Chapter 22 Hades
Hades
One week later…
Why I promised Willow that I’d wait until she’s ready to fuck her, I’ll never know. I’ve taken so many cold showers, masturbated more than I ever did in prison, and I’m still in a constant state of arousal around her.
Of course, it doesn’t help that she’s so damn responsive to me. I grip my cock as water pelts my back, and the memory of the first orgasm I gave her surfaces. It was the day after my prison escape, and she’d just gotten out of the shower.
“Goddamn, you're gorgeous,” I growl, leaning against the doorjamb to the bathroom.
Willow squeaks in surprise, dropping her towel. Her skin is flushed from the hot water, and her hair hangs in wet tendrils down her back. I stalk toward her, my eyes feasting on her naked body.
“Hades, what’re you doing?”
“Nothing,” I say, dropping to my knees in front of her. I lift her leg up and rest her foot on the vanity. “Try not to scream,” I command right before pressing my face into her pussy and inhaling her scent.
Willow moans at the contact, and she leans over to rest her hands on my shoulders. The sting of her nails digging into my skin registers briefly, and my dick hardens painfully.
I lick her clit, reveling in the way her body jerks in response. Then I swipe my tongue through her folds, and my taste buds flare to life at the tangy sweetness. Once I’m sure she’s wet, I slip a finger inside her to the first knuckle.
“Oh God,” she groans, bucking against me.
I push a second finger in, curling them both in a come-hither motion. Willow’s head falls back, and she drags her nails over my skin. Between my mouth and fingers, it doesn’t take long before her cunt is clamping tightly around my digits, and her entire body is quaking.
I want to deny her the orgasm, edge her over and over, knowing that would intensify her pleasure, but I resist. This orgasm is more about proving to her that she can have one. I’ll get more intense later.
“Hades!”
Willow shouting my name yanks me out of the memory, but it’s not in time to stop my own orgasm from barreling through me.
“Yeah?” I shout back because I know she won’t come into the bathroom while I’m in the shower. I’ve invited her, of course, always to no avail.
“Zodiac is here.”
“I’ll be right out.”
Quickly finishing my shower, I think about all the orgasms that came after that first one.
Willow is extremely responsive to me, and I’ve made it my personal mission to get her off at least four times a day.
Shit, last night I gave her four in a row because I refused to let up until she was so far beyond exhausted that she passed out seconds after the fourth one.
As soon as I’m dressed, I open the bathroom door to find Willow standing inches from it and Zodiac over by the open apartment door.
“What’s up?” I ask my VP.
“You’re needed at The Factory,” he says.
Willow inhales sharply, although she doesn’t ask questions or pass judgment. She does, however, face me and smile shyly. “I think…” I watch her throat work as she swallows. “I think I’m ready.”
I grin. “Understood. Now, go soak in a bubble bath and relax because once I get back, I’m not gonna let up.”
She scurries away from me, and I glance at Zodiac, who’s smirking like an idiot.
“Do I even wanna know?” he asks.
“Probably not.”
His smirk turns into a grin. “Good for you, man.”
Shaking my head, I glare at him. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
As soon as the door closes behind him, and I hear the water running in the bathroom, I go to my dresser and open the top drawer.
I grab the small baggie of pills and take one out, along with the note I wrote a few days ago, and set them both on the nightstand next to the cell Chains got her the last time he was in town.
Standing outside the door of The Factory, I take a deep breath. I’ve been dreaming of this moment for years, praying that I’d get to step foot inside again because the darkness in me needs it, craves it.
The door opens, revealing Zodiac, Butcher, and Chains. I push past them and come to a halt when I see who’s in the first container: K.C.
“You found him,” I growl.
Chains spoke to one of the guards at SCI Somerset and ascertained that both K.C. and Bones had escaped before the riot was brought under control. There’s been a statewide manhunt for the two of them, and I’m thrilled to learn that we found one of them first.
“He was holed up with an old girlfriend,” Chains says.
“Apparently, police showed up at her house, and he was hiding in the attic. We all know that law enforcement doesn’t actually do shit around here, so they took the ex at her word when she said she hadn’t seen him.
” He grins evilly. “I didn’t take her word, though. ”
“Gotta say, Hades,” Butcher chimes in. “You worked him over good. His face is so bashed in, I almost feel bad for what we’re about to do to him.”
