OceanofPDF - Com FCK MARRY KILL - Delanie Grimes
OceanofPDF - Com FCK MARRY KILL - Delanie Grimes
OceanofPDF - Com FCK MARRY KILL - Delanie Grimes
Delanie Grimes
OceanofPDF.com
F*CK MARRY KILL
Book One of the Savage Rapture Duet
Copyright © 2024 by Delanie Grimes
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by
any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods,
without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright
law or brief quotations embodied in book reviews and articles.
This novel is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and incidents portrayed are fictitious
products of the author’s imagination. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased),
places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by DG
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This book is for all you red-flag collectors.
You're going to swoon when her nickname is carved into his chest.
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To my favorite,
You’re the greatest human. It’s an honor to share this life with someone as
incredible as you. Thank you for everything, including coming up with this
book’s title and premise. I hope I did it justice. I love you more than
dragons.
- that crazy chick you married.
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This is a dark book that ends on a cliff. While all situations, people, and
events are entirely fictional; this novel may not be right for you. The
contents are very dark and many triggering events, memories, and
flashbacks occur. There is a full and extensive content warning on the last
page of the book, please skip to it now if you're unsure. Your mental health
is important.
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While there is a lot of talk about an academy in this novel, it is not
academic. In this VERY fictional work, you will see psychology stretched
within an inch of its life to fit a twisted tale. Please take nothing in this
novel as a source of medical information. I studied heavily about
psychopathy, sociopaths, and narcissistic personality disorder to reimagine
them for this fictitious tale, and have cited a few sources here. If you’re
interested in learning about genuine science, these are articles by
professionals in the field.
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2242349/
https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/1359178995000100
https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0047235220302427
https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0005791623001039
https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/17894069/
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4500180/
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC10097942/
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC8321510/
Never take medical advice or knowledge from a fiction writer’s work. We
only keep enough of the truth to make our lies believable.
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Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
A Rose steeped in blood
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
A note from the author that just broke your heart...
About the author
Acknowledgements
Content Warning
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She didn’t take her rings off.
My wife slinks across the hotel suite and her delicate palms land on the
shoulders of a man who isn’t me; her knees cage his hips.
Under my skin, war rages. Various parts of me fight for control, each
needing a different outcome.
Starved eyes beg to devour the curves of her ass as it peaks beneath the
vulgar skirt. To let her play until they’ve roamed every silky inch of her,
unfettered by the gauzy fabric enveloping the Beauty to my Beast.
The ever-present voice in my head says to hold steady, settle for
memorizing each feature of the man. Study him until I can detect each
agony that manifests in sound and expression.
I’ll see all of them soon.
Rigid muscles beg to move. They only have one objective; obliterate.
None of them are in control here.
The pounding mass under my sternum seems to call the shots, and the
pride blooming there shadows everything else.
She doesn’t hide the bands that claim her as my wife.
Even now; in a scene pulled from my worst nightmare. She belongs to
me.
I belong to her.
The shirt slips down her arms, revealing the smooth expanse of her bare
shoulders. The hammering in my chest becomes so profound it’s in my
fingertips. Emerald satin pools around her hips, and her perfect fucking tits
—still bearing the bruise of my teeth—fall free.
My mouth waters remembering their flavor, glistening with a fine sheen
of sweat as she whimpered, then screamed, through each release above me.
The man moves to capture a taste of his own. His tongue is getting far too
close to her dusky peaks; to savoring my woman.
Cracks and pops erupt from the steering wheel. I can’t tell if the sound
belongs to the plastic or my bones as my left hand continues to tighten. My
right pushes the binoculars so deep into my face that the skin breaks, unable
to keep the rims from burrowing into it.
The bite of pain reminds me it’s not time.
I need to stay here, in the parking lot of this seedy hotel, watching the
woman I love seduce a man twice her age.
Sable pulls back before the withered lips make contact.
Giggling, she shoves him onto the bed. She undoes his tie and trails
manicured fingers down his center, pulling the fabric free before she
motions for his wrist.
The prick, who hasn’t realized he’s dead while still breathing, gives her
his hand. She makes quick work of tying his arms above his head.
Deadman’s gaze follows Sable when she crawls off the bed, stopping at
the crux of her thighs when she bends over.
He doesn’t see her reach into the bag, grabbing something special.
I do.
Her favorite toy.
Electricity sizzles through me, my anticipation reaching a fever pitch.
The show is about to start. For the first time, I intend to watch the ecstasy in
my lover’s gaze as the curtains draw.
Tonight I catch her doing what she’s been hiding from me for three
years.
Our truths will be laid bare.
Sable will know she married a serial killer.
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Two months earlier…
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One
“Kage!”
Sable’s sultry voice, edged with rage, screams my name.
“Don’t fucking do that.” She growls in front of me.
I wrap my arms around her waist as our bodies press against the coffee bar
that’s littered with a mess of filters, mugs, and newly spilled grounds. The
scent of the brewing pot wafts around us, tempting and intoxicating, just
before she thrusts her weight against me, propelling us both backward until
we crash into the kitchen island.
The cool onyx marble bites into my ass as it halts our momentum. Then
Sable spins in my grip, tipping her annoyed face to meet my gaze. Golden
pools of venom stare so intensely, holes should be burning through me.
Before I snuck up and grabbed her waist, I knew she’d be pissed. The anger
of my sexier-than-sin wife has a hair trigger.
My favorite thing to do is squeeze it.
Partially because it so often ends in sex hot enough to melt the flesh from
my bones; mostly though, the way her body reacts to it drives me.
“Quit smiling. It’s not fucking funny!” She snaps.
When the blazing velvet of her voice slips across my skin, I revel in the
little growl flitting through her words.
I’ve traveled the world a dozen times over, and never found anything half
as alluring as the C-4 I call wife. My grin widens when I squeeze her hips
tighter, letting my lust burn into her through the divots my fingers press into
her soft curves.
“No.”
My response is guttural. It could be menacing, but not to her. She knows
the truths of me, most of me at least. I’d sooner flay myself living than see
her hurt.
“It’s not funny Kage. How many times have I told you to quit sneaking up
on me?”
Floral amber and sweet honey invade my senses as she gets to the best part.
Her hands push at my shoulders like she wants to get away from me while her
hips say the opposite, grinding into mine. Her dimples surface beside the
tender lips that hide her razor tongue.
Their slow appearance always follows the gilding of her eyes. Next, her
chest will flush, and finally, she’ll start tearing into me in delicious ways.
“How would you like it if I surprised you? Should I jump out and scare you
when you’re getting ready for work?” She seethes.
On cue, the blush of her irritation crawls past the indigo buttons holding the
silken shirt closed against the curves of her breasts. It travels up to her neck,
where it halts as though an invisible line keeps it at bay.
I’m the only one allowed to make that part of her body red.
My grip shifts from her hips, sliding around her waist to the small of her
back while the other goes straight to that splendid throat, pinning her where I
want her. I squeeze lightly, running my thumb up and down the tender flesh,
lost to the rise of her pulse.
She stops pushing at my shoulders and starts digging her nails in; keeping
me where I belong.
“Scare me, Wrath.”
The chirping of my phone interrupts my growling response.
If it was wind chimes emitting from the minuscule black object, I’d ignore
it, let whoever needed anything from me at this moment figure it out
themselves.
Instead, an obnoxious gong sounds four more times around us.
It’s a work emergency.
Sable pushes onto her toes, her claws retracting from my now-lonely flesh.
When her eyes are level with mine, she plants a chaste kiss on the corner of
my lips, then bites my lower lip so hard that iron flavors our kiss.
Warmth floods my veins, and I can’t control the groan that rumbles through
me. I stay exactly as I am, pinning us together as I plunge into the heat of her
mouth, tasting and taking her sweetness.
We lose ourselves to the kiss for a moment before Sable pulls away,
landing on the heels of her delicate bare feet again.
“Go get dressed.”
Crimson hair cascades down her back in waves as she turns. She finishes
making coffee, commenting that my mess will be here when I arrive home
tonight in a sugary tone.
The temptation to leave Harper to clean up whatever fuck-up she’s dealing
with is almost too much.
I haven’t had my wife in two days.
If there is one thing that I’ve learned in the years since I met and wed Sable
Fox in the same week; it’s that sexual frustration leads to bodies dropping.
A dull pop in the tendons of my knuckles brings my awareness to them. I
shake them out, releasing the tension as I cross the distance to my wife and
plant a kiss on the top of her head.
“I’ll clean it up before I leave. Don’t stress the meeting with Hollis. You’ve
got it in the bag.”
I murmur into the silken curls of her hair while my hands find her waist,
pulling her back to my front. I should be upstairs already, getting dressed for
whatever life-and-death situation my cousin is in. Especially since the term is
literal in our family. Instead, I’m here. Inhaling her scent and considering
letting the Wilde dynasty burn.
“Thank you. I won’t, and you’re damn right I do. Avery Hollis couldn’t
give a shit less about the party he’s spending ninety thousand dollars on, as
long as he can say he booked Sable and Scarlet Events out from under his
rival.”
“Pendelton?”
“None other.”
The bark of my laughter rolls through the supple form of the incredible
woman I’m holding.
“Good. Wring the dumb bastards for every penny they’re worth.”
She twists in my arms again, popping up to her toes to leave a quick vanilla
coffee-flavored kiss on my lips, and sashays to the dining room.
“Go get dressed before I decide to keep you here.”
“Be safe. I’ll see you tonight. Love you.”
“I will. You do the same. Love you more.”
I drink in the picture of her one last time.
Furiously typing away at her computer, she perches on the edge of the
mahogany straight-back chair. Her delicate shoulders are squared off at her
screen, as though the tide of her clientele demands battle.
Her blood-color hair stands stark against the navy of her blouse, the long
locks falling in thick waves over one shoulder. She’s damn-near snarling.
Half of her pouty upper lip, stained to match her silky strands and nails,
twitches up every few seconds.
She tucks her legs, crossed at the ankle, beneath her chair. The tempting
uncovered flesh draws my eyes to the hem of the ebony pencil skirt; which
hugs her hips like was painted on. She buries one antsy foot in the plush gun-
metal rug and bounces it in a rapid rhythm.
I love that shaggy floor covering. It feels comparable to kneeling on
pillows when I get down on my knees in front of her chair to have my
favorite meal.
The movement of her fidgety appendage causes her skirt to rise bit by bit.
I force myself away from her and down the hall to the gothic-chic master
suite; barely conscious of the action as I pull the long-sleeve ash-colored polo
over my head. I’m on auto-pilot, my mind still on the irritable ticks of my
wife downstairs.
Sable, in kill mode, is unreasonably attractive. It’s made me consider
asking her to join Wilde Securities. So many times I’ve run it by Harper,
asked what she thought about bringing her into the fold, training her to be like
us.
The resounding answer was no.
Some killers are born, others are made.
Making a serial killer is messy. Tragedy and violence need to collide in
ways that alter a person’s mind, it has to edge away whatever morality was
there. Replace it with the darkness those bred for it have existed in all our
lives.
We’d have to break her.
I couldn’t handle all that entailed. I’d end up murdering half my relations.
In my family, it would probably mean my death, too.
The Wilde bloodline produces serial killers like the Kennedys produce
politicians. Except we’ve been killing people since 1872, and our dynasty is
global.
When my pants are on, I send a quick text to the number that interrupted
my exploration of the woman plaguing my thoughts.
