Epilogue
HER
T his is my first time visiting North Carolina.
Kenton is a charming town overflowing with Southern hospitality. Everywhere we go, we’re welcomed with warm smiles and friendly greetings. The locals love to chat and share stories about the area, creating a genuine sense of community that makes me feel right at home. Honestly, I could live here. It’s unfortunate that Damon’s memories taint the state for him.
“She still lives about twenty miles from here,” he tells me, his eyes trained on the road.
I know he’s talking about his abusive mother. “We could get rid of her, too,” I say.
He chuckles, a bemused smile on his lips. “Love the suggestion, but let’s not jump the gun here. We need to focus on what we came here to do first, then we can work something else into our itinerary.”
Damon is still struggling with his demons, a challenge I understand all too well. Letting go of the past is never easy. I offer a supportive squeeze on his knee, and he responds with a small, grateful smile.
We continue driving to our destination—where I can finally put some of my own demons to rest. To fill the silence, I turn up the radio and start humming to the music. Damon joins in a minute later, and soon we’re singing along to his favorite song.
Time inches ever closer to midnight by the time we park out of sight. He cuts the engine before reaching into the backseat to toss me a bag. I unzip it and pull out a mask, one that Damon made for me. It matches his, but instead of white with black features, mine is the inverse.
I tuck my now shoulder-length, freshly dyed black hair behind my ear and place the mask over my face. “Let’s do this,” I say, pulling up my hood.
He grins as he slips his own mask on. “After you, my lady.”
We make our way down the road, sticking to the shadows as we approach that bastard’s house. I hold my head high, feeling butterflies swirling in my stomach as I try to keep calm, while Damon takes my hand and squeezes it, reassuring me.
“You’re sure this will work?” I ask, biting my lip.
“People will be too distracted to notice anything,” he confidently states. “You’ve got this. And if something happens, I’ll have your back.”
Finally, we arrive. Damon’s laser-focused, canvassing the property under the cover of night. Quietly, he checks the windows until he finds one that’s unlocked. He motions for me to follow, and I join him by the side of the house. “This is it. Are you ready?”
I nod, swallowing thickly. He slides up the window and slips inside. I follow suit, being sure to not make a sound as I enter. Softly, he shuts the window.
We’re in the kitchen. The ugly, patterned tiles remind me of my childhood at my father’s house after his arrest. Dick wanted to do some remodeling, and Patricia—as usual—didn’t put up a fight when he tore the place up. Seems like his taste has only deteriorated over the years , I think bitterly.
On the counter is a beat-up wooden block filled with knives. As I am about to question whether we should hide them, Damon presses a finger to the mouth of his mask. Suddenly, there is a creak from the hallway, and we both freeze, my heart hammering so loudly that I feel like it’ll burst from my chest.
We have to hide—and fast. Damon grabs my hand and pulls me into a room nearby, just as Dick steps into the kitchen. We listen as he rummages through drawers in search of something, mumbling colorful obscenities under his breath.
“Shit!” he yells, slamming the drawer shut.
He putters around the kitchen for a few minutes before moving, his footsteps drawing closer to us. Barely breathing, we press our backs against the wall, expecting him to walk into the room any second. Instead, his steps retreat further into the house, followed by the sound of the television.
We wait a few moments, listening for any more movement, before sneaking out of the room. Dick is in the living room, watching coverage of the Times Square ball drop. With the volume blasting, we successfully make it to the room without alerting him.
Damon already has a syringe prepared with something in it that will immobilize Dick—but will still allow him to feel every bit of pain I inflict on him.
And I intend on inflicting a lot .
Damon jabs Dick in the neck, injecting the blue-green liquid.
“What the fuck?!” Dick’s hand flies up to stop it, but he’s too late; the drug is quickly taking effect. His shoulders droop, and he struggles to rise from his seat. He stumbles, his legs wobbling as he drops to the floor.
I feel a deep satisfaction as I stare down at him in his helpless state. I unsheathe my knife—the same one Damon got me for my birthday—and clutch the hilt, its weight filling me with confidence as I kneel beside Dick.
