Sick Fux

  Rabbit’s head twitched. “Tick tock . . .” he muttered under his breath. “Tick tock.” His hand tightened on the stick.

  “Kill him,” I whispered to myself. “Kill the bad Kitty.” My hands gripped the edge of the table. “Kill him, Rabbit,” I said quietly. “Make the pussycat pay for his sins.”

  My eyes were fixed on Rabbit as he straightened, silently. He reached into his vest pocket with his free hand and pulled out his pocket watch. He fisted it in his hand, and then placed it back in his vest for safekeeping.

  I knew my Rabbit so well.

  He was ready to play.

  “I would stare at my watch,” he informed the Cheshire Cat. “I would watch the hands ticking by, waiting for you to finish. Fighting the whiskey you poured down my throat so I couldn’t fight back.” He rolled his neck and the bones cracked. “But the hands just kept on turning as you kept on spreading your scent all over me. Thrusting your putrid cock into my ass, time and time again.” Rabbit growled. I could see by the set of his shoulders that he was losing patience.

  My pulse began to race.

  “You tattooed your smell and touch all over me. Your grunts were branded onto my mind.” He shuddered. “When I close my eyes I feel you. I see you. I taste you. Salt and sweat and grime.” Rabbit raised the stick into the air. I held my breath, waiting for what he would do next. “I would imagine you dead. I would imagine what I would do to you when I found you again. I have waited eleven long years for this moment.” Kitty’s eyes clashed with Rabbit’s. “Tick tock.” Rabbit slammed the stick down, sending the jagged, sharp edge straight into Kitty’s torso. The Cheshire Cat meowed loudly, and then screamed as the wood drove through flesh and fat and flaccid muscles and bone, right into his vital organs.

  My nostrils flared in excitement as bloodlust darted through my veins. “Get him, Rabbit!” I cheered from my place at the table. But I didn’t move. Rabbit had ordered me not to move.

  Kitty began spluttering, and I leaned to the side to watch as lots and lots of blood spilled from his wounds. It was bright red, contrasting and then mixing with the brown dirt beneath him.

  Rabbit didn’t move. He stood above him, watching. My Rabbit watched as Kitty tried to beg for help, as he bled from his back, his face, his chopped-off shaft and the stick in his torso.

  But it wasn’t enough. The naughty Kitty needed more.

  “More,” I called quietly. I wasn’t sure if Rabbit heard me, so I shouted, “More, Rabbit. More!”

  Rabbit stayed as still as a statue. Suddenly he turned his head my way. I froze as our gazes clashed . . . then a slow grin pulled on his lips. A flutter batted in my chest, and my corset suddenly felt too tight under his watchful eye.

  Rabbit bowed and placed a hand on his chest. “As my lady wishes.” I squeezed my thighs together as Rabbit faced Kitty again. I stilled. His hands clenched and unclenched into fists. I wondered why . . . but I didn’t have to wait too long to find out. Rabbit bent down and gripped one of Kitty’s arms. The Cheshire Cat uttered a low pained sound, but Rabbit didn’t care. Rabbit shuddered as he held Kitty’s arm. He lifted it into the air, then snapped the bone in two. The Cheshire Cat screamed. He screamed so loudly that it echoed off the walls. I clapped as Rabbit moved to his other arm and did exactly the same.

  Rabbit jumped up and moved to the back of the cellar, where he’d found the spade. He returned a second later holding a paintbrush. He dipped the brush into the pooling blood and began to draw a circle around Kitty. Kitty’s eyes were closed now, his face losing its color.

  The naughty Kitty was dying.

  Rabbit dipped and dipped and dipped his brush again and again into the blood. He painted a big pocket watch on the floor. Roman numerals, like the ones I’d drawn on my face, surrounded Kitty. The stick in his torso became the center of the watch. Rabbit stood, his hands and arms coated in Kitty’s blood. He walked back to Kitty and took hold of one of his arms. “Dolly,” he said without looking my way. “My cane, please.”

  I grabbed the cane at my side and jumped off the table, rushing to where he stood. “Yuck!” I shook my head in disgust when my pretty black boots stood in Kitty’s gooey blood.

  I handed Rabbit the cane, and obeyed the silent flick of his head that told me to go back to the table. Rabbit unsheathed the blade and struck down. I gasped as one of Kitty’s arms came free from his body. Rabbit did the same to the other, then put his cane back together and tossed it aside. He stared down at Kitty, whose eyes had long since stopped blinking. At Kitty, whose lungs had stopped breathing.