ETA 15 minutes. - KW
The warehouse is near our home, thank fuck. I can’t switch cars, clothes,
and electronics here. An hour-long drive to a safe location isn’t workable
either. So Wilde Securities having an office close to the house Sable already
owned when I met her saved me from having to ask her to move.
It would seem like fate; if the best bar nearest to both locations wasn't in
the middle. My wife says we’re safer for it. That our home is watched over.
So many of my family work together that she thinks we’re close, loving
even.
No. I couldn’t make her one of us, though I think she has the tenacity to
survive it.
Sable deserves better.
Besides, she has her own version of punishing those who need it.
When I reach the kitchen again, dressed as inconspicuously as any other
data migration specialist with my khaki Dockers, logo-emblazoned polo, and
smart dress shoes; Sable is still in the same spot. I make quick work of
cleaning the counter I destroyed when I grabbed her waist and snarled in her
ear.
She’s always been jumpy, though most people don’t see it. I have to use
every trick I know to sneak up on her, and I seem to be the only person who
can do it. The fact that she squeals and jumps enrages her.
It turns me the fuck on.
My gaze slips back to her, watching the roll of her fingers on the hardwood
of the table. Her irritation is so visible I wish I could taste it in the air. I bet it
tastes like her screams when she rides my face.
Without a doubt, she’s finishing the contract for Pendelton.
Mr. Hollis thought he was outbidding a rival, but their events are one day
apart. Plenty of time for the magician that is Sable Wilde to handle both
cashing in on the irrelevant machismo of old men who never had enough to
pull ‘em out and measure.
The irony that she’s a wolf playing amongst dogs doesn’t go unnoticed. I
wouldn’t have thought event planning would require teeth, I would’ve been
wrong.
Sable’s bite has destroyed people in ways that are almost enough to sate my
needs. Almost.
The quiet click of the trash can sliding back into its hidden spot below the
sink is the only sound I make while I clean. I don’t say goodbye when I leave
the kitchen and head to the parking area. She’s too far in her plans to hear me
now.
I drop into the seat of my silver Camry, my phone already in hand. I type a
quick note to the woman I love, hit send, and open the garage door with the
button on my visor.
Moonlight floods my vision. As annoyed as I am that I was called in early,
I’m also eager. And curious as hell.
Who did Harper kill, and why does she need my help to clean it up?
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Two
The steel doors part, and I pull into the private parking garage of Wilde
Securities Austin a few minutes later. The security guard waves to me from
the inside booth, his toothy grin reaching joy-filled eyes.
His name evades me.
I’ve seen him weekly for two years and haven’t cataloged it. Whatever
dipshit title his parents rewarded him with for not dripping down his
mother’s thigh—doesn’t matter to me.
I smile and wave back. I bear no animosity towards the guy, just don’t
care enough to remember him.
My mind, conditioned like every Wilde cadet before me, was taught to
retain information on two types of people. Those I’d die for, and the ones
that might need killing.
Doorman number three doesn’t fall into either camp.
His physique could be adequate for me to recall what title belongs to him.
He’s got five inches and a hundred pounds on my six-foot, two-hundred-
and-twenty pound frame. A living embodiment of the word meathead.
There’s no threat, though. The vetting process of our company guarantees
it. No need to know his name.
I navigate to the spot marked with my initials, KW. I’m out of my car and
halfway to the second security feature before my engine has settled.
It resembles any other standard steel blast mitigation door; a solid one-
and-a-half-inch block of polished metal. Except it’s twice as thick and has
no handle. Like everything else constructed for us, it exceeds the
Department of Defense’s minimum anti-terrorism standards for buildings.
Terrorists don’t have the resources that the problems we solve do.
A fingerprint sensor allows employees, without Wilde in their blood, to
access the box built into the brick beside the entrance. Then they scan their
clearance cards and await authorization to enter.
I never wait to be let in anywhere, least of all a building I own.
I swipe my wrist over the print scanner. Registering the chip my uncle
engineered and implanted in us years ago, the door glides open. A faint
whoosh is the only sound when the air of the garage and elevator mingle as
I step inside.
The cadence of my shoes on linoleum surrounds me with repeated snaps
as I walk down the well-lit hall. The off-white walls make Wilde Securities
Austin seem as innocuous as any other office. No portraits or art decorate
the passageways here. Everything is stark and clean.
Impossible to hide in.
I’m almost to the mainframe room when a sharp intake of breath tells me
the secretary, Kylie, or Karen-something with a K-sees me coming.
“Mr. Wilde.”
She states my name like a product, efficient and void of emotion. Her
fingers fly across the keyboard, opening the door as I reach it.
“KW.”
My tone matches hers as I walk past without any further
acknowledgment.
When I was first assigned to this branch of WS, a different woman sat
behind the desk. She was older, with a puffy build that spoke to a greater
proclivity for knitting than knifing. I didn’t bother to memorize her name
either.
It offended her to be called Secretary, and she went to HR. It worked.
They transferred her, and told me to hire someone I’d remember. I hired one
with the same initials as myself. I don’t have to offend her or recall her title.
Call it cheating if you must, but I couldn’t hunt a fuck down to give.
I read a report that said wives get jealous of secretaries or something to
that effect. I skimmed to grasp the concept. Sable attached a note to the
article when she sent it. ‘Meanwhile, you hire them with the purpose of not
having to know their names. Come home, I want to gag on your dick.’. That
part I have memorized.
I might be a psychopath, but my wife will never have to worry about me
being faithful.
I cross the threshold into the mainframe computer room. The door closes
behind me before I walk to the big iron in the far corner.
It’s a behemoth of a mainframe at seven feet tall and four wide.
Employing the sensor-based sequence that all Wilde assassins know better
than our net worth, I uncover the concealed keyboard and input my
personalized code.
The pitch-black box pulls backward and then disappears to the side. I step
through the opening. It’s rigged to close in five seconds unless we use a
multiplier in the encryption, indicating we have others with us. There’s
enough force in the mechanism to pancake a human body without so much
as stuttering its momentum.
I’ve seen it.
Carl, one of my many cousins, had a habit of playing chicken with the
doors. We were the same generation, both analyzed and confirmed
psychopaths by the time we turned eight, and thus a fit for the family
academy. For ten years we bunked together, trained together, and killed
together.
I told him not to play that stupid game. Twice. He was a reckless idiot
who showed no regard for the orders of a superior. A premature death was
inevitable.
I saw the ebony maw catch his shoulder the day his speed was found
lacking.
The sound fascinated me as it decimated everything from his neck to his
ribcage; meat-covered bones crunched into clay. It reminded me—in the
moment—of spatchcocking a chicken. I’d watched my mother prepare
Sunday dinner this way dozens of times before she left.
As Carl lay there, ricocheting between rage-filled screams and choking
gurgles, something awoke in me.
I went to my mangled cousin and took him in my arms. His face paled,
the blood rushing from it onto me, as I stared into his spectre gaze. His eyes
flashed anguish, a foreign emotion for the teen-aged man. Azure lips
sputtered and spit crimson as he croaked for a medic.
Resisting the urge to study the violent beauty of mangled flesh painting
us in spurts of cardinal glory each time his heart thundered; I pulled him to
my chest. One of my hands moved around his body and remaining arm,
pinning the half that was now ripped clean of its appendage to my sternum
as tight as possible.
The other went to his ashen face, slick with the heat of the scarlet life
bubbling from his lips. I held his jaw, forcing his eyes open when they fell
closed. When his gaze met mine, I pushed his head sideways between us
until the sweetest sound I’d ever heard cracked from his displaced spine.
I stayed there; his corpse exsanguinating in my arms.
It was only when the silent alarm brought my father to the scene that I
tore myself away from the intoxicating hues, sublime iron aldehyde scent,
and peaceful coating of ichor that transformed us into canvases too stunning
to describe.
I realized how unimaginative I’d been with my contracts. I was efficient,
making good use of cheap, bulk-ordered cheese wires anyone could
acquire. Quick, leaving little evidence as we’re taught... and criminally
boring.
From the moment I saw the graceful flow of carnage, like brilliant
ribbons wrapping and flowing around a grey reality, I was awake.
I had witnessed genuine beauty.
I felt a sense of self that was completely mine. Not a fraction of
understanding gifted from my twin, more novelty than notion. This was
real, a visceral thing inside me emanating something I’d only imitated.
Seeing true decimation was my first taste of pleasure.
Symphonies of agonized cries, snapping skeletons, and the addicting ruby
tints of torture became my obsession. My signature.
I let the memory fade before I reach the next door and roll up my sleeve
until it’s on my bicep. I hit the call button and the elevator doors open with
a peppy ding, announcing its arrival.
When I enter, I ignore the only visible control: a display marked
"emergency exit". Instead, I press the inside of my bare elbow on the
smooth glass below it.
A disembodied robotic voice declares my name aloud, and I descend.
I turn my sleeve down again, the need for my second microchip over.
Moving to the rear of the metal cube traveling three stories below ground
level, I lean back, resting my shoulders on the cold steel.
I run through the list of people that I could encounter on the way to my
office.
Caleb won’t be here. Harper would let herself get caught before admitting
to fucking up when her dad was here.
Shana is still on maternity leave. I remember the wide-eyed, bewildered
look that crossed my eldest cousin’s face when her mother stormed through
the door last month reprimanding her at full volume for risking herself, and
the well-being of her baby, by being back at work too soon.
Aunt Joanna looks as unassuming as any other suburban mom. Unlike the
soccer-ball-toting women she emulates; she can dispatch a man twice my
size without breaking a sweat. ‘Auntie’ treats the health of her family like a
mission. One which never ends, and she rarely fails.
What she would consider a failure, the rest of us see for what it is; the
eventual outcome for those that don’t claw our way to one of the positions
occupied entirely by my father’s generation. To take a seat, you have to free
it. It’s a dangerous business, taking from people the thing they fight the
hardest to keep. That is the reason none of my peer group has taken on a
council role.
No, Shana isn’t here.
Harper’s in the field. That only leaves Sean and Micah. The brothers
descended from my father’s cousin, the current president of Wilde
Securities. Their IQs are somewhere in the 170’s, the types that make
intelligent people suffer identity crises when they can’t keep up with what
seems like child’s play to Beep and Bop. The only thing they hate more
than those nicknames is each other.
Yet they’re incapable of existing without one another.
The ever-present voice in my head muses.
They’ll be the only ones here this early.
Good.
The fewer that are here, the less likely I’ll be needed somewhere after
Harper’s mess is handled. I’d really like to get this done within an hour.
I’m going to make Sable late for work today.
A quick grin pulls at my lips before the ding of the elevator reaching its
floor has me fixing my face as I stride into the hallway that breaks in two
directions.
The people here know the only thing that makes me smile; besides sating
the sickness we share. I’ve already caught shit for marrying someone that
can't perpetuate the line. I’d rather not have to correct someone’s
perspective by rearranging their face this early in the day.
That’s a lie you’d love to.
I would.
I turn left and head straight for my office, hearing Beep and Bop screech
about the best method of psychologically destroying whatever target
they’ve got on their screens. Their expertise lies in devastating individuals
through manipulation, both digitally and emotionally.
And that’s why they dislike your choice of wife, because she won’t put more
psycho Wildes into the world. This place is the worst.
We don’t need more breeding.
