Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Justice
Zaiden
M y cock aches and I fight back a whimper, my grip tightening on the arms of the plastic chair in Zac’s work room.
He stands less than a foot away, grin so wide it has to hurt. He hasn’t stopped smiling since Sarah stepped fully into the room, cementing herself in our darkness.
What have I done? I’ve corrupted my little raven and I’d feel worse about it if my dick didn’t hurt so much from wanting inside her.
This must be what she’s like at work. Focused, meticulous and driven. Each drag of the serrated blade down the man’s torso is perfect, not the jagged sloppy ones Zac had made on the forearms. No, my Sarah’s putting her all into this, fully committing to descending into madness with us sons of Morgan Daniels.
She needs to kill him soon. I don’t want to wait anymore. I want inside her. I don’t know why watching her slowly torture this man is making my balls tighten but it’s doing it for me like nothing else ever has.
She’s worn lingerie, let me tie her up, spank her and I’ve done some light choking, not enough to harm the baby. But this exceeds all of it.
This is torture for me.
Like a fucking preternatural bird, Zac’s head whips toward me and I suppress a growl at the knowing smirk his grin morphs into.
Eyes fully locked on me, he addresses Sarah. “Are you going to cut his heart out like my cousin does, Dr. Bell? Cause I think I’d like to see that.”
Can his fucking grin get any bigger? It’s eating up his entire damn face and I’m the one with the Joker scars.
“Doesn’t Natalia need you to help her start making dinner?” I grit out. Sarah doesn’t look up.
I want to erupt from this damn chair and crawl to her. I’ll worship at her damn feet if she lets me fuck her while her hands are elbow deep in the man’s chest cavity.
He’d really pissed off my raven for her to take her time like this. His noises stopped—I glance at the clock nailed to the wall—an hour ago.
I frown. Has it been that long, hours?
I shrug, uncaring. I need my raven. Surely, he’s dead if he’s not making sounds. Probably bled out. And still, she keeps cutting, unsatisfied with his silent death.
Well, not really silent since he’d wailed like the dying animal Zac claimed him to be.
Sarah pauses, eyes rising to clash with mine from across the room.
“Go to her.”
“The raven. The raven. The raven.”
Yes. My raven.
“D-D-Dayton,” she whimpers, face crumbling.
Shit! I nearly break the cheap ass chair in my rush to get out of it, feet skidding across the floor as I race to pull her into my arms. Body going limp, she sobs into my chest and I rub her back, soaking up her pain and anger and grief on behalf of a stranger.
Sometimes, her face would go all soft and she’d call me sweet. Me, a confessed killer. She knows my sins. Not all, but a large sum.
But I’m not sweet like her, to grieve for another woman’s child, to kill in her name. But maybe it wasn’t just one woman. Maybe it’d been for every woman that’d laid on my Sarah’s hospital bed, body carrying the scars that men like the one on the table had inflicted.
That’s sweet. I’m not that sweet and I wish I could resurrect him to kill him all over again for making my wife cry.
Wife.
She’s not my wife yet, but she will be. It feels right.
Dr. Sarah Bell-Daniels.
“I’ve got you, little raven. I’m right here,” I murmur into her hair, rocking us a little.
Shoes scuff across the floor and I watch Zac’s back as he leaves us, giving us some much needed privacy.
“I’m not a killer,” she mumbles into my shirt, shoulders shaking with the weight of her distress. My eyes land on the man’s sightless eyes, staring up at the ceiling, mouth opened on a permanent scream.
Too focused on the erotic sight of the mother of my child exacting vengeance, I’d never noticed when he’d inevitably passed. Zac wouldn’t have cared as long the skin and flesh remained soft enough to cut pieces off.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, not pointing out the dead man’s condition. I pull away to tip her chin back, heart squeezing painfully at the redness of her nose and the puffiness of her eyes.
“Isn’t that what you tell me when I complain about not being normal? That the way I am is perfect?” I tilt my head at her, fighting a smile at the way her nose crinkles from having her own words thrown back at her.
“You’re a healer, little raven and while I enjoyed watching you try on a skin that clearly doesn’t fit you, there’s nothing wrong with not possessing the darkness to enjoy taking a life. It means you’re not like him.” My chin jerks at the corpse.