  At the Cheshire Cat, whose heart had stopped beating.

  Rabbit took the severed arms and placed them on the opposite sides to where they belonged. He placed them at the numbers, the clock reading a time. I didn’t know what; I was never taught to read the time.

  When Rabbit stepped back from Kitty, from the watch he had created on the cellar’s dirt floor, he was drenched in Kitty’s blood. Only his face was showing any clean skin. Even then it was splattered with bloody drops, on his cheeks, forehead and chin.

  “Tick tock.” Rabbit stared down at his handiwork. His fists were clenched at his sides again. “Tick tock.” His body started shaking, and he dove for the discarded paintbrush. My heart was in my mouth, a lump in my throat, as I watched him screaming “Tick tock” as he painted something at the base of the clock.

  I didn’t know what to do.

  He shook his head. “No,” he whispered, his voice cracking. His hand ran up his opposite arm, over the blood that had coated him. “No!” He clawed at his skin. At all the skin that was bare. That had been splattered with blood. “Get off me! Get the fuck off me! I can’t have you on me!”

  Rabbit backed away from the Cheshire Cat. He ripped the buttons off his vest. He yanked it off him and threw it to the ground. His shirt was next, uncovering his tattooed chest and rock-like stomach beneath. But the blood had soaked through.

  An agonized cry ripped from his throat. “Can’t have his scent. Can’t have his blood. Can’t have his cum. Can’t have him on me. Get off me. Get the fuck off me!”

  I rushed forward. I had no plan in my mind as I crossed the dirt floor in a manic rush to save him. To save my Rabbit, just like he had saved me.

  I didn’t think as I stood in his path and slammed my hands on his cheeks. I didn’t think as I stood on my tiptoes and stared him in the eyes. And I didn’t think as I leaned forward and captured his mouth with my own.

  I froze, my lips sealed on his, as I ate his cries and swallowed his pain. Rabbit was soft under my lips. His skin was hot. Rabbit groaned. His lips moved, as if they were fighting my touch. But then they gave in. He made a tortured noise in the back of his throat and gave himself to my mouth. Gave himself to my touch.

  My heart seemed to swell in my chest as his mouth began to work against mine. Images from the back of my mind flashed through me. Me, as a child in my bedroom. Rabbit on the floor, hurting, crying . . . against my bedroom wall.

  And I was kissing him. I kissed him to take away his pain. My eyes flew open in confusion at the vision. I didn’t know when it was from. I didn’t know if it was real. But before I could think any more about it, Rabbit snarled, “Dolly,” against my mouth and pushed me backward. My hands slipped from his cheeks and ran down the muscles on his chest as his lips devoured my mouth.

  “Rabbit,” I whispered, and my eyes collided with his. His pupils were dilated and wide.

  “His smell,” he said as his arms caged me against the wall. “His fucking smell . . . his breath. It’s all over me. It’s fucking all over me!” He pushed a hand through his hair and down through the blood on his neck. “I need it gone. I need to get it off me. Need his smell and breath to get the fuck off my body and my head.”

  More tears fled from my eyes. I ran my hands down his chest. “Dolly,” he growled. He bared his teeth, and his wild eyes slammed on mine. “Get the fuck off me. Get the motherfuck off me!” But I didn’t. I tipped my chin and stared him down. I
worked my hands faster. Running my scent, breathing my breath, over his skin.

  “Mine,” I spat as my hands moved to his hips. As my hands dipped lower and brushed over his crotch. “My smell,” I said, tearing at the button on his pants. Rabbit moved closer to me, his left hand dropping to my throat. His sharp-tipped thimble ran over my skin as his breath floated over my ear. His teeth scraped against my shoulder. I slammed my hand on the back of his head and pulled him closer. “My breath on your neck.”

  I parted his pants and pushed them to the floor. Rabbit snapped his head back and pressed his forehead against mine.

  I reached forward, gripped his shaft in my hand and placed my mouth at his ear. “My cock,” I said. Rabbit smacked his fist against the wall above me and burrowed his face into my neck. “Rub my scent all over you.” He thrust against my hand, his cock swollen and hard. “Take my breath. Take my touch.” I bit my lip and said, “Take my pussy.”