The heads of our family, franchise, or cult—the title changes depending
on who you’re talking to—act as though we haven’t proliferated to such an
excess that the Academy has had to expand to handle them all.
There were three classes of twenty when I went through eight years ago.
Last year there were nine. This period they’re saying we need twelve.
It adds to my wife’s perfection that we never risk pregnancy.
I don’t want children in my life. Someone with psychopathic tendencies
raised me. While it didn’t bother me that my father enjoyed the same
bloody past times as I did, it bothered Kristin.
My twin, the closest thing I’ve ever had to a conscious. She was never
meant to discover the truth about her family. But she knew it the first winter
I came home from The Gentleperson’s Academy of Science and Art, or, as
the cadets have called it for generations, Assassin Academy.
We should have known; psychology is a required course for five of the
ten years we’re trained. Kristin was an empathetic individual. How could a
twin so attuned to the senses not sense endless darkness in the person they
know as well as themselves?
The kids who show the signs get tested, and only those who pass with no
questions about their lack of empathy, learn what Wilde Securities really is.
They bring us into the fold then.
My sister failed her test. She should have been safe from our shadows.
My fingers move across the keypad above my doorknob, inputting the
code that opens my door without triggering an alarm. Protocol dictates that
every person with level three clearance codes their own locks and traps.
Upon graduation from the academy, we’re gifted a gold-plated chest.
Inside reside six keys, engraved with the name of the graduate. They are as
uniquely ornamental as they are essential to unlocking the elevator to the
fourth floor under the headquarters of our flagship office in New York.
The only way to rise in rank is to descend in floors.
A graduate cannot use their own keys, nor more than one of any other
Wilde. The graduate must infiltrate the space of—and steal a single key
from—six other Wildes. Once they have, they make it to the next rung of
power.
Crossing the threshold to my office, I snap the door closed. Doorways are
deathtraps on the third floor. A tranquilizer at the right moment, and
someone can take one of the pewter novelties that our fates are bound to.
Should a graduate lose all six, those individuals are sent back to the
academy where they’re dispatched. Our lives are used to teach the next
generations crucial lessons; such as the weight of a body and the cadet’s
ability to carry it through various environmental circumstances.
Most importantly, we learn the reality of taking another’s life. They mold
us to love the control; until we can’t breathe without it.
The knowledge that you can become one of the training bodies cultivates
the same thing that killing your cousins to get micro-chipped keys does.
Blindly ruthless soldiers who follow the code and keep WS in money and
murder.
My gaze shoots to my chest. It sits on a floating shelf, the only item on
the entire wall. I leave the lid open, displaying all six of mine, and the five I
acquired in the early years I was on the third floor.
Then I met Sable and stopped trying to rise in rank.
Level-four clearance comes with more knowledge, more power, and less
freedom. It’s no longer a choice to stay in one place. You’re rotated through
each of the sixty-four Wilde Securities offices worldwide for five years.
Throughout that time, you will need to handle hordes of murderous
Wildes, assign them assassinations, fulfill your cyber security
responsibilities to protect the company’s reputation, and maintain your own
record of kills. If you make it through all that, you reach level four.
The second-highest ranking office, directly beneath the presidency. If you
want to choose the contracts we take, the benefits we reap, or the least
sought-after aspect—retirement. You have to get to the fourth floor. It takes
decades if you can.
Since Beep and Bop’s father took over, it’s gotten harder.
In his first year, with the support of his siblings, he declared that any
breach of the original code would result in an immediate return to the
academy. He also doubled the number of tenets, taking us to six. Each of
our keys represents a tenet we pledge to obey.
Numerous members of the family tried to eliminate him then, but Armand
didn’t rise to presidency without becoming a nearly superhuman assassin.
He dispatched fourteen Wilde’s in half as many months. One of which was
his eldest son.
There are no heirs here, only better killers.
Seeing all my keys pulls a fraction of the tension from my shoulders. I
knew they’d be here. My code is solid. The sequence itself is irrelevant.
Any amateur could find a dozen ways to figure it out with a quick Google
search. What they can’t get is the DNA.
The third button in the sequence pricks my finger, extracting a drop of
blood. If it isn’t mine, an electro-shock pulses through the seventh
keystroke, shocking the intruder. It’s akin to the sensation of being stung by
a hornet that’s been electrified.
Nowhere near powerful to deter a Wilde, but sufficient to make the first
prick seem like a precaution to anyone stupid enough to try breaking into
my space. The ninth digit injects them with another micro-needle and
electric pulse. The door unlocks then, with the same audible click it does for
me, after one minute.
Only two of my cousins attempted to steal my keys. I found them where
they died, pulling the handle, which never budged. An emergency bar inside
fell into place as the lock clicked open.
My office remained intact.
The same couldn’t be said for Henry and Maya; they drowned in their
liquified organs. The cyanide-based compound that took their lives isn’t my
design, but it is classified and only available to high-ranking positions in
WS.
Hacking the computers and routing a case to the wrong location was easy
enough, and there are no rules about how we defend our keys or how we
kill for others. It’s an aspect that may seem cold to outsiders who have
feelings. We don’t.
Fifty years ago, they realized there were too many recruits coming up; too
many murderers to keep in line. My grandfather's brother held the
presidency then. He ruled only the strongest should have the freedom and
wealth afforded to those who reach the fourth level.
That’s the thing about a society of psychopathic serial killers; all of them
want power. It’s in our nature. When Hank announced that we would have
to eliminate each other to obtain it all those years ago, no one hesitated.
We lost fifty-six graduates in fourteen days. The stories have become
legends, each of us wishing we’d been alive for the first culling.
At my desk, I type in my passcode, watching the wall holding my
ornamental keys disappear. The solid ash tone is replaced by a hidden
wardrobe, tools, and aliases. Everything receives a dye or paint job with
Vanta-black, a color so dark it absorbs light.
Rule number one of Assassin Academy: being seen is as good as being
dead.
We strike at night, using the world's slumber to keep our secrets.
Occasionally we have to move in the daylight, but it’s become difficult to
do so, especially when you consider the wealth of technology present in
society.
In the digital age, we don’t have to be in the dark to go unseen. It’s still
not ideal, since you never know if someone has an unconnected phone or
CC camera trained on you. The eyes that see you might not form a mouth
until you’ve moved on. Late apprehension can cause excessive disclosure,
and your return to the academy.
I’ve shed my human costume and replaced it with jet-black garb that has
become a second skin. Hiking pants, a long-sleeved tee, and combat boots
have been my attire for two-thirds of my life. The only thing that is more
natural is nothing, but that’s only right if I have my favorite sparring partner
in the same dress.
I’m back outside my office, dressed like an unbranded swat officer in less
than five minutes. Changing fast isn’t optional. It’s part of our training. My
left shoulder rotates, as though that piece of me remembers failing that task
years ago.
Punishments in the Academy are ruthless. They need to be. ‘We won’t be
facing people who’ll give us time to find a fucking shirt’. Carol recited
those words to me again and again as she painted every inch of visible skin
with the sulfur-scented agony dripping from her polyethylene paddle.
When the elevator dings, I roll up the sleeve opposite of the one I used to
get to the third floor, pressing the inside of that elbow to the cool surface.
Again the disembodied voice says my name, this time followed by the
words ground floor; the private garage, with an underground road that leads
to a warehouse two blocks away.
When I reach my destination, I take stock of the vehicles. They’d be
indistinguishable if not for their parking placement. A sea of black,
unassuming Ford Explorers. The make and model saturate the US market,
which means they don’t get picked out as being strange or ostentatious to
civilians.
What people can’t see are the invisible upgrades. Customized engines,
bulletproof windows, steel reinforced bodies, and more technology than
most Fortune five-hundred companies have in their entirety.
Not to mention the self-destruct button.
A biometric system built to burn with enough heat to melt the frame to
the earth under it.
Each one costs just under two million dollars. I’ve toasted four in my
career. I didn’t hesitate. The secrets kept by destroying them—those are
worth trillions. Smart money in WS is knowing when to cut small losses.
When I reach my vehicle, using the chip in my wrist, I unlock the SUV
and climb in. I activate the built-in monitor and retrieve the geotag Harper
sent me forty minutes ago. Weapons, med kits, and counter-forensic items
are already in the fortress on wheels.
I maneuver into the long corridor with two lanes as I make my way to the
warehouse. The doors open as I pull up, linked to a chip in the engine, and
the quiet morning greets me again. The inky cobalt of the night is fading,
replaced by an ashen palette of golden ochre as dawn approaches.
Shit.
Harper better be in a discreet location.
I’d rather not have to contain and condemn my favorite cousin.
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Seven
An hour later, I’m parked at the only light between home and Wilde
Securities.
I don’t want to go to the IT dept. Information Technology is boring on the
best days. With my mind reeling to make sense of sensations I’ve never
faced before, it seems worse than torture.
Can’t skip work.
Keeping face is an integral part of the facade that’s kept generations of
serial assassins undetected. It started with physical security. An obvious
choice for those with an inclination for violence.
The world went digital, and WS followed. Very few people think much of
an IT tech. Even fewer expect us to tie them down and rip them apart piece
by piece.
Where was she?
My grip on the steering wheel tightens; the knuckles pale as the plastic
hoop trapped under them groans in protest.
I need to focus on work. Whatever the fuck is happening inside my head
isn’t helping. The voice spells out insecurity I’ve always scoffed at. Sable
wouldn’t cheat. I can’t believe she would do that. If she was unhappy, she’d
say so.
Or take it out on me in the sparring ring.
You don’t know that. You barely know her. Married in a week, both working
full time ever since. You’ve never spent more than a weekend with the
woman.
I shake the notion from my mind, hearing horns sound in alarm at the
thought.
I know Sable. She knows me.
Our connection is deeper than quoting each other’s histories or
memorizing the other's schedules. It’s beyond the mundane minutia.
It was clear from the first time I saw her; dressed as Lizzie Borden at a
Halloween party I only attended to stalk a target.
She was perfection personified in her Victorian dress; splattered with
Hollywood-grade fake blood. The pattern was realistic, spraying in an
upward trajectory from her feet in spurts, bursts, and clumps. Like she’d
hacked her way into the bar. Piles of crimson hair escaped her era-
appropriate up-do, as though set free from the exertion of her killing spree.
With a firm grip, she dragged a clean axe behind her as she walked. It was
the only part not on theme.
Later I found out why. To get the correct splatter, she’d filled jello molds
with the bulk-ordered blood, and smashed them with a hammer. The man
who asked her about it, sitting between us at the bar, winced when she
described the lengths she went to depict herself as a serial killer.
I got hard.
A fist slams into the glass beside my head, pulling my attention from the
blissful memory and shoving me back into the present. Outside of my
parked sedan, a tomato-faced man is screaming at me to move my ass.
I’m still at the red light. There’s now a line of traffic laying on their horns
behind me. It wasn’t an imaginary alarm I heard. It was pissed-off people.
Join the fucking club assholes.
“I’m moving,” I shout to the asshole pounding on my car.
He calls me a stupid cuck and hits my window again.
The slender plane of glass can’t handle the blow and explodes around us.
As the iridescent shards dance in the air, the world goes quiet. Only the
roaring of blood in my ears remains.
“Wrong fucking day.”
I snarl the words without thinking as I snatch the man’s hand, pulling it
into my space. The side of his face catches the corner of my car door when I
slam it open.
A shout of pain barely escapes him before I’m out of the vehicle with his
arm still in my grip. The calming sounds of bones snapping surrounds me as
I curve his radius and ulna around the windowless frame.
