CHAPTER 7 - Deimos #3
“I needed you to wake up. I want the last thing you see to be the face of the man who owns your ending,” I whisper, my voice chillingly clear now that the barrier is gone.
Recognition flickers in that dark, haunted stare. A final dawning spark of terror. It’s the most honest look he’s given to me.
“Good,” I murmur.
“You are free now.”
A long pause follows. I stand there, savouring the sight of an abuser finally receiving the only justice he truly deserves.
My hand closes around the heavy hilt of the blade.
I don’t make it quick. I don’t make it clean.
I use the hyper-sensitivity against him one last time, ensuring that every agonizing inch of the cold steel parting his skin, muscle, and the last thread of his soul is felt with absolute clarity.
His final scream isn’t a sound. It’s a vibration that travels through the knife, humming straight into my own bones.
The adrenaline finally burns out. The light in his eyes doesn’t just fade, it’s snuffed out. Like a candle caught in a sudden, cold draft. I step back, taking a slow, steady breath of the copper tang of the air.
The room grows quiet again. The air is thick with chemicals and the heavy aftermath of a storm that only one of us was meant to survive. I watch him for a moment longer. Still. Empty.
My pulse is steady now, the violence already draining from my system the same way it always does. Controlled. Contained. Like it never happened. The task is completed. Not a task. Revenge.
I remove the IV lines with practiced precision, wiping away the remaining blood. The equipment disappears back into its sterile order, every tool returned to its place like instruments after surgery.
What remains of him… just a body. No rage left in it. No arrogance. No voice to lie to her again. Just silence.
I clean the blade and slip it back into its sheath before pulling a thick plastic sheet from the cabinet. Wrapping the body methodically, almost carefully. Not out of respect. Out of purpose. Because this part matters.
When the last fold is sealed, I drag the package across the floor and into the trunk of my car. The night outside is cold and damp. Soon, the sun will rise. We were there for a long time.
The forest breathes quietly around the building like a living thing. The drive takes twenty minutes. I choose the spot with intention. A quiet service road that cuts behind the private mortuary facility where Madeline works.
Police patrol this area often enough that the body won’t stay hidden long. Close enough that it will end up exactly where it needs to go. Exactly where she will see it.
I lift him from the trunk and leave him where the shadows thin near the treeline. No symbol. No message carved into flesh. None is necessary this time.
Madeline is intelligent. She’ll understand. And when she looks down at what remains of the man who once hurt her… She’ll know someone answered for it.
I close the trunk softly and lean against the car, staring at the distant glow of the city. Somewhere in that maze of streets, she’s asleep now. Probably curled into her sheets. Still warm from the alcohol. Still thinking about the dance. About the way my hands felt on her waist.
She is completely unaware that the man who once touched her will arrive at her morgue in a body bag by morning. Unaware that the man who replaced him is already imagining the way her body will feel when she finally stops resisting what’s between us.
The thought alone sends a shiver straight into my cock. My pants are tightening painfully. A slow, dark smile pulls at the corner of my mouth.
“You want to know what I am, little storm,” I murmur into the night.
My gaze drifts back toward the silent shape lying in the dark.
“You’re about to find out.”
I get into the car and start the engine.
By morning, the police will find him. By afternoon, he will be on a steel table. And since I know her schedule. Madeline will be the one standing over the body. Standing over her ex-boyfriend.
My fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel as I pull onto the empty road. Patience. Just a little longer. Soon enough… she’ll see exactly what kind of monster chose her.
The thought of her lingers in my mind. Madeline.
The memory of the way her body moved against mine on the dance floor returns without invitation. The heat of her waist beneath my hands. The sharp breath she tried to hide when I pulled her closer. I exhale slowly. That moment wasn’t fear. It was a desire. And she felt it too.
My thumb drags slowly across my lower lip as the memory sharpens. Her pulse under my fingers, the tension in her body, the way she didn’t step away. Not even when she could have. The way her body fits against mine.
The grip is harsh on the steering wheel. Not rage. Not violence. Something far more dangerous. Hunger.
I tilt my head back, letting the memory of her consume my thoughts entirely. The way she looked in that beautiful dress, the way her body moved with mine like she belonged there. Like she always had.
“Soon,” I whisper into the quiet of the car.
Because the next time I touch her… I won’t stop at a dance.