  Rabbit snapped. On a low growl, he reached down and yanked up my skirt. His searching hands found my lace knickers, sodden from watching the beauty of his kill. He rubbed his cheek and his lips all over my neck, my face, the tops of my breasts, as he pushed the panties down and dropped them to the floor. His fingers ran along my folds, and I tipped my head back against the wall. “Rabbit,” I moaned as I ran my hands through his black hair and gripped the strands.

  I smiled when his breath hitched against my skin. “You’re touching me.” He groaned loudly and thrust his crotch against me. “You’re taking away his smell and breath.”

  Rabbit reared back his head, and his eyes clashed with mine. He froze. I froze. Kitty’s blood was smeared across his face. When his eyes flared, I knew that the blood was now on my face too. Then he was on me. He reached forward and split apart the laces of my corset. My breasts spilled out, and he let out a roar and wrapped his strong arms around my thighs. With a strength only my Rabbit could possess, he lifted me off the floor and pulled my legs around his waist. I cried out as he pushed the skirt of my dress away and put himself at my entrance. He looked me in the face, and his jaw clenched. I shook my head when I heard Ellis’s voice inside my mind. They would tie me down. They would push into me when I didn’t want to be pushed into. Between my legs would hurt. I can’t stop feeling them between my thighs . . .

  “Be gone,” I whispered and clenched my eyes shut. I didn’t like hearing Ellis’s voice in my head. I wanted to take away the bad men’s touch for her. I wanted Rabbit to take away the bad men between my thighs. “Your smell,” I said and felt Rabbit still. “Your breath, Rabbit. Give me your touch . . . take them from my skin . . . Ellis’s,” I corrected. “Take them from Ellis’s body.”

  “Dolly.” Rabbit pushed inside me. I screamed out, clawing at Rabbit’s bare back as he filled me with his erect shaft. He pounded the wall with one hand and squeezed the flesh of my thigh with his other. “Dolly . . .” he shouted again as he thrust all the way inside.

  I screamed. I screamed as I shut my eyes and fought away the touch of that man . . . the man who would always take Ellis. The man who would always hurt her. The one who would always say—

  “Fuck me,” I commanded, taking back that bad man’s demand as my own. “Fuck me, Rabbit. Take away their scents.” I licked along the side of his neck. “Take back the power.”

  Rabbit pressed his chest against me with a pained roar. He pressed his skin against my skin as his cock moved inside me. He rubbed his cheek against my cheek, his lips against my lips. He breathed me in as I breathed him in, and then he began to thrust. He snapped his hips back and forth and filled me with his shaft. Ellis’s bad man’s shaft being replaced.

  My nails dug into his back. “Rabbit,” I murmured as the flutters of bliss that took over my body whenever I touched between my legs began to accost my arms and legs.

  “Dolly,” Rabbit said into my neck. “My Dolly . . . mine. Her smell. Her taste. Her breath. Her pussy.” He increased his speed. Increased his speed so much that my eyes rolled back into my head as I broke apart, my limbs so light I felt like I was floating.

  Rabbit growled long and deep and rough, then he spilled inside me, filling me with himself. All Rabbit. My Rabbit. My Rabbit; his Dolly.

  Rabbit held me tightly, sandwiched against his body and the wall. I clung to his slick skin, a smile pulling on my lips. He pulled back his head and looked right into my eyes. “My cum,” he said in a whisper. Shivers ran down my spine as he reached between us and pulled his shaft from within me. I moaned at the loss. His fingers ran along the space he’d just occupied. “Your cum.”

  “Rabbit,” I said softly and shuffled my legs until my unsteady feet hit the floor. As slowly as possible, I ran my hands up his blood-and-sweat-slicked chest. “I’m touching you.”

  Rabbit exhaled a long, pained breath. “I’m touching you, little Dolly,” he said, reaching out and cupping my breasts.

  Tears welled up in my eyes. Touching me. My Rabbit was finally touching me. I had waited a very long time for this, trapped in the room of doors, too big to enter Wonderland, to be with him. To follow his lead.

  “We need to go,” Rabbit said, but he never stopped running his hands over my flesh. I couldn’t keep my hands off him either. He placed a kiss in the center of my palm. When he pulled back, he said firmly, “We must go.” He raised his eyebrow. “We have more kills to make. More bad men to destroy.”