“You—” She flushes, eyes sliding down my face to focus on my chin.
“You enjoyed this…watching me kill?” she whispers. Her pulse jumps in her neck and I want to strap her to the table, taking my time to give her multiple little deaths. My thumb swipes across her full bottom lip.
“And if I did?” I ask huskily, cock twitching at the lack of disgust in her voice. She never ceases to surprise me. Her complete and utter acceptance of everything that I am slowly sealing up the gaping wounds from my youth.
Freak. Abomination. Ticking time bomb. Schizo .
I’ve heard them all, but never from Sarah’s lips. All derogatory terms labeling me as “other.” Despite our rough beginning, she’s never seen me as someone inherently bad. She recognized I needed help, that I allowed my grief to contort me into someone I’m not.
I’m not a killer, not anymore.
“You—He’s dead, isn’t he?” she asks, whipping her head over her shoulder. Maybe it’s my imagination, but it looks like his head turned toward her in the slightest movement.
My lips twist into a scowl at the corpse.
“ Mine ,” I want to growl at it. I haven’t forgotten Dr. Anders and how he taunted me even in death. But Sarah’s in my arms and carrying my child.
I make my decision while her gaze is turned away from me.
Anders didn’t get to see me claim her. If he isn’t dead, then his last fucking moments will be watching what it looks like when a woman gives her consent , what she sounds like when she wants the cock slipping inside of her wet sheath.
Mine. My Sarah.
It’s time I claimed her again.
Sarah
The hairs on my nape rise and I shift closer to the table, peering into the open chest cavity. It’s slow, infrequent, but one, two pumps. The fucker’s heart keeps trying in vain to pump blood instead of giving up and sending him directly to hell.
Flames lick my insides. There’s so much blood here, congealing beneath the splayed out body. But it doesn’t bring me grief like watching the life ebb from within Crissy’s body.
He did that. He doesn’t deserve my turns and I should make his last moments even more fucking torturous.
Hands pull at my hips and I gasp, lips coasting down my neck.
“Dayton,” I whimper, arching and tilting my head back. He can’t—Deft fingers slip within the waistband of my scrub bottoms and a moan escapes my mouth. I shouldn’t encourage this.
“I want you,” he growls into my skin, fingers sliding through my dark curls and aiming straight for my clit. My panties dampen immediately, his touch lighting a fuse. I still don’t completely understand the spell he weaves on my body, making it pliable in his hands.
I can’t remember a time I’ve told him no and meant it. Something hard presses between my cheeks, pulling another whimper from my throat.
“I told you. I enjoyed watching you. And now, I want to hear you, little raven. Let the last sound he hears be my name on your lips.” A finger slips inside me easily and whatever resistance I thought of putting up, fades into vapors.
“Dayton,” I moan, hips jerking against his hand. Blood still coats mine and death hangs in the air like a sickly sweet cloud. This is the last thing we should be doing. Zaiden pays me no heed, not that I’d actually offered a complaint.
A second finger joins the first, and my walls clench around them greedily. It’s not enough.
“You want more? Tell me. I want to hear you.” Lust thickens his voice, sending goosebumps racing across my skin. It’s so deep and raspy. I like it when it’s right in my ear as he’s pounding into me.
“Fuck me, Zaiden,” I gasp out, intentionally using his first name. That rasp, that gravel, tells me Dayton has left the building. Sweet, tender Dayton. No, it’s Zaiden who fucks like he’s punishing me for making him want me.
I know my husband doesn’t have a personality disorder. Dr. Shaw and I discussed it at great lengths and I’ve leaned on his expertise, on his wisdom and insight into the mind of someone who had a less than ideal childhood–a childhood I couldn’t fathom. I’d blushed when he’d told me that the switch I’ve noticed in Zaiden time and time again, is merely his shell shedding. He’s safe to explore and expose his inner self to me and take charge .
Like now.
“Get on the table. I’ll help, but if this is what you want, then this is how we’re doing it. If you don’t want this, say it now, Sarah.” I momentarily blanch, then force myself to remember what this man has done. He’s not just a rapist, he’s a child killer, ending a life before it even had a chance.
