I bound into my bedroom and stretch out across the bed. Two depraved images hit me simultaneously. One: pounding mycock into her dripping wet pussy until she’s swollen and delirious with pain. Two: slicing my blade through her velvet-smooth skin.
I unfasten my jeans and release my engorged length, hissing as the sensitive head brushes against the worn denim. I squeeze several drops of the gold liquid onto my calloused palm before gripping the base of my cock and sliding my hand along the rigid planes. I close my eyes and let my dark imagination take control.
I’m kneeling between her spread legs, pounding into her sweet pussy while slashing her beautiful brown flesh with my favorite Bowie knife.Her blood-curdling screams pulsate through my dick, intensifying my need to make her hurt more.
“Please stop!” she sobs hysterically.
Zilphia’s pleas for leniency spur me on, having the opposite effect she desired. My hand lashes out repeatedly, decorating her breasts, shoulders, and belly with long, deep cuts. Her warm, sticky blood splatters across my face and chest, snapping the last thread of my control.
I slice the honed edge across her throat, severing muscle and tendons. Zilphia’s dark-brown gaze bulges in horror as she grasps the gaping wound. Thick, crimson liquid oozes between her trembling fingers. I watch in complete awe as she exhales her last breath, and the life fades from her eyes.
“Fuck yes!” I bellow as my milky load shoots across the room.
If Zilphia knew the storm that was coming for her, she’d run far away from Kent. She broke me, so it’s only fair that I break her too.
I creep through the house like a thief in the night to pack a quick lunch. School doesn’t open for another hour, but I’d rather sit on concrete stairs than have another run-in with the double dragons.
Yesterday morning was an epic disaster. Dinner was more tolerable, though Momma and Sheila hurled the occasional barb at each other. I didn’t want to be there, but someone had to babysit the unpredictable woman who gave birth to me. Keith and I were the unofficial referees, preventing their insults from escalating into a full-blown argument or worse, physical blows.
Deja was absent from the evening meal again, which was probably for the best. She and my aunt would’ve surely double-teamed my mother—and Loretta Kensley doesn’t back down from a fight,ever. It doesn’t matter if the odds aren’t in her favor; if they’d gone after her, nothing could’ve stopped the inevitable. It would’ve been an all-out battle.
My grandmother was safely ensconced in her bedroom and didn’t witness her daughters’ uncivilized conduct. I devoured the orange chicken and rice despite the oppressive tension.
After dinner, I spent some quality time with my ailing grandma, watching television and telling her about getting the lead role in the school musical. Momma mostly ignored us and bemoaned how unfair life is, dragging the mood down like a wet towel.
At least the night ended on a positive note. I applied for several jobs during advisory, and one listing in particular caught my attention—a housekeeping position at a gentleman’s club. Twenty whopping bucks an hour. The rest were minimum wage gigs. Not ideal for my short-term goals, but as I’ve said before, beggars can’t be choosers.
I’ll accept any offer of employment made to me, but luck was finally on my side. The HR assistant from the club called me, and we chatted for a few minutes. I never worked a day in my life, but answered each question with poised confidence and snagged myself an interview for tomorrow evening.
I got two more responses. My heart is set on the cleaning gig, but putting all my eggs in one basket isn’t smart. I replied to both emails. Just waiting to see what happens next. Earning an income and not relying on my father’s wallet will be a huge stepping stone toward independence. Something I’ve craved for a very long time but was forbidden to do.
I stroll into the dark kitchen, clutching the gifted tote bag to my shoulder. I’m not giving my despicable cousin the chance to toss it out. Not to mention my purse and laptop are stowed inside. I’m not letting it out of my sight for even a millisecond. I stop dead in my tracks, confusion scrunching my eyebrows.
“Where the hell is my bread?”
I left it right there on the counter, next to the toaster oven. I’m sure of it, but now it’s gone. I turn in a circle, my gaze quickly scanning over every surface. Maybe Sheila moved it. I search the cabinets and pantry. Nothing. A sinking feeling unfurls in my gut. I jerk open the refrigerator and angry tears fill my eyes. My lunch meat, cheese, mayonnaise, and sodas are gone too. Everything was tied in plastic bags.
Deja.
She threw it all out—I’m sure of it. I rip open the trash can, but my missing groceries aren’t there either. My fists clench.
I drop my bag and bolt upstairs, rage setting my legs on fire. That stupid bitch went way too far this time. I tear into her bedroom and yank the blanket off her.
Deja wakes with a startled shriek. “What the fuck?”
“You threw out my stuff!” I accuse.
She leaps to her feet and shoves me. “Get the fuck out of my room!”
I push her back. “You owe me money.”
“I’m not giving you shit, bitch,” she jeers, her spittle landing on my lips.
Before I can stop myself, my hand flies up and connects with her face, sending her silk bonnet tumbling to the floor. Damn. I’ve never hit another person in my life. Well, except for Nolan, but he doesn’t count.
For a split second, we’re frozen in stunned silence. Then she starts swinging on me. I mean really swinging. Beating my ass six ways from Sunday.
Adrenaline kicks in, and I latch onto her lace-front wig, yanking with all my might.
