Kiss The Villain: Chapter 8

Gareth stopped the part-time stalking job after he escaped from my apartment that night.

And he did escape.

I watched the security footage, and the little monster crashed into countless walls, nearly fell, and had to hold on to the elevator to remain upright.

He looked freshly fucked, his face red and streaks of cum in his messed-up hair. My jacket barely covered his hoodie’s scraps and the marks I decorated his chest with.

I might have saved a few videos for…future reference.

Sure, I should probably feel some form of confusion that I want to fuck a man and dick him down to the mattress while he writhed in both pleasure and pain.

It’s not normal, right?

For someone like me, teetering on mid-thirties to find a guy’s cum more delicious than five-star meals. Or that the memory of him shooting that cum into my mouth while wearing that lustful and surprised look makes my dick throb.

Straight men don’t fantasize about other men’s dicks or cum.

Or do they?

Honestly, who gives a fuck?

I don’t believe sexuality should be boxed in like some fools in my entourage. I still find women attractive and don’t really care for other men.

Except for my little monster who left me hanging that night. He didn’t even let me clean him up.

And I don’t usually care for that, cleaning up my sex partners, I mean. So maybe I just wanted to toy with him a bit more.

But he ran away before I could do so.

Pity.

That was four days ago.

I still have a couple more days until I see him in class, so I haven’t been able to monitor him properly.

A situation I attempted to rectify last night when I texted him.

I glared at the text.

He can’t be done.

That’s not how this works.

Besides, I’m the puppet master, not him.

The only one who gets to put an end to anything is me.

He blocked me.

I still laugh as I stare at my phone now.

Because I know, I just know I’m getting under his skin.

Affecting his usual course of action.

Twisting him inside out.

Carson is not the type who retreats from a challenge. It’s why he doubled down on the drugs and even picked up stalking.

It’s why he looks murderous whenever I insult his looks or intelligence. He takes pride in those and everything about his person—which is why I constantly target them.

He might play the social game to perfection, might have people eating out of the palm of his hand, and even calling him well-mannered and a gentleman, but he irrevocably sees himself as superior to everyone else.

His strongest suit is his ability to mask his true nature. It’s hard for normal people to see who he actually is—the depravity, lack of empathy, and streak of narcissism. Honestly, he could get an Oscar for acting the way he has for years.

Probably his entire adult life.

Gareth Carson is a criminal profiler’s wet dream. He never makes mistakes and maintains a pretty normal, albeit privileged life.

He might not be officially diagnosed, but he has clear signs of antisocial personality disorder and possible narcissistic tendencies.

His moral compass doesn’t exist, hence the way he was ready to rape Yulian and me, and if I hadn’t turned the tables, he would’ve gotten off on that type of fucked-up power, too.

What does exist, however, is his careful, meticulous maintenance of his public persona—he spent a lot of effort to diverge from his brother’s image.

The younger Carson is a proud diagnosed psychopath. The older Carson is a closeted one, so to speak.

And while I don’t know why the golden-boy image is so important to him, I’ll find out. And I’ll break that purpose.

I’ll break him to fucking pieces until he’s a lifeless little toy.

And toys don’t get a say in what happens to them.

Therefore, they can’t decide they’ll stop functioning.

I dial the number I need and put the phone to my ear as I stare out my window at the oak tree where Carson used to linger.

“Professor,” Yulian’s slightly husky voice filters from the other side.

“I’m not your professor if you don’t attend class.”

He chuckles. “I suppose that’s true. To what do I owe the call?”

“You owe me your life after that night, but I digress.”

“I repay my saviors pretty well, but you kind of left me on a cliffhanger by not giving me the identity of the motherfucker who roofied my drink. Is this a call to rectify that oversight?”

“I clearly said that won’t be happening.” Previously, I would’ve loved to see Yulian maim Carson into tiny pieces.

And Yulian would’ve. Killed Carson, I mean. No matter how many wars that would provoke. Hell, he’d do it just to start those wars.

But that was before I touched the little monster and saw a part of him I want to toy with further.

There’s no place for Yulian in my games. At least, not this particular game concerning Carson.

Yulian trusts me and gave me access to the mansion, not because I’m his professor, but due to certain beneficial relationships I formed with his father back in the States.

His dad tells me to keep an eye on him, but I’m not his guardian, and Yulian is a lost cause who will eventually get himself killed.

It’s just a matter of when, not if.

“Just checking.” Yulian whistles as some rustling comes from his side. “If that is all, I have an important event to dress for.”

“Event?” I play dumb.

