Beyond the Pale Contest

Title: Disarm
Pen: katinki
Pairing: Edward
Disclaimer and warnings: Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer. Disarm belongs to the Smashing Pumpkins (although I do possess multiple legal copies). BellaFlan is a lovely lady who agreed to pre-read and give me her thoughts.

1. This O/s is an entry for the Beyond the Pale 2 Contest, a contest in which the premise is to explore taboo subjects and push the envelope. I'll go ahead and admit that I might be pushing what's okay for this contest, too.
2. This story contains very dark themes and explicit/graphic content that may be disturbing and/or trigger-inducing for some readers.
3. Reader, be advised that this is written from the point of view of a psychopath. If you get to a certain point, I'd ask that you please don't stop reading until you reach the end lest you miss a rather important turn in the story.
4. I do not promise your (or my) idea of a HEA.

Image that Inspired: #11, www . beyondthepalecontest . blogspot 2011/08/eleven . html

To see other entries in the Beyond the Pale Contest, please visit the C2 page:

www . fanfiction community/Beyond_the_Pale_Contest_Entries/83159/


What's a boy supposed to do?


It's 6:05, and just like every evening, right on time, she's here.

Like always, the 721 is strange mix of inane, left-wing college kids, yammering old blue hairs, and boring middle class accountants, none of whom are like her. Or like me for that matter.

Regardless, the bus is full by the time she climbs up the steps, so she has to squeeze in behind a punk with a face full of metal. Holding on to the overhead handle, acting as though there's no one else around, she stands and busies herself with her phone.

Unlike yesterday, however, today she's close enough that I can smell the ridiculously expensive perfume she's wearing. I swear she knows how it affects me. It's almost mouthwatering. I want to taste it on my tongue – her skin and that bitterness that otherwise smells so good. I know that when I jack off tonight, that's what I'll be imagining – tasting her.

She's wearing a skirt today – black, tight, and clingy – and the thing is obscenely short, especially considering the stack of her heels and the fact that she never bothers to wear pantyhose. She looks fucking amazing and she knows it. But I can see too much of her thighs – too much skin – and more importantly, so can everyone else. Yes, the bitch does this just to provoke me.

But I can't help myself and my staring.

As we pull away from the curb, I lick my lips and my eyes linger over every part of her. I can see the outline of pert, hard nipples, ones begging to be pinched and sucked and bitten. She'd like that. Today, the silk of her blouse is so thin and so pale, and I know that she's not wearing a bra. I can just make out the darker round shapes of her areolas. With every bump in the road, her tits bounce. I bet she likes the way the silk feels when it grazes her nipples.

I'm harder than I've been in I can't remember how long.

I want to reach out and slide my hand up between her thighs. To feel her. To feel the heat and slickness that I know is there. I want to stand up, walk behind her, and press my dick against the cushion of her ass, so she'll know what she does to me. I want to cup my palm around her delicate throat, holding her still against me, and whisper all the things I want to do to her.

All the things I will do to her. Eventually.

For now, her prick boyfriend does that instead.

I barely contain my rage as a tall, dark-haired man steps up and slips his arms around her waist. He's a big guy – a gym rat maybe. He looks like one of those guys who suck down leucine shakes every morning. Ridiculous.

Regardless, she giggles at something he says and reaches behind her to stroke the side of his neck. I can hear her nails scratching.

When he thinks no one is looking, the bastard prick cops a feel and tweaks one of my nipples. She's horny so her chest expands and fills his palm as he squeezes. It's not hard enough though. Not like she wants it.

Someone needs to tell him that she likes it rougher than that.

Still thinking that no one sees, his other hand slides down to envelope her hip. Incapable of turning away, I watch him grind himself against her like a fucking seventeen year old. Like the little slut she is, she pushes back and shifts against him, teasing him.

His hips bump her again and he's whispering something else in her ear. Though I strain to hear, I can't. But whatever it is, it's dirty and it's making her wet; I can tell from the slack in her mouth and the way the tip of her tongue sweeps across her lower lip.

She pushes a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes, and then those dark eyes of hers start scanning the bus, searching for those who might be watching her. They momentarily land on me. When she sees the way I'm staring at her, she smirks wickedly.

I should slap her for that.

One day I will.

"Jake, stop it," she murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. She bats his hand away, but it's without any force or conviction.

She loves what he's doing to her. She loves the attention when she knows people are watching, and I can tell that right now, my little exhibitionist wants to come to an audience. I've watched her long enough now to know that. From a careful distance away, I've followed her for years and I know that my girl always likes to play.

