Twisted Together (Monsters in the Dark #3)(2)

Close your eyes. Don't look. Don't fill your mind with yet more killing.

Blonde Angel crawled backward, cradling her already broken wrist and knee. Her mouth twisted into pleas. "Don't. Please don't. Haven't you done enough? You killed her! You killed the other girl. Do you have no mercy?" Her eyes were wild, green and clear as cut glass. Her blonde hair no longer shone like gold but hung in bloody clumps.

"I'm sorry!"

My heart-filled apology only made her snarl. "No, you're not. You're one of them. You're lying to yourself, to him, to me. You loved killing the other blonde so much, you thirst to murder. You're a monster. A fucking demon spawn."

My lungs suffocated with her hatred, drowning in sorrow. The crowbar swung above my head, controlled by the puppeteer of this horrible dream.

"That's it, pretty girl. Do it. What's another life? You obeyed so brilliantly before. Every night you fucking murder. Every night you come back to us."

The man who'd owned me. Who'd drugged me, sold me, and ultimately broken me, appeared from dream-mist. White Man looked suave and immaculate in a white shiny suit. His feral touch landed on my chin, cupping my jaw, holding me prisoner. "You'll never be free of us. We took your mind back in Brazil. Your bastard of an owner might've slaughtered my men and whisked you away to safety, but you know the truth." His mouth descended on mine, his monstrous tongue diving past my lips, making me retch.

Breathing hard he pulled away. Manic anger glowed in his blue gaze. "Tell me the truth."

The truth?

What truth? I didn't know what to believe anymore. Was my mind so twisted the truth was only visible in my sleep? Was I deceitful every moment I was awake-pretending to deplore pain and horror when really I craved it? Craved to inflict it. Craved to kill.



       
         
       
        

Questions and uncertainty sprouted like vile weeds, growing thick and fast, suffocating all reason and clarity.

Am I truly what they say? I'm no longer a protégé. I'm truly the devil.

I squeezed my eyes, blocking the dream, grasping with panicked fingers to latch onto the weak tethering of awareness.

Wake up, Tess.

Please.

"Tell. Me." White Man's breath fanned my eyelashes, smelling of candy floss. Why did the demon of my nightmares smell of innocence and sugar?

Shaking my head, I whimpered, "There's nothing to tell." My arms stayed raised above my head, holding the crowbar in an unnatural pose. I had no control. None.

"Oh, but there is." His white slacks whispered as he stepped to the side, dragging me forward.

Blonde Angel shook so much, my ears rang with the jangling of her bones. "Night after night you return to me. Night after night you kill for me. You're not free, pretty girl. And that's the fucking truth."

Leather Jacket moved to my other side, grinning like a psychopath. "Truth's a bitch and then she dies. You know how this ends, puta. Do it, then we'll let you wake up."

A gale whirled from nowhere, kicking up dust and mould from around the dungeon, howling in my ears: Do it. Do it. Do it.

"No! Not again. I can't do it again."

I'm crazy. I've lost it completely.

Blonde Angel stopped shaking and raised her head. Our eyes locked, understanding flowed. Mutual need to have this over with made her nod in heart-wrenching acceptance. In one fluid moment, she bowed forward. She didn't say a word-she didn't need to.

We could beg and cry and scream.

But ultimately, we had no power.

The truth burned my eyes, puncturing my heart.

I was a killer.

I am a killer.

I'm a monster.

The force holding my arms up suddenly released, and the weight of the bar came smashing down. Blonde Angel jerked and jolted. I blinked as the crunch of bone shattered beneath the weapon. Her arms splayed to the side as her body tipped over, succumbing to death.

I willed myself to wake up. Freedom normally came once I'd killed, but this black-laced dream was different.

Manic laughter filled the reeking dungeon. I dropped the crowbar and the clanging metal echoed in my ears. Something heavy morphed into my hands. Sinister and cold and deadly.

A gun.

The gun. The gun I'd used to take a life-a real life. The gun I'd tried to find freedom with. We had history, that gun and I. An intimate past with a murderous object forever linking me to this-this … never ending cycle of dreams.

"You tried to kill yourself last time, puta. Care to try again?" 

I refused to look at Leather Jacket. His voice scurried like a thousand spiders over my skin. I craved the bland cushioning of the drugs. I wanted oblivion. Peace.