  Heat swirled in my stomach and darted to the apex of my thighs. “Yes.” I slid my hand up to his pocket and pulled out the pack of cards he kept there. “Ah-ha!” I called when I found the pencil-drawn face of the Cheshire Cat.

  I stepped back from Rabbit. I reached into the pocket of my dress with my free hand, sliding the Cheshire Cat’s card across Rabbit’s cheeks as he watched me with transfixed eyes. Uncapping my lipstick with my teeth, I walked over to the kitty on the floor and stepped into the mess of blood.

  I wiped away the blood from Kitty’s forehead and positioned my lipstick against his graying skin. Tongue at the side of my mouth in concentration, I wrote “SICK FUX” right on his face.

  “Bad, bad pussycat,” I chided. Admiring the smile Rabbit had carved on Kitty’s face, I slid the card between his teeth. “The Four of Hearts.” I straightened to see Rabbit watching me. He had gathered his clothes, but I knew his eyes had been on me the entire time.

  They always were.

  Just like I needed.

  I turned to face him. “I liked touching you, Rabbit.”

  His eyes grazed down my now bloodstained body, then crept back up to my eyes. “I liked touching you too, Dolly darlin’.”

  I smiled and walked toward him. I ran my hand down his arm until my fingers entwined with his. I stared at our joined hands, as did he.

  “I think we should always touch, Rabbit.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice broken and graveled.

  “This way neither of us will get lost in Wonderland.”

  Slowly, he brought our joined hands to his lips, kissed my fingers, and said, “As my lady commands.”

  A laugh bubbled up my throat and sailed into the stale air of the cellar. He released my hand and tied up the ribbons on my corset. When they were taut, he took hold of my chin and brought his mouth to mine for a kiss. He winced as our lips joined, but then he relaxed.

  He broke away and tapped the roman numerals still painted on my face. “Time to go. We don’t want to be late.”

  Chapter 11

  Dolly

  “Police reports claim that this is the second of two apparently linked murders. Sources close to the police tell us that detectives refer to the killer or killers as the ‘Sick Fux’. It seems to be the killer’s signature, found written in pink lipstick at the scenes. Both victims are Caucasian men in their fifties. Another murder, of an elderly female in Dallas, and the abduction of a young woman, also from Dallas, may also be linked. At this time there are no leads on the identity of the killer. Police ask the public to be vigilant and immediately report any unusu
al activity in their area. More after this break.”

  I squealed at the television and bounced up and down on the couch. “Rabbit!” I called. Rabbit pounded from the bathroom. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, his skin still glistening wet from the shower. My eyes traveled down his skin. I had knowledge of it now, how it felt and how it tasted.

  He walked over and stood behind the couch, and his hand found its way to the nape of my neck, holding me in place. Ever since we had left the Cheshire Cat’s home, he found a way to touch me whenever he could. And I found a way to touch him too.

  He stroked the nape of my neck as the woman on the TV began to speak again.

  “Besides the killer’s name, sources tell us that hand-drawn playing cards have been left with each body. The first victim, in Dallas, was the Queen of Hearts; the second, in Amarillo, the Three of Hearts; and the latest killing, the Four of Hearts. We will bring you more as the story develops.”

  “See, Rabbit?” I looked up at Rabbit, whose eyes were glued to the TV. He nodded but said nothing. He just kept stroking the nape of my neck.

  Rabbit had called the police after our last kill. He wanted the police of Wonderland to know that the Cheshire Cat, our Four of Hearts, was dead.

  “They know us, Rabbit!” I yelled in excitement. “They know our name!”

  Rabbit straightened, took the remote from my hand and turned off the TV. I pouted. “I was watching that!”

  “You need to shower.” Rabbit looked down at my dress, and his lip curled in disgust. I was still in the clothes from Kitty’s death. I still had his blood on my skin.

  “Okay.” I jumped up, swaying my hips as I walked. I knew my Rabbit would be watching. I heard him growl low in his throat as I entered the bathroom.

  I showered quickly, the blood running to the shower tray, mixed with the makeup that had survived the kill and being taken by Rabbit. When I stepped out of the shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and combed my long blond hair. My skin was fresh and clean. I slipped a nightgown over my head and stepped out of the bathroom. Rabbit was sitting on the bed, wearing a pair of sleep pants. He held my knife in his hand . . . and there were cuts all over his chest, blood dripping down his fresh clean skin, marring it once again.