But she has no idea what kind of fire she's playing with when it comes to me.

It takes all I have in me to not knife him on the spot. I want to kill him for the way he touches her.

She's mine.

Her prick's mouth covers hers and he kisses her, shoving his tongue down her throat as he keeps shallowly thrusting against her ass. That meaty hand on her hip inches down between her thighs, and I watch the tip of his forefinger search for her clit through the fabric of her skirt. They're both shameless; she knows I'm watching her.

Still ten minutes from my stop, his exploration is finally successful, and her back arches when he begins to rub her. Her head falls back against his shoulder and her lips slightly part. Over her shoulder, he's staring at her chest, looking down the 'V' of her shirt at her bare, heaving tits.

When she jerks and closes her eyes, coming right there in front of me and God knows who else, I finger the hunting knife in the oversized pocket at my knee.

It's not a question any more. I'm going to kill him. I'm going to gut that motherfucker, navel to chin. And then maybe she'll finally understand.


She's alone this time.

It's Friday, so the bus is only half full. She's sitting diagonal from me, staring down at her blackberry. Like always, I'm staring at her, mesmerized by the bite of her teeth on her lip. Such a small thing, but it makes me boil inside. Before I can stop myself, I'm imagining those pretty pink lips wrapped around my dick.

I wonder if she'll ever realize all that I've done for her over the years. Countless times, I've changed my address for her, silently following her across the country. That podunk town in Washington State, where I found her. Phoenix and that godforsaken heat. Then Florida, where I was almost caught, because her bitch drug addict of a mother decided to slap her around and I only saw red. Of course, she never knew about that. And now, she's here – we're here – in Southern California. Because my girl seems to think she needs another degree.

I've changed my name, my appearance, and even my way of speaking. My whole life. Today, I'm Edward Cullen, not Edward Masen, and my reflection in the window disarms even me. Rust-brown hair, bright green eyes; I look nothing like myself.

"Excuse me?"

I glance back to her and see that she's slid down the bench and is now directly in front of me.


To me.

I'm stunned. And for a moment, I'm angry and tongue-tied. This is not part of my daily script; I never talk to her, instead, always observing from afar.

"Excuse me?" she says again, blushing a pale pink that somehow makes her even more beautiful.

But I'm this close to taking her by the shoulders and shaking her for screwing up my plans - for forcing my hand sooner than what I wanted. I'm drawing her out, slowly, not like last time when I fucked up and killed too soon. I'm trying to enjoy this one… before my compulsion kicks in.

I check my expression, shelving my anger for later on. I can adapt, I tell myself. I know this. I've done it enough times.

One brow arches and I smile a cocky smile because I know now that she recognizes me from the other day. She's still waiting, looking at me, so I answer something appropriate in my softest voice. It's the one I use when I want to get my way. The one the girls always seem to love.

"Are you new?" she asks, fingering the edge of her skirt. It's longer today, almost decent. "Do you know the bus routes?"

"I've been here long enough," I hedge. I'm trying not to focus on the shadow between her thighs when she crosses and uncrosses her legs. "Where are you trying to go?"

"My boyfriend's."

My teeth grit because by saying that she's just begging for me to slice him up.

"This stupid GPS app doesn't work worth a shit," she rambles. She's whining, and for some reason, it amuses me. "I can't find his place and I told him I'd stop by."

"Oh yeah? Lucky guy."

I stand and move across the aisle to sit by her. I've never been this close before. In public. At night when she's asleep and unaware is a different story, of course. But her heat and perfume are maddening. I can feel my dick hardening, tightening my pants, just being here next to her.

"Want me to give it a shot?" I'm almost purring.

She glances over to me and smiles. It's a flirty smile that no girl with a boyfriend should be throwing around. He's such a pussy for letting her embarrass him this way.

I'm caught staring at the way her teeth keep worrying the plump of her bottom lip. And then she uncrosses her legs again, just brushing my calf with the spike of her heel.


Catching myself before I look down at bare thighs, I instead lean even closer, using her blasted phone as an excuse. Dissembling is what I do, after all.

"Where does he live?" I murmur, just a touch too close for casual interaction. She jumps a little at my sudden proximity, and I chuckle. I bet her heart is thundering in her chest. I'd love to wrap my hand around her throat just so I could feel her carotid pumping.

Unnerved, she rattles off some address, and I punch it in. She's right; it's a worthless piece of shit app that takes forever to load, but I don't care because she's just given me all the information I need.

"What's your name?" I ask, stealing a glance to the side. There's a strand of dark colored hair dangling between us that makes my fingers twitch. Like the rest of her, it's a tease. I swear she tests every bit of my self-control.

