“Tanner, did he just dare me to cut off his dick and balls?” I twist my head to face him and feign innocence.
“I think he did, Sweet Bee.” Tanner’s smirk settles every ounce of doubt I had left in my body and now I’m truly ready for this.
“Well, it’s only polite to play the game. I’d ask you for a truth first, but I really couldn’t give any shits.” Smiling as sweetly as possible, I lightly shrug.
One single step forward is all I need to be close enough. The mere thought of seeing his junk again makes me shudder, touching it even more so, but that’s what I’m here for. Tanner is beside me the whole time, and he reaches out his hand—the one not holding mine—to slice down the front of Reginald’s pants. They fall to the ground in shreds, revealing everything I need.
I close my eyes for just a second and swallow, slowly lifting my lids with a sly grin. My focus is on Reginald’s flaccid dick and sagging balls. The disgust I imagined is there, inside me, but anger overrides the feeling tenfold and I reach out with my dagger, pushing the blade into his flesh at the base of his cock.
It is absolutely not like slicing through beef or any normal kind of meat, instead, it’s hard and grisly, depending on the layer.
Blood squirts up and out of the wound, only growing as I push the dagger deeper into his flesh, and his screams are like magic. They urge me forward, helping me to push through his veins, his muscle, until finally, his cock plops against the floor.
The screams stop suddenly, Reginald’s head flopping to his chest, his open mouth full of blood that has dripped down from his head.
I step backward, a little disappointed. “Is he dead?” I glance at Tanner, who is covered in blood, although he probably looks a lot better than I do because I can feel the wet liquid sliding down my own skin.
Holding two fingers against Reginald’s neck, Tanner checks for a pulse and I hold my breath in anticipation.
“Dead as a doornail. Sorry, Sweet Bee.” He pulls me into him, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and kissing the top of my head.
“Oh.” I sigh.
“Oh?” Tanner chuckles.
“Yeah…” I’m a little deflated. “I was expecting that to last longer.”
“Next time, baby.”
“I already said baby isn’t becoming a thing!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tanner
There’s this irrational feeling boiling inside me as my gaze wanders up and down Berkleigh’s body and I’m having a hard time understanding it. It’s not anger, per se, although it’s definitely not pleasant. I don’t think it’s aimed at her, either.
“Take my backpack and go to the bathroom. I’ll be right there.” Berkleigh’s been staring at fuckface for the last twenty seconds, wearing his blood and holding the stained dagger in her tight fist.
Why is my jaw so tense, my voice sharp and accusing? Am I jealous of a dead man’s blood splatter? Even I know that’s ridiculous.
“Berkleigh!” She startles at my booming voice, the inflection leaving no room to be ignored.
“Jesus, what?” I narrow my eyes at her tone and in the span of three seconds, I’ve already cooked up a hundred and one different ways I can punish her. I think the BDSM theme in this room is fucking with my head. Not that it’s a bad thing. In fact, my mouth is watering at the possibilities. The problem is that I’m no Dom and she’s so far from being a sub with her bossyattitude and sass for miles, that the mere mention of the lifestyle for us makes me chuckle.
“What are you looking at?” I know what she’s doing but I need to hear it from her.
“Why are you laughing at me?” She’s cute when she’s trying to bite my head off. Silly kitty needs to sharpen her claws. Although…I look over at the severed dick on the floor and shrug. Maybe I should keep myself in check, after all.
“Sweet Bee, take my backpack and go to the bathroom. I’ll be right there.” She blinks and it’s like watching fog rise as the blue of her eyes clears.
“I’m not showering alone.” I scoff because she’ll never be showering alone if I have my say in the matter. She beams and it’s like she’s just read my mind. “Right then. I’ll be the naked one near the sink.”
My eyes catch on a piece of skin that’s attached itself to her shirt and it hits me. Berkleigh doesn’t make it three steps before I’m kicking the fuck out of Reginald, who’s obviously not feeling a damn thing since he’s dead. It was Berkleigh’s show earlier, so I called on every coping mechanism I’ve honed throughout my life to keep my impulses in check, but when this motherfucker put the image of her dead and buried in my mind, I actually saw myself burning this whole fucking state to the ground just to prove a point.
Nobody touches my Sweet Bee and lives to regret it.
Holding her hand and watching her take her power back is my new favorite way of keeping calm and carrying on.