“I said I was moving. You should have listened.”
The door caught him above the brow, a place that bleeds with minimal
effort. The blood creates a veil of splendor that covers half the man’s
wretched face.
“Fuck you!” He sputters through snot and gore.
Instead of murdering him outright, I grab his shaggy mid-length hair and
smash it into my driver-side door, making sure his nose crunches for me
this time.
“I’ll kill you!”
He cries out, shoving against the metal; trying to use his uninjured arm as
a barrier before the next blow comes.
He really is stupid.
I’ve already destroyed his face. It doesn’t require more attention.
“Hard to kill a man when you can’t stand.”
With far too much precision to display publicly, I slam my heel into the
back of his thigh, reveling in the crack of his femur and the ripple of flesh
and muscle shifting beneath his Wranglers as they move with the crooked
bone.
He drops, screaming like an animal.
I flip him to his back before straddling his broken body, using his biceps
to cushion my knees from the pavement. I’m about to angle his jaw
backward until the telltale snap of his neck makes his eyes go glossy and
grey; when a woman’s shrill scream pulls me back.
“Stop! Please don’t hurt him!”
Behind me, the woman, in a saccharine sun dress, is begging me to let the
man go. She’s apologizing for his temper, promising that he’s working on
controlling it. My gaze goes to the black eye, unable to hide behind her
caked-on makeup.
He hits her. I can make this asshole fit the code.
No. Slow down. You’re showing your darkness to the world. Get it together.
Leaning further into the man’s arms, I oblige the voice reasoning with me
and slowly stand; smiling when more of his bones fracture under my
shifting body.
The woman is there as soon as I’m gone, sobbing as she tries to haul the
broken man to his feet.
“I got you, I got-”
He doesn’t make it. The femur injury restates its seriousness, slanting
further outward under his weight. He crumbles, taking her with him in a
flurry of cries and curses.
I kneel once more before him, making him see the murderer behind my
gaze.
“I’m not as easy to beat as your woman. Now I know your face.”
Swatting away his feeble attempt to keep me from him; I reach into his
pocket.
“Leave him alone! The lady shrieks.
“He’s robbing me. Hit him! Don’t stand there screaming, ya useless cow.
Fight him!” The man seethes, glaring at his partner through falling tears.
He can’t handle me, so he calls for her?
Part of me wonders if the woman is a threat, trained like so many to keep
the beasts of this world a trigger squeeze away. A quick glance shows pure
terror in her eyes, but it’s not me who holds her gaze.
“Don’t.” I snap at her, the words having a visible effect.
Her body shudders as if I yanked her from an icy lake. Beside her, her
fingers move as if performing a silent sonata.
She knows a man isn’t a savior. She’s seen darkness without tenets.
This prick hurts the person who loves him. The woman who is by his
side, faithful even in the face of horror. My teeth gnash, the pressure in my
jaw ticking until my temple is a drum, beating with the time of my fury.
I’ve hurt women. All of them deserved it. I know because our code
wasn’t written by someone consumed by darkness, but one who lived
through it; like this woman.
I’m going to kill him. The matriarch would approve.
Not here. Get the name. Do it right.
My audible grunt answers the unspoken guidance and I move to the other
pocket, still seeking. I find my prize; remove the wallet and stare at the
photo behind the tinged and scuffed plastic liner holding the ID.
“Now, I know your name. The best thing you could do, Jed Fenton of
2736 Marigold Lane, is make sure I never think of it again.”
Pocketing his license, I stand and slide into my car.
I pull out without a glance back. Men who beat their spouses often have a
record, many have active warrants. He isn’t calling the police. If I’m lucky,
he’ll get brave and seek me out himself. The law won’t prosecute me for
self-defense.
Ice floods my veins.
I just attacked someone in broad daylight. When I saw his wife, I felt
something. Something bad.
What the fuck is going on with me?
I can’t have a public kill attached to my name.
My chest aches, the pressure in it growing heavier by the second.
Go to work, be seen.
Follow the plan that’s worked for every graduate since the induction of
the academy. Control. WS assassins are controlled.
Get your feelings under control.
I don’t feel.
Except you have, for the last three years; you’ve felt things.
They weren’t a problem. The control Sable gave me kept me steady.
The new thing she’s given you doesn’t.
Like the beat of that dubstep shit Beep listens to, my heart races and
halts. My skin prickles; I can feel every drop of sweat sliding through the
short crop of black hair on my tingling scalp. Each breath feels just beyond
reach.
Finally, I pull into WS; barely registering the guard as he smiles and
waves me through to my private parking spot.
Everything is too much.
I want to find Sable; demand answers, kill every man that’s spoken to her,
burn the city down around us, and ask if it’s what she wanted.
Stop. You’ll uncover the truth. If you’re in control, just like he told you.
The voice whispers before I’m transported in time, my thoughts returning
to a day when I wasn’t.
“You can never lose control, son. You’ll learn to hone the urges. We can
turn them into something good.”
My father kneels over my chest, his knee like curved iron against my ribs.
He keeps pinning me to the ground while I scream and fight, desperate to
get to the boy who knocked Kristin down.
I’d had him. I was so close to ending his miserable life, that I could taste
it.
For the first time, I knew what it was to feel as deeply as the girl I was
defending.
I needed to kill that boy.
“I’m going to teach you.” My father’s voice was a whisper, cutting
through my feral rage and lessening my fight. “That’s it. Control, Kage.
That need is a gift, a precious commodity that keeps people like Kristin
safe.”
“She’s not safe! She’s hurt. He hurt her!”
“I know buddy. Sometimes it ensures their safety, sometimes it answers
the call for justice. You can’t do either from behind bars or in the ground.
I’ll teach you. It’s going to be okay.”
The memory hits me like a fist, knocking the dust away from a day I’d
forgotten for two decades. I was five years old. Curtis Spence was eight.
Later, through the jaw that had to be wired closed, the boy said he was
trying to talk to get her attention, and she ignored him. So he shoved her.
He couldn’t have known that falling over the stone curb would break her
leg.
Knowing that wouldn’t have changed the outcome. Curtis was fucked the
moment he touched her. I saw my twin sister crying and everything went
crimson.
It went red and fuzzy. I had felt rage for her. For sweet Kristin.
Love does that.
I loved her. But psychopaths don’t experience emotions like other people.
The psychiatrist at the academy made sure we knew that fact above all
others. That our only way of feeling anything was by controlling something
to such an extreme, that we decide whether someone takes another breath.
It’s a lie. You feel for those who affect you.
Why didn’t they teach us that?
Sable isn’t the only one hiding something. Go to work. Talk to Harper. Get
answers.
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Eight
I’m annoyed before I open the door. The room has beige carpets, sunlight-
colored walls, and twenty-two simple grey desks. It isn’t my style, but I
don’t hate it.
It’s the people I despise.
Doesn’t matter. Gotta show up at work, and get the alibi. Everything falls
when the foundation crumbles. Five bucks says she’s been waiting to speak
to you.
I am not going in. I’ve already snapped once today.
Killing co-workers would be... not ideal.
Even if it’s just Mueller?
Her desk is next to mine in the hellhole that is the Wilde Securities Data
Migration office. Technically, I’m her boss.
In a technical sense, I’m everyone’s superior here, except for family. Part
of our Academy graduation package is stock in WS. The company line is
that it frees us financially, getting a cut of pooled profit quarterly. My father
was always insistent that I have a separate income.
The obvious decision was to convert existing stock into a different one. I
have diversified my portfolio to incorporate a variety of companies, ranging
from food services to healthcare. For years, every payment from this
company went toward ownership of other ventures.
It paid off. In a bank completely outside the scope of my family, I have a
nest egg of ten million dollars. I doubt I’ll ever touch it. Between the money
I accrue here in IT purgatory, and the quarterly stipend for the WS shares, I
take in a six-figure income.
If it disappeared, you’d be safe. Just like you would have an alibi because
you show up here. So nut up and open the door.
The repugnant stench of people en masse assaults me the moment I pull
the handle. Flowery perfume, well-spiced food, a hint of burning oak, and
hand sanitizer mix to create something truly... putrid.
“Guess you aren’t M.I.A. after all.”
Mueller’s shrill voice rings behind me, amid a cacophony of clacking
keyboards and wordless chatter, as I walk to my designated area.
I could kill her, pay everyone here off.
They’d probably let you get away with it for free. Don’t though, being
annoying isn’t on your list of killable offenses.
I doubt the woman who wrote it had ever been stuck in an office with
someone as irritating as—
“Hello, did you hear me?”
Mueller questions, her voice getting louder with each word until it breaks
the conversation I’m having with myself.
Rude.
She’s going to make sure every employee on the floor hears her if I don’t
answer.
Yep. Mask on.
Sighing, I turn in my chair.
“Christ, Kage! What happened to you?”
Her mold-colored eyes go round, her manicured hand covering her gasp
as though she didn’t already shout to the whole fucking room.
“Hit a dog on my way to work this morning. That’s why I just got here.
Had to take it to a vet.”
I answer her in the monotone coldness I always do.
“I am so sorry! Poor puppy. Are you okay? Is the pup?”
“I’m fine. It’s dead.”
I twist my chair back around to face the computer. It doesn’t stop the
corporate busybody from asking questions. The screech from her office
chair’s wheels warns me she’s rolling closer.
“Sincerely, I apologize, Kage. I can tell how bothered you really are. If
you ever need to talk, I’ll be here.”
I stifle the snapping response, trying to break free. The urge to let her
know how clueless she is about who she works next to every day burns my
throat.
Anger, it’s living in your veins, infecting your control like a virus.
“Thank you. I’m fine.”
I reply without looking away from my screen.
“Okay. But I mean it, if you’re uncomfortable talking here, I’d be glad to
meet you for a drink after your shift or something.”
“Can’t, I have a prior engagement with Sable.”
My go-to excuse damn near knocks the wind out of me. I don’t have
plans with her. I don’t even know where she is right now. My wife is
supposed to be at work, but she should have been earlier, too.
“The offer stands.”
This time Mueller places her hand on my forearm when she speaks.
Physical connection. She’s trying to comfort me. I wonder if she’d give
herself to truly comforting me. Would she be open to taking her last breath
so I can finally find mine again?
No. She’s… innocent? The claw really should have moved by now.
Prolonged contact is weird. But Mueller’s not a rapist, killer, or trafficker;
so your hands are tied. Gotta let her live.
“Thanks.”
I answer, pulling my arm away as I do.
The squeak of her chair as she rolls back to her spot is the last sound I
hear from her.
My thoughts travel to the place all roads lead, my wife. The woman who
owns every piece of me but only knows half of what she controls. The irony
of being in the same position sinks into my mind like acid.
Where the fuck was she?
Why does she have lingerie that she’d never wear?
Is she cheating on me?
Deeper. She hates anything related to age-play.
The memory of me calling her princess before our wedding surfaces. It
was a heat-of-the-moment thing, not an age reference at all. It was about the
crown and gown she donned while she was sitting on a throne for a photo
shoot.
She looked like a goddess, draped in ebony silk with garnet accents.
When my grip closed around her throat and pulled her up; her pulse spiked,
her eyes dropped and her mouth parted. Immediately she was ready to be
taken, to be worshiped.
When I growled into her ear that a good princess always pleases her king;
everything changed.