She blushes again and throws me another coy smile. "Bella. Yours?"

This casual banter is making my blood hum in my veins. It's new to the routine and I've decided now that it's exciting, making my chase riskier and more challenging – more consuming. People could see us together like this, put two and two together. I decide that I'll make her moan my name when I finally fuck her. I think it'll be even better that way.

"Edward. Edward Cullen. It's nice to meet you," I return before I push her a little. "Don't suppose you want to grab something to eat?" I know that she'll decline but I want to make her uncomfortable, maybe even a little afraid.

My balls tighten when I say the next words. "After that little show the other day, shouldn't I at least get something?"

I notice that she's staring at my mouth - at the way my tongue is licking my lips. And I know exactly what she's thinking because her little boyfriends never eat her out enough. I want to tell her that I'd lick her pussy any day, but I don't. Not now. Someday soon, however, I'll show her what my tongue can do. If she's a good girl.

"Jake's waiting for me," she mumbles, still watching my mouth.

That's right, baby, look at me.


"Is that the dark-haired guy you were with?" I lower my voice and make it gravelly. "The one touching you all wrong?"

Like that, I'm thinking about his hands on her again, about how her face screwed up when she came beneath them, and it makes my blood pressure skyrocket. Maybe I'll break those fingers to make a point.

"What do you mean?"

She's a little breathless. Even I'm surprised at my boldness. I've never let myself go this far before. I'm taking too many risks, I think again. I'm going to make a mistake if I'm not careful. I'm always so cautious when it comes to this. It's only a matter of time now until I snap and break her. He'll go first, though. I've been fantasizing about bleeding him out for days.

I scoot even closer but I'm careful not to touch. Next to her ear where I know she'll register the heat of my breath, I whisper, "He took too long. I could make you come in half the time."

Her eyes glaze, and I feel like a fucking god as I slowly rise to get off at my stop.


I stare down at my desk, admiring my handy work.

A long row of just-sharpened steel gleams in the lamplight, reflecting back a mirror of bright green when I lean over to assess. When I breathe in, I taste metal in the air from my hours of careful grinding.

Carefully, I run my finger along the edge of my favorite, a razor sharp 8" trencher. Its spine is decorated with nasty looking teeth made for sawing through bone. The grip is old and worn smooth, but it fits my hand perfectly. I smile a little when a line of red bubbles up and stains the tip of my thumb.

I've always loved knives. Ever since I stole my father's pocketknife when I was five and accidentally sliced my palm open, earning myself both a beating and a trip to the hospital. Ever since I learned to fight back when that bastard took me out in the woods behind our old house, reeking of Jack and sweat. Ever since I heard that first rip of warm-blooded flesh and felt the arterial spray on my face.

But I do love the coldness of blades. I love what they can do – the power that they wield. With just a quick slip of sharp metal, I can take a life or I can simply scar. With a flick of my wrist, I can bleed someone out. No screams if I do it right. No loud bangs. No gunshot residue. I can make it as messy as I want. I can make it last as long as I want. I can make it painless or I can make it agonizing. The control is so addictive.

Not many people realize it, but slicing a throat or gutting someone is a different kind of killing. It's close – personal. With a knife, there's no distance like with a gun. You're up in your victim's face, breathing their air. They see you. They know you when they die and you know them. Their blood drips down your hands, and you can hear the gurgle in the back of their throat when they take that last lungful of air.

There's nothing else like it.

My father showed me that. I should be grateful, I suppose. In a way, it's a shame he can't see me now.

I've been here at my desk for hours; I know it by the waning light through the window. Like always, when I'm with my blades, time seems to slip away from me. I get lost in memory and in the high pitched whine of ceramic on steel.

Humming a little tune I picked up a few states back, I glance up to the clock on the wall. I don't even register the hour, however, because my focus immediately slides to the grouping of pictures just below it.

Tacked ever so neatly, my photographs are all I have of her right now. She's with him,and I can't afford to think about that right now – about what they might be doing. If I let myself go there, I know I'll snap and try to find her. Our little conversation on the bus was more than enough risk for the day.

"Bella, Bella, Bella," I softly chant, gazing lovingly at my favorite picture.

She didn't know that I was there that day, hiding in the bushes, watching her as she traipsed through the park. Her hair was down, blowing in the wind, and her cheeks were flushed from the sun. In that clingy little top and too-short shorts, she looked like a wet dream.

I smile at the picture, at the way her eyes are sparkling, seeing something off the page. I remember like it was yesterday. She was watching some children play on the playground.

