He held it above me so another man could slit its throat.
“No!” I protested, turning my head as blood rained down on me from above, coating my chest and neck, some inevitably landing on my face.
The circle parted the smallest bit, and I lifted my head up to see a shirtless Romero back in front of me, wearing a mask a little different from everyone else’s.
“What are you doing to me?” I screamed at him, furiously tugging at my restraints. He covered my body with his, pressing me into the dirt. I felt a sharp pinch, then a sting, followed by something wet running down my legs.
I sucked in a sharp breath when the same thing was done on the other side, and then repeated twice more.
Dropping my head back I closed my eyes and focused only on breathing, trying to ignore the way my body was reacting and the endorphins swimming through my brain.
I still had my eyes closed when he shoved my underwear to the side and pushed into me. I was so wet he slid in with ease. I had no choice but to take every inch of him as blood ran down my legs.
The men around us begin to quietly chantave satanasas he fucked me harder, making me break my silent pact not to make a sound.
The music pouring from her mouth emanated pleasure and pain, her muscles flexing every time I touched her with the tip of the knife.
I loved seeing her like this, coming apart; it was beautiful. Ever since we’d met, she’d fed the beast in me, teased him and damn near begged him to come out.
I wonder what she would think of all this when she woke up, when she wasn’t so high off pain and my dick making her come that she could think straight.
What we did was animalistic. It was dirty. It had to be done; I had to shove her headfirst over the edge and straight into my world. They needed to know she would be my side––forever. This was deeper than marriage. It never ended until we were both buried twelve feet under.
This thing between was still begging to be explored. She had no idea what the near future had in store for her. She wasn’t done being molded just yet.
All that aside, she was it for me.
She wasn’t classically gorgeous, wasn’t what anyone would think of when they thought of centerfolds.
She was a sick bitch.
Maniac.
Homicidal harlot.
And that’s what made her so fucking beautiful—a motherfucking queen. Her devious, filthy fucking soul stole the air from my lungs.
I wanted her forever under my compulsion.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Maybe it was all a dream.
And then I sat up and realized how badly I wished it was.
My legs were on fire. My vagina lips were so swollen I wasn’t sure my clit was even attached to my body. There was an inverted cross tattooed on my inner thigh.
The entire night before was a blur in the background of a raging headache. I wanted to lie back down but knew I needed to get up.
Stumbling out of the bed I didn’t remember being put in, I made it to Romero’s dresser and tugged open the upper drawer.
Propping my head up with one hand, I lazily dug through, looking for a shirt that would cover all my bruised assets.
My fingers slid over something metal and broken. Shoving clothes out of the way, I picked up the frame and flipped it around to see what was inside. Popping the back off, I removed the photo and studied it.
There was a tightening in my chest, and my throat constricted when I tried to swallow. Suddenly, the clarity of where I’d seen the skeleton ring before came rushing back to me.
Tilly had it on when this picture was taken, and she’d had it on when I first met her through the border fence. All of them were pictured together: Cobra, Grimm, Romero, Tilly, and a brunette.