“Don’t,” I snarl. “He stuck his filthy pecker in Willow’s mouth. He’s lucky he’s still breathing.”
“You wanna handle him?” Zodiac asks. “Or do you want Butcher and Chains to take care of it?”
“I’ve got it.” I walk toward the container and press the button to activate the lights and sound in order to psychologically fuck with K.C. “You guys can leave.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I think we wanna watch the show.”
I shrug. I couldn’t give two shits about what they do. “Fine. He’s all mine, though.”
“Understood,” the three of them say in unison.
Checking the time on my cell, I find I have twelve hours until I have to get back to Willow. If she follows instructions, my self-imposed curfew is eleven.
Five hours go by before I even contemplate stopping the psychological torture. During that time, we played cards, talked about all the non-club shit I missed, and when Gordon Humphrey called, I stepped outside to chat.
He didn’t have much to report beyond the fact that Willow’s father has come to their office twice to demand that they don’t take on my case, especially now that I’m an escaped convict.
Of course, Willow was right about her boss…
he’s on our side and not a fan of ADA Crane.
Gordon did say that Bryant received all of Willow’s notes, and everything has been submitted to start my last appeal. Now we wait and see.
I fucking hate waiting.
It doesn’t really matter if I never get exonerated. I won’t go back to prison. But it sure as hell would be nice not to have to hide out at the clubhouse. In one sense, I’ve traded one prison for another.
I turn off the first chamber and pull the lever to transfer K.C. to the second. Normally, I’d bask in the screams of those we torture, but K.C. has a ball gag secured in his mouth. According to Butcher, he ‘cried like a baby bitch’, and it was annoying.
I’d also typically taunt whoever is in the chamber. Not this time, though. With this one, I keep my words to myself. Instead, I let my actions speak for me.
“Is what I requested in there?” I ask my brothers.
“Yep,” Zodiac replies.
I open the door and step inside with K.C.
Circling him, I trail a finger over his bruised and battered flesh.
He’s trying to shout, and all I hear is muffled nonsense.
Lazily, I walk to the wall of weapons. The abnormally large eggplant rests on a small shelf, and I lift it, testing its girth.
I also grab the speculum, a small rusty blade, a black head sack, and the mini torch.
K.C.’s eyes widen when he spots the fruit and other weapons, and I laugh maniacally. Without a word, I drop everything to the floor but the rusty blade. I bring the sharp edge to the corner of his mouth and slice his cheek like the Joker. Then I repeat the action on the other side.
Blood sprays wildly. I drop the blade and pick up the torch.
Pressing the button to ignite it, I cauterize the wounds.
Once they’re nice and charred, I punch K.C.
, making sure to hit the ball gag so it lodges deeper into his throat.
Finally, I put the head sack on him so he can’t see what comes next.
The goal is torture, not death. Oh, he’ll die here in The Factory, but not today, and hopefully, not by my hands.
I return the blade and torch to the wall before returning to pick up the speculum and eggplant. Moving to stand behind K.C., I shove the speculum into his asshole and squeeze the trigger that opens the device. The smell is so foul that I pull my shirt up to cover my nose while I finish.
The last thing I do in the second chamber is push the eggplant into his rectum, stem end first. K.C. bucks and tries to pull away. Unfortunately for him, the movement only causes the fruit to go deeper.
I leave him like that for the next three hours.
By the time I’m ready to engage the conveyor belts, my brothers leave to eat dinner, promising to bring me a sandwich when they’re done.
The third chamber isn’t nearly as fun as I remember, likely because I’m not personally inflicting the pain. I do enjoy watching the spinning barbed whips puncture and slice his flesh until he’s nothing but a bloody open wound.
Rather than move K.C. to the last chamber, I let him hang where he is.
Only Zodiac returns, and I devour the two turkey club sandwiches he brings me. The bag of chips and three chocolate chip cookies disappear just as fast.
“Damn, brother,” he comments. “Worked up an appetite, huh?”
“Sure did.”
“You gonna move him so we can give him an acid shower?”
“Nope. He can hang here for a while. Make sure he’s force fed just enough to live.”
“How long you gonna drag this out?”
“Don’t know. I’m leaving that up to Willow.”