One hand grabbed my fingers and yanked, while the other came from
below to break my hold.
Before her feet touched the ground, her elbow met my ribcage. The hit
took me by surprise. I doubled over.
My woman leaves no openings unused.
The moment I leaned forward, she pushed my shoulders down and
knocked my legs out from under me. Once I was on the floor, she straddled
me. The emotions in her eyes were new; far from the hunger I’d been
experiencing until then.
“Never call me a princess. I’m a grown woman; and nothing short of the
queen.”
Instinctively, I pulled my hands under my head, leaving my body open to
whatever she needed from me. Fighting or fucking, it all tasted like pleasure
to me.
“Apologies, Highness, it won’t happen again. Punish me as you see fit.”
The photographer left immediately, but managed to snap a single picture
of the moment. It hangs in our living room above the deep charcoal sofa; a
crimson queen conquering her king.
That was my first taste of giving someone my control. It was terrible and
thrilling. Now, whenever she desires it, Sable becomes the queen and I
happily grovel at her noble feet. Or take her royal mouth. Whatever she
needs.
It could be an affair.
Any jackass would make that connection. Why would she cheat, Kage?
She’s hiding something. What would she hide from me outside of
infidelity?
We all have secrets.
I ignore the voice reminding me I lied first, and instead focus on the
obvious trail. People are unfaithful. Even happy, fulfilled ones, I think. It
could be biological. Sable has a high sex drive. It’s been days since we tore
into each other.
Women don’t step out because their husbands haven’t put out in a week.
Why do they?
The squeak of Muellers’s wheel sparks a thought and I follow it before I
can talk myself out of it.
“Mueller, why do wives have affairs with other men?”
Oh, you fucking idiot.
The blonde woman sputters; turning to face me wearing an expression I
can’t read.
“Did Sable cheat on you?”
Her whisper comes out with a hiss and her eyes dart around the office as
though we’re conspiring against the people here.
Why would you even ask her?
Because I need a woman’s perspective, and not one that I created in my
head.
“Never. Our friends are getting a divorce. Apparently, it’s because she
cheated on him. I don’t understand why she would. They seem happy. I’ve
stayed in their house and their sex life was very apparent through the walls.
Call it curiosity. Why do women have affairs?”
Yeah, asking for a friend, very believable.
“That makes sense. She’d have to be crazy to cheat on you.” Mueller says
with a smile that’s puckered like she’s eating a lemon. “It all depends on the
person, I guess. I don’t think I would betray my spouse for any reason. But I
also wouldn’t be opposed to a relationship with an individual who was in
one already. You never know, I could be the best choice for a man who is
committed to someone else. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for
something right because another thing was a little wrong.”
Mueller fiddles with a heart necklace, dragging it back and forth across
the top button of her peony sweater.
“Interesting.”
I murmur, as my mind leaves the conversation.
Okay, it was dumb. This woman is nothing like Sable, her insights won’t
work. This was pointless.
“Isn’t it?”
She asks in a flat voice.
“Yeah, thanks. Sometimes my curiosity gets the best of me.”
“No problem, ha-”
My phone rings, interrupting her. Holding my palm up, I pick it up
without giving Mueller another glance.
“Kage.”
“You sound stupid when you answer with your name.”
“Harper. What do you need?”
“Did you look at the footage?”
“I did. You were right.”
“Have a late lunch with me. We should talk.”
“Taco shop next door. Give me ten minutes.”
“Yep.”
“Bye.”
I raise my hands in the air, feigning irritation.
“Work never waits.”
“I’ll speak to a few of my friends, and see what would make them cheat.
Different perspectives and all that.”
“Unnecessary, Mueller.”
I grunt as I stand and leave.
“Whatever you say. I’m still going to ask. Maybe I’m curious too.”
She smiles at me in a way meant to seem friendly, but just comes off like
she’s biting the skin off a chapped lip. A hazard of my name being on the
building is the response from employees who aren’t graduates.
Everyone wants to be friends with the boss.
OceanofPDF.com
Nine
Tried to call you, but no answer. I’ll tell you about it when you get
back.
XOXO Emma
I’ve been the lead data migration specialist for the Austin branch for years.
During that period, I have received fewer than ten calls to my cell. I make it
clear I prefer email. And now Mueller is calling and texting.
Despite feeling annoyed, what her friend said piques my curiosity.
Maybe she’s like Sable. Narcissists are everywhere.
“Secrets are a bitch.”
For a moment I think Harper’s reading me, seeing the storm behind my
calm facade, until I refocus on our conversation. She wants a girlfriend, but
can’t find one who can handle the workload. I close the message from
Mueller and an idea strikes me.
“Why don’t you date someone from my branch of WS? Data migration
specialists have to travel a lot. Work your schedule around hers.”
Harper cocks her head and purses her lips, contemplating it for a moment
before she physically shakes the consideration away from her.
“Nah, it’s too easy. My name is on every door in the building she works in.
I like a challenge.”
“You’d enjoy the time she spent on your rungs.”
“That I would. Don’t need it though. I get hookups left and right. I want
more.”
“Why?”
“Same as you. Someone to handle all the bullshit day-to-day stuff for me.
Bonus if she plays WarCraft.”
“That’s not why I got married.”
“Oh? Why then?”
I can’t tell her the truth. Obsession like mine is manic. Telling the
psychopaths in my family that I am so consumed by my need for this woman
that I married her to actually be with her; might get me sent to a cold slab of
steel in the academy.
“Because she fucks like a wild animal.”
Harper laughs, spitting a partially chewed tortilla chip across the table as
she does.
“Now that is a reason to bind a person to you.”
OceanofPDF.com
Ten
When I enter the building again, I don’t take the elevator to the fifth floor
above; instead I go to the third below. The doors open to an office that now
buzzes with the sounds of keyboards, surveillance, and zoom calls throughout
the world.
Before anyone can catch sight of me, I slip down the hall, input my
passcode, and blood, into my security system and slide into my sanctuary. I
should be topside again.
You’re bending all kinds of rules today.
With a few keystrokes, my computer whirls to life in a flurry of color and
sound. I don’t bother looking through the four new emails I have, one of
which is for the contract I’m postponing. Instead, I pull up the grid of security
systems I have access to in Austin.
Less than half of them belong to us, or even to our clients. Part of being the
biggest cyber security company in the world is knowing how to commandeer
your rival’s software.
Finding the streets I’m looking for, I pull up the live cameras from a chic
salon that caters to the wealthy. Without wondering if anyone will notice, I re-
angle the camera, cutting off the feed from recording what’s supposed to be a
closed circuit security system, and focusing it across the street.
Every move you make, every bond you break…
The voice that is supposed to be my subconscious mocks me in song, but I
don’t care. I have the visual.
Inside the gleaming building, Mara is typing away at her desk. I grimace,
realizing the tiny interaction with her today was enough for my mind to hold
her name. Why?
Because she threatened you for Sable.
The thought has me smiling as I wait, wishing Sable would come to the
desk so I could ensure she’s there.
As though my wish manifests her, long legs wrapped in a swaying black
dress emerge behind the partial partition. When her face pops around the
mirrored wall, I breathe an actual sigh of relief.
She’s at work.
So it seems.
She’s not having an affair.
She has a secret. Find it.
A knock at my door prompts me to shut down the feed and open my email.
Four keystrokes later, the door opens while I remain in my seat.
“Shouldn’t you be upstairs?”
Caleb Wilde, my uncle and the highest ranking member of our branch of
WS says, strolling over to my keys.
“I needed to answer an email. Can’t do it up there.”
He evaluates the chest, keeping me at his back. He is not an intimidating
man by any traditional means. At five-six and less than one hundred and fifty
pounds, he looks downright unassuming.
As he means to.
“What email?”
The man in the tailored suit says. His victims never realize his build
beneath is so strong because he makes them intentionally loose.
“A contract.”
My tone is combative, but respectful; the Wilde baseline for interactions
within the hierarchy.
Caleb stops admiring my unfinished collection and turns to face me. His
close-cropped black hair is longer on one side. It covers the scar he got
jumping from a third-story building after ending the life of a prominent
politician. The aluminum awning took half his scalp off, but he closed the
contract and sanitized the scene.
“Tonight’s your night? Fun.”
He matches my tone, turning his scrutiny to me now that my keys aren’t
before him.
He always bends his knees. Even here. He wants to be underestimated
everywhere.
“No, I’m postponing.”
I answer, gauging the way he reacts. His head cocks slightly to the side, the
opposite eyebrow arching as he asks,
“Why are you rescheduling?”
The question conveys a straightforwardness that borders on condescension.
“Sable has an event tonight. Apparently it’s important.”
Caleb doesn’t speak, so I continue.
“And my target is leaving town this weekend. In two days, she’ll be staying
in the same motel she uses to meet her dealer. A poetic end for her.”
He murmurs, but I can’t decipher what he says before he turns and walks
toward the door, stopping at the entrance for me to open it. Before it does, he
speaks again.
“Make sure your reasoning is the job, not your fake life.”
He leaves without glancing back.
Something is wrong.
Caleb showing up is strange. Harper being set up is unusual, though not
against the rules. And the cherry on the proverbial cake is the voice in my
head guiding me to spiral out of control.
I only want you to find the truth.
Sable’s truth wasn’t an issue this morning.
You need all the truths.
My phone chirps, lighting up with the number from earlier. The fact that I
know it belongs to Mueller vexes me.
What is happening to me?
Almost done with that job? I’m dying to tell you what my friend said.
XOXO Emma
This is your fault, you engaged the chirpy-bird, now you have to hear her
song.
Grumbling to myself for being so involved in whatever Sable is doing that I
spoke to someone, and have to deal with the consequences; I pull up the
schedule for the day. There is one migration that needs a data specialist to
drive an hour out of the city. I assign it to the woman trying to be my friend.
No. Be at least another forty-five minutes.
I respond, knowing she’s going to be called away in ten. Can’t have anyone
thinking I’m the Wilde to befriend… but I also want to know why women
cheat.
You should be asking why they keep secrets.
“Fuck off.”
I grumble out loud before I decide I’m not going upstairs at all today.
Instead, I assign myself a job that isn’t scheduled for another week. It’ll take
fifteen minutes tops, and it’s half an hour from Sable and Scarlet Events.
I need to drop in on my wife.
OceanofPDF.com
Eleven
The young woman behind the clear glass desk notices me the moment I
enter. Pinned in an elaborate bun at her nape, her midnight hair reveals
glimpses of jewel-toned highlights that shimmer when she moves. Her
brown gaze scrunches in confusion before she realizes who I am.
“Mr. Wilde, hello.”
Mara sits straighter, her eyes rounding a nearly imperceptible amount.
Her surprise at seeing me in the office ends there, never reaching her tone.
That remains as professional and unshaken as she was when she thought I
was a random caller earlier today.
“I apologize. We weren’t expecting you. I’ll let Sable know you’re here.”
I can’t decide if my presence, or if she’s hiding something, throws the
woman off. She’d go to bat for her boss, she already did once. My goddess
cultivating the type of loyalty that would see her office manager lie for her
is well within the realm of possibility.
“No need.”
Her voice surrounds me in smoke and honey. My body shifts to face its
greatest desire; the person who brings me to my knees and makes me more
human than I intend to be.
