Chapter 21 Kip
KIP
Holland’s bare feet barely touched the grass, her movements swift and fluid as she darted away like a startled deer caught in the headlights.
Her speed was surprising, a burst of energy I hadn't expected, but I towered over her at six foot three, while she was barely five four. I could have easily overtaken her, yet watching her sprint away in fear stoked the fire of rage burning inside me. The deceit, the tangled web of corruption she’d woven, all boiled down to one simple act of betrayal.
She could have let me know she was alive.
Her red hair streamed behind her as she dashed through the open gate and sprinted across the dim, narrow back alley.
I could only imagine the soreness that lingered in her muscles from her fight with Cooper.
I’d toyed with the idea of taking care of the bastard sooner than I had, but I’d been waiting to see what other information and answers she’d provide.
More than that, I’d needed to gauge what kind of a challenge she might be.
She was smart and fast. I’d give her that.
But not even those traits would save her from hell.
At one point, I’d thought Holland had seen the door crack open, and I had been caught.
I slowly closed it and waited, listening to that fucker come after her.
The moment I decided to take care of the situation, the fucking door stuck and trapped me inside.
It was too dark for me to see what had wedged it closed, but with the amount of shit she had in there, my guess was something caught when I secured myself in the hiding place.
Every second it refused to budge, my temper boiled hotter, until the only thing I wanted more than breaking down that door was tearing Cooper apart piece by piece for laying his filthy hands on Holland.
And yet, beneath it all, my rage circled back to her—Holland, the girl who kept running, the girl Mother swore had destroyed me.
Mother’s voice still echoed in my head, whispering her lies, painting Holland as the enemy until I couldn’t tell which fury burned hotter: the one for the men who’d touched her, or the one for her betrayal.
I lingered in the shadows, watching as she reached the edge of the dense woods.
A chuckle escaped my lips as I observed her clumsy attempt to navigate the thicket, her arms flailing in a desperate attempt to maintain her balance.
My thoughts ran rampant with what I planned to do to her when I caught her.
Make her pay for what she’d done to me and then fuck her raw and make her beg for more would be a nice start.
With several long, purposeful strides, I crossed her backyard.
The moonlight cast a silvery glow on the grass, and I could hear the soft crunch beneath my boots as I moved.
Carefully, I slipped my extra knife into the sleek, leather calf harness that Death had given me years ago for Christmas.
He’d given Dope one as well—a practical keepsake that spoke volumes about our shared life both inside and outside the society.
As I entered the woods, the towering trees loomed above, their branches weaving a dense canopy that blocked out most of the light, leaving only a few scattered beams to pierce the darkness.
Each step I took pressed the dewy grass beneath my feet, leaving a trail that quickly vanished in the shadows.
I had come prepared, every detail of my plan carefully considered.
Once hidden by the thick cover, I slowed my pace.
My senses heightened as I strained to catch any sound that might reveal her whereabouts.
The air was cool and carried the faint scent of earth and pine.
A slight rustle to my right caught my attention, prompting me to peer intently through the night, searching for any sign of movement.
“Samantha. Why the name change?” I asked.
She didn’t respond.
I softly whistled “Me and the Devil” by Gil Scott-Heron as I stalked in her direction. After her fight with Cooper, she wouldn’t last out here long, especially with no shoes on.
“I have so many questions, little ghost. All of which I intend to get answers one way or the other. It’s up to you how that plays out.”
A rabbit shot out of the grass and ran to the left of me, which told me Holland was nearby.
I remained still, watching and listening. The sound of ragged breathing caught my ear. To anyone else it might have been undetectable, but I’d had years to perfect the skill of listening. Really listening.
Slowly, I took soft steps in her direction and counted each one as I grinned. How many times had I mentally played this out—chasing, stalking, and then fucking her—claiming every part of her mind, body, and soul.
I stepped up to the side of a tree, my movements as quiet as a whisper in the night.
The moonlight cast intricate shadows across the clearing, but her white and pink pajama set stood out, glowing like a beacon in the darkness.
Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, creating a soft, mesmerizing pattern.