“I’m paying our neighbors a little visit.” I can hear the manic smile in his voice. “In disguise, naturally.”

“Is this by any chance the Heathens’ initiation?”

“Uh-huh. I want to see what the fuss is all about and confirm something about that night.”

I stand taller. “I told you it’s not one of them.”

“I know, but someone was in my room after you left, and something tells me it’s one of our Heathen friends. I’m getting all excited thinking about it.”

If whoever that person was arrived after I left, then it’s not Carson. In that case, Yulian can do whatever the fuck he wants.

“Were you sent an invitation?” I ask.

“How did you know?”

“A hunch.” I smile to myself. Carson still didn’t completely let go after all.

He seems to be under this misconception that I want to fuck Yulian—disturbing, to say the least—and he’s often displayed a desire to hurt me through that.

Inviting Yulian to the initiation, to his domain, is a clear indication that he still hasn’t given up. His destructive brain wouldn’t allow him to.

Though I should be there to witness it. Otherwise, the plan won’t work.

So how come he didn’t send me an invitation?

Hmm.

“Yulian.”

“Hmm?”

“Forward me the invitation text.”

“Why?”

“Scientific interest.”

He laughs. “I don’t know what the fuck you even gain from all of this, but I like your way of doing things.”

“Everyone does.”

He laughs again. “Will send shortly. Laters.”

As soon as I have the text that includes the admission QR code, I forward it to Jethro.

With a sigh, I pocket my phone and head to my closet. Now, I understand why Yulian was whistling.

This is actually thrilling.

Nothing compares to the morbid excitement at the knowledge that I’ll play with my new favorite toy.

This is the most ludicrous thing ever done.

And that’s coming from someone who considers most students absurd beyond redemption.

I caught a glimpse of them lining up, being all giddy about getting chased through the woods by some other kids who get off on violence.

“Two o’clock,” Jethro speaks through the earpiece.

My steps are silent as I glide behind a tree. Jethro got me access as a staff member, and ever since then, I’ve had him in my ear, directing me through the forest.

I’m dressed in a black suit and a bunny mask, which all guards and staff are wearing tonight.

My hand rests on my tie before I loosen it. Preferably, I would’ve thrown it off, but I don’t want to stand out.

A couple of students run by as a guy wearing a red-stitch neon mask chases them with a bat.

It’s the less interesting Carson.

Jethro gave me all their identities since he saw them when they put on their masks.

But he didn’t have to tell me my prey was the one wearing the green mask. I knew it as soon as I saw the five of them standing on the second-floor balcony.

The little monster has the most erect posture out of the five, and it’s due to the bow slung across his shoulder.

He’s an archer.

A hunter.

Probably the only thing that doesn’t contradict with the rest of his image.

But I lost sight of him soon after the initiation started since everyone was running around like headless chickens in a zombie B-movie.

“Where is he?” I ask in the earpiece.

“Five o’clock,” Jethro says. “He has company.”

“Yulian?”

“No. A girl.”

Hmm.

I walk in that direction, stopping when Jethro points at approaching danger.

The sharp, earthy scent of pine needles and damp soil fills my lungs, and I crane my neck on either side. Why the fuck is this tie so tight?

The ground shifts beneath my shoes, uneven, each step sinking slightly into the mossy earth. The trees’ branches creak in the wind, their low whisper interrupted by the distant screams of students.

Sunset is settling in, its colors throttled to death by the thick clouds. The light is dim, the fading sun filtering through the tangled branches, casting long shadows that stretch and twist.

The cold creeps in, biting at my skin, but it’s not the chill I’m focused on—it’s the faintest hint of something familiar in the air.

Something that flexes my muscles and sends a rush of endorphins all the way to my cock.

Finally, I arrive at an open patch of land surrounded by tall trees and bushes. A small twitch lifts my lips.

Here we go.

I remain behind a big bush as I watch a tall man dressed all in black save for his neon green mask standing by a large tree, holding an arch with an arrow at his side. He’s right across from me. Only a few feet away.

“Keep clear,” Jethro says. “Don’t get close, Kayden. I mean it. He can have you ambushed in a fraction of a second. They have a button that calls security to their exact GPS coordinates.”

He keeps talking, but his voice filters in the background because I’m watching my toy talking to someone else.

A leggy blonde in tight shorts and a strapless top. She’s holding her mask in her hand, and it has ‘#1’ engraved on top. Her face is as attractive as his. They’re both blond and the definition of a dream Disney prince and princess.

That is, until she speaks in this grating high-pitched voice. “You’re amazing, Gaz. Thanks for protecting me.”

