Preface
“Let me ask you something,” I said, tilting my head. “Did you really think you could take down the SinClairs? With that—” I laughed, “—tiny, pathetic little baby cock?”
He didn’t answer, of course. He couldn’t. His naked, blood-slick body hung suspended from a chain bolted into the ceiling, swaying ever so slightly as the metal links creaked. I looked up at him, taking in his swollen, unrecognizable face—lips split, one eye nearly shut, the other purple and puffy. Pitiful.
And it was glorious.
A sharp giggle slipped from my throat, uncontainable. My handiwork had turned him into something abstract—barely human. Art, really. He let out a low growl, trying to writhe, maybe out of frustration, maybe in a pathetic attempt to free himself. Either way, it was useless. He looked like a dying fish flopping on land, and I burst into full-on laughter, wiping tears from my eyes.
“Oh—God,” I gasped between giggles. “Thank you. I needed that.”
When my laughter finally settled, I turned to the metal tray behind me. My tools. My instruments. My pleasure. My fingers hovered over each gleaming piece before settling on my favorite—a silver blade, sleek and beautiful, with a black handle engraved in a pattern of Red Oleander flowers. Deadly. Poisonous. Romantic.
I lifted it, feeling the weight, the balance, a perfect companion.
Knives were always my favorite. Guns were too quick. Poison too impersonal. But a blade? A blade lingered. A blade made you feel every second. And if you knew the right spots, it could be exquisite. Precise. Intimate.
I turned back to him, bringing the blade to his throat, and gently pressed the tip to his Adam’s apple. Just enough to part the skin. Blood beaded, then trailed in a thin crimson line, and my smile widened.
“You’ll be another one of my masterpieces,” I whispered.
Slowly—agonizingly—I dragged the blade down his torso, slicing skin, watching it split open like butter. Each whimper, every twitch, every scream that tore from his raw throat sent shivers down my spine. My heart pounded faster as I clenched my thighs.
And then, I reached his cock.
I paused.
His swollen eyes widened in recognition. He began to shake his head. Quick little spasms and muffled begging spilled from his ruined mouth.
It was absolutely…….Delightful.
My grin stretched wider. “Oh, now you’re scared?”
I grabbed his cock tight, my blade teasing the base. He screamed louder, cursed me, sobbed, and thrashed. It only made is pain and fear sweeter. With one decisive motion, I sliced his cock off and blood sprayed. It was hot, messy, and magnificent. It soaked my chest, neck, and arms.
The heat of his blood was pure euphoria.
He went silent for a moment, confused or maybe in shock. His eyes darted between me and his severed cock now dangling in my fingers like a slug. Then the realization hit and he let out a scream
That scream…..oh man, that scream was like music to my ears as it split the air like a siren. He convulsed violently, foaming at the mouth, tears pouring down his face. He was lost to hysteria now, ranting, howling, hiccuping as his throat gave out. And I? I just stood there, bloody and giddy, arms crossed as I watched the breakdown unfold like a tragic comedy.
“Aren’t you being a bit dramatic?” I asked, laughing. “You look like you’re possessed by the fucking devil.”
His sobs turned to choking gasps. His head jerked violently.
God, he looked ridiculous.
Still laughing, I walked back to him and in one swift movement, my blade kissed his throat; it was a clean cut. His hot blood burst across my face, and I shuddered. The sensation was electric. It coursed through me, lighting me up from the inside. My breaths quickened as my pulse roared in my ears, and I couldn’t stop.
One stab. Then another. And another. Frenzied. Blissful. My blade danced through his flesh like a conductor’s baton. Chest, gut, legs, arms—I tore him apart. Even as his body went limp, even as silence fell, I kept going.
With a final grunt, I shoved my blade through his eye, it was soft as it slid in like jelly. When I pulled it out, his eyeball came with it, suctioned right onto the tip of my knife.
“Oh, whoops,” I said, mock-cheerful. “You’ll want this back.”
I pried open his ruined eyelid and shoved the eyeball back in, nestling it in its ruined socket.
“Not that it’ll do you much good now,” I snorted.
I took a breath. The room reeked of blood and sweat and metal. The most heavenly scents ever, absolutely beautiful.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Footsteps.
I turned slowly, lips already curving into a smile.
Zayne.
He stood there like a shadow in the candlelight, his eyes moving from the mutilated corpse to me, his bloody goddess. And then, without hesitation, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me tight against his chest.
“God, I love it when you’re fucking psychotic,” he growled into my ear.
His mouth crushed mine, devouring. The taste of blood mixed with our tongues—hot, coppery, intoxicating. I moaned into him as he pushed me down onto all fours. My dress bunched around my hips, panties ripped away with a swift motion.
Killing makes us so fucking horny.