“Help me,” I say, mourning the loss of his fingers when they slip from me to do as I asked. We walk closer and I avoid looking at the congealed blood too long, putting weight on my hands and lifting a leg.
It’s awkward and slow going, but we both move cautiously, his hands moving from my hips to protectively shield my bump. I end up on hands and knees between spread thighs. My nose crinkles at the limp, bloodied cock beneath my gaze.
“I can cut it off,” Zaiden offers, and I shake my head.
“No. But the mood is dangerously close to being ruined,” I warn, blood soaking through my scrubs.
Zaiden’s quicker to move than me, hopping up onto the table behind me. Missionary is not easy at seven months pregnant.
Hands return to my hips, pulling on my scrub bottoms and I wiggle my butt to ease the slide down. Cool air kisses my skin and I forget about the body in front of me when his fingers return to stroking through my folds.
I moan, pushing back, wanting to be impaled.
“So wet,” he murmurs, and there’s rustling behind me. Then I feel it, firm, velvety smooth skin sliding along my pussy.
“Yes, give it to me,” I whimper, impatiently shuffling backwards.
Smack .
“Oh!” I gasp out, ass cheek stinging. I whimper, wanting it again and him inside me. I want both.
“So eager,” he growls, sliding a palm up my arched back until he’s gripping my ponytail. Gently, he tugs on it, forcing my head toward the ceiling while guiding his cock inside me.
“Oh, yes,” I moan, eyes closing in bliss. He feels so good, cock pressing into all the places I need him.
Smack . I tighten around him, a shudder traveling through me. Fuck, he’s reading my mind. Or maybe we’ve done this enough times for him to know what I need in each situation.
“Fuck me, little raven,” he rasps, hips slamming forward, rocking me. I clench, whining at the fullness. My hips shift forward, then back again to meet his next thrust as he ordered. His thrusts are forceful but the pace is slow and I’m panting, needing something more to shove me over.
“Zai—” His hand moves from my hair to my throat, hauling me up and into him. Fingernails dig into my hip and he loses restraint, snapping his hips into me, then shoving me away with his grip.
Oh, that’s exactly what I needed, tongue lying useless in my mouth, only allowing moans to slip past. Our flesh slaps together, moans and grunts coalescing into the best music.
“Come for me,” he groans, moving his hand to my clit. One brush and I seize in his arms, body tightening. He keeps thrusting through it, grunting in my ear from the tight press.
“ Mine ,” he snarls, sounding like a man possessed, and I cry out, another orgasm slamming into me with the jerk and twitch of his cock. He grinds into me, working us through the aftershocks.
My body goes lax, slumping in his hold, trusting him implicitly.
I blink drowsily up at the ceiling, relieved that a dead man isn’t the first thing my eyes land on after Zaiden’s rocked my world. Again. He is truly the sweetest addiction.
I didn’t think in a million years anyone could convince me to do this. I glance down and regret it, focusing on the red staining blue. My stomach roils and I wiggle in Zaiden’s hold.
“I want to get cleaned up and I’m feeling a little nauseous,” I warn.
Wordlessly, he slips from me, slides off the table, and pulls me into his arms. Only a second of fleeting concern of falling hits me before I’m surrounded by warmth again.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, walking towards the door. I flush at my bare legs, pulling them closer to my rounded stomach.
“If Zac wants to keep his eyes, he’ll remain in the kitchen,” Zaiden states, and I nearly laugh, but I don’t think he’s joking.
Shaking my head at their antics and closing my eyes, I release the tension from the past twelve hours, from the moment I woke up, racing to the toilet to empty my stomach up till the moment I stared down into an open chest cavity with tears stinging my eyes.
Today sucked, but this is my reward, my haven, the person I can lay down my burdens with and I wouldn’t change a thing about him. I snuggle closer, winding my arms around his neck, letting him look after me as I look after him when his mind turns on him.
We are each other’s balance, each other’s peace. It isn’t always rainbows and sunshine, but it is our happily ever after and we’d kill to keep it.
And as today has proven, if need be, I’ll kill to protect the innocent.
The End.