There's another next to it, the very first photograph I took of her. She's leaning against a behemoth of a truck in the old parking lot at Forks High. Seventeen years old, her face is rounder and her hair is longer. She had just moved into town, poor, alone, and unloved. But so fucking beautiful and perfect. I stared at that innocent face for an entire semester, watching the way she blanched and squirmed every time we started a new dissection. How ironic.

I try to remember what I looked like back then, but for some reason, I can't. It's been too long.

Still smiling, I reach up to stroke the picture. When my hand pulls away, I curse when I see the smudge of red marring her face.


His apartment is a pigsty – some bastion to the college-aged male.

It reeks of dirty laundry, old trash, and cheap pine air freshener. When I look around, toeing through the debris on the floor by the trashcan, I see aluminum wrappers, crushed cans, and empty boxes from the local Chinese place. Piles of unopened bills and junk mail adorn the table and bar.

Silently, I step through the maze of the living room, walking past a sofa well past its prime. I laugh when I see the high-end stereo system with extra bass. Of course. It's complete with a wide-screen that's worth more than the rest of his furniture combined.

"Typical," I mutter, checking myself afterward for breaking the silence. I know that stealth is completely unnecessary – a habit more than anything. After all, I watched him drive away myself before I picked the lock. But still. It's the principle of the matter.

There's a picture of my Bella on his dresser. Carefully, I pick it up. His arm is slung possessively around her shoulders and he's holding her too closely for my liking. He's smiling like an idiot, and I almost throw the fucking thing against the wall.

But then something else catches my eye.

My vision tinges red and I unconsciously reach for my pocket when I see the unmade bed and the box of condoms on the nightstand. There's a trashcan there, too, and there is more than one empty foil wrapper.

Ribbed, for her pleasure.

For when your dick can't cut it.

A stack of well-used porn sits under the bed. Distracting myself from the condoms and everything that means – before I fuck up – I peruse his stash just to see where his taste runs. I find nothing unusual or surprising. They're all mainstream rags with fake-blonde bimbos with big tits on the front, all licking their plumped up, cock-sucking lips and spreading their airbrushed thighs for the camera. Her Jake is so vanilla. He probably fucks her missionary and comes before she does.

Agitated and angry, I scrub my face. I can't believe he brings her here to fuck. More so, I can't believe she allows it. Like the prick that owns it, this place is unworthy. It defiles her. My fists ball until I hear my knuckles crack.

I'm wound up, I know, and I've been spiraling for days now. I need a release and I need it soon. And jacking off just isn't cutting it anymore. I've been following Bella for too long now. Seeing her and seeing that bastard always pawing her is getting to be too much.

Everyday as the bus winds its way through the blocks, I imagine all the ways I can torture him for touching what's mine. And of course, she'll need to be punished, too; I'm furious with her for dirtying herself like this. She'll stop this shit once she understands.

I sigh and remind myself that she just needs to see how much I love her. Just what I'll do for her. To make sure she's always mine.

I quickly check my watch and realize I've spent too long here already. He'll be back soon and I don't want to kill him just yet. Before my time runs out, I make a quick sweep of his closet, noting what's where. Because I'll be back here, of course.

"Tonight," I whisper, looking around one last time before closing the door behind me.


"Jake!" she giggles.

From the distortion of their voices, they're still in the living room. I can hear the door lock, and then they begin to get louder as they move through the apartment.

Inside my dark little space, my body is tuned and alert because I know it's time. My heart is hammering in my chest like a racehorse, and I'm fighting with my lungs, forcing myself to stay calm, to wait.

There's a muffled thump that startles me and makes me grip the handle in my hand a little tighter. I can only assume it's one of their backs hitting the wall in the hallway. I take deep breath to steel myself, but then there is another barrage of high-pitched giggles that makes the butterflies in my stomach flutter.

"Come on, Bells," Jake pleads, finally dragging her into the bedroom.

I despise that nickname.


I see a flash of dark fabric through the slats as he walks her past.

"Suck me off first, will you?" he whines. "You give the best head. Get me good and ready so I can pound that pussy."

I nearly tear the door off the hinges. I want to break his face for talking to her like that. I swear my entire frame is vibrating with hatred, rage, and a nearly unquenchable thirst for violence.

"You want my mouth, do you?" she coos, teasing. Always fucking teasing. But she's already on her knees, tugging at his belt buckle. There's a zip of metal and then the rustle of stiff fabric.

My blood is soaring through my veins, but I stay myself.

