Chapter Twenty-Two #2
His grip on my neck tightens, making it impossible to speak and darkening my vision. I try not to panic, but I can’t get to my clutch to light a match or use my lighter. Even if I could, I couldn’t say Mastyx’s name.
“Answer me,” he hollers in my face, his hot breath heating my cheek.
I slap his arms before forcing my arms between his and grab his head, pulling it hard toward the ground. I raise my knee, striking him hard in the face before ducking and twisting away from him, breaking his hold on me.
“Mastyx,” I call out before picking up the clutch that I dropped off the ground and turning to run.
My head flies back, his fingers twisting tightly around my hair, pulling me back toward him.
“What did you say?” He pulls my body back against his, his one arm tightening around my waist, the other rocking my head back and forth violently, making me dizzy.
“You’d better tell me what the fuck this is about. ”
Jesus. He’s going to fucking kill me. I misjudged him.
My body flies forward, the ground stinging my knees as I land on it, knocking my clutch out of my hand a second time, spilling its contents.
A sharp pain rips through my ribs, his boot striking them hard, knocking me sideways to the ground.
My arm scrapes against the vile pavement, reaching for the contents of my clutch, searching for the switchblade I placed inside earlier.
He drops to the ground, his leg swinging over my stomach, straddling me.
His arm swings back, and his fist swings toward me. I pinch my eyes closed right before my mouth explodes with throbbing pain, and blood fills my palate.
My head falls to the side, and I see the blade just out of reach of my fingertips. I stretch my arm close enough to grip it in my hand and press the button.
“Who’s coming for me?” he asks, clenching the front of my dress and pulling my face close to his.
I smile with bloody teeth up at him. “Mastyx.” When I swing, he sees the blade coming and puts up his hand.
The sharp silver tip glides into his palm, and he shouts, before wrenching it away from me.
Blood drains down his hand and arm as he drops the blade beside us, stares at the wound on his hand with wild eyes, before narrowing them at me. “You’re going to fucking regret that.”
He grabs me harshly and flips me quickly onto my stomach, his full body weight crashing down on my spine as his zipper rapidly clicks down. “When I’m done fucking you, you can go back and tell whomever you work for that you belong to me now.”
His fingers twist into my hair, winding their way to my scalp before yanking my head away from the asphalt and slamming it back down, sending a sudden shooting pain through my forehead, the grit of the hard surface digging into my skin.
I turn my head sideways, resting my ear against the ground of the filthy alley, feeling the rumbling of cars driving down the cross street, but I can’t hear anything over the ringing in my ears.
Blood drains down from my head and drips onto the slimy alley beneath me.
I close my eyes and beg for Mastyx to save me inside my head.
My dress slides up my thighs, then my ass, and his fingers press inside my pussy. “Nice and wet, just the way I like it.”
“Stop!” I cry out through blurry tears.
He pulls my head off the ground by my hair. “Tell me who you work for, and this will all be over.”
I remain silent. I already told him who I came here for and why. He just doesn’t believe me.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. Just remember you asked for this, now you’re going to fucking take it.” His fingers slide out from inside me, and I feel him positioning himself to enter me from behind.
Something Mastyx said about being responsible for your own rescue filters into my head.
I have to save myself.
With every ounce of strength and courage I have left, I reach for the switchblade, pushing through the pain the weight of him is causing me. It’s just outside my reach, so I buck my body to keep him from entering me from behind and scoot my hand closer to the knife.
Pressure pushes against my ass, and I realize he’s not trying to enter my pussy, he’s going straight for the other hole.
I rock my body side to side, stopping him from pushing inside me, and a hammering pain slams into my thigh as he punches it, deadening my leg.
“Stop fucking moving,” he shouts, before licking his palm and swiping it across my asshole, moistening it, and making it pucker.
The tip of his cock harshly breaches the opening, tearing me wide open, and I scream just as my fist tightens around the switchblade.
I swing it blindly over my shoulder, and his cock instantly softens as gargling sounds come from behind me.
I shift my body from beneath him as he falls sideways into a deep puddle, littered with garbage.
I climb on his midsection and slam the blade of the knife in between his ribs, blind rage taking over.
The knife plunges in and out of his arms and hands as he tries to cover his vital organs.
His arms drop down to his sides, the fight in him fading.
My feet slide against the slippery pavement as I climb off him, drop backward and stare wide-eyed at what I’ve done.
His legs slide against the pavement and blood spurts from between his lips.
Something wet dribbles down my cheek. I raise my hand to wipe it and freeze.
Dark crimson coats my fingers, hands, dress, legs and arms. Every part of me is spotted or drenched in metallic crimson.
The fantasy I had about being coated in blood races back to me, and I realize I’m living part of that fantasy right now.
It’s everywhere.
A car horn beeps in the distance, and my head darts in the direction of the noise, breaking me from my trance-like state. I scan the alley around me, my heart pounding. I have to hurry up and collect myself and get out of here before someone sees us.
I crawl across the ground, my hands and knees gliding through the growing puddle of bloody water around Brent and pick up my pink lighter that fell from my clutch. I hold it between us, press my thumb against the flame adjustment, turning it up high and flick it.
Nothing but sparks.
I try again, fighting through blinding tears, but the blood on my fingers makes getting a good grip on it hard.
I wipe my hand along the hem of my dress, on a clean part, and try again.
A whooshing flame nearly singes off my eyebrows.
I take a deep breath, holding it before murmuring one word through staggering lips, “Mastyx…” My bottom lip quivers, and my teeth chatter. “…help me.”
