Chapter 11
Eleven
Theo
Damon looked pathetic tied to his own dirty kitchen table, laid out like a disgusting buffet, naked and prone, spread out with his arms above his head and his legs stretched wide, exposing every foul inch of him.
My face was a permanent scowl, and I wished I had a fucking medical mask to put some sort of barrier between us.
It was a despicable sight, especially when the waste of space prick pissed himself, his flaccid cock resting against his thigh as he released a steady stream of dark yellow urine all over his leg and the table beneath him. Pathetic asshole. The stench almost made me retch.
But he only glared at us, a gag of his dirty underwear shoved deep into his mouth to stop him from speaking. Skid marks and all.
“Pitiful,” Violet said, coming closer to me, wincing. “He’s one of the men closest to Rafael, and he does this already?”
The moment she’d sliced his foot on the stairs and blood began to pour, she’d come alive, a fresh, new version of herself that shone with energy.
Delicious, beautiful energy. Father had made a mistake in making me the enforcer, in not allowing his daughters to learn the trade, learn the viciousness of it.
Violet was a natural. I knew something was boiling under her skin, that this darkness was trying to fight its way out while she suppressed it, and it was a fucking pleasure to see it free, to see her free.
Tucked up, forced to be a meek bride, coming alive with a knife in her hand and a bloodlust in her heart. I was going to make her feel fucking good later. I’d sooner imagine my tongue buried in her pussy rather than look at this twat on the table. But needs must.
“What do you want to start with?” I asked her, studying her face as she contemplated. While she was a natural, she was new. I’d done this too many times to count.
She scrunched up her nose so cute. “He watched. He watched it all from the side, smug and uncaring. He just watched me die, fade away. I think the first thing we should remove are his eyes.”
Damon screamed through the fabric then, pleading and gagging as together, Violet and I walked towards him, on either side of the table so his killers surrounded him. I think he’d finally realized we were serious, that this wasn’t a joke, that she was strong.
“He’s being a bit too noisy, too,” Violet said.
“Maybe we should get rid of his tongue while we’re at it.
” She looked at him, eyes on his. “He didn’t tell them to stop.
Not once.” She ran her knife along his cheek, over his chin, pressed the tip up a nostril, twisting it until a trickle of blood burst free.
Damon winced and moaned, but stayed still.
He couldn’t move far anyway, even if he wanted to.
Violet was teetering on the edge of insanity, and I didn’t know whether I wanted to fuck her or cuddle her. Or lock her away somewhere, with only me. Only me, good food, a warm bed and nothing else… only our madness to twist us up together, immovable.
Suddenly, she lifted her knife and slammed it down into Damon’s left eye socket, the squelching, popping noise sickening for just a beat before Damon’s voice covered it up.
Damon screamed, muffled and harrowed, but Violet did it again; she stabbed.
She stabbed and stabbed until his eye was nothing more than mush and mess down his cheek, red and flesh and veins sticking to her blade, hanging like strings as she raised it higher.
Breathing heavily, she moved onto the next, climbing onto the table and straddling him for better position. I watched, didn’t need to do anything but observe and fight the urge to fuck her here and now.
Maybe Damon could watch that. A show before his death. But no. She was mine. No one else’s. Never again.
This time, she was more careful, pressing the tip of the knife into his eye socket, cutting and twirling it around like she was trying to loosen a cake from its tin. She bit her lip, and my cock throbbed again.
“I think this would be easier with a spoon,” she muttered, then reached in with her free hand, plucking the man’s eye right from his face.
She made a disgusted face and yelped, chucking it across the room.
The eyeball bounced off the wall with a wet thwack before dropping to the floor.
“Hideous.” She looked at me, a little green around the gills, but still steely. “Now he can’t see.”
“Now he can’t see,” I repeated, grinning at her.
For the next thirty minutes, I leaned against the wall and enjoyed her working. My arms crossed, one leg kicked up, I had the best show. While she carved up one of her monsters, I imagined everything I might do to her when she was done.
Damon lost his hands, she said, because he didn’t use them to stop her torture.
She sliced out his tongue, as promised, because he stayed quiet when she was being raped and beaten.
She took her time with each, sawing through bone, talking to him and staunching wounds where needed.
I only encouraged her, beautiful as she was.
Even blood splattered, a little deranged. She was mine.
It was when she shoved his legs apart that I stood up straight, met her at the table and asked what she was doing next.