Still hidden, anticipating what I know is coming, I watch her take his flaccid cock into her mouth. Her little pink lips smack as she bobs her head, and then he's moaning and gripping her hair, guiding her like he's the star of some amateur internet video. She's eating that shit up, too, looking up at him through mascara-coated eyelashes, twisting her head, licking him up and down, taking him down her throat as deep as she can go.

God, her mouth.

I'm already hard as a fucking rock. I have been since the moment they unlocked the door and stumbled into the room, but I'm aching now, somehow both turned on and furious. I don't know why it's like this for me. It always is – lust and fury, tangled up so tightly together that I can't tell which is which. Unable to stop myself, I reach down into my pants to give my shaft a few pumps, timed exactly to the motion of her bobbing head.

The tip of my knife digs into my hip and it only spurs me on, knowing what I'm about to do. I need this, I think, imagining the thick spray when I cut his throat.

After I make him watch.

That's my retribution.

"Goddamn, Bella. You suck my cock so good," he groans, fisting her hair tighter. "Get up here before you make me come too soon."

Her Jake pulls her up and begins to push her toward the rumpled bed, stripping off her shirt and then her skirt. She's wearing nothing underneath except for a cheap pair of heels. It's been a while since I've seen my Bella naked like this. Her nipples are hard and erect – the opposite of the rest of her. She's lush and curvy and she's trimmed that patch of hair between her legs. I can see her pussy lips and how wet she is.

I'm going to hurt her. She needs to be punished for pushing me like this.

She'll want it, though. I wonder if she's thought about what I said to her on the bus, about how I could get her off so much better than he does. I wonder if she's thinking about my mouth and tongue on her clit when he reaches down to finger her. I swear to God I can smell her.

His naked back momentarily blocks my view. It makes me angry because I can't see her. I don't want to see his ass. I want to see her, flushed and sweaty, as he sinks his prick in her. I want to see that masked dissatisfaction on her face. When they turn to the side, climbing on the pile of unmade sheets, I can't help but to compare. Her Jake is average at best; she'll scream when she takes me.

But fuck, I'm hard.

"You ready for this?" he rumbles, spreading her thighs. The muscle in his ass jumps when she wraps her legs around his waist, drawing him closer. "You ready to moan my name?"

"Fuck me, Jake."

He groans because she sounds like a goddamned porn star when she tells him to fuck her.

In my dark hiding spot, I'm stroking my dick in earnest now, waiting for that moan when he slips inside. Just a little more, I tell myself. I'm pushing myself. I wonder if I'll be able to hold off until he actually orgasms. Probably not. I'm already seeing my knife in his chest and the pool of blood at his feet.

"Oh, yeah," he grunts, pushing his way into my pussy. Rage begins to overpower lust as I watch him pull out and then push in again.

"Baby, you feel so, so good," she hums, digging her heels into his ass. She reaches above her head, gripping the spindles of his headboard like she needs something to hang on. Like he's going to actually pound it. "Oh, yeah. Give it to me."

He moves on top of her, shoving his cock into her, groping her tits like a teenager. But he has no idea how to give it to her like she wants. Just like all her boyfriends before, he's too busy chasing his own orgasm to pay attention. He's hearing her moans and pants and thinking he's a fucking sex god.

Oh, but she's faking it, giving him a show. I know. I've heard her and I know when she's moaning for real. Through the window, I've watched her in her bedroom, stroking herself, cramming her vibrator deep inside. I've listened to her little whines and desperate whimpers. He's nowhere close to getting her off.

I've abandoned my own dick now, instead gripping the little door knob with one hand, my sharpened hunting knife with the other. My whole body is quivering, begging to be loosed. I can taste his blood.

"Oh, oh, oh!" she squeals, lifting her legs higher, propping her ankles on his bunched shoulders. "Harder, Jake. Fuck me harder! Fuck me with that big dick!"

I almost laugh at her lie and cliché lines. But he's gasping for air and sweating like a pig, dripping all over her. His movements are short and choppy – shallow, hard thrusts with no rhythm. Less than five minutes in, he's close already. He doesn't have it in him to give it to her like she needs. Like I will.

"Damn, Bella," he grunts. "Lemme feel that pussy squeeze. Come on my cock."

Like the little actress she is, her voice escalates to a scream, roughly grunting how good it is, how she just loves his cock.

How he's the best she's ever had.

And that's it.

I'm done. Blind, raging fury spikes my blood. I can feel it coursing through my veins like hot morphine, staining my vision and abolishing all sense of reason.

Before I can think, I explode through the door. I move faster than I knew possible and my fingers are around his throat and throwing him off of her before she even screams.