I licked my lips, anticipation building inside me.
With deliberate steps, I emerged from my hiding place, my focus fixed on her.
It took only a heartbeat before she sensed my presence, a subtle shift in the air alerting her that I was there.
“No god will save you now, Samantha.”
She launched off the side of the tree she’d been leaning against and ran like her life depended on it. It did.
I hurried after her but paced myself. A part of me wanted to continue the chase, the other wanted to grab her right then. I’d waited long enough.
I increased my speed, weaving through the dense forest, my attention locked on her as she darted between the trees. As I closed the gap, I lunged forward, my fingers entwining in her hair, and with a swift, forceful tug, I yanked her backward.
“You gave it a good try, little ghost. Just not good enough.”
She stilled against me. “What do you want?”
“Answers but first …”
I threw her onto the ground, savoring the sight of her crawling away from me as fast as she could. Survival instinct was an interesting thing. She knew without a doubt she couldn’t escape me, yet she tried regardless.
With a swift move, I grabbed Holland and rolled her onto her back before I pinned her arms over her head.
“Why did you change your name?” I asked.
She swallowed hard before she answered. “I was running from someone. Apparently, I didn’t do a very good job though.”
“Why were you running?”
“He’s a dangerous man. Evil. He made Cooper look like an angel.”
I tugged on my cross, the breakaway chain giving way. I forced my knee between her legs, forcing them apart and allowing me the access my dick was begging for.
Her eyes followed my movements as I placed the crucifix against her pussy.
“Do you remember?” I was curious how much she thought was the Ambien.
“Yes,” she said, her voice shaky but filled with need. “I thought it was a dream until I saw the bruises on my thighs the next day.”
I placed my hand on her chest and held her down, my fingers digging into her flesh as I rubbed the cross against her pussy through the thin fabric of her shorts. My cock was rock hard, almost painfully so, but the ache would be worth it once I claimed her.
“Take off your shorts and panties. Now.” My tone was clipped and authoritative with no room for arguing. I flicked open the blade of my knife, the cold metal glinting in the dim light, a silent threat if she dared to resist.
Her chin quivered as she stared at the weapon, fear dilating her pupils. But when she lifted her hips, it wasn’t just terror guiding her—it was need. A shiver rippled through her as she slid off her clothes, her thighs parting in invitation even as her eyes screamed conflict.
I dragged the cold silver over her slit, watching her breath stutter, her juices slicking the metal. My pulse thundered. She wasn’t only scared. She was turned on—wet, desperate, and trying to hide it.
The realization lit me up from the inside out. She might fight me, but part of her wanted this. Wanted me. Holland had a darkness in her that matched my own, a desire to dance with the devil. And fuck, that made me harder than ever.
I roughly spread her lips and thrust the handle into her wet pussy, fucking her with slow, deliberate strokes. Her mouth parted in a silent gasp, and her hungry cunt drew the metal deeper inside.
“You’re such a dirty whore, fucking a cross. You like it. You like breaking the rules, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she panted as I picked up the pace.
“What did this man do to you? The one you changed your name to avoid?” My thumb rubbed over her clit as I waited for her to answer.
“I can’t tell you.” Her hips lifted off the ground as she moved in sync with the crucifix. “It’s too dangerous.”
I smirked. “More dangerous than the devil breaking into your house, killing a man, and then chasing you through the woods?”
She nodded, a soft moan escaping her.
I wrapped my hand around her throat, her pulse quickening against my palm.
Her scent was intoxicating, a potent mix of fear and arousal that sent my senses reeling.
I flicked her clit with my tongue, a light tease that made her hips jerk as she clawed at me, nails biting into my flesh as she struggled for breath.
I glanced up, seeing shiny tears form in her eyes, which glistened under the dim light.
As I pressed my palm harder against her throat, a flicker of clarity cut through the haze.
The fury I felt for Holland wasn’t hers to carry—it was Mother’s.
Her voice had been whispering in my head for years, twisting memory into knives, painting Holland as the enemy until I couldn’t tell truth from lies. For a breath, I saw it. I knew it.