Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Rayna
We secure everyone’s hands and feet, then lead them toward the master bedroom upstairs, away from the body of their dead relative. Everyone is mostly coherent, save the father. I’m fairly certain he’s bleeding internally. He slips in and out of consciousness at the back of their daisy chain.
The mother groans as she takes a step forward and is forced to drag her husband’s limp body. “He’s dying. If we don’t get him some help, he won’t survive.”
“Funny that you think your survival is our goal,” I mutter.
The father comes to again. He gets on his hands and knees and crawls behind his family. I aim the shotgun beside him and pull the trigger. Shrieks erupt, including a high-pitched screech from Dalton as he whips around.
“Sorry,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders. “He isn’t moving fast enough.”
Dalton snatches the gun from my hands and motions for the others to file into the room.
They do as instructed, even going so far as to sit in the chairs we set up in front of the bed.
If the mother knew what I had up my sleeve, she’d have run screaming from the house, shotgun aimed at her stupid head or not.
When they’re all seated nicely, I begin tying them down as Dalton points the gun at the grandmother. That’s enough to keep them in line, and she doesn’t need to be tied down at all. She’s done little more than hold the fox and whimper since I arrived.
The father’s head lolls to the side, and a trickle of frothy foam oozes from the side of his mouth.
It’s pink, meaning he’s got some serious internal injuries going on.
His hands are cold as I tie them down, and he’s definitely in the process of dying.
We’d better hurry this up before we lose a quarter of our audience.
I hurry to the foot of the bed and begin removing my shirt. That earns an immediate squeal from the mother. She clamps her eyelids shut and turns her head away from us.
“I won’t watch!” she shouts. “You can force me to sit here, but I won’t witness your perversions. It’s an affront to our beliefs!”
I scoff and lower the hem of my shirt. I’m so glad I made a pit stop at the morgue before plowing into the side of their house.
It’s also good that the mother reminded me to grab my things from the truck.
After giving Dalton a kiss on his cheek and telling him I’ll be right back, I hurry to the bedroom downstairs.
A soft tick-tick-tick drifts from the truck’s otherwise silent engine as I enter the room.
I clamber over the bed to reach the driver’s side door, only pausing long enough to spare Jebediah a glance.
It’s all I have the courage for because he really looks like he could sit up and speak at any moment.
If I hadn’t viewed the medical records myself, I’d almost believe he was still in there too.
But he’s not. That much is clear when I grab my bag from the truck and use my knife to make a small incision in his wrist. The dead flesh doesn’t spread and fill with red the way live flesh would.
I briefly consider dragging the corpse to the master bedroom and turning this into a threesome, but it doesn’t feel right.
Not many things feel wrong to me, so when they do, I listen.
After securing my bag on my shoulders, I stuff Van Gogh safely into his inner pocket and bid Jebediah farewell.
Back in the bedroom, Dalton sits on the edge of the mattress as he picks dirt from his nails with the end of a silver letter opener.
Our (literally) captive audience is seated and secured.
Now it’s time to put on a show.
I set my bag beside Dalton on the bed and begin digging around inside. From the shadowy depths, I pull two silver devices that look like something from a torture film. Dalton doesn’t know what they are, but the mother does. She begins wailing immediately because she knows what I intend to do.
“You can’t make me watch! You can’t!” she screams. “Even if my eyes are forced open, I’ll turn my head!”
I slide off the bed with a laugh. “Lady, I’ll ram a rod alongside your spine to ensure your cooperation if I have to.
My boyfriend and I plan to entertain you assholes, and I’ll be damned if any of you will opt out.
Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.
” I jingle the metal contraptions, and she shuts her eyes.
“Have it your way,” Dalton says with a shrug.
He hops down from the mattress and grips the woman’s head between his hands.
I imagine what it would be like if he squeezed until something cracked, and that’s enough to get me excited.
I step forward and ram the prongs beneath her upper eyelid.
The prongs scrape along the slippery globe, and she lets out a guttural scream.
“If you’d hold still, it sure would hurt a lot less,” Dalton says.
I slip the lower set of prongs beneath her eyeball, then begin ratcheting the dial on the side of the device, forcing her eyelids fully open.
A bubble of giddy laughter slips out of me. “Good grief, it looks like her eyeball could fall right the fuck out of her skull.”
She screams again, earning more laughter from me as I set to work on her second eye. Moments later, she’s been turned into a fucking stalk-eyed fly. Her peepers are popping like they’ve never popped before, I’m sure. Then she turns her head.
I sigh and step toward the foot of the bed as I remove my shirt. “I’ll give you an option, lady. Either you can watch us fuck, or you can watch as I drag your son’s corpse into the room and shove it into every hole I have, piece by chopped-off piece.”
“You wouldn’t defile him in such a way,” she breathes.
“She absolutely would, and I would help.” Dalton smiles at her. “Eyes on us, Ma Psycho.”
With a grin, I pull the knife from my bag and hand it to Dalton. The father has a moment of clarity when he sees it, and he struggles against his ropes. But he has no need to worry. It’s not meant for him.
I lie back on the bed as Dalton removes my shorts. I’m not wearing panties, so he drags his tongue through my slit one time before stepping away. As my thighs spread and showcase my pleasure, the mother begins to cry.
When I look up, I realize why. Her husband is currently half-dazed, but he’s locked in on my pussy. The growing lump in the crotch of his pants tells me he’s not so against this.
“You like looking?” I coo toward the man. I smack my hand against my cunt and drag my fingers through my wetness. “Yeah, you like it, don’t you?”
“Why are you forcing us to watch this?” Samuel finally asks.
“You’re exempt,” Dalton says.
He drops the knife on the bed, rips off his shirt, and rushes to Samuel. He begins wrapping the shirt around Samuel’s head, obscuring my body from his view. In the heat of the moment, I guess he forgot about his jealousy. It’s kind of hot to see him so flustered, though.
Once Samuel can no longer glimpse my body, Dalton returns to the bed and takes up the knife again. “Turn over, bones. Let me bleed you.”
The words rush straight between my legs and drive me wild.
I flip onto my stomach, with my head facing our audience, and raise my ass in the air, hoping he’ll add a new scar to the raised lines on my ass.
It’s my favorite because I get to feel the sting for weeks.
Every time I sit down, I’ll be reminded of this moment.
As if he read my mind, he presses the blade against my right ass cheek and drags downward, applying enough pressure to break the top layer of skin without driving too deep. The heat is instant and heavenly.
The father groans, and his head tips back as he loses consciousness again.
The mother seems to calm a bit, almost taking an interest in our actions as Dalton runs his hand through the blood on my ass.
When he brings the bloody mess between my legs, she’s practically intrigued.
But it’s not enough. Something about this just isn’t enough.
I look back at Dalton with a pout. “Are you sure we shouldn’t add a third? I mean, more blood is always better, don’t you think? And it is Halloween, technically.”
“I’m watching! Don’t bother my Jebediah while he’s resting,” the mother pleads.
It’s so funny that she thinks I’m talking about her son, but she must have missed the part about the blood. Of which he has none.
No, I’m thinking of bleeding someone else entirely. And with a sigh, Dalton agrees.