For what feels like forever, I can't see anything. I can't hear anything. I can't feel anything. Only vaguely am I aware that my fists are connecting with something. His face, maybe. Hers. The wall. I don't know. I only know that all the rage that's built up is pouring out from me like an erupting volcano.

"Oh my God! No! Stop!"

"Please! Stop it!"

In the background, I hear the barrage of screams for me to stop. She's damned near shrieking and even in my craze, I get the satisfaction of hearing tears mingled in those pleas. Reason slowly begins to return and when I look down, I see a bloody, pummeled face with dark gelled hair. And I realize that he's screaming almost as loudly as she is.

There's another sound, too, and it takes me a moment to realize that it's laughter.


Taken by surprise and panicking, her Jake puts up a less than adequate fight. I can barely feel his blows as weak as they are. There's a tap to my jaw, a bump against my ribcage. But they're nothing – nowhere near hard enough to make me stop or retreat. Maybe I'm just too high to feel them right now. Either way, his struggles just make me laugh harder.

"You fucking idiot," I spit, backhanding him across the jaw, sending a spray of crimson that paints the empty bookcase. I love the way his head whips to the side.

"Please man," he blubbers, cradling his bruised face. "Please, I don't know what you want! I don't know you! Please!"

I punch him again and again, this time repeatedly in the gut where I know he'll bleed inside, and then kick his legs out from under him. Blood pours down his chin. For all his brawn and size, her Jake has no idea how to fight. Like a little pussy, he scrambles back to his feet and tries to make for the door.

"Get back here," I hear myself roar. In the corner of my eye, I finally see my Bella, eyes wide, cowering at the head of the bed. She has a sheet pulled up to her chin. I'm impressed. She looks positively terrified.

I grab the bastard by the shoulders and jerk him back. He's still naked so I knee him straight in the balls. He immediately crumples to the floor, moaning and crying, his face a wet mess of snot and blood.

"You have no idea how to fuck her!" I scream, even as I hear the irrationality of my words. But just I'm so fucking angry, almost blind from it. I circle around him twice before dragging him up by the armpits. There's an old armchair nearby, stained with God knows what, but it will do. He practically falls into it when I shove him down.

"Please! I remember you! From the bus!" Bella cries from the bed. "Oh my God, please! Wha- Why? What do you want from us?"

I look over to her, take in her mascara-stained cheeks, and bark a laugh. She hasn't even tried to run yet. "Shut up, slut," I hear myself say. "I'll deal with you in a minute."

Her Jake is moaning and his head lolls back against the cushion of the chair. I waste little time, reaching back into my little dark hiding spot and producing a few zip ties. It's easy binding someone who's nearly unconscious.

Euphoric, I stand in front of him and grab him by the chin, shaking him back aware. He's still too incoherent to speak, but I know he understands me. His whole body is shaking.

"As I was saying," I start again, my voice lowering.

Almost calm. Yes, almost calm now, but my words make me sound insane. I can hear it. I can't deny that. But I want him to pay. He needs to pay and he needs to suffer. And most men can't stand watching their woman being taken from them. Most.

"Jake. Or I guess it's really Ja-cob, isn't it? Either way, Jake, you have no idea how to fuck her. If you did, you'd know she likes it a lot rougher than that."

"No," he moans.

"Oh, yes, Jake. I know. See, I've been watching her for years. I've watched her come so many times it's unreal." I turn to Bella, who's staring at me like I'm going to kill her. I purr, "Don't you, Bella? Why don't you tell him how you really like it?"

"No!" she screams. I love the way her lips quiver.

I grin at her. "Don't be coy, Beautiful. He should know the truth." I turn back to Jake and roll my eyes at the bloody tears streaming down his face. "She's been faking it this whole time. Did you know that, Jake? Did you know that all those moans weren't real? Couldn't you feel it? Or do you not know what it really feels like when a woman comes on your dick?"

I smile and shove a wad of cloth in his mouth. "Now, do you want me to show you how to fuck her?"

Right on cue, my girl stumbles from the bed, but she's too slow. She's not even bothering to try.

When I grab her by the waist, her nails slice across my cheek. My face is instantly on fire and I feel blood pooling up to the surface of my skin.


Like that.

Fight me, baby.

All my calm vanishes and adrenaline spikes my veins. My Bella is tough and she fights, just like I knew she would. Even with her slender arms and legs and nothing weight, she's still a better match than her Jake.

"Get off of me!" she cries, beating her little fists against my chest. She claws at me again, her nails scraping just below my eyes. "Get off! No!"