“Anytime.” He sounds bored and staggeringly uninterested.

She doesn’t hear it, though, as she flattens her tits against his chest, and I see the movement of her fingers on his belt as she licks her lips. “Let me repay the favor.”

He doesn’t stop her as she unbuttons his jeans. Doesn’t stop her as she kisses his neck or when she rubs herself all over him.

He makes no move to help her either, his posture remaining upright, and he’s not responding to her touch.

No moaning, no muffled groans, and certainly no begging in a throaty, strangled voice.

But the fact remains—he’s still not stopping her.

“You smell so good.” She moans against his neck, darting her tongue to suck on his earlobe.

He does smell good, like a subtle hint of bergamot and cedarwood mixed with his skin. It’s a known fact that she doesn’t need to point out.

“You taste amazing, too.” More licking and sucking and fucking touching. “You’re so hot, Gaz.”

I lift a hand and yank my tie free, letting it hang loose around my neck.

Carson jerks his head in my direction, slightly lifting his bow and arrow in the process.

He has picture-perfect reflexes and is really super aware of his surroundings, including the slightest rustle.

For some reason, that makes me smile.

I’d intended to see how far he’d go with the blonde, but I’ve changed my mind now.

Scratch that. I changed my mind after she got her claws on him. If she doesn’t remove them, I’ll rip her neck off.

I pause.

The fuck was that thought about?

I don’t even know this girl and I’m thinking about her decapitation?

But then again, maybe she shouldn’t have touched my toy.

I slip out of the bushes in Carson’s direct view.

“Kayden, you fucking—” Jethro’s voice is cut off when I remove the earpiece and tuck it in my pocket, leaving my hand there.

The blonde doesn’t notice a third participant has joined as she keeps kissing and licking, and I try not to look at her so that I won’t act on my murderous thoughts.

But he notices and instantly lifts his hand that’s holding the bow high.

Once again, I’m entranced by the view.

What a beautiful posture, wasted on a monster.

Every part of his body falls into sharp, distinguished angles, like chiseled stone, each line perfectly defined. His form is sculpted to precise detail—the edges of his shoulders, hips, and long legs all converging to create a painting of epic proportions, a masterpiece forged in strength and precision.

And he’s aware of it. Hyperaware, actually. Because he somehow learned to hide his darkness behind the cold elegance of his body.

I wonder why he learned that or if it came naturally to him. But then again, I’m not supposed to wonder about toys. That would make him human, and he’s anything but.

Carson pulls on the bow string, then pauses, his arm tight with tension.

Recognition, even.

So he can recognize me, but he can’t keep his body to himself.

As if hearing my thoughts, he steps back, forcing Blondie to release him, her claws falling unceremoniously from around him.

When he speaks, his voice is deeper for some reason. “You should go, Cherry. Others might find us.”

Cherry.

Of course her name is fucking Cherry.

“All right.” She grins and puts her mask on again. “Which way are we going?”

“You go ahead first so I don’t draw attention.” He points to his right, speaking in a revolting soft, mellowed-out tone. “That way is safe. I’ll stop anyone from following.”

“Gosh. You’re so awesome.” She runs her red nails down his chest, but he’s not paying attention as he steals a glance in my direction.

If he thinks I’ll hide so his bimbo doesn’t see me, that won’t be happening.

In fact, I wish she’d do that so I could eliminate her.

Unfortunately, she blows him a kiss and hurries in the direction of where he pointed.

As she disappears behind the bushes, I remove my mask and let it fall on the ground.

I can’t see his expression behind his mask, but I make out the twitching of his gloved hand around the bow. The way his entire body vibrates, humming to life.

“How the fuck did you manage to get in here?” he asks with a bite to his words and no hint of the softness he faked so well not a minute ago.

That’s it.

The tension. The crumbling.

The way he’s unable to control his reaction.

I want it all.

And more.

I want to shatter him so thoroughly, no one will be able to pick up the pieces.

Not Cherry.

Not anyone else.

“I’m disappointed, little monster.” I walk toward him, adopting a bored tone. “Why is your type the female version of you?”

He lifts his bow and points it at me. “Don’t come any closer.”

“Why? Scared I’ll touch you?” I let my lips pull in a smile. “Correction. You’re scared of how much you’ll like how I touch you, aren’t you, baby?”

“I’m not your goddamn baby!”

“I disagree.”

“Stay away. I won’t repeat myself a third time.”

“I’m only trying to have a civil conversation⁠—”

The bastard shoots me. The arrow’s rubber head slams against my shoulder, sending it backward. Pain erupts in my muscle and I suppress a groan.

