Chapter 10
The Cross
Hunter
Imaintain a good distance from Scarlett as I follow her down the street. Although I just left her session, it didn’t feel like enough. I’m not ready to part ways just yet.
It’s been a while since our last meeting.
The last time we saw her was in the park, the day Jax’s dog gruesomly mauled a guy to death.
Since then, Scarlett has been pulling away from me—and them—perhaps spiraling as the anniversary of the horrors she endured approaches.
She should be celebrating her hard-won second chance at life, yet she seems instead to be in mourning for the men who kidnapped, drugged, and assaulted her—twisted remnants of a love that once ensnared her.
I have been laying the groundwork for her to forget them since she first came to me.
I’ve allowed her to get close, while in turn, I’ve woven myself into her world more deeply than she realizes.
A late autumn wind sweeps through Salem, biting at my skin. I’m only in a white t-shirt, a leather jacket, and a pair of tattered blue jeans, unprepared for the chill. But I have no intention of staying outside for much longer.
I trail after Scarlett as she heads toward the church on First Street, far removed from the apartment where that horrific massacre occurred.
I watch her enter and I settle back onto the front steps, lighting the preroll I had tucked behind my ear.
With the church's windows open, I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes out to join me.
My gaze drifts over the stretch of land surrounding the church, landing on a small cemetery at the rear, hidden behind a tangle of overgrown bushes.
The headstones are crumbling, and my eyes are drawn to a freshly dug mound of earth, a newly erected wooden cross strikingly bold against the decay.
A sense of curiosity pulls me closer, and I take another hit as I walk toward the grave, my instincts whispering what it must signify.
As I pass the ancient, crumbling marble stones, I find myself before the new wooden cross, a mound of earth freshly placed at its base, broader than the others.
A chill crawls down my spine as I read the stark inscription: "Blade, Saint, Nixon, and Riley.
" Just their names, nothing more, and the hollow simplicity unnerves me. I knew of her obsession with them, but I couldn’t fathom the depths of her fixation.
What do I need to do for Scarlett to see me as she once saw them?
Do I need to fucking kidnap her like they did?
Frustration flares within me as I shake off the initial shock, my heart racing with an anger that sweeps through the chill in the autumn air. Just then, the sound of crunching leaves draws my attention from behind, and I take another hit of the preroll, letting the smoke trail off into the wind.
“What are you doing here?” Scarlett’s voice is close, and I feel the sharp edge of her blade at my throat; she’s come prepared.
"I came to see you," I reply, feeling the blade shift against my skin, urging me to comply.
“Why are you back here where you don’t belong, Hunter?” Her anger is potent, and it’s the very fire I need.
"I saw the cross and my curiosity got the better of me," I growl, spinning to meet her gaze with my own knife pressed dangerously close to her throat. “You really had to bring them here? You dug up their bodies?”
"I dug up their bones," she whispers, pressing into the blade with a reckless defiance in her eyes. “That’s all that was left of them.”
No further comment is made regarding my question about the bodies, and I don’t push it. There’s an edge to her tonight, and I have a vested interest in staying alive—for now.
In a moment of recklessness, I grip her throat, pressing my knife against her lips, and bend her over the wooden cross.
Dressed in a long t-shirt and delicate black lace underwear, I rip her shirt apart and slice through her underwear, feeling the warmth of her pussy as I swipe my hand against her wetness. Dripping.
Stepping behind her, I kick her feet apart and pull my cock out, the blade resting against her throat. She arches her back, presenting herself fully and pushing her ass back against me, the moonlight cascading around her dark curls like a halo.
We are suspended in a moment that feels raw and primal, the electricity between us thickening. I can feel her teetering between fear and something darker—something intoxicating and inviting.
“Look at you, all ready,” I murmur, a low chuckle escaping as I press the cool steel of my blade harder against her throat, a reminder of the control I wield, igniting that flicker of rebellion in her eyes. “You want this, don’t you?”
Her breath hitches, a sharp intake that pierces the chill in the air.
We’re caught in a dangerous game, a dance straddling the line between desire and danger, sanity and madness.
My blood races with adrenaline, heightening every sensation—the way her body trembles beneath me, the intoxicating blend of fear and arousal we can’t seem to resist.
“You’re insane, Hunter,” she whispers, her voice layered with defiance that almost makes me smile.
"I prefer the term 'passionate,'" I reply, my words laced with darkness. As I press the blade a little deeper, she shivers beneath me—her body betraying the thrill of the moment.
“You’re playing with fire,” she warns, her eyes flickering between dread and reckless excitement—a spark that pulls me further into her orbit.
"Then let’s see if we can’t create a blaze," I say, a wicked grin spreading across my face as I twist her hair, pulling her head back slightly. The thrill of it all envelops me; the madness feels intoxicating.
“Maybe I’m not the one you need to fear,” she retorts, her eyes daring me to continue down this chaotic spiral.
It’s in that moment I see it—the flicker of her own unhinged nature. She may think she can seize control, but we’re lost in a twisted dance, pushing each other to the very edges of our sanity.
“Keep talking, Bones,” I urge, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. “But remember who holds the blade.”