"That's right, fight me," I growl, grabbing both wrists and slapping her across the face for bringing blood. I don't slap her too hard, though. After all, I need her awake.

Despite her flailing and crying, I easily subdue her, wrapping my arms around hers, crushing her back to my chest. My Bella is deliciously naked, gleaming with sweat and tears, and my dick is, almost at once, hard again. I cover her mouth with one palm. "You feel that?" I murmur, taking her earlobe between my teeth as I shift my hips into her ass. "You feel how hard you make me? Do you feel how much I want you?"

Turning to look at me, her eyes are so wide. I muffle her moans against my palm and in the background, I hear her Jake shouting incoherently for me to stop.

Barking another laugh, I release her and push her hard back toward the bed. Caught off guard, she falls forward on her knees, catching herself with her hands.

"Oh, so that's how you want it?" I chuckle, dropping my pants. Pre-cum is already oozing from my slit and my balls are so goddamned tight.

Her chest is heaving and she tries to scramble up the bed, away from me, but I'm faster and stronger. I catch her by the ankles and jerk her back. She screams so fucking loud when I shove her chest into the mattress and arch her spine.

Her ass is divine like this, all propped up high like a display just for me, begging to be taken. Adrenaline is still speeding through my bloodstream, and I want to take her like a fucking savage.

But I force myself to slow down and I lean over her trembling body. My dick is right there, nestled between those luscious ass cheeks, and I know she can feel how much bigger I am than her Jake. "Tell me you want it. Say it, Bella. Say, 'Fuck me, Edward' and maybe I'll make it good for you."

"Get away from me!" she yells, spitting in my face, fighting to crawl away.

"Oh, my pretty girl. You'll learn," I snarl as my hips draw back. Reaching down, I align myself with her slit, pushing in just to the head. She's so fucking wet, so slick and hot. When she sobs another, "No," fury whips through me, and my hips snap forward.

Her pussy feels like a hot, wet knot, so tight around my dick, and before I know what I'm doing, I'm already pistoning in and out of her. She groans when I grab her by the shoulders for leverage and roughly pull her into me, arching her back into a tighter 'S'.

She screams at the depth of penetration, moaning her little Nos as I ride her. "Go on, baby," I grunt, gripping her waist, holding her down on me. "Scream it like I know you want to. Show him just how you like it. Tell me to fuck you and make you come."


"Say it!" I growl, slamming into her to make my point. "Say my name. Tell me."

She sobs when she tells me and her body goes almost limp in defeat. I nearly come on the spot when I finally hear her moan my name again and again.

But I don't. I hold back because unlike her boyfriends, I have the kind of control needed to please her. And I fuck her so much harder than her Jake ever dreamed. She'll be sore for days and every time she takes a step, she'll remember who was here between her legs.

My Bella looks so fucking amazing beneath me. Her hair is matted and tangled. Her skin is red and wet from sweat, and I can already see the evidence of my assault on her cheek and in the purple thumbprints on her hips.

But I know what she wants. I hear her and I feel her. Like no one else I know what she needs. Every time I push into her, her hips rock back against me, begging for more.

When I feel her body tense and tremble and when I hear those breathy little whimper-moans, I grab her hair, jerking it as I bury myself deeper inside. I do it over and over, repeating that same hard thrust until I feel that telltale wetness leaking around my dick and the tightening of her pussy walls.

"That's it, Bella. Come," I command. I glance over to her Jacob, who's still bellowing into the gag and pulling against the restrainsts. But I can see it in his eyes – that realization. Despite what I'm doing to her, he sees her body shaking and he hears her cries, ones that he's never heard before.

"See that, Jake. You see what she looks like now? You like that? Watching her come on me? You like watching me fuck the shit out of your girlfriend? You like knowing how she's taking me? How she's moaning my name, not yours?"

"Fuck you," he yell, barely intelligible around the cloth wedged in his mouth.

"No, fuck her," I laugh, as I thrust again and again, bowing her body to mine.

I'm so close now and her clenching muscles nearly take me. But I want him to have the full show, to see her completely owned. By me.

I pull out and throw her down on the bed, stomach down. She's so weak and spent, all fight gone, so she just collapses. I grip my shaft, squeezing and tugging, feeling my abdomen tighten with each stroke.

When I finally come, I paint her, all the way up her ass and back and into her hair, spasming for what feels like forever. It's the hardest I've orgasmed in years, and I swear to God I can see stars. My whole body feels loose and my joints are unhinged.

