Dove
A fter our little sinful session at the church, it was time for the real action. Our true worship. Our God's work. Now in the safety of our home, I look at Matheo and smile as he throws on a black hoodie over his tattooed torso, winking at me as he flips up the hood. He's the picture of anarchy, a devil masquerader. The perfect partner for our divine mission.
“You think she’ll be alone tonight?” I ask him as I slip into black leggings. After New Mexico, God’s work is done Matheo’s way. No man besides him could touch me, could see me naked. And honestly, I liked it this way. Just him and me. and the Sinner.
"Of course," Matheo croons, the corners of his mouth curling into a wolf's grin. "Our demon is predictable." He tosses me my own hoodie, the one with the crimson cross emblazoned on the back.
I catch it midair and pull it over my head. “What do you think she did with the bodies?” I ask as I adjust the hoodie, glancing at him.
Matheo shrugs as he tucks a gun into the waistband at the small of his back, a silver crucifix attached to its handle gleaming under the incandescent kitchen light. “Unimportant,” he murmurs as he tightens his shoelaces. “The living concern us more than the dead.”
I nod, pulling my long, curly hair out from under the hoodie and tying it back into a messy bun. “Do you think that kid is still alive? Noah?”
Matheo lets out a long breath as he runs his hand down his face, his eyes darkening. “I’d hope so, but who knows. You know the deal, Marisol. In and out. Quick and messy.”
I smile, nodding in agreement. Matheo smirks, offering his hand. “Come, let’s go. If I’m right, she’s busy killing or about to. Let’s go send that demon back to hell. ”
I accept his hand, entwining my fingers with his as we exit our haven. Our car, a worn-out '65 Mustang, beckons from the driveway. Matheo holds the door open for me to slide in, then walks around to the driver's side with a swagger in his step that only he could pull off. He turns over the engine, and the Mustang roars to life, the growl of its inner beast echoing our own determination. As the car's headlights cut through the darkness of the evening, Matheo's hand finds mine again, his knuckles gently brushing against my thigh.
“You’re perfect for me, you know that” he says, his voice low and sincere.
I smile, kissing his hand. “I knew that from the moment you walked into that bookstore that afternoon. You were mine, and I was yours.”
My body hums with anticipation; nothing arouses or excites me as much as Matheo or the thrill of the kill. Clenching my free hand, I picture the sinner’s blood coating it. “Before we deliver penance, we have to find some answers. I want those bodies back where they belong. It’s not right—the parents deserve to grieve.”
Matheo nods, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. We drive in silence, holding hands as we make our way to deliver punishment.
The dashboard light casts shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity etched in his brows. The streets become a blur as we speed through, the city's pulse echoing ours. The Mustang roars down the highway, its engine’s rhythm mingling with the staccato beat of our hearts. It feels like forever before we arrive at the isolated home of the sinner, Sarah.
Death. All I feel here is death, and that confirms she’s a sinner. I glance at Matheo, who stares at the house, scanning the area.
"Ready?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper .
I nod, feeling the adrenaline begin to course through my veins. We slip out of the car and find Sarah in the middle of dismembering a body down in the basement. We’re too late.
Matheo breaks away from me, and I watch him work with stealth—the bitch never saw him coming until he was upon her, a shadow sprung to life. His movements are swift and ruthless, like a predator in the wild. There’s an eerie beauty in his violence.
Sarah jolts as Matheo's hand clamps down on her mouth, the crude knife she held just a moment ago now discarded on the ground. Matheo never ceases to amaze me and has definitely taught me a lot about God’s work. I let out a sigh as I step into sight, her eyes widening with recognition.
Death. The basement smells of must, death, and mold—a fitting place for her to meet her maker. I focus on her and not the small body she was in the midst of desecrating—a gruesome testament to her sins. There’s no need for a confession… no penance. This is a purge of evil from the world, our holy duty. In this dank, ungodly place, righteousness will have its say.
"Matheo," I breathe, my gaze locked on Sarah's terror-stricken face.
He understands—he always does. In an instant, his grip tightens around her struggling form, his other hand reaching for the blade she had just been wielding.
There is a hushed stillness as we all wait for the inevitable. “Where are the bodies?” he asks as he plunges the blade into her thigh.
Sarah lets out a muffled scream into his hand, her face contorting in pain.
"Where are the bodies?" Matheo repeats, his voice cutting through the air like the knife cutting through her flesh. When she doesn't answer, he twists the blade, a cruel smile on his lips .
