She’s a Volkov slut. And Serge Volkov’s girls are always irrevocably broken.
As if sensing my thoughts, disgust fills her face, painting her broken body with an air of superiority as if I’m beneath killing her. “I’m going to gut you like a pig when I get out of here,” she argues, glaring into my eyes like she can see under my mask.
Joke’s on her. It’s her challenge—that stubborn will to live… the way it burns in her gaze, denying the Reaper—that gets me hard.
Unfazed, I grip her tits and squeeze until her babbles turn into shrill cries. Her eyes roll back—hips lifting as her pussy grips my dick.
I’m so close. I feel the tingle shoot up my spine, then down my cock. My thrusts double, my hips pistoning with enough force that I know the wetness I feel is blood and not her arousal.
Smirking, I raise my knife above my head as I grip her throat. “You thought you could escape death,” I taunt. “But no one leaves purgatory alive. Remember that in your next life.”
Her eyes widen briefly before melting to hooded and lust-drunk.
Pain fucking slut. Just like our mothers—whores trained to take whatever scraps we give them.
The thought sparks a memory of that night, eighteen years ago.
A smile creeps up my face, smarmy and slow, as I watch the scene play out before me. It’s just like they said it would be if I followed their instructions.
Snorting, I watch as Mikah thrusts in and out of his mother’s mouth. He always acts so above it all—like he’s on somemission to save the purity of his siblings’ souls.
But what savior thinks the solution for that is to kill—no, slaughter them? They’re barely identifiable. I know Fredrick, and I turned two of them into at least a one-hundred-piece puzzle.
Mikah may be remorseful, but I feel nothing. I never feel it—not until the very end, but I don’t do kids, so the opportunity to fuck his mom again is no skin off my back.
His parents—our parents are soiled in immoral decay. The stench of evil oozes from their pores—purulent and putrid.
There are very few options when you grow up in families like ours?—
Fight…
Death… Or
—Surrender.
Mikah struggled before caving.
Me?
I basked in the dark glory of being free of morality. It allowed me to unmask and be my most authentic self.
No more fake smiles or emotions. Just beautiful silence.
It’s why I chose to be Jason. His trauma freed him to kill indiscriminately without ever muttering a word. Silent, but deadly. He called to me.
“Enough, Fredrick. We need to go before the cops come,” Mikah barks, shoving Fredrick off his dead mother.
Not one to bend to reason, Fredrick braces himself by squeezing Charlotte Gordon’s barely still attached tits and plowing into her semi-warm pussy.
“I’m not finished, asshole,” Fredrick argues. “You can leave if you want, but you know cops aren’t coming to do anything but phone it in for pretense sake.”
Annoyed that Fredrick is not listening, Mikah storms out of the house, and Griff quickly follows, leaving me to enjoy the show.
“What crawled up his ass?” Fredrick asks.
Shaking my head, I reply, “Sometimes I think you were dropped on your head as a child because you’re missing some brain cells. What do you mean, what crawled up his ass?”
Twisting to look at the door Mikah and Griff exited, I glance up the hall where Mikah’s siblings’ bodies arelittered before I continue. “He just killed his whole family. The only lifeline to his righteous defiance.”