The outfit she’s wearing is a favorite. A solid black blazer dress tailored
to hug her waist and stretch around the curves of her hips. Three double
rows of ivory buttons adorn the piece. The cut is deep, dipping to between
her cleavage. Her hemline falls mid-thigh, allowing the flawless silk of her
legs to be ravished by my greedy gaze.
The blood isn’t going to my sides anymore. It’s redirecting exactly where
she intended it to.
Irritation floods me when I realize she put it on when we were home
together. That’s why she was walking back and forth across the room. She
was waiting for me to come out, see her, and fuck her senseless regardless
of a stomach bug.
“Hello, husband.” She purrs, her dusky tone enveloping every syllable
until they’re whiskey-soaked lust.
It’s as if she sensed I needed the balm of that title on my raw,
underdeveloped emotions. It soothes the thing deep inside, the one I’ve
been fighting to control all fucking day.
“Wife.”
My response is bark-like; the sound obliterating the silence.
I’m on her in the same breath; crushing her to me with a hand on the
curve of her ass and the other in her hair. Her body leans into our embrace
for a brief instant before it lights up. She pushes under my shirt, the
feathery pads of her fingers dancing up the small of my back until her claws
sheath themselves in the flesh of my shoulders.
I groan, the sound catching in our kiss and rolling over Sable in a way
that makes her shiver against me. My palms slip lower, rounding the curve
of her ass and lifting her higher against me.
“Sab, you have an office.”
The unfamiliar voice stops my movements. Snow prickles cross my skin,
heat exploding in my chest. I twist, putting my everything back on her feet
and then stepping before her. Every muscle in my body tightens, my vision
gets sharper.
“Sorry, Mara.” Sable laughs as she steps around me, casting me a
curious look as she does. “Hold all my calls.”
She grabs my hand and heads for the half partition that leads to her office.
Whispering to me as she does.
“Was that a hint of jealousy out there?”
My wife snickers through the waves of blood-red softness that envelop
her face in a dark halo.
“I don’t get jealous.” I growl behind her, a possessive palm landing on
her shoulder.
“You have the space inspection in thirty minutes.” Mara reminds as we
reach the double doors of Sable’s office.
My shoulders knot. Sable’s drop, and she curses as she crosses the
threshold.
“How far is the venue?” I ask, my mouth dragging across the shell of her
ear. Her hair billows in my breath and I can’t help myself; I wrap my arm
around her waist and pull her ass into my hardening dick. My heel catches
the door behind us and snaps it closed.
We can be quick. Probably.
“It takes twenty minutes to get there.” She groans; her low voice threaded
with disappointment.
“I’ll have you coming in ten.”
I grind my hard length into her yielding curves; persuading her to
remember how quickly I make a river of her.
“I know you can.”
She moans; swaying her hips in a pendulum motion that makes her tits
bounce. a hand into the deep cut of her dress, she spins out of my grip and
steps back.
“The mess will take longer than a few minutes to clean.”
I cross the space between us slowly. Each step is purposeful, powerful.
My vision burns into hers. I approach like a predator, with my meal so very
fucking close.
When I’m directly in front of her, I drop to my knees. My hands land on
the outside of each of her thighs, my gaze never straying from hers. The
sight of me here always gets a favorable reaction.
Today is no different.
My palms slide up her velvet skin, dipping under her dress before settling
on her hips. Fire blazes in my wife’s eyes. Her pouty mouth falls open,
panty breaths coming quick and steadily louder. My left thumb digs into her
hip, rubbing the little erogenous zone that drives her mad. My right moves
under the midnight fabric to cover the molten heat of her lace-covered
mound.
“Have I ever made you clean one of my messes?”
I ask before I lean in and put my face against the place my hand was a
second before; inhaling her arousal. A little moan escapes her, urgency and
responsibility warring in her eyes as they watch me push the fabric that’s
keeping her pussy away from my tongue further up.
“You’re going to come, Wrath. There won’t be a mess... on you. I live for
the way your pleasure drips down my chin when I build and I swallow your
bliss.”
The dress is at the crux of her thighs. The sweet flesh of them rubs
together with unconscious need. Her hooded eyes are already halfway to
bliss before I even taste her slickness.
Without answering me, she leans back, her legs spreading to welcome my
intrusion.
“Say it, wife. Tell me you want me to eat this peach until I’m drowning in
the juice.”
“Yes, Kage,“
A loud bang followed by a man’s voice shouting interrupts us. In the
other room, Mara shouts, trying to calm him, but it’s too late. The moment
is gone.
Sable gains her feet again, and storms to the door, muttering about killing
whoever interrupted our time.
I’m on her heels, following. If she only knew, her husband might actually
follow through with her euphemism.
Fuck this guy.
An older man, mid-sixties, is leaning on Mara’s desk red-faced and
shouting about the party tonight when we round the partition. Mara, who is
taller than I would have expected, having only seen her sitting down, isn’t
taking the verbal lashing without a fight.
“I will call the police if you don’t control yourself right now!”
Mara’s voice raises before Sable steps in front of her, putting herself
behind the desk; but between her employee and the man threatening her.
I do not fucking like that.
Don’t interfere. Find him later.
“Mr. Hollis!” Sable shouts, her smokey tone taking a violent edge I rarely
get to see. “You have hired S&S for your event tonight, but do not think for
one second it permits you to treat my people with disrespect. If you have a
problem—I’m right here.”
“If I have a problem?”
Hollis says, notably quieter. His face is so red now it’s turning purple. A
quick image of a Rhesus Macaques pops into my mind.
Definitely a monkey’s ass.
“You’re working for Pendelton? I thought I had taken his booking. It’s
the only reason I hired this shitty company.”
I’m silently getting closer to the man who is far too comfortable
screaming at women. At my woman.
Sable lifts a palm in my direction without ever taking her eyes off Hollis.
The tiniest part of me is impressed with her perception of the surrounding
space. No one else noticed me moving. The little jump from Mara when she
looked from Sable’s hand to me confirmed it. The rest of me is pissed she’s
not letting me hurt him.
“I think you have a misconception about my business, Mr. Hollis. So let
me clear a few things up for you. Who I do, or do not work for, isn’t
something that concerns you. If you had questions about it, you should have
asked me instead of assuming anything. You never scooped a spot out from
anybody. I don’t backtrack on commitments. If you thought you were and
misgauged the date—that’s on you. Not me and certainly not Mara.”
“I-“
Hollis tries to break in, but Sable isn’t having it.
“No. I’m not done. I would be happy to scrap the event, call the whole
thing off and inform all the guests not to come.”
“And you’ll refund my money?”
“Not a chance.” My wife responds without hesitation.
“I can destroy you in this town, little girl.”
Hollis’ threat lands on a version of Sable I’ve never seen. Her spine
straightens, turning to rigid steel as her golden eyes blaze fury I’m dying to
see unleased. The damage she could do to this geriatric fuck is easy to
imagine. She spars with me no less than twice a week. She was a quick
learner and didn’t question why I asked her to train with me.
Pride turns sinister in my gut when I realize what was meant to keep her
safe if the worst of my life came knocking; is necessary in her own fucking
office. Violence boils in my veins, rage chewing at my thoughts as I
consider killing him on the spot for putting her in this position.
Stay calm. Watch her. She’s not afraid.
“You couldn’t burn me if I doused myself in gasoline and handed you a
match. You’re contracted in. If you choose to cancel the event after the
preparation, caterers, decorators, and staff have been hired; you still have to
pay. I won’t stiff my vendors in the eleventh hour.”
Hollis gets impossibly redder in the face, his sagging cheeks shaking with
bottled retaliation. Sable cuts it off before it can begin to erupt.
“Furthermore, you’d have to be an idiot to not realize that every inch of
my office is rigged with cameras. If you try to slander my name or business,
I’ll release them. They’ll become your personal plague of digital retribution.
Your competitors will see you shout at, and threaten, two women because
you weren’t intelligent enough to come at your rivals outright; so you
resorted to parties. The level of pathetic there is higher than you may
assume. The weak get eaten alive. Between the fallout of your public image
and the attacks that your company will accrue, you won’t come out of this
with a leg to stand on. But we can make this all go away, and you can have
the glorious event we planned with no one ever knowing a thing about your
outburst or misfired snipe at Pendelton.”
The man’s fists are clenching and releasing. His stance says he wants to
attack. Sable remains uncharacteristically relaxed. She’s goading him with
body language. She’s laying insult after insult and not letting him gain an
inch.
I want to devour her.
“How?” Ellis grinds through a clenched jaw.
“You’ll apologize to Mara. And then pay the additional ten-thousand
dollar stupidity fee.”
“Ten thousand, no! You’ve gone too-”
“I have not. The emotional stress you just laid on my employee demands
rectification. An appropriate response is to put her at ease. So you’ll pay the
six grand she needs to go on vacation and the four it’ll cost to bring in
temps to cover her duties.”
Behind Sable, Mara’s jaw drops. As it hangs, her face full of adoration
and astonishment for the woman she’s staring at; I realize how young she is.
Her attire is formal, appropriate for a high-end business. But her face still
bears the roundness of youth. I’d place her at nineteen, tops. It’s strange to
have someone so youthful in such an important position. Then again, the
same could be said for Sable. She built a seven-figure event planning
business.
“No.” Hollis grunts, turning to leave.
“Yes.” Sable’s single word stops the man cold. “It wasn’t optional,
Charles. I framed it to give you a chance to save face, but you’ve
squandered that. You threatened me, frightened my employee, and made a
scene in my place of work. You will pay for that, or I let the videos out. I’ll
hold a private viewing party at Pendelton’s event tomorrow. Threatening
women is never a good look. Doing it in front of or aimed at me is
downright idiotic. You played a stupid game, welcome to your stupid prize.
See you at seven.”
Hollis doesn’t answer as he walks out the door.
“Oh, my God! I can’t believe you just did that, Sab!” Mara squeaks from
behind Sable, her eyes alight with hero worship.
“He had it coming. Check the schedule and figure out when you want to
take your paid vacation. I need to get to the venue.” Sable walks around the
desk, planting a kiss on my lips before wiping the moisture away with her
thumb. “I’m sorry we were interrupted. Maybe I’ll get back tonight before
your flight leaves. I love you.”
She croons in my arms, her eyes locked onto my lips.
“Love you more. See you tonight.”
She moves away so quickly it feels like she evaporates from my hands. I
watch her ass as she leaves the building, following a few steps behind so I
don’t miss her exit. When she climbs into her Mustang, I jump into my
sedan. I have a few hours before she’ll be home to change.
I’m going to dig into Charles Hollis’ life. A man like that should have at
least one good reason to make him a contract.
OceanofPDF.com
Twelve
Charles Yancy Hollis was born in Dallas, TX in 1955 to Yancy and Dorothy
Hollis.
His father owned an electronics company specializing in televisions and
radios. The business struggled for the first few years, but hit its stride in the
early fifties, making Charles rich upon arrival.
At two minutes old, he was worth what would still be a fortune in today’s
market. His actions in Sable’s office didn’t align with a man as wealthy as
he should be. Within an hour, I understood why.
He started killing his father’s company the moment he took over in ‘94.
Between poor investments, stagnant products, and a lack of ingenuity
translating to growth in the tech field; Charles had dropped Sion
Technology’s net worth from twenty-billion dollars to four. A bit more
digging showed the drop to be more than the shareholders know.
Sion Technologies, the company his father started and grew to last for
generations; is at the precipice of financial collapse. There is nothing
Charles can do at this point unless he accrues six billion dollars in the next
nine months. A bailout is unlikely. He’s tried several times but can’t find a
partner with reason to keep a rotting tech company afloat.