Finally, regaining some measure of reason, I lean down, brush wet hair from her face, and whisper in her ear, "See, Bella? See what I can give you? You're mine. Not his, not anyone else's. Mine."

I leave her on the bed and turn to her Jake, ripping the gag from his mouth. "See that, Ja-cob? That is how you give it to a girl like her. That's how you please her."

"You fucking bastard! You raped her!" he screams. The blood from our scuffle is now dried and brown, caked around his eyes and under his nose. His wrists and ankles are bloody, too, from where he struggled against the ties. I grudgingly respect him for that.

I shrug. "Maybe. Maybe not. But the more important question is do I let her live?"

Behind me, I hear my Bella groan and when I look back, she's curled up in a loose fetal position. She looks exhausted and weak, thoroughly fucked, but so goddamned beautiful.

With a bit of flourish, I reach down into my pocket and pull out my favorite trencher. Nothing but the best for my girl. The blade gleams bright and sharp in the lamplight.

"No!" he cries, pulling against his ties. I probably should tell him that there's no use. There's a reason police use them in lieu of handcuffs. Light, portable, and infinitely strong, it's astounding what a little plastic can do. I should know; I've tested enough restraints in my years.

Cocking my head, I regard the scene I've created. The room is complete disaster – chairs overturned, pictures broken and on the floor. Blood splatters the walls, and when I look down my shirt, there's more crimson there than white. But my chest feels full again, no longer empty, and I'm almost drunk on the fulfillment that's coursing through my body. So much better than my piss poor imagination.

When I take a step toward Bella's cowering form, Jake screams some unintelligible curse and plea.

Smiling, I stare into his horrified black eyes. "How about a deal then? You for her."

"What?" he rasps, flinching because he knows exactly what I said.

I smile even wider because we've finally reached my finale "You heard me. You for her. I let her live. You die. It's an easy thing to understand."

Fresh tears pool in his eyes, and his whole body begins to quiver. He doesn't even have to answer. I already know his decision. I can see it in the creases across his forehead, in the sink of his shoulders, and in the uncontrollable knock of his knees. When I breathe in, I smell the pungency of piss, and the carpet beneath the chair shows a dark stain.

"What'll it be, Jake? You or your pretty little girlfriend?"

The cowardly bastard whimpers and hyperventilates when I press the blade to his neck. "Answer me. Tell me who gets to live. You or her?"

"Me-e-e-e," he finally stammers. Looking away, he sobs, "Kill her, not me. Please."

Aggravated, I cluck my tongue. I glance over to Bella. She's now sitting up again, still disoriented but more than awake enough for this.

"You picked a real winner this time," I call to her, pressing the blade deeper into his skin, drawing a line of scarlet. "Bad lay and a coward."

"Please don't kill me! I won't tell anyone. I swear it!" he screams. His voice is high and hoarse. He sounds like a goddamned girl.

"You see this, Bella? You see what I do for you?" I say, my eyes burning with fervor. The muscles in my forearm jump and twitch. "Should I do it? Should I kill this motherfucker? Should I bleed him out here and now? What do you think?"

Her eyes widen and her mouth drops. I see the words on her lips but I don't bother to read them because I know.

Grabbing her Jake by the hair, I stretch his neck out and clear my throat. Leaning over him, into his ear just for him to hear, I murmur, "I say you don't deserve to breathe the same air she breathes. This, Jake, is for touching what's mine."

He screams one last time before my blade cuts though muscle and vein.

It's not my cleanest kill, nor is it as slow or as gruesome as I had imagined. But I don't want clean and I'm too tired to draw it out. I sever his carotid with one gurgling swipe, and the angle makes his blood go everywhere. Hot, sticky wetness splatters my face and runs down my hands, and when I look to the left, there's a fan of bright red coating the wall. I breathe deeply and smell copper and salt and sweat.

It's now that I feel everything is complete, that sublime relief that comes only from this. My whole body is humming at high frequency and my head is almost spinning. I'm as high as a fucking kite.

I am God.

In my periphery, wrapped in a bloody white sheet, my Bella rises, dazed and swaying. She stares between Jake and me, saying nothing. Oddly, her face betrays nothing at all, and I have no idea what she's thinking.

Walking from the bed toward Jake's slumped body, numb-like, she touches the wall, dragging her fingertips, drawing a perfect rainbow of red.

"What are you thinking?" I whisper, suddenly anxious.

One last time, she looks from me to Jake and finally back to me, where her dark eyes stay. Her lips tremble at first, but then without warning, her face twists into very same wicked smirk she wore on the bus.

"Best one yet."


The killer in me is the killer in you.