Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
I run. I run so fucking fast, the wind rips tears from my eyes and the city smears into streaks of torchlight and shadow.
Ada, the witch-work, tomorrow’s confessions—they’re all gone.
Only the name Percival Hale pounds in my skull like a war drum.
I’m going to drag this filth into the dark and make him bleed.
Again. And again. I know exactly where he cowers, and he’ll never hear the blade coming.
I tear through black alleys, shoulder-checking drunks, trampling beggars, scattering whores like rats. Lanterns swing, and faces blur into screaming masks. He’s mine.
Night swallows the sky. The streets choked with flickering lights clutched like talismans. His house looms—gaudy brick, iron gates yawning open. I’m there. I don’t know yet how I’ll carve him, but I’m starving for red.
I kick the front door, the wood detonating inward, hinges shrieking like dying pigs. My monster is out and I don’t give a fuck who sees. A crash upstairs—someone’s home. I storm the hall, then up the stairs, boots crashing, and explode into the bedroom.
A woman screams from the bed, sheet clutched to her throat, eyes bulging.
“Where is he?” I roar.
She jabs a shaking finger at the door to the next room.
“Get the fuck out. Keep your mouth shut or—” I notice it’s Sid, De’s girl. “He broke Sparrow’s arm tonight, Sid. What the fuck are you doing with him?” She vanishes before answering me, her bare feet slapping down the stairs.
I stalk to the door. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I sing-song. Muffled sobs leak through the wood—wet, animal. He’s terrified. “Come on, I won’t bite. Not yet.”
I scan the room to see if I can use anything. I spot a heavy oak chair in the corner—perfect—and start ripping the bedsheet into long strips.
The handle is locked. I slam my fist against the door. “Little pig, little pig. Let. Me. In.”
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Again, and again, until the wood groans and the sobs turn to shrieks.
“I’m going to count to three…”
“One.” Bang.
“Two.” Bang.
“Three.” Boom.
Red.
I love this…
I take a step back, lining myself up with the door and I force my shoulder into it. Again and again. The door opens, and an older man, if I can even call him a man, tries to run past me, naked, and cowering.
“Oh no you don’t,” I call as I grab him by the arm.
I take a few steps with him, swivel him around, and slam him down into the chair.
He’s crying, his face wet and shrivelled as he tries to fight me, but I put my legs through the chair arms and sit on his lap, facing him and keeping him pinned.
I use the bedding strips as restraints for his arms.
“Do you know why I’m here?” I whisper in his ear. He tries to move his head away from my lips as I wiggle my hips on him, making him shudder.
You tease.
I gasp, looking around the room. Who said that? Did I miss someone else in the room? Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, I snap out of it and concentrate on the man I'm straddling.
“P…please.”
“Oh, begging won't get you anywhere, darling.” I grin as I clamber off him; it’s time to play.
Walking around him, I place my hands on his shoulders, and he trembles at my touch.
“Remember a nice little petite girl over at De-Vil’s?
Wanting to pay her extra, getting her in her bed?
Remember how she feels? How you—” I punch him in the face with everything I have.
“Bruised her stunning little face?” He spits out red and I walk around him again.
“Remember how she pleased you? How she let you use her like a toy?” I glance around, looking for anything.
There: a fire poker. Of course the rich fuck has a fireplace in his bedroom—he’ll pay for it now.
I turn back. “How her body felt in your arms?” I stab the fire poker into the middle of his humerus. It cracks with a beautiful, almost musical sound and I shudder in ecstasy, the snap of it breaking making me wet. He howls in pain and I chuckle to myself.
I love your laugh.
I ignore the voices in my head. They aren’t real.
I grab my dagger, grateful that I always keep one on me, and I drop to my knees in front of him.
I can’t wait for you to do that for me.
I grab his good hand and lay it flat on the arm or the chair, flipping my knife and watching the glare of the candlelight shine across his face. Such an old man; so aged with a face full of snot and regret.
