28. Epilogue
EPILOGUE
Jersey
“Look who’s awake,” Talon announces with a smirk, inked forearms folding across his chest.
Harris groans incoherently, blinking up at us through swollen eyes. Deep red and purple bruises blossom across his face, a fresh spray of crimson layered over the dried blood already crusting his skin like some macabre Monet.
His head lolls to the side, his eyes disoriented and confused. It takes a second for recognition to set in, and when it does, the panic that overtakes his features– well, those you can actually see through the carnage– gives rise to a positively euphoric feeling.
I think I finally understand why Talon enjoyed his job so much.
It took a while for him to admit that he missed it.
We hunkered down at the cabin for an entire month, fucking like animals and doing whatever the hell we wanted while we waited for The Registry to conclude A311 was dead and gone and call off the hunt.
Once they did, restlessness set in, and Talon’s friend Slade suggested we spice things up with a date night. Ya know, normal ‘couple’ shit.
Except I’d hardly call us a couple, and we’re definitely not normal. Not after all we’ve seen and endured under The Registry’s corrupt regime.
I’ve gotta admit, vigilante missions have proved to be a much more satisfying date option than dinner and a movie.
Slade provides us with access to the files of Northbrooke’s most heinous elites, and we study every detail before plotting their assassination.
This particular date night has been a long time coming. Harris keeps his security tight, but Talon worked tirelessly to weaken his defenses, creating an opening for us to finally nab him. Best date ever.
“Hi, Master,” I purr, a coy, cruel smile playing at my lips as I wiggle my fingers in front of Harris’ mangled face.
Moving closer to the platform, I lean forward to admire the Pepto-bismol-pink collar fastened around his throat, hands bracing against my knees.
“You know,” I muse, tilting my head. “Pink is definitely more your color than it was mine.”
The chains rattle as Harris jerks against his restraints.
Hog-tied and helpless, he rocks forward, then topples sideways onto the white fur rug with a heavy thud.
It feels like poetic justice that the same pristine fur I was forced to be displayed on is now stained with his blood.
Ironic how the elites have no problem with stripping away a person’s choices until they’re the ones naked, collared, and waiting to be used for someone’s twisted pleasure.
Then, suddenly it's absurd and barbaric.
Fucking hypocrites.
“Wha–” Harris starts, a wet, garbled cough taking over as he spits out a glob of blood. “What do you want?”
I straighten slowly, tapping a finger against my chin as I turn towards Talon. “What do I want?”
His blue eyes glimmer with amusement as the corner of his mouth curls into a grin, but he doesn’t respond. He’s leaving it up to me, as promised.
Harris isn’t the only monster who tortured me in the past, but with Commander Martin and Austin Miller gone, he’s the only one left to exact vengeance upon.
After all I’ve been put through, I more than deserve my pound of flesh, and you can bet your bottom dollar that I’m taking more than just a pound from this prick.
“Justice,” I say with a shrug, the blade of Talon’s Bowie knife glinting under the light of the chandelier as I twirl it between my fingers. “Or revenge. The line feels pretty fucking thin from this side of the leash.”
“For what?” Harris rasps through bloodied teeth. “You’re an Asset, you were being used how you were intended to be.”
Humming in response, I take another step closer to the platform. “Then I guess you won’t mind if I do the same.” I roll the handle of the knife in my palm. “Though I don’t really need all of you…”
His face screws up in a grimace as I reach for his crotch, grabbing hold of the sad, skin-colored gherkin that looks more like a diseased growth than a useful appendage. I drag the serrated side of the blade over the base of his shaft, Harris crying out as tiny beads of blood rise along his skin.
“Jesus,” Talon huffs. “You have to pull it taut if you’re going to saw, or else you're just going to maul the skin and accomplish nothing.”
“Sorry,” I chirp, holding my hands up with an innocent shrug. “I haven’t cut a dick off before.”
“At least you’re better at fucking swallowing them,” he murmurs.
I cut him a glare, then return to my task, gripping and pulling the saggy mess tight before sawing at it with the blade again. Flesh rips, exposing tissue and muscle as blood sprays in my face.
“Look,” Talon muses. “He’s a squirter, too.”
“Ha ha, asshole.”
Harris screams, thrashing and attempting to twist away, but he’s got nowhere to go. With a final drag of the blade, the skin finally severs, ragged edges curling back. I toss his dick over my shoulder with a smile as Harris convulses and whimpers.
“Fu-ucking bitch,” he pants.
“What was it you said that night?” I ask, having way too much fun drawing this out. “That I didn’t have a proper tag of ownership yet? Is that right?”
He responds with a moan of pain, a sheen of sweat coating his skin as he writhes at my feet.
“I can fix that,” I offer, sinking to my knees beside him.
I drive the blade into his abdomen, the skin breaking open with a wet pop. Blood rushes to the surface with each sweep and drag of the knife as I work my way towards his chest, Harris wailing in pain with each cut I carve into him.
Once I’ve finished, I rock back on to my heels, glancing back at Talon over my shoulder. “Whatcha think?”
“That’s not your name,” he growls, stalking forward. His hand lashes out, thumb and forefinger pinching my chin and tilting my head up. “Say it.”
An undeniable heat simmers low in my belly, and I have to squeeze my thighs together as the ache grows stronger.
“Jersey,” I reply breathlessly, gazing up at him.