“His cock,” she said. “His penis. He let them rape me. He let them use their… he let them.” She nodded, gave her shoulders a shake like she was about to kick a ball into a net.
I had not a lick of sympathy for the man, even when he vomited out of his tongueless mouth and shook his eyeless face, begging her not to do it with whines and deep groans.
“I don’t want to touch it,” she said with a frown, her hand hovering near his disgusting crotch. He reeked, the urine dried and sticky with dust and tiny strings of fabric. I didn’t want her to touch it either.
“Hang on,” I muttered, looking around for something we could use.
I ended up in his kitchen, returning with a dishcloth a second later.
With a grimace, I used my thumb and forefinger to lift what remained of his shriveled dick, the dishcloth between us.
It had retracted so far into his body I had to give it a tug to make enough space for Violet to work.
He continued to mutter and moan, begging, delirious, sweaty. He pissed again, all over the rag and my fucking hand. “Ugh!” I yelled, pinching his tip to try to stop him. Foul prick.
Violet took a deep breath, and I had to look away as she rested the blade against his cock. “Feel it,” she demanded, pressing in just a little to dig into the shaft. “Feel it, Damon. What I’m about to do to you.”
He only cried. I was impressed he hadn’t passed out or to the other side yet. But he didn’t. He screamed with each slice. His throat gurgled and groaned through every millisecond it took for my sister to turn him into a eunuch.
Blood spurted from the hole in his crotch, and his dick shriveled even more in the dishcloth it lay bundled up in.
Violet took it, her face determined, her nostrils flared like she was keeping down bile. She pried Damon’s jaw open and dropped the appendage into his mouth. His gagging turned yet more desperate, whines of pain and despair that made her heart sing, made her eyes glow.
I watched her as she slammed his jaw shut, as she dropped the knife and used both her hands to make his jaw move, to make his teeth grind together to turn his penis into mush.
“Chew,” she murmured to him, so soft it was just above a whisper.
She was panting as she worked, forcing him to chew his cock up when he wouldn’t do it himself. His moans were a constant now, high and pained.
“Massage his throat,” I whispered.
“What?” she asked, glancing up at me in surprise, her brow furrowing.
I grinned. “If you massage his throat, it will make him swallow. I saw it on a vet documentary once. They got a cat to swallow its pill by rubbing at its throat.”
Our eyes locked for a moment, a shared understanding of what we were doing. Then she nodded and did as I asked, her hand roughly massaging his throat until we saw it bob.
“He actually swallowed it,” she said, almost in awe, sitting back to look at him for a second. “I hope he chokes.”
A beat, then with one final swift movement, the knife was in her grasp again, and the blade was buried in his neck.
He gurgled, blood oozed from his neck, and after a few clawing moments where he tried to suck in air, everything stopped; his life left him in a blink, a sad, pathetic little blink.
“Oh my god, I did it,” Violet said, looking down at her handiwork in awe, rearing back. “He’s dead.”
“He’s more than fucking dead, love,” I responded, my hands moving around her waist to lift her off him, unable to witness them touching anymore. “He’s destroyed. Ruined.” She needed a shower.
“I hope they all see it,” she muttered against my neck as I twisted her to me. Her legs wrapped around me, and I staggered back until my spine hit the wall, as far as we could get from the corpse.
Her mouth landed on mine, that tension she held in her body rupturing out as she groaned against my lips, her tongue plunging against mine. Fuck, she was delicious. A fire raged between us. Her hips writhed; my cock yearned to bury inside her gorgeous body and fuck any remaining anxiety away.
“We need to go,” I said with huge reluctance, still groping at her skin. “We need to get the fuck out of here, get back to the cabin before anything goes wrong.”
She groaned deeply into my mouth, but nodded. “Is there anything we need to do, or can we leave him like this?” she asked, her voice breathy.
I kissed her again, unable to stop myself, losing myself in her once more. The smell of the blood, the high from killing such a bastard, from watching my sister shine — it was making me forget, making me want to risk it all to get inside her.
But.
“Give me ten minutes to remove any sign of us from the police.” I got my hands on her shoulders and pressed her back. “Don’t touch anything. Just stand there.”
She nodded.
“Then when I get you home, you won’t be able to walk straight for days. I’m going to eat your pussy until you have nothing left, baby.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Let’s make it a quick journey back then.”