Why is he spending a hundred thousand dollars on a party?
He’s not just screwing with a business rival. This is the last party he’ll be
able to afford.
Why now?
I lean back in my chair, stretching my neck from side to side and
evaluating the room around me.
After I left S&S, I stopped at a local pawnshop and picked up a used
laptop and Wi-Fi hotspot stick. Both registered with someone that can’t be
traced back to me. After setting it up in a coffee shop on the other side of
the city, I began routing the signal through multiple VPNs and towers until I
had a portable, untraceable Wi-Fi connection.
For the last two hours, I’ve been studying the man who threatened my
wife in the relative quiet of our dining room. The contrasting shades of
black and gray in this environment seem to enhance my productivity more
than the washed-out hues of beige and lemon in WS.
Though motivation may be the factor for which my work is so efficient
today. Mr. Hollis made an impact. Sable handled the situation flawlessly, a
radiant force of power and grace.
She’s destroying him in her way.
I’m going to do it in mine.
Rage has carved a home in me. It’s strange, the heat and suspicion
radiating like a lump of endlessly glowing coal.
The emotion isn’t wholly foreign to me. I’ve felt fury in failure, be it
mine or someone else’s. The range of it is. It has always been simple; get
mad, put it away until I can fulfill a contract, then let it go in a tide of
crimson.
It’s never been so present.
Everything is unraveling. You’re spiraling.
No. I’m in control. It’s only three things. Find out who set Harper up. Kill
Charles. Find out what Sable is hiding.
Expose the lies.
Groaning whines and clanging metal reverberate in the hallway behind
me as the garage door opens.
Sable’s home.
The plethora of feelings attached to her right now threatens to drown me.
Waves of rage, jealousy, suspicion, desire, and nameless things crash over
me, dragging me under.
The fuckery of it makes me wonder how “normal” non-psychopathic
people truly are. How am I the clinical one when housewives walk around
like this every day? I’ve been labeled crazy, but this?
This is madness.
I close out the folders on Hollis, pulling up a bug report as I do. Sable’s
heels clack down the tiled hallway, pinpointing her location until they
disappear into the plush carpet. The swish of her dress fills the void,
informing me of her movement in my direction.
“Didn’t think I’d catch you.”
Purring words that have nothing to do with what I was researching hit me
between the shoulders like a dart. My muscles tense and my heart rate picks
up.
She’s not talking about me. She doesn’t know.
Neither do you.
“Your flight leaves in an hour. You’re going to miss it.”
Sable pushes my laptop away and sits on the dining room table in front of
me. My hands are on her thighs before her ass hits the wood. My gaze eats
up her glorious body until it finds hers.
Molten honey flecked in gold halts my breathing. Every inch of my wife;
every curve, dimple, scar, and stretch of velvet flesh is perfection. None
compare to her eyes. Everything I’m desperate for—and terrified of—swirls
in the depths of my lover’s stare.
“I canceled.”
I confess without breaking away from her eyes, while my hands travel her
body.
“Really?”
Sable’s eyebrow arches above meticulous makeup. A gradient of copper
and ebony smoke outward until they blend into her skin. Sitting back, I take
in the complete picture as she continues.
“I don’t know if you’ve ever canceled a work trip before. Are you not
feeling well still?”
She says from lips painted in a natural glossy shade. Her hair, styled in
bouncing curls, is meticulously twisted and pinned on one side, creating an
elegant asymmetrical look that draws attention to her exposed shoulder. My
teeth ache with the need to sink into that tender slope.
“I’m fine. I decided I’d rather go to your event tonight.”
Her shoulders tighten as mine did a few minutes ago.
She doesn’t want me to go?
“Are you sure? I’m well versed in doing this without you, and I’ll be
working and networking a lot. Are you going to be okay with being left
alone?”
Is she hiding something to do with work?
“I’ll be fine. I can stay home though, if you’d prefer that.”
Her brow furrows and her lip twitches. Whatever war she fought in her
head ends quickly.
“I don’t mind. Go get dressed. I already have hair and makeup done. I
just needed to change into the dress. Find a suit. I’m wearing burgundy and
midnight tones. Anything between crimson and cabernet will match.”
My wife turned commander says as she hops off the table and pulls my
hands until I stand up.
Four years ago, I wouldn’t have understood what the hell she just said.
Color, tones, and descriptions of them are a large part of event planning.
They’re important to her. Which makes them important to me by proxy.
“Find a dark red shirt and black suit, got it..”
Her hands release mine, but I don’t let her step away. Instead, I wind my
arms around her waist and pull her to me, swaying slightly as I do.
“Time for a dance?”
I whisper when I’ve leaned far enough to drag my lips along the shell of
her ear while I do. Her body relaxes in my arms, her hips already moving
with mine.
“I can’t.”
She pushes away from me, desire so clear in her eyes that I wonder why
she did. She turns and heads down the hall, with me at her heel.
“Why not?”
I ask, my voice betraying my irritation.
“We have fifteen minutes to get ready and leave. We don’t have time.”
“Who cares if you’re a few minutes late?”
What a dick question to ask. She cares. It’s her business, she works hard.
I know it’s a prick position to put her in, but empathy isn’t my strong suit.
I need to see fireworks in her eyes while she screams my name. It’s the
only thing I give a fuck about right now.
Liar.
“I care.”
She spins on me outside our room.
So fucking close.
I could just pick her up. Carry her to the bed and seduce her until she’s
begging and whimpering to be late.
“Fuck. I know.” With a swipe of my hand across my face, I retreat a step.
“I know. You could be late, though. Just an hour?”
I give her a crooked half smile, letting the dimple that drives her crazy be
my last ditch effort to get deep into her good side.
“Not this party. I need to be there before it starts until it’s over.”
“Why?” I echo the voice in my head.
Sable’s body goes loose, like walking liquid as a genuine smile breaks
free and her eyes light up like she was just gifted a stuffed rat holding
pizza.
“Because, tonight, I’m ruining someone’s life.”
Her words purr with excitement and everything makes sense. She’s
destroying him her way.
Good fucking job, baby.
“Can’t impede that.”
I murmur before I kiss her temple and spin her around, gently pushing her
into the room.
“Go get dressed. I’ll leave you alone. For now.”
Sable grins in the most maliciously sweet way before she rushes to the
closet, and then the bathroom, carrying one of her dress bags.
I grab my suit and shirt and quickly don them. When I go looking for my
dress shoes, I can’t help but open the bag that had been my focus earlier
today. Shadows meet me when I do, nothing more than a quiet emptiness
harboring all the secrets I need to know.
Not all.
The relevant ones.
I push it aside and grab the damn shoes, my mood turning abruptly again.
I’m stepping out of the closet when it gets shifted right back to lust.
Sable is standing right in front of the bed, in a dress that begs for a crown.
And me on my knees. The bodice is stitched in pitch-black filigree, so tight
it almost completely blocks out the deep burgundy silk of the fabric beneath
it. At the waist, the embroidery ends by parting to allow the fabric to flow
out until it reaches her knees. There it parts again, growing longer until the
end in the back sways behind her ankles. A thin strip of the same filigree as
the bodice edges the inside of the skirt, peeking behind silky legs.
“Fuck, Wrath. You look too good not to eat.”
“What you said.”
Sable whispers as she takes her fill.
I hit below the belt with this one.
I need to remind her how much her body responds to mine. So I wore the
tailored suit she had made for me last year. Cabernet silk wraps around my
arms and torso, tight enough to showcase the strength I usually keep
hidden. The ebony vest slopes narrowly beneath my ribs to emphasize what
Sable calls my “Y” shape.
Tonight I don’t look like an unassuming tech geek. I look like the beast I
am, all prettied up. Just for her.
Her eyes roll over me again, a moaning whimper escaping her before she
pulls herself together. She slinks toward me, her movements as predatory as
mine were in her office. When she reaches me, she glides her hands up my
chest to land on my shoulders, her nails finding their places in my flesh.
“Tonight, the dry spell ends. As soon as I’m done living up to my
nickname, I need you to drag me back to this room and ruin this pretty
dress.”
I wrap my hands around her waist, squeezing the pliant flesh until she
flexes her core, and the hidden strength there stops me. Like me, Sable
hides her physique. In the years we’ve been sparring, she went from
shockingly good to deadly as any graduate.
Graduates have drug the blade.
She could. If she wanted to. Maybe I could teach her.
You’d corrupt her?
The voice meant to be my conscious is accusatory, but the thought of
making my wife like me goes straight to my groin. My hand releases her
waist to become a necklace on her throat. I drag my nose from her jaw to
her ear, inhaling the dark vanilla and sandalwood, and growl my response.
“The dress isn’t the only thing I’m going to ruin. Tonight I corrupt you,
Wrath.”
Her pulse quickens under my grip, her nails sink deeper, even her thighs
press closer. The best part is her fluttery response.
“Do your worst.”
We barely made it out of the house.
As I walk through the courtyard, taking in the event, I’m glad I didn’t
miss this. I don’t go to Sable’s events, ever.
Until tonight.
She prefers not to have any distractions at work. The way she’s running
from place to place, managing a hundred people and jobs, makes it clear
why. She’s already stopped to ask if I’m okay twice, and it’s obviously
disrupting the show.
Spongy grass pushes against the heel of Berluti oxfords as I make my
way to the edge of the venue. I’m taking myself out of her equation. She’ll
seek me when she has time. Until then, I examine her work. Event planning
isn’t something I would have ever picked for her. She’s intense, driven, and
works like her life depends on it.
It did, for a long time. This business was her lifeline out of poverty, off
the streets. She lied and manipulated her way into a career that has afforded
her comfort.
Harper’s wrong.
Not about the free advertisement.
Of course, I do that. It only works because her record speaks for itself.
All the advertisements in the world won’t take away poor reviews or
experiences.
I reach the edge of the boundaries and reach out to touch the glittering
silver strands. From afar it looks like molten silver. Up close, I can see its
tinsel meticulously hung beneath gentle light that makes it look like pouring
metal in the light breeze.
Sable said a crew had been here erecting fifteen-foot walls around the
perimeter of tonight’s event. This wall is one small touch of thousands that
made the hotel courtyard into a bourbon-core fairytale.
Gossamer fabric as dark as the surrounding night is hung over the space,
twinkle lights behind it create a starry night. Votive candles adorn dozens of
tables, casting dancing light and playful shadows with their mirrored
outsides. Orchids scent the air filled with gentle violin music as the small
band sets up for the evening.
In thirty minutes, people will arrive and be as struck by the space as I am.
This is why Sable and Scarlett's events are booked four months out. She
earns her reputation.
My mind snaps back to the temptation to bring my wife into the fold of
my real life. The thought of her covered in sticky maroon and laughing
makes my dick twitch. I could give her a brand-new reputation. As someone
like me. As a killer.
She’s got her own secrets. Stay incognito. Get to the truth.
My whole body cools.
She’s not fucking someone else.
Chills give way to heat as my mood shifts far too fucking quickly. I stow
it down. Emotions won’t dominate me. Logically, it makes little sense. If
she’d been with another man, she wouldn’t have begged me to fuck her
moments later.
Sable is an animal in bed. As feral as I am, with endurance to match. If
she’d had sex before she came home, she’d have been exhausted.