“It’s time to teach you a lesson for all the suffering you’ve caused.”
Then I straddle him, glaring at him behind the mask. Though he can’t move, his eyes fill with terror. I’m shaking with rage as emotions flood me—all the pain, the fear, the humiliation. I run my knife over the exposed flesh of his arms. He feels the hot sting of every slice, unable to defend himself. I couldn’t then, so why should he?
“Who the fuck are you?!” he asks through gritted teeth.
That’s right—he doesn’t recognize my voice because of the modulator. “I’m the one who’s taking back my power,” I answer, removing my mask. “And the one who’s going to make sure you hurt no one ever again.”
His eyes widen in recognition. “Gwendoline?”
A manic smirk stretches my face, my pulse thrumming wildly. “I’m here to finish the job.”
“Wait!” he shouts.
But it’s too late. I plunge the knife into his chest. He screams, his wails of agony drowned out by the blaring television. He attempts to struggle against me, but the drug is too potent. I laugh as I watch him suffer, letting my anger and hatred for him take over.
Blood soaks the carpet, turning it a violent shade of crimson as I stab him over and over again. I don’t notice the droplets that splash my face until a maskless Damon is beside me, smearing them on my cheeks with his thumb.
“Take off your clothes,” he orders.
“What about?—”
He drives his knife into Dick’s shoulder, pinning him. “I want him to watch.”
Damon pinches my chin, pressing a heated kiss to my blood-smudged lips, and hauls me up. He crosses his arms, watching me like a starved predator as I strip, tossing aside every article of clothing until I’m as naked as the day I was brought into this wretched world. I shiver, the cool air biting at my skin.
“On your knees,” he commands.
I obey, getting into position. My upper body is above Dick’s head, supported by my hands. He’s guaranteed a good view. For a moment, I want to reconsider being seen like this—but the thought vanishes the moment I hear Damon behind me.
“Fuck,” I whine, feeling his cock slap my pussy before he rubs my drenched slit. I almost can’t believe we’re doing this, how wet I am from it.
Without warning, he slams into me, tearing a ragged scream from my throat.
“That’s it,” he groans, his pace frenetic. “Take it all!”
Damon drives into me, giving me no room to think, as my tits bounce in Dick’s face. My stepfather, still alive and in shock, has no choice but to witness every thrust and hear every lewd sound as Damon fucks me without mercy.
Damon grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling me closer, deeper. My back arches, my thighs trembling. Pleasure rolls through me in delicious waves—but it isn’t enough.
I whimper, the pressure in my core building. “Harder,” I plead. “Fuck me harder.”
“Fuck you harder?” he repeats, a mocking edge to his voice.
“ Please !”
He wraps his hand around my neck and forces me back. “Fuck, I love it when she begs.” He pounds into me, his big cock stretching me to the limit. I push my hips back, grinding into him, meeting each of his thrusts. “Is this what you wanted?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “Fuck yes!”
He picks up the pace, thrusting faster. I feel his finger brush against my swollen clit, and I moan as he starts to rub it. I catch him peering around me, a smirk on his face as he looks at Dick. To be honest, I almost forget about him—until I glimpse my knife lying nearby. I extend my arm just enough to grasp the hilt.
“Say hello to my father for me,” I say, raising the blade high—before burying it into Dick’s heart. I twist the knife for good measure, prolonging his pain. His face contorts in misery as he screams. Damon moans, watching as I end the sick fuck’s life.
On the TV, they’re counting down to 1995. Damon tugs on my hair, forcing my head back. He presses his lips to mine, our tongues slipping into each other’s mouths. My pussy clenches around him, and I squirm, on the brink of the best orgasm of my life.
“Come for me,” he groans, before sucking on the column of my neck, marking me.
I cry out, bouncing back on him, keeping him as deep as possible—before I scream, my orgasm ripping through me. My body is on fire as I release around him, coating his cock in my juices. It isn’t long before he stills for a beat and groans against my ear, filling me with his cum.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “You’re mine, Gwen. All mine .”
Clapping and cheering erupts from the TV. Damon takes a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“Happy New Year, Little Finch.”