Chapter 32 #3
She bit my lip. Hard. I released her with a hiss, that little bite of pain exhilarating me. She tapped on her watch as worry filled her eyes. “We’re almost late. Let’s go.”
With another quick kiss, my girl took the wheel and drove us to what was their safe house.
It took us about an hour to drive along the highway, take a nondescript exit in a run-of-the-mill town, drive through said town into spookier woods, then turn onto a dirt road enclosed by large, dark trees scraping across the van.
To say that I remembered the way, while my eyes stayed glued to my beauty the entire time, would be a bald-faced lie.
The dirt road led us to a small turn that opened to the large wooden house, surrounded by a garden of sorts. It was pitch black outside, with the only light coming from the window of the house.
Once Tara parked the van right beside another one, we climbed down.
While I grabbed the heavy, pudgy man over my shoulder, my beauty carried the lighter man across hers.
Tara was in her element here. Power and fierceness rolled off her in waves, pulling me into her stratosphere.
She walked into the house, and I quietly followed, taking in the rustic interior of the entrance hallway.
She turned left, and we entered what looked like an armory, with rows of axes, rifles, and batons hanging on the walls, and a giant dining table in the center.
My girl was a hardcore criminal, wasn’t she?
A frighteningly proud feeling coursed through my veins. These women had certainly managed to hide under the radar for a very long time. “How long have you all been operating as Wildcats?” I asked her, following her down the set of stairs.
Even with a man across her shoulder, Tara didn’t pant as she climbed down the stairs. “I joined around five years ago, but the Wildcats have been active for ten.”
Fuck. That was a long commitment and a fuck ton of murders and kidnappings under their belt. This certainly looked much more fun than cop work. I wish my mother knew about the concept of a vigilante. Maybe she did. She probably worried I’d turn into a serial killer rather than a vigilante.
Seeing the Wildcats, I noticed a slight moral difference.
The basement contained a large metal cage with two men already inside. Samaira opened the cage for us, and we dumped our targets in a heap.
“Everything went well?” Lena asked.
Tara nodded, but I could see the slight flush to her cheeks. “Perfect.”
Not even ten minutes passed before we heard some grunting and shuffling down the stairs, and in walked two women carrying an unconscious man between them.
Samaira quickly ran over and helped them place him in the cage.
Once all of them were locked up with Samaira—her putting on a mask—I looked at the Wildcats. “Now what?”
Tara smirked while Samaira cracked her knuckles. “Now, we play.”
Lena handed Samaira a bucket of water that she immediately poured over the five unconscious men at her feet. She woke them up, kicking and screaming over them.
First, the men were drowsy and confused. Next, terror washed over them like a wave pulling them under. And then, the screams began.
The deeply hidden and buried part of me that craved the violence, the hunt, the fucking brutality, unraveled and rose to the surface. My fists clenched, and my heart raced with anticipation, with need.
Samaira bashed their faces, kicked their stomachs, punched their jaws, and broke their teeth. She reveled in the violence, in getting the confessions from every single man’s mouth.
My body screamed at me to join her. To grab the throat of a fucker and slam him against the cage. To break their fingers. To slice open their skin and watch the blood flow.
The air was infused with terror and violence, turning my cock harder. I pulled Tara in front of me, wanting to share what the violence did to me.
She gasped in front of me and turned her head, asking me to bend closer. “Is another woman turning you on?”
The jealousy in her tone had me throbbing against her ass. I bit her ear and whispered, “It’s the violence and the screams of those weak fuckers that’s doing it for me.”
Understanding dawned on her, and her shoulders relaxed.
We watched as Samaira bloodied up the men, as she screamed at their faces and tortured those souls.
Tara leaned against my front and pulled my face closer to her by the front of my T-shirt.
She turned her face so her lips came closer to my ear. “Do you want to join in?”
A growl rattled through my chest, the mere question, the fucking temptation, shooting a heady sort of ecstasy through my blood.
But I did not want to join Samaira. Fuck no.
I wanted to join my little criminal. So I pulled her closer, resting my hard cock against the low of her back. “Only if it’s with you, baby.”
A victorious smile stretched across her face, and she nodded. She took a step forward and stood outside the cage. “Crimson Tiger, stop.”
Samaira halted in her punch, her masked face looking straight at my girl. She looked downright menacing.
Tara clutched the crisscross bars of the cage and said, “Take a break. We’re going in.”
Samaira rolled her shoulders and gave a roundhouse kick to the whimpering mess closest to her feet and walked out of the cage. She stopped beside Tara and said, “The guy in the red shirt is the one who enjoys burning his victims. You’re welcome.”
Tara’s spine straightened, and she looked back at me. After a quick nod, she stepped into the cage. With a burning anticipation, I followed and slammed the cage door shut behind me.
I scanned the pathetic display at my feet. Five men groaning on the floor. Tara met my eyes and raised her eyebrows in question. Torturing men who seemed to have lost their fight didn’t seem to be as fun as it looked from the outside.
I looked at the women standing outside the cage, and then back at Tara. “Can we take them outside? There’s a perfect setup of the woods around us for miles. Why don’t we play hunt?”