27
Memories flood through me. I can't escape it.
I haven't set foot in here since that day.
That was the last time. My hands shake at my sides, but I rein in a sense of control.
I slip through the double wide metal doors.
Familiar faces greet me. High End Elites.
Their fathers. Miscellaneous women. The smell of sex and liquor assault my senses.
I knew she would make this choice, and I'm eager to do what needs to be done.
My father wasted no time calling me to tell me she was the newest addition, as if I didn't already know.
I just assumed I had more time to figure shit out.
The pressure builds. Nothing could prepare me for the scene before me.
My heart spasms hard against my chest cavity.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The picture painted before me is all too familiar.
Guilt slams into me, but only for a fleeting moment.
I'm different from the boy who was here years ago.
I bite my tongue until it bleeds. Resentment and disgust leave a nasty after taste.
The cool metal along the roof of my mouth from my tongue piercing distracts me from the endless stares.
I'm shaking. I approach the same corner. The corner where she is set to be displayed as an offering. My breathing is deafening through my hellhound mask. The same mask I had on when I defiled her, whipped her and forced her to my will.
Clara kneels on the cold, hard floor. Her wrists and ankles are bound with a thick chain.
Her blonde hair clings to her sweaty, tear-stricken face.
She's high as hell. Her make up flows down her cheeks, leaving black streaks on her gorgeous face.
She's almost unrecognizable. The Elites have nearly effaced her, but her sharded remains linger.
They strapped a collar around her neck like an animal.
I can taste her in the air, on the tip of my tongue.
Some of the top Elite members surround their sans masks while others are masked for anonymity.
She's been used and degraded, only she doesn't look as defeated as the blonde woman did.
My Nightshade is stronger. Resilient. I refuse to let these assholes touch what belongs to me. She will be my plaything.
My brain short circuits. Flash backs assault my psyche. Then I see the blonde woman kneeling before me, begging me to free her from this prison. Instead of the hand that freed her from the abyss, I was the weight that ensured she never left it. I'm going to turn her fantasies into a nightmare.
They have her bare on the cold, concrete floor.
She's too far gone to notice my presence lurking.
Good thing, I'm the last person she wants to see.
The disguise helps keep me anonymous–my hellhound mask.
My eyes slide closed as I rein in my crazy.
I hate what it does to me. The sick cravings I've grown to love.
It's a depraved compulsion I can't control.
Seeing her so helpless, laid before me as an offering has my insides pricking with a perverse appetite; she hypnotizes me.
The need to dominate, to destroy her from the inside out is too great.
The insidious hunger is coming to a head, drowning out the daylight.
I'm not him. I'm not him. I'm…not…him.
My father sits across the room on one of the velvet couches nursing an amber liquid. His presence dominates the room, commanding respect. He will get none from me. Nothing is left of the old Kieran. He took it all, left me to pick up the pieces of myself.
I'm not him.
He pushes off the sofa and approaches cautiously with a smug smile. He knows my mask. The asswipe wants me by the balls. I hate being controlled. I'm letting this play out for now. There will be a time he falls to my feet like the pathetic excuse of a prick he is.
He slithers forward, “I knew you would come to your senses. You are a Grimshaw. We take. We control. We seep power from our veins. She is your vice,” he hisses.
He snakes his arm around my shoulder. I shrug him off. “Fuck you.”
His face becomes stony. “Don't embarrass me. You are who I made you. You can't run from who you are.”
His words slam into me hard. He's twisting my insides with a knife, hoping for my surrender. He knows I cannot resist the temptation laid before me. His strangulating grip threatens to keep me prisoner in his fucked up world.
The dark, fucked up impulse to fuck Clara grows with each passing moment. Each salivating glance thrown her direction sets my insides on fire. This is open warfare, and I refuse to let them win.
My fists clench at my sides. Without thinking, I step back and approach the bar.
I sink into the leather stool. Instead of grabbing a single glass, I take the whole bottle of Absinthe.
My hands shake along the glass bottle as I bring it to my lips.
The burn warms my skin. My free hand finds my pocket.
I find the loose pill, running it along my forefinger and thumb.
I should keep her sedated, but I want her lucid when I take her.
I’m not playing fair, but fuck that shit.
She's not been fucked sober enough, time to change that. I know this will shatter her resolve.
Showtime, Nightshade. I'm going to drag you down to my hell. Now that I've got a hold of you, I won't let you go. You are mine.
I push off the barstool. The Elites openly grope her perky tits.
