” he replies.

“Not well. I can’t make out exactly what you look like.”

I shift in the bed. “You’re turned on, aren’t you?”

I sit up straighter, pulling the covers to my neck. “What? No?”

How dare he. It’s one thing for me to be turned on, but for him to ask me if I am is another. I can’t let him know.

“Yes, you are. I can tell.”

I glance around, wishing I could find the camera so I could look into it and flip him off. “No, I’m not.”

“I left you a gift in the drawer on the nightstand.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want a gift.”

His voice is thick. “Grab it.”

I hold onto the covers tighter. “No.”

“Godammit Clara, get your fucking gift.” His voice is not to be messed around with, and my body vibrates with fear of what he may do to me if I don’t retrieve whatever present he’s left.

I flick on the lamp and look at the drawer. Is something going to jump out at me? Is there a human finger in there? Both are completely plausible at this point. I pull the drawer open and can’t believe my eyes. A vibrator. It’s still in the package and there’s a pack of batteries next to it. What kind of gift is this?

Sure, I’m turned on a little, but the thought of doing this with him watching…um…kind of turns me on.

I am sick.

What’s wrong with me?

The thought of opening the vibrator and using it to find release has me blushing.

“I love it when you blush.” His voice pulls me from my inner monologue.

I shake my head. “I can’t do this.” Right? I can’t put on a little show for the man holding me captive.

“Open the vibrator and put the batteries in it,” he says.

“I don’t think so,” I say, shaking my head.

A soft chuckle echoes throughout the room and I try to pretend it has no effect on me.

“I can see your hard nipples through your thin shirt and I’m willing to bet if I reached between your legs, I’d feel a very wet pussy.”

His words are like a shock to my body, awakening my sex drive. He’s right, my panties are wet, and my nipples are hard.

“Do what you’re told, Clara,” he whispers in a raspy voice.

Once again, my curiosity gets the best of me and I unpack the vibrator and put the batteries in it.

“Good girl. Now stand up.”

Not caring anymore about why I’m feeling this way, I do as I’m told.

“Strip. I want to see your perfect body.”

I shouldn’t be so eager, but the attention he’s giving me right now makes me feel like I’m not alone and I’ll do anything to not feel this way anymore.

I pull my tank top off and my breasts are bare to him. I can feel my nipples getting harder and I swallow my nerves as I slide my fingers into my sleep shorts, pushing them to the floor.

“Turn around.” His voice is all around me. Everywhere.

I turn around and try to look around for a camera. It must be here somewhere. I’m definitely facing it.

“Fuck,” he whispers throughout the room and tingles race across my heated skin.

“Like this?” I ask him.

“Yes, Clara. You’re such a good fucking girl. Now, before you take off your panties, run your hands up your body and pinch those hard nipples,” he demands.

Needing to feel some kind of relief, I do what I’m told. When I pinch my nipples, a soft moan escapes me, and I twist them as I pinch harder.

“Fuck yes, you feel that right in your sweet pussy, don’t you?”

I nod, pinching again. “Yes,” I breathe out.

“I would fuck those perfect tits and come all over them,” he says with a hard groan.

I’ve never had someone do that to me and damn it’s a hot image. So is the thought that he’s probably touching himself, too.

Without a cohesive thought, I ask, “Are you jerking off to me, Elliott?”

“I do every fucking night.”

I shouldn’t be so turned on by his admission, but I am. I so am. I grow wetter as I picture him jerking off. A faceless man.

“You like that, don’t you? My hand wrapped around my dick while I watch you. My hand sliding up and down my shaft as I imagine fucking that tight cunt you tease me with. My release being ripped from me from thoughts of what I could do to you.”

“Oh my,” I whisper.

“Panties off.”

I comply immediately and slide them down my long legs.

“Good girl. Now climb on the bed and show me.”

“Show you what?”

“How wet that little pussy is.”

Unable to fight the burning need I’m feeling, I do as he says. I should feel dirty, but I don’t. His deep voice and naughty words have me feeling something I’ve never felt before. I feel wanted.

“Oh, fuck yes, my beard would be soaked while I feasted on you,” he groans. “Turn the vibrator on and use it. Don’t fucking stop until you come.”

The wetness is running down to my ass as he speaks. I don’t hesitate as I pick up the vibrator my captor has provided me with. I turn it on and hold it against my clit, causing my back to arch off the bed.

“Slide it down and push it into your tight cunt, Clara.”

I do as I’m told and once I push it in, I moan with relief. I don’t need further instructions; I know how to get myself off. I move against the vibrator like it’s a real dick. My hips rock as I pick up speed.

“That’s right, fuck that vibrator. Show me how hard and fast you like it,” he growls.

I do exactly that, causing myself to moan with pleasure. It’s been far too long since I had sex and even though I’m fucking a vibrator for the man holding me captive, I’ve never been more turned on.

The harder and faster I go, the closer I get to finding my orgasm. Something no man is capable of with his dick.

“Oh yes,” I cry out as I creep closer to the edge.

“Keep going, Clara. Don’t stop until you get what you deserve.”

As the words leave his mouth, my orgasm tears through me. “Fuck,” I shout as the waves of my release crash over me.

“Fuck yes, come all over that vibrator while I come in my hand,” he moans out.

We’re both quiet as we recover from our releases. I pull out the vibrator and put it on the nightstand. Too exhausted to even get my clothes from the floor, I climb under the comforter.

His words replay in my mind and with my eyes closed, I smile.

“I deserve pleasure?” I quietly ask.

“Good night, my delicate flower.”

I fall asleep and for the first time since I’ve been locked away, I actually sleep.