Page 52 of Six
This bondage fantasy keeps coming back. I should really explore it with him.
I rub my fingers down my stubble, remembering the redness it left on his cheeks. Fucking love that, just like the imprint of my palm on his butt cheeks. But bruises? Those I don’t like, not even mine. However, I can’t stop myself from being too rough.
Serena welcomes me at the gates, and soon, I’m in the garage as Uri is getting out of his Hummer. He’s holding four bags with the name of his fast-food chain on the sides. The smell of fried food spreads quickly around the garage.
“I brought extra for you, growing boy,” he jokes. I give him a grunt, he can interpret it as he wants. But I can eat. Ollie’s sandwiches barely made a dent in my stomach, but I smile at the memory of his bite on one of them.
Uri has stopped in front of the brown wall of tools. Following Serena’s instruction, he places his hand on the black screen, concealed among the pieces of hardware. A green laser light moves over his palm just before the brown panel eases backward and slides along the rest of the wall. Uri goes down the metallic stairs, and I follow, hearing the whooshing sound of the panel closing behind me.
Linda greets us at the bottom. “Thank God. I’m starving,” she says, grabbing a couple of bags from Uri to see what’s inside.
She’s in her sixties, like Meg, but there’re no grey strands in her hair. Her delicate features and small lean body give her an ageless look.
Gabe is in the FUNS room, which stands for Fucked Up Nasty Shitheads—Rami came up with the acronym of course. I never remember what Serena stands for. The FUNS room is a large space with no windows and a big sink in the back. One wall is made of glass to let the rest of us watch, and there’s a door on the left that leads to a bathroom we use to remove…incriminating body fluids.
A metal chair is nailed to the floor in the center of the room that the donors are usually tied to, naked. Not today though, since Gabe has his own…methods. The donor is anchored against a wooden board. Arms and hands spread like starfish, wearing only briefs. Didn’t know people still wear tighty whities.
The plastic covering the entire length of the walls and floor is light blue with fucking clouds—Rami really did it this time.
“What the actual fuck?” Uri swears. “It looks like a nursery in there.”
“Dexter’s son’s nursery.” Linda chuckles at her joke and passes me a carton of French fries.
“Who’s the donor?” Raph’s appears behind us. He steals a handful of fries from me and offers one to Michael.
“One? Such a gentleman,” his fiancé replies, tossing the salty potato into his mouth.
“I’ll let you sink those sharp, ruthless teeth into me later, how about that?” Raph replies matter-of-factly. I can see the hungry gaze they exchange. They’re kinky as shit.
Sari walks out of his lab, thankfully ending the current conversation. He waves at Uri and me, while I extend the carton of fries toward Michael, earning a beaming smile from him and a glare from Raph. He proceeds to yank the whole container from my hand. The fucker. So, I flip him off.
“The donor?” Uri passes burgers and drinks around.
“The donor is Ralph Pullman, a paramedic who kills patients, and then with the help of his cousin, a funeral director they harvest the organs and sell them on the black market,” Sari replies.
“How did they get away with it?” Michael asks. “There are papers that need to be filled out before a body is released.”
“Bribes,” Uri guesses.
“And the family has to be informed.”
“The paramedic is quite thorough and chooses people with no family. He also goes for the ones with a long history of disease—but with viable organs—with the result that their deaths never raise suspicion.” Linda says with a shrug. Michael is the only one looking affronted, but in our defense, we’ve seen much worse.
“Where’s the cousin?” Raph asks.
“Already dealt with him,” Linda replies.
“So, why is Gabe in there with the paramedic?” Uri asks, taking a bite of his burger. Gabe only kills people who abuse, hurt, or murder women and children. Occasionally, he will make an exception, though.
“The last ten people were women,” Sari explains, handing me the burger Uri just gave him. The smell is divine, and I quickly attack the greasy bun, turning my head again toward the FUNS room.
Gabe is near the long tool table, intent on choosing from the throwing weapons. The donor is still out of it.
“Linda, turn on the intercom, please,” Sari tells her. She pushes the button on the little panel on the glass door.
“Gabe, the donor is a match for two leukemia patients in Chicago and one in New York. I need more bone marrow,” Sari says.
“Okay,” Gabe replies, walking away from the table. He takes off his black suit jacket and places it around the back of the chair in the corner before sitting.