She does little to halt their advances. She can't escape it.
They've drugged her so heavily, but it's clear she's becoming lucid with each passing moment.
The Elites part for my approach. They know exactly who I am, despite the disguise.
It's more for her than everyone else. The room goes silent.
Her big doe eyes stare into my black abyss.
Blank, hazed, and destitute of hope. I crouch down, tilt my head, and free the hair stuck to her cheek.
She doesn't recognize me, if she did, she would fight like hell.
She's such a beautiful nightmare, drenched in sin. Her anguish fuels my sexual depravity.
Her eyes turn downcast. I grip her chin, forcing her eyes on my mask. I lean forward so only she can hear me.
“I'm going to fuck you until you crave my vitiation. You're such a fractured beauty. I am hellbent on destroying every fracture of happiness you possess and take it for my own.”
When I pull back, she blinks slowly. Her eyes are void of any emotion and Goddamnit, it makes me hard as hell.
My hand threads up the back of her neck and into her hair, pulling her by the crown.
Lucidity returns to her slowly. Tears start flowing freely down her cheeks when she catches a glimpse of the mask. Yes, Nightshade, it's me.
Goddamn, she cries so beautifully. Her eyes cut deep into my inner sanctum, dissecting what remains of my soul.
Sharp jagged edges and shattered pieces eviscerate my insides.
The dull ache I've suppressed comes blazing to the surface.
She ignites a tempest within me. “Go ahead and cry, it makes my cock harder,” I urge her.
I block out the sane side of myself, letting the devil himself unleash.
I can make a scene without a second thought.
My fingers wrap around her wrist. I slam her body against the hard floor, keeping her shackled under me.
The salty taste of her fear only fuels my dark desires.
She's poison on my tongue. Her haunted eyes mirror mine. It pulls me in like a magnet.
“You're a fiery inferno, and I am the devil himself. A vicious beast, sweetheart.”
I wrestle my cock free from my holey jeans.
I do my best to drown out the cheers and endless eyes that surround us.
Her head snaps to the side. Her cheek kisses the concrete floor. I'll never let her go. Fuck, I can't.
I part her thighs without remorse, dropping my hand from her wrist. I'm confident she won't fight this. How can she?
I run my hands over her healed welts. I flick her pierced clit with my finger. She cries out. “Please!” her voice is a desperate cry. She finally gets vocal. I like it more than I should.
Fuck, she’s already started begging. I've never seen her so defeated. It only further feeds my sick delusion.
“A single touch, Nightshade? Is that all it takes?” I lift my mask up to lick her cheek down to her lips. Blood pulses through my veins, heating my insides.
My hand holds her jaw in place along the cold floor while my free hand lines up my cock to her entrance. I drown out the noise behind me, hyper focusing on her. I'll fuck her like my dreams. Relentless. Remorseless.
I slam into her without prepping her. I refuse to share my fractured beauty. Her body tenses. Her cries go silent. I know her clit is still sore.
God fucking damnit! Cry, Nightshade, CRY. I want your tears!
I fuck her like a savage. I need her to cry.
I need her begging. Break, beauty, break for me.
I've never been so close to release when fucking someone.
Sober. Awake. Alive. I squeeze harder on her jaw, forcing her face forward to look into my eyes.
I need her hurt, pain, and internal destruction to come.
The desire to spit in her mouth tempts me, instead I bite her lip until it bleeds.
Lucidity fully returns and the moment realization slams into her, I lift my mask fully.
I see the moment her ocean eyes splinter.
My name leaves her lips like a silent prayer.
“Kieran,” she sucks in a heavy breath. Tears fall down both cheeks.
I've fallen into the pits of hell, and I relish in the burn.
I could stay here until my dying breath.
“I'll never forgive you,” she chokes out.
My strokes turn rough and aggressive. My hand drops from her jaw.
I bruise her hips with each punishing thrust.
She claws at me. “I. Hate. You!” She thrashes, enunciating each word like a sharp barb.
I can't figure out if I'm punishing myself or her.
The devil has come out to play. I just want to feel alive.
My vision blurs as release is imminent. I want to erase the blonde woman from my mind.
Too long has the blonde haunted my dreams.
Now, I'm reliving it with Clara. I fuck her harder until her painful sobs turn into anguished howls of dismantled surrender.
My savage claim pushes me over the edge, into the darkness.
“I don't need your forgiveness, I need your soul, Nightshade.” My release pours out of me into her depths, filling her like the savage animal I am.