The flame shoots higher than it should, and within a heartbeat, Mastyx manifests beside us in the shadows.
I drop the lighter and scoot back the short distance to the wall, leaning against it as my entire body shivers, suddenly feeling too cold.
Brent’s eyes drift to mine, pleading with me to call for help, to save him. Mastyx steps between us, and through his legs, I watch Brent’s mouth and eyes stretch unnaturally wide in horror. He tries to scream, but blood instead of words coughs from between his lips.
Mastyx peers down at me over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing before snatching Brent from the water, holding him high, and inhaling deeply.
Brent’s legs dangle and twitch as his soul separates from his body in a blurry haze and enters Mastyx’s throat, lighting it up on the way down to the pit of his stomach.
I cower beneath them, too stunned to move. Mastyx’s face slowly transforms from a flaming skull to Brent’s. By the time Mastyx finishes sucking the literal life out of him, Brent is nothing but a pile of bones with a light skin covering him, completely desiccated.
Mastyx throws what’s left of him across the alley, and he lands inside a dumpster, the lid closing on top of him.
The silence that follows is deafening. Mastyx stands beside the dumpster, his eyes fixed on it. There’s a hesitation, like he doesn’t want to look at me, and it makes me feel ashamed.
His head pivots abnormally slow in my direction, and I immediately put my head down, afraid of what he may do to me—afraid he changed his mind about our agreement and decides to hurt me.
His footsteps echo around me, growing louder as they come closer. I sense him, hovering above me, but still, I keep my head down, remaining submissive.
Fingers glide across the back of my neck before wrapping under my chin, where he presses upward, tipping my face up to his. “Oh, my Little Sinner, what has he done to you?”
A sense of relief washes over me, and I sob, resting my face in his palm, my bloody head smearing across its surface. He catches a tear racing down my cheek with a hooked black claw and sucks my sadness off his fingertip before picking me up and carrying me down the alley.
I rest my heavy head against his hairy chest, nuzzling into him, my eyes barely able to stay open as we turn out of the alley and walk toward the dark, abandoned lot I parked in. When we reach my car, nearly concealed in darkness, he opens the back passenger door and places me inside.
I stare up at him. “What are you doing?”
“You called me here, so your loins must need me. That’s what you said. That was our agreement.”
My eyes widen. “But—”
He grips my jaw roughly. “This arrangement was your idea, Little Sinner, remember?”
I close my eyes as he pulls me toward him, spreading my legs when my ass is resting on the edge of the back seat—the chill of the night air, spreading goosebumps across my lower body. A whimper escapes me as he makes a slow entry and moves in and out of me quickly but not deeply.
His claws dig into my upper thighs, and he hoists me higher before thrusting hard into me.
I cry out, my legs and body screaming from the violent attack I just endured. Tears drain into my ears on both sides, muffling Mastyx’s moans of pleasure.
His body heats up, and my eyes widen as his cock, not ripping my insides to pieces or scorching my tender internal walls, glides in and out of me, massaging my walls with a warmth and tenderness that soothes me from the inside.
How can that even be possible?
He pulls me up to his chest before wrapping both arms tightly around me, holding me there as he stills, finding his release. The fluid inside me numbs the pain, and I find myself slowly forgetting about what I just went through in the alley.
His hand cups the back of my head, holding it softly against his chest, his heat smoothing the goosebumps on my skin.
He holds me at arm’s length before reaching between my legs, his warm fingers sliding gently inside my ass. I close my eyes and moan as a tingling sensation travels down my thighs, into my bottom, and through my spine, the tearing pain that was once there, dissipating in an instant.
A staggering breath escapes me as his thumb grazes over my clit, stroking it gently.
All the pain I was feeling has been replaced by pure pleasure.
Mastyx’s head drifts between my legs, and I grip the seat, my body instinctively sliding back as his long tongue extends from his lips and slides between mine, flickering inside me.
My orgasm coats his tongue within seconds, and with my release, the last of my energy drains into his palate.
When I feel a sudden chill, I open my eyes, and Mastyx is gone. I crawl from the back seat and stand, swiping my forehead, checking for blood, but feel nothing. The pain throughout my body no longer exists.
I glance at my arms, turning them side to side, but they are clean.
The driver’s side door groans open, and I sink behind the wheel, pulling the visor down and peering into the mirror.
My face looks fine. I turn my head side to side, covering my mouth in disbelief.
There’s no bruising, no blood, no signs that anything happened to me at all.
He healed me.
? ? ?
Over the last several days, I’ve barely slept. Every time I close my eyes, I see Brent’s fist coming at my face, forcing my eyes back open. Even though Mastyx healed my physical trauma, the mental and emotional effects linger, making day-to-day activities that I usually enjoy feel more like chores.
I gaze at the unfinished project on my desktop that I started before the incident with Brent.
It takes everything in me to sit down and pick up my glue container, determined to finish what I started.
Baby’s breath, moss and finger bones rest on either side of the plank, waiting for me to decide what to do with them.
After Mastyx left me healed in the abandoned lot, I went back and, using my switchblade, roughly cut off a few of Brent’s fingers in a fit of rage.
At the time, I did it to take away the appendages he used to violate my body with.
But the more I stared at the decomposing fingers, the more I realized I had a better use for them in my art.
A heavy sigh escapes me, blowing the dried flowers across the desk and over the edge onto the floor. I shake my head and set the glue back down. I’m not in the mood. My arms feel too heavy, too tired.
I stand, shuffle the short distance to the couch and flop down on the cushions, throwing my arm across my eyes. Maybe I’ll try again later.
Maybe.