“Good girl,” he praises, bending down to slam his lips against mine. His teeth sink into my bottom lip, dragging as he pulls back, face hovering inches from mine. “Now make sure he dies knowing it.”
I nod resolutely, pushing up to my feet as Talon straightens. “A little help?” I ask, tipping my head towards the heavy pile of chains on the platform.
“My fucking pleasure,” he growls, gathering the chain easily and tossing an end over the metal truss above the platform.
Harris continues to cough and choke, his body seizing as blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth.
The chain grinds and clanks as Talon yanks on it, Harris’s body slowly rising farther with metallic scrape until his toes brush the ground, body dangling by the pink collar fastened around his throat.
He chokes and sputters, fighting against his restraints.
“Oops,” I say, feigning concern. “But don’t worry, I can fix it.”
I step closer, ramming the blade into the bloody stub where his dick used to be.
He screams so loud it rattles the walls.
“Just one flick of the wrist, and you’ll be all done,” I sing-song.
He gasps for air, bulging eyes drifting towards my stomach. The cropped black shirt I’m wearing leaves my scars visible, the warped letter R on full display, and I hope he notices. I hope he sees how I’ve been reclaimed by someone who actually earned the right to leave his mark.
I twist the knife deeper until the serrations beneath the hilt catch his skin, Harris’ eyes rolling back.
“Nice and slow now, please,” I tell Talon.
“Never heard you say that before,” he remarks.
I roll my eyes as he follows my instructions, slowly lowering Harris’ body as I hold the blade steady, a blood-curdling scream ripping from wherever Harris’ soul should have been.
His skin parts around my knife as it slices upward, blood spilling onto the floor and splashing my feet.
I keep holding firm, looking Harris in the eyes as the knife splits through his meaty belly, the first surge of organs spilling outward.
Intestines and what I think is his kidney follow as Talon continues to lower him over my blade, but it suddenly stops when I hit bone.
Dammit.
“Sternum?” Talon asks, the veins in his forearms pulsing as he holds the chain steady.
“I think so,” I sigh.
“Step back,” he instructs.
I do, pulling the knife free with a squelch.
Talon drops the chain, Harris hitting the floor with a wet thud as his convulsing body lands atop the pile of his innards.
“C’mere, little stray,” Talon beckons with a lift of his chin, boots squelching through the mess as he moves to stand over Harris’ mangled form.
I move towards him, his hands circling my hips as he lifts me up and positions me over Harris. Then he presses against my back, his erection nudging my ass as his arms wrap around me, hands covering mine.
“Bend your knees,” he instructs, his body folding with mine. “Ready?”
“Not as ready as you are,” I tease, wiggling my butt against him.
He growls, warm breath skating over my skin. “Keep that up and your ass will look like Harris when I’m done,” he warns.
The savagery of his threat makes my belly flip.
“Jersey,” Talon barks. “Finish your assignment.”
I twist my head around to look back at him, grinning wickedly. “I like when you say my name.”
“And I like when you scream mine, baby. But finish this asshole first.”
I cluck my tongue, rolling my eyes. “Okay, Mr. Meticulous.”
With Talon’s weight against my back and our feet anchoring Harris to the ground, he guides my hands on the knife until it gnaws into bone, then out and into the hollow of Harris’ throat, slicing down until we meet the other side.
Once it’s done, Talon releases his hold and straightens, running a bloodied hand through his hair, tinging the blond strands red.
“Now careful, but give a little jump right there in the center and it should crack like a glow stick.”
I do, the bone snapping so violently that my foot slips in the mess and I pitch backwards, the knife clattering to the ground as Talon catches me.
His chest heaves against my back as he holds me there, the two of us gazing down at the heaping pile of another Northbrooke elite meeting an end that’s far too kind for what he’s inflicted on others over the years.
Still, it’s one less heinous asshole on the streets, so really, we’re the blood-soaked heroes in this story.
Harris will never hurt another Asset again.
And now Slade needs to help us find Kenzie.
Talon growls deep in his throat as he bites at my neck, shoving my leggings down my thighs.
All of our date nights seem to end like this, but you won’t hear me complaining. Exacting vengeance is a potent aphrodisiac.
I hear the sound of his zipper lowering, then feel the tip of his dick pressing against my slit.
My breath hitches as he reaches around, fingers finding my clit.
Then he rocks forward, dragging himself through my slickness before plunging in deep, bottoming out in a single, brutal thrust. The stretch is a familiar mix of agony and bliss that makes my heart stutter, one hand flying up to claw at his neck, the other dipping down to rest atop his while he strums my clit.
I whimper in protest as he draws his hand back, but then he grabs my wrist, forcing my fingers to my clit instead. He guides them, continuing his ministrations, and this is the proper way to use me for my pleasure.
I pant and moan as Talon hammers into me relentlessly, until the pressure is too much and I feel like I’m going to explode.
“Come on my fucking cock, Jersey,” he grits out, mouth at my ear.
An orgasm racks my body, wetness dripping down my thighs while Talon groans in ecstasy, his cock pulsing inside me as he finds his own release.
I’ve spent so long wondering what freedom feels like, what it tastes like.
And now I know.
It’s this.
Me, my monster, and a pile of dead elites at our feet.
It feels like vengeance, it tastes like justice.
And goddamn, is it sweet.
THE END.