23
Amara
I winced, pain making me regain consciousness as I looked up. Mark was on top of me on the floor, my towel long discarded, and he was squeezing my breasts painfully, intentionally hurting me.
The feeling returned to my limbs, and fire returned to my spirit.
I slapped him as hard as I could.
His face morphed into a mask of fury as he punched me across the face, and my head bounced off the floor. I cried out, my hands flying to my face, trying to soothe myself from the damage he’d inflicted there over the past week.
“Fucking worthless,” he spat. “You’re not even a good lay anymore.”
Good, I wanted to scream. I didn’t want Mark to like any part of me ever again. I hoped he hated me and never wanted to see me and that he would disappear forever.
“Where’s your secretary?” my voice croaked instead.
Mark bared his teeth at me, slapping my mound instead, and I shouted, gritting my teeth against the pain. “She knows I’m stopping you from taking what’s mine,” he snapped.
“You already lost,” I muttered. “In twenty days, I won’t be your wife anymore.”
“If you die first, everything you own becomes mine,” he laughed, cocking his gun. “But not before I’ve gotten every use out of you that I can.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to get him talking as my throat burned.
“I mean, you’re staying right here, bitch, until the day before the divorce is final. Then you’ll be dead, and everything you ever owned will be mine, including the nice life insurance policy I took out on you,” Mark laughed.
“Isn’t that cheating on your girlfriend?” I countered.
“It’s not cheating when you’re still my wife,” he argued, crawling up my body on the floor. He roughly pushed his fingers in my hole, and I cringed, pain shooting up my pelvis. “We never tried fisting, did we? I’ll make you so loose even your boyfriend won’t want to fuck your corpse.”
Mark was sitting on my thighs this time, so I couldn’t kick him. He trained his gun on me, and I froze as he violated me, the pain getting worse with each new finger he inserted.
“Shit,” I gritted, the pain radiating through me.
“You like that, you fucking whore?” Mark taunted, forcing a fourth finger through my dry flesh.
“Stop!” I sobbed, unable to stay strong. His nails were sharp and brutal, and I was sure he was tearing me up.
But he didn’t listen. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying my best not to break again as my ex stole from me, using my body against my will.
“What did I tell you about touching what’s mine?” a voice growled.
Enzo? I thought. I was probably imagining it, but I leaned into the fantasy, needing respite from this hell.
“What the fuck?” Mark screamed.
A loud thud echoed, and Mark’s hand went limp .
My eyes flung open, hot liquid spraying over my body. I looked down, and I screamed. Mark’s severed hand was still inside me, his wrist seeping blood all over me.
I took it out of me, looking around frantically. Mark was a few feet away from me, with Enzo on top of him with a machete next to him on the ground.
I flung Mark’s severed hand at my ex’s head, but I missed. My heart thundered in my chest as the men struggled, fighting for control in my bedroom doorway.
Mark drew his knees up and kicked Enzo in the chest, launching him backward and landing next to me.
Enzo quickly glanced at me, his eyes raking over my damaged, naked body, and his already furious gaze turned into a lethal glare. He aimed his furious expression at Mark, baring his teeth at him in a vicious snarl.
“Lorenzo Ricci?” Mark cackled as he looked at Enzo. “The fucking mafia prince? You’re the one who’s been fucking my wife?”
“So you know who I am,” Enzo snarled, sitting up. “You know what happens when you fuck with my family.”
“She’s mine!” Mark screamed, his gun shaky in his remaining hand. “But she’s not worth the fucking trouble.”
Then he turned to face me. “Die, bitch!” Mark screamed, pointing his gun at my face. “Your fucking boyfriend can watch you die!”
His finger squeezed the trigger.
Enzo lurched between us.
Bang!
“No!” I shrieked, my voice uneven and broken. Time seemed to move in slow motion as panic seized my heart.
He couldn’t die. I wouldn’t let him.
But Enzo didn’t move. Blood trickled from him, but he rose to his feet, his expression murderous.
“Remember what I said about seeing you again?” Enzo shouted, rushing Mark. Mark pulled the trigger again, but he missed. He yelled as Enzo tackled him, knocking the gun from his hand.
“You’re going to wish you died the night I pushed you onto the fucking highway,” Enzo roared.
Mark punched Enzo, but my pen pal wasn’t fazed. He was a man possessed; his features transformed into something demonic, feral, and wild.
“What was it you did to my baby?” he snarled, slamming Mark’s head into the floor. “Huh? You did this, am I right?” he slammed Mark’s head into the ground again, blood blooming on the floor under him.
“I also read something about broken ribs,” Enzo rose to his feet, stomping on Mark’s ribcage, making him howl in agony.
“Broken bones,” he stomped on Mark’s wrist, then moved to his ankles, cracking them. He went to his elbows, and a sickening crunch filled the air.
“And black eyes?” Enzo snarled. Mark couldn’t get a word in as Enzo punched the shit out of him, beating him to a bloody pulp as red rivers streamed from my ex’s face. Mark’s face swelled, almost making him unrecognizable in a matter of minutes.