“That scared?” I keep walking and he shoots at me again, this time to my thigh, and I hit the ground on one knee.

Motherfucker.

A shadow looms over me, his next arrow pointed down at me as his voice roughens, his eyes sparkling behind the mask. “You know, I was willing to let your insolence go, but you just wouldn’t fuck off. You’re always buzzing around my head like an annoying fucking fly, Professor. Buzzing and buzzing, and fucking buzzing. Maybe I should silence you for good.”

He reaches into the quiver on his shoulder and retrieves a real arrow with a sharp head, then taps it under the moonlight slipping from beneath the clouds. “I use this for boars, huge fucking beasts like you. One shot to your heart and it’s over.”

I laugh, the sound loud and perhaps a bit deranged.

Like this piece of work.

His shoulders tense up as he stands straight. “You think I’m joking? You believe I can’t kill you?”

“No, I’m sure you will, and you’ll do it with flying colors. Hell, you’ll make sure no one will find my corpse. You’ll melt me with acid, maybe. Or attach me to heavy sandbags and throw me in the ocean to feed the sharks. If anyone can get away with murder, it’s you.” I grin at him. “You’re a natural, baby.”

“Stop calling me that.” He points the arrow at my chest.

“What? Baby? Do you hate the actual nickname or that it reminds you of how good I can make you feel?”

“You seem to be tired of living, asshole.”

“Go ahead. Shoot.” I push my chest against his arrow. “Escalate from rapist to murderer. Prove me right.”

He goes still, but I hear his panting raw breaths behind that mask. I can’t see his eyes well, but they’re either glaring or caught in a lost state.

Maybe both.

“Prove you right?” His voice is deeper, a bit on edge, but I can’t place the emotion. I can, however, feel the tip of the arrow digging into my chest, cutting through the jacket and shirt and nicking my skin, right above my heart.

Fucking lunatic would kill me in a heartbeat.

And that doesn’t stir any fear. If anything, a jolt of excitement vibrates through my veins and my dick.

Because, yes, his violent side turns me on.

Or maybe it’s the idea of shoving this menace to his knees.

To control the uncontrollable.

To ride a wild horse.

“Yes, Carson. Prove to me that you can’t ascend above your basic urges. That you can’t shake off the constant voices that tell you to harm, kill, and watch life leave your victims’ eyes. You’re a natural at inflicting. It’s your default setting. I thought you had better control over yourself, which is why you built and honed your public persona, but perhaps I was wrong about you. Truth is, you can’t fight your nature. Like all animals, you easily succumb to your subhuman instinct.”

It’s subtle, but I feel the arrow shifting on my skin, grazing it. I’m definitely bleeding, and he did it on purpose.

To watch me bleed.

Because that’s where his eyes are. On the arrow and the dark patch on the jacket he probably can’t see so well.

But there was another shift. A tensing in his grip when I said a particular sentence.

Perhaps I was wrong about you.

He doesn’t like that. If I were reaching, I’d say he cares about my approval.

Now that I think about it, he gets really offended when I insult him, but I believe that’d be his reaction to anyone insulting his looks or intelligence.

Carson doesn’t have the ability to doubt himself. If he thinks he’s better than anyone else, that’s that. So it can’t be that he thinks my words are correct, but maybe it’s that he doesn’t like me to say them?

Why?

His cool voice mixes with the breeze. “I thought you were a law professor, not a psychology professor.”

“I don’t need a degree.” I stare up at him. “That fire. That need to hurt and maim? I had it, too. But I rose above it.”

Dirt crunches beneath his feet as he shifts, caught off guard, maybe.

And my dick twitches.

Fuck. Why do I love being the reason he stumbles?

I’m starting to get addicted.

I want more of these unmasked reactions and his raw body language.

More.

Fucking more.

“That’s right, little monster.” I let my lips pull into a smile. “We’re the same, you and I. Whatever humans are made of, you and I share that form.”

“I share nothing with you.” His voice is quieter, but he steps away, removing the arrow that drips with my blood. “Just get the fuck out of my life.”

Then he turns around, probably to keep playing hunt or, worse, to protect Cherry.

His first mistake was turning his back on me.

The second was making me watch that scene from earlier.

I get up and run after him, the adrenaline suppressing the pain caused by the rubber arrows and the graze on my chest.

To his credit, Carson starts to turn around and lifts his bow, but it’s too late.

I grab the back of his neck and slam him against the tree, and then whisper in his ear, “You really should’ve killed me when you had the chance, baby.”

And then I bite the lobe that blonde was sucking on. Hard.