When she still doesn’t answer, I grab the hammer on the table beside the body, pulling her hand out and laying it flat on the grungy concrete floor. "We'll ask again," I say, my voice echoing through the dark confines of the basement. Her eyes flicker in terror toward the hammer in my hand—good, she should be scared.
"Where are the bodies?" I demand before bringing the hammer down on her hand anyway. She screams again into Matheo’s hand. Snot and saliva coat his palm; she’s terrified. For a killer, she sure is a pussy when faced with death. But this one—I will break her before delivering her to hell.
I raise the hammer again, meeting her eyes as I do. The fear there is palpable; terrified eyes that have seen too much, taken too much. "Talk," I command, the single word authoritative and cold.
Silence stretches out for what feels like a lifetime before, through her muffled sobs and screams, she finally tells us where to find the bodies.
“Bu-buried,” she stammers, her voice shaking with terror. “B-behind the garden... out ba-back.”
A shiver of satisfaction rolls down my spine at her words and victory ripples through my veins. She has succumbed to fear, just like her victims. Matheo pulls the blade from her leg, and she gasps for air, the pain evident in her labored breathing. The smell of blood mixes with the must and mold, a pungent addition to the air that sends chills down my spine.
“Good girl,” Matheo purrs in a mocking tone, gently patting her bloody cheek with his free hand. He stands up, leaving the terrified woman on the floor in her own blood and agony. “Hand me the saw,” he orders.
I hand Matheo the saw, taking in his imposing form. Nothing makes me hornier than watching him work. Matheo is a demon, a monster, but he’s, my demon. His dark eyes gleam as he makes the first cut, her guttural howls echoing off the concrete walls of the basement .
"Don't look so shocked," he growls at Sarah as he cuts off her hand. I’ll spare you the gory details, but let’s just say Sarah got the same treatment and is now in tiny pieces in her basement.
“You dismember so well,” I coo as he finishes his final cut. Exhausted and satisfied, Matheo wipes his hands clean with a dirty rag. The basement is left in disarray—a scene fit for nightmares—but he doesn’t care. After all, we don’t plan on staying around to see what happens next. By morning, we’ll be gone, and the bodies will be found. And us? We’ll continue to do our part.
Continue our holy duty, ridding this world of sinners. Our job is a dirty one, yes, but someone has to do it. We see ourselves as no different from surgeons—doing what must be done to cleanse the system of malignant tumors. Our victims, our patients, they are the cancer of society. We are the unsanctioned doctors dealing with them.
As we stand over what remains of Sarah, Matheo turns to me, his eyes dark and intense. "What now?" he asks, his voice a low rumble.
I look at the pieces of what was once a sinner, my lips curving into a wicked smile. "We find more sinners, Matheo. And then..." I trail off, my fingers brushing his, the contact electric. “Then we deliver salvation.”
His grin matches mine, fierce and full of promise. "Let’s go then. Our work is never done, Marisol."
We leave the basement hand in hand, stepping into the cool night air. The Mustang waits, a beast ready to roar. As we drive away, the city lights fade behind us, swallowed by the darkness that’s our playground. Matheo's hand tightens around I turn to him, my heart pounding in sync with the rhythmic thrum of the car. "I can't wait," I say, leaning closer, "to find the next sinner. And the next. Until there's no more filth left in this world."
His eyes flash with something primal, something that matches the ferocity in my own heart. "You know," he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "I wouldn't want anyone else by my side. You're as much a part of this as I am."
"I was made for this," I reply, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "For you. For our mission."
The road stretches out before us, endless and unknown. It's a path we chose together, a journey without a clear destination. But that’s what makes it exhilarating—the uncertainty, the thrill, the knowledge that each night could be our last, but knowing we’ll face it together.
As the highway opens up, the world around us fades into shadows, and all that remains is the two of us. Partners in a holy duty, bound by blood and faith.
Matheo's hand tightens once more, a silent promise between us. "This is just the beginning," he says, his voice thick with conviction.
I nod, feeling the electric charge of anticipation ripple through me. "The beginning of our work," I whisper back.
The Mustang surges forward, carrying us into the abyss of night, where sinners lurk and justice awaits. We will find them, root them out, and bring them to their knees.
The world may not know it yet, but we're the storm that’s coming.
The reckoning.
The purge.
And as we disappear into the darkness, leaving behind a trail of blood and retribution, one thing is certain:
The Sinner and his have only just begun .
The End.