“Then you fucking touched her?” Enzo bellowed, grabbing his machete from the floor. “You remember what I said what I would fucking do to you?”
“Please!” Mark gurgled on his own blood. “I can pay—”
“That money’s hers, not yours,” Enzo roared. “I don’t fucking want it.”
I slowly sat up, my heart pounding as I watched Enzo avenge me.
He was a force of nature, shouting at Mark, his eyes bright with rage but dark with the need to destroy. Blood trickled down his arm, his blonde curls clung to his forehead, and his glasses stood crooked on his nose. His lips were peeled back like a monster, ready to tear apart what threatened his mate.
He was fucking beautiful.
Enzo sliced through Mark’s jeans as he sobbed, begging for mercy that wouldn’t come. He ripped his pants apart, spreading them and tearing Mark’s boxers open. His flaccid member was still red with my blood, and Enzo gnashed his teeth at the sight. Enzo’s eyes burned with hate as he sliced, tearing through skin and muscle, severing Mark’s prick.
Enzo brandished it, shoving it in Mark’s face as he screamed in agony, his eyes wide with pure terror.
“Eat it,” Enzo snarled, prying Mark’s mouth open. “Die with her taste on your fucking tongue, bastardo .” He shoved Mark’s prick in his mouth, then forced his lips shut as Mark screamed, choking on his own privates.
Blood poured on the floor from Mark’s pelvis, spreading along the floor in a large puddle. It soaked Enzo’s knees as he sliced through Mark’s sweatshirt, prying it apart until his chest was bare.
Then Enzo removed his belt, tying it above Mark’s hips, slowing his bleeding, prolonging his agony with the makeshift tourniquet. “You don’t get to die yet,” Enzo snapped, his voice deep and deranged.
His machete clattered on the floor as Enzo removed a knife from his pocket, and I recognized it from my butcher block as my skinning knife. I used it multiple times to skin fish and chicken, and the whole knife set was a gift from Sylvia.
Enzo gripped Mark by his chest hair and began slicing, Mark screaming as my pen pal cut him methodically with surgical precision.
He’d done this before, I realized, as sweat beaded on his forehead, his mustache almost hidden behind his curled lip. Enzo’s jaw ticked in concentration as he worked, meticulously and determined, severing each layer as Mark writhed beneath him.
He was skinning Mark alive.
I slowly rose to my feet, a numb zombie, as I stared at Mark as the life slowly drained from him. His wide eyes were fixed on mine, his breath shallow and quick, and his nostrils flared as he fought for each breath.
Time slowed to a crawl. I wasn’t sure how long Enzo hacked through his skin, but it seemed like forever. Mark’s voice went hoarse before his mouth stayed open in a permanent, silent scream. He could only twitch as life leaked from him.
I found myself kneeling next to Enzo, watching him as he put down the knife and retook his machete.
Enzo stabbed Mark, who whimpered weakly. My pen pal sawed at Mark’s rib until it cracked, then Enzo withdrew the blade. He stuck his hand inside, fishing around as blood seeped from the wound. He grabbed the skinning knife, plunging it between Mark’s ribs with his hand, sawing at something inside as squelching sounds filled the room.
Then he wrenched something free of Mark’s chest, and it was his still-beating heart.
Mark’s eyes widened in horror, and Enzo smirked down at him. “As black as your soul,” he taunted, then turned his eyes to me.
“I vow to you, Amara, that I will make your enemies suffer, and I’ll eat the heart of any man who touches you again,” he promised, lifting the heart to his mouth. He sank his teeth into it, his eyes never leaving mine as he tore a piece off, chewing it as blood sleuthed all over him, Mark, and the floor.
Mark’s pupils blew, and he went slack as the spark of life left his eyes. His heart stopped beating in my lover’s hands, and Enzo felt it stop, his lips spread into a feral, cruel grin.
I was in a trance, hypnotized by the scene unfolding before me.
No one had defended me like that. Not one person stood up for me, not against bullies, threats, or Mark. Not even the police did much to help. No one cared enough to check on me or to make sure that I was alright.
Until Enzo.
My pen pal turned to the wall, sliding his hand through Mark’s blood as he wrote a deliberate, chilling message. Each letter stained the paint, the excess liquid leaking down the wall. Then Enzo’s hand smeared the wall as he dragged it away, revealing his message.
Will you be mine?
The breath caught in my throat as I read the words painted in my ex-husband’s blood. It was a declaration, proof of his undying devotion, and it touched me to my soul. He was offering himself to me, pledging his loyalty in a way no one else ever could. He would keep me safe and only hurt me in ways I would beg him.
Warmth spread throughout my chest, my body coming alive at the recognition of the feeling of love . I thought I had it with Mark, but it was nothing compared to this. This feeling was consuming, overwhelming, and eternal. Enzo had ruined me for anyone else, and I knew that I didn’t want anyone but him.
I looked at my pen pal, and he swallowed a piece of Mark’s heart, watching me intently. Daring me to reject him now, after everything he’d done for me, seeing if he was too much for me, too dangerous, too unhinged.
Maybe he was.
I met his intense stare with a gaze of my own.
“Yes,” I whispered.