“Look at me,” I demand. He doesn't. I place the edge of my blade to his pinkie fingernail. “Look. At. Me.” I dig the edge under his nail.
So dominant. I love this.
He whips his head to mine, his eyes pleading, but he’ll get no mercy, not for hurting my Sparrow.
“I can give you money! I’ll give you anything. Just stop, please. I beg you!”
A chuckle echoes around my head.
I spit in Hale’s face. “You think money will keep you alive? Oh no, you’re dead.
In fact, I’m going to kill you and take your money.
How does that sound? It won't fix the damage you've done to my girl, but it'll help her out.” He hangs his head in defeat and I take my blade, removing several of his fingernails, going as slow as I can.
I’m bored now. Time for something new.
Fire, my queen. Fire.
I prowl to the hearth and grab the tongs, digging around in the flames to find the hottest bit of coal I can.
“No! No, please, no!” he screams. I walk over slowly, tongs gripping a smouldering, hissing piece of coal and I slowly press it onto his dick. The smell of burning flesh hits my senses, and I moan out loud, letting him see and hear just how much I enjoy his misery.
Good girl.
Hale passes out from the pain—poor baby. I stand in front of him and I lower a hand to my pussy, giving her a little rub over the fabric. I’m so wet from this, from torture. From inflicting pain.
That’s it. Think of me.
I moan louder, more intense as I start to build.
That voice in my head…
The man groans as he comes to but doesn’t quite manage to get it out as I slap him hard across the face.
“You didn’t think we were finished, did you?”
He spits blood and starts to sputter. “I’m… I’m going to kill you. I’m going to kill all your little whore friends and finish off that slut. She wasn’t worth my time…” I tune him out.
Red. Red. Red.
He is still talking but I can't hear his words anymore.
It’s time, my love.
I look around his room frantically, I need something.
Where is it? I go to his dresser, the fucker has a lot of jewellery and ornaments scattered around and he thinks it gives him power over people, that it lets him do what he wants.
I’ll show him power. Give me what I need.
Something catches my eye, a certain ornament.
A crow.
Like it was meant to be.
I grab it and turn to face the man, a wicked grin on my face. His eyes widen as I get closer to him. He’s yelling at me, but I can't hear his words. Not now, not when I'm feeling so close.
Yes. Do it.
He’s spitting blood all over me. Red. I laugh, rubbing it into my clothes, my skin.
I like this.
I raise my arm up high, the crow securely in my hand, the beak sticking out along with the wings; it’s sharp, cutting into my hand slightly and I shiver from the pleasure it gives me, the rush of it running down my thighs at this point.
Thought you’d like that.
A tingle goes down my spine. I need to finish.
I bring down the crow to the top of this man's head.
Crack. Again.
I bring it down to his left temple.
And again.
I bring it down to his right.
Red.
This is it, my queen, keep going. Don't stop.
The pleasure inside me is at the edging point, Hale’s barely alive and there’s red everywhere.
I open the man's mouth and place the sharp, bloodied up crow inside, disappointed that it doesn't fit all the way in. He doesn't even bother screaming any more, he doesn't bother to fight nor beg.
I kick the crow further into Hale’s mouth. CRUNCH. Cracks and gargles fill my ears. So much red. The man's jaw is hanging looser than before, his cheeks torn open and leaking. The crow’s beak is sticking out the back of his neck and as his gargling, choking, wheezing cease.
My legs give way and I fall to the floor, an orgasm ripping through me as my world shatters.
Yes, my love!
Some time later, I'm in my own bed. I don’t remember how or when I even got home, and somehow, I’d even managed to grab a couple of new trophies: a lock of hair, shining grey and the crow.
I had a single hazy memory of adding the hair to Ada’s plaited braids and the crow, all washed and shiny again, sits peacefully on my bookshelf.
I’d also washed and cleaned my wounds, and my clothes were hung to dry.
Trinkets, jewellery and money are spread across my table, all stolen from that bastard, and my belly is full of warm food.
I feel sated in a way that I’ve never been before.
And I am His.
I have to find him.