With that warning hanging between us, I loosen my grip on her hair and slide the knife down, tracing her collarbone before letting it rest against her exposed skin.
“What do you want, Scarlett?” I murmur, leaning closer to breathe in her scent—an intoxicating blend of fear, longing, and danger that pulls me deeper into her world.
Her eyes, wild and tempestuous, hold a multitude of emotions, and for an instant, I yearn to navigate the labyrinth of her thoughts.
“You know what I want,” she exhales, challenging me with her words.
And just like that, she tilts her head slightly, offering me the gentlest invitation to explore the delicate line between pleasure and pain.
Everything else fades—the cemetery, our haunted pasts, the shadows of others who once consumed her.
It all collapses into the pulse that connects us, raw and exhilarating.
“Show me,” I demand, my fingers trailing down her back, savoring the thrill of her challenge, the adrenaline intertwining with a deeper need.
As she complies with a heavy breath, I sense we're on the brink of something irrevocable—a dark descent into oblivion where salvation and damnation blur. And as we plunge into the abyss together, I realize I don’t just want her to forget them. I want Scarlett to remember only me.
When I slide into her, pressing on her lower back as she rises on her toes, her pussy swallows me in a vise grip, my fingers sinking into her hip.
She moans. I growl. My eyes roll back in my head with each thrust. She rocks with me, slamming back against me so my cock goes as deep inside of her as it can.
But just as the rhythm between us begins to take on a primal cadence, the haunting memories of their names etched into the wooden cross invade my thoughts. Blade, Saint, Nixon, and Riley—shadows of her past that cling to her like a fucking shadow.
“Forget them,” I hiss, the words half a plea and half a command, as I plunge deeper into her cunt, trying to drown out their presence with every thrust. “Forget them and remember me.”
Her body responds, arching back against me, her moans intertwining with the whispers of regret that linger in the corners of my mind.
Each beat of our connection chips away at the memories she clings to, like waves eroding the shore.
I want to be that shore—solid, unwavering, providing her sanctuary from the storm that brews inside her.
“You think you can erase them, don’t you?” she breathes, the defiance still dancing in her voice, though it is laced with uncertainty. “But they were part of me, Hunter. You can’t just make me forget.”
Her words linger between us, ache-this knowledge of their weight, the truth woven through her painful history. “No,” I murmur against her ear, peppering the words with urgency. “I won’t let them keep controlling you. You’re stronger than this, stronger than them.”
With every thrust, I assert myself deeper into her—and not just physically. I want to reach into the cavernous shadows of her heart and throw a spotlight on the person she is now. The survivor. The warrior. The woman who should not be shackled to her tormentors.
“I’m not trying to erase them, Scarlett,” I counter softly, brushing my lips against the back of her neck as I quicken our rhythm. “I’m trying to set you free.”
She lets out a shuddering breath, the heat of her body igniting an inferno in my chest. As her walls tighten around me, I feel her grappling with the connection we’re forging, caught between desire and the ghosts of her past.
“I need them to understand,” she finally says, voice dampened by passion but strong with conviction. “I’m not—”
“No!” I cut her off, pulling her hair until her head tilts back to meet my gaze. There's a battle raging in her eyes—her needs pitted against her memories. “You don’t need anyone’s understanding but your own. You are not their victim.”
With that statement, something shifts between us. It’s a fragile balance, but it’s there—a tentative thread of hope, threaded through the rawness of our bodies and souls entwined under this starlit sky.
“Show me what you want, Bones,” I coax gently, softening as I knead her hips and slam into her cunt, urging her to surrender to the moment, to the connection we’re building from broken shards.
"Bones?" She hesitates, and for just a flicker of time, I fear I’ll lose her again to the darkness that looms around us.
But then, in the depths of her eyes, I see it—a glint of rebellion, a spark of resolve that ignites the fire within me.
With a sudden burst of energy, she pushes back against me, taking control, flipping our positions until she’s facing me, her hands gripping my shoulders as she begins to ride me with purpose.
Her eyes blaze ferociously, and it sends a premonition spiraling in my gut—this moment is both our liberation and our salvation.
“Make them remember me, too,” she orders, voice firm yet hot with lust. The challenge in her gaze dares me to keep following her lead, to meet her spirit with an intensity that rivals hers.
“Then let’s make them wish they never existed,” I rasp, feeding off her fury as I sit deeper into the darkness between us, the world around us fading into insignificance.
We clashed like wildfire and ice, consuming one another with every glance and touch, breaking free of the chains that once bound her. As we ride the waves of our tempestuous exchange, I realize she is rewriting her story—and I am determined to be at the center of it.
As the moonlight bathes us, illuminating the truth with a soft glow, I know without a doubt: I’m not just part of her new narrative; I'm going to be the fucking author of it. Together, we'll rise from the ashes and redefine what it means to survive in a world that tries to bury us alive.
With one final thrust, we head towards oblivion—a symphony of crickets and moans, lost in each other and reborn in this bind. In this twisted moment, as we let go together, giving into desire, we plunge into uncharted depths where love, rage, and liberation violently collide.