Unless her partner couldn’t keep up.
Stop. It’s not that.
I force the belief through me, stopping the jealousy that wants me to take
her right now, reminding the fucking world who she belongs to.
It’s something else.
“Mr. Wilde?”
A familiar voice asks, and I turn to see Mara. Her suit is sleek and fitted.
Where mine hides in the dark, hers sticks out. Gleaming gunmetal fabric
calls attention to the lanky woman with the earpiece and tablet.
“You can call me Kage.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wilde. I’ve been asked to see that you’re okay.”
The faintest trace of annoyance creeps into the woman’s professionalism
as she relays her task.
“I’m fine. Tell her as much. I don’t need a babysitter. Please do whatever
you blew off to check on the boss’s husband.”
Mara’s eyes twinkle with humor that doesn’t reach her voice.
“Thank you, Mr. Wilde, have a wonderful evening.”
“It’s Kage,” I grunt, but the woman doesn’t respond.
She’s already dealing with an unruly section of the tinsel wall that seems
to have come loose without so much as a backward glance.
Guests filter in, men and women dressed like royalty to get drunk and eat
meals shrunken to appetizers.
All to celebrate a merger I couldn’t find anywhere on Hollis’ books.
When Sable said what it was for on the drive over, it threw me off.
Nowhere in the business accounts is there any mention of merging, not even
in the books I stole from their systems.
Either Hollis is lying about the consolidation, or it’s entirely off-book.
Both options seem viable. I need to dig deeper.
“Kage.”
Caleb’s voice sets a silent alarm off inside me. Every muscle contracting,
readying.
“Caleb, what are you doing here tonight?”
My uncle stands slightly askew from me, his body hidden from most of
the party since I’ve had to turn to face him.
He made me a shield.
Why?
Caleb is my dad’s brother.
Most of the higher-ups in WS are referred to as aunts and uncles even
though they’re usually cousins once, twice, or more times removed. It gets
confusing to call someone your age the same thing as one three levels above
and forty years older than you.
It’s easier to name anyone in your parent’s generation the same titles,
even if they aren’t technically true.
“I had to see for myself what could be so alluring as to give up a
contract.”
Caleb sneers; he looks almost nothing like my father. Shorter, and more
built, but also considerably fairer. My dark hair and oak eyes come from
him. Harper’s blonde locks and icy blue stare originate with this man. The
brothers are night and day in most things, including appearance.
Half the reason Dad taught me was because his brother had designs on
the presidency. Armand screwed that up for him. The tenets he instilled
destroyed any chance at Caleb seeking power out. Before any of that,
though, Dad made sure I lived by the same code his mother taught him.
“Is this really preferable to you than what you trained all those years to
achieve?”
Caleb’s tone is intentionally confrontational, but his face is unreadable.
What’s he playing at?
“I have a randomly generated schedule to make myself seem concerned
and spontaneous in my marriage. I input a ten-year calendar with two
thousand happenings. From small things like buying flowers, to large events
like canceling my day and focusing on Sable. I appear to be an attentive
husband by not knowing where or when certain events arrive. Today this
popped up.”
The lie slips out so easily I almost believe it. It would make sense; if I
was as unconcerned with my wife as I should be.
Caleb’s reaction is unreadable. He seems angry, but replies,
“Smart. Good work.”
His eyes focus behind me for a moment too long and then they sweep the
area once again.
“Well, that’s reasonable. You’re obviously not slipping or coming
unhinged. As analytic as ever. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Caleb slides past me and strides to the exit. I don’t have time to follow
him completely because Sable walks into my line of sight. Her gaze goes to
my uncle and I wonder if there will be enough familiarity for her to place
him as my relation.
The look that crosses her face isn’t recognition. It’s the same one she
wore when she stood against Hollis today. It’s gone as quick as it came,
replaced by the flawless smile that she wears for the public.
As she draws closer, the grin that lives only for me forms across her
pretty lips.
“Having fun dear?”
She asks as she reaches me, staying a step apart from my body. She told
me should would. The woman is dynamite and I keep lighting the fuze just
to snuff it out.
Can’t have her exploding in public.
“Nearly too much.” My voice drips sarcasm, but it changes when I
compliment her. “Seriously, this is incredible, Wrath. Your work is the
perfect reflection of you; beautiful beyond expectation.”
A subtle blush tints her chest, and her eyes go molten. Nothing makes
Sable blush. She’s proud of me seeing this side of her.
“I won’t cross your boundaries. Can’t get too close just yet, but how
about a walk?”
“I have time for a walk.”
Her face lights up with wonder and she guides me toward the fountain
display. We’re walking far enough apart that we aren’t touching, a painful
distance I’m not used to.
“You’ll like these.”
She gushes as we get closer to the water feature. It spouts and arches
synchronously with the six-piece acoustic band playing in front of it. As the
rhythm speeds up, the lighting in the liquid changes from pink to ember.
The speed of the jets matches each stroke of bow on string. When the tempo
shifts again, a sorrowful symphony beginning, the lights alter to cobalt, the
fountain’s curves stuttering in time.
“The fountain is set to each number the band plays. It illuminates the
feeling of each piece, the story the song tells without a single word.”
Sable continues to explain how the walls surrounding the venue will drop
change with the final ballad, transforming into midnight tones with stars
behind as the DJ takes over and a dance floor replaces the fountain.
Every part of her lights up as she explains the details.
I’ve listened to her talk about work a million times, but I’ve never been a
part of it. She’s alive in her element. It’s like I’m meeting my wife for the
first time. My time with this version is cut too quickly. A panicked Mara
appears beside her, grumbling about a security detail.
My hackles raise in response.
Sable is quick to brush it off, telling her assistant that there will be shift
changes due to the size and duration of the project at hand. She throws me
an apologetic smile and shuffles the worried woman away.
Everything about that was wrong.
Mara stood face-to-face with a guy twice her size a few hours ago. Why
would she get all worked up about a security change?
Before I can decide on what to do, I walk toward the edge of the venue
where the only lights pour down from cascading curtains of silver. The
muscles in my feet itch to roll more silently, displace the weight, bend the
stance; to be silent.
I can’t. Not here. I need to be stealthy, not suspicious. At the end, I turn
inward, heading away from the courtyard into the hotel. Devoid of the
enchanting embellishments found in the dream-turned-reality outside, this
place seems uninviting and austere.
A flash of crimson draws my eyes to Sable as she disappears into the
kitchen near the rear of the building. I want to run, slam through the door
and find out what the fuck has Sable rushing off.
What if her secret is putting her in danger?
Crossing the space in a random pattern, I make my way to the kitchen
doors. I’m not going in. I just need to see that she’s okay. That the threat
I’m sensing is part of whatever the fuck is happening in my head.
I’m proven wrong when I peek through the doors.
The threat is very fucking real, and not one I expected.
OceanofPDF.com
Thirteen
“Bourbon, neat.”
I snap at the bartender, who looks me over once and then lets my
rudeness pass.
Sable’s cheating on me.
The images of her and Mara flood my mind. My wife’s arms wrapped
around the other woman’s waist, her lips resting on her forehead. My wife
is not a touchy woman. Every person in her life is kept at a distance, except
me.
And her.
The bartender, a man my age and build, with a face that says he gets a lot
of perks in this business, returns with my drink. He taps the bar once
without saying a word and leaves.
Sable slides into the seat next to me, using a pickup line we’ve played
with since we met.
“Have you ever heard the story of Lizzie Borden?”
The honey of her voice turns to razors in my veins; making a carver of
my heart with every quickening beat.
Three years ago, I saw her for the first time at a Halloween party. She
perfectly portrayed everyone’s favorite ax murderer. When the biggest idiot
in the world vacated his seat to chase another basic bunny; leaving the
bloody goddess beside him without company. I took his spot.
As I did that night, I lean toward Sable and repeat the first words I ever
spoke to her.
“I always liked Lizzie. Hell has no wrath like a woman.”
Vanilla and cedar surround me; pulling at the pieces of me that are too
busy hemorrhaging to stop the allure of her. Her worried eyes heat, gold
tones pushing away the growing darkness.
“Hell never stood a chance. Can’t have more of something than the very
embodiment of it. Women are wrath.”
The woman before me parrots her response from three years ago. This is
a favorite game of ours, re-living the moment we met the pieces of
ourselves that existed away from us, waiting to be reunited.
Tonight, the game is a rusty blade; my soul bleeds for the rough edge
with every word.
I keep playing, inviting the wounds.
“I’m Kage. Pleasure to meet you, Wrath.”
I extend my hand, and she takes it, shaking it gently. Her eyes sweep over
me again.
She can see it.
“Cute, I’m Sable.”
She whispers, her voice eluding to more of her emotions than we ever
speak aloud. Something in me snaps as I utter the same response I did years
ago. The words burn in my throat, the meaning changed from what it’s been
before.
“Your costume is great. The extra steps paid off. Best version of dressed-
to-kill I’ve ever seen.”
I think my heart is breaking.
The agony is different from physical pain. I’d be painted with battery acid
a hundred times over to avoid this; the hollow feeling of the world dropping
away from me while I stare into the eyes of the person taking it.
“Kage…“
She went off-script. The game is over.
I stand and pull her to the dance floor that she told me about what feels
like moments ago, but must have been at least an hour.
Time stopped when I saw them in that industrial kitchen.
An upbeat pop song blares around us as I pull my life into my chest,
wrapping her in my arms as we sway against the time of the song.
Her head turns, her warm cheek pressing to my heart through my clothes.
Through her lashes, her eyes meet mine. There’s so much happening in
them. For the first time, I wish empathy came easy to me. I wish I could
feel what she’s feeling.
Is there a hole inside her too, swallowing her piece by piece?
I don’t want that. Sable can be the dagger in my chest. I’ll never be hers.
You love her. Your act became fact.
It was never lust portrayed as love for the world. This woman owned me
the moment the crowd parted to let her through the first night.
They wanted to be away from her mess.
I’d never wanted to be painted so badly.
I’ve loved her all this time, burying the truth of it in my ever-present need
to make her body clench and curve in pleasure. Pushing the thoughts from
me, I twirl Sable on the floor. I can’t do sad. Heartbroken isn’t an assassin-
grade feeling.
I fucking refuse to feel it. Wouldn’t even know how.
I know how to breed desire in this woman, though. How to fuck her until
I’m all she thinks or breathes.
“What are you doing?”
Her breath is feathery as I pull her to me again, holding her flush against
my body as Love and War by Fleurie plays around us. Sable plays this song
on repeat, often. It’s perfect.
“I’m dancing,” I growl.
As the tempo picks up for the bridge, I twirl her with the beat, my hands
moving to her ass and neck. She squeals in my arms, giving into frivolity as
my intensity gets sharper. At the last moment, I capture her mouth with
mine, taking from it like I’ll never get another opportunity.
I pour myself into her; telling her everything I can’t say in the desperate
grip of my hands. Showing her all I feel with the heat of my lips on hers. I
say everything; speak nothing.
When I finally pull away from her, the song has long ended and we’re far
from the dance floor. She takes a step back, cocking her head to the side
before she returns to me.
“Let’s go home. Mara can finish here.”
That name on her sacred lips is arsenic in the air.
Words. Fucking words can hurt.
I need to talk to Beep and Bop about emotion suppressors. Anything to go
back to the oblivion of not feeling.
I don’t answer verbally, turning her toward the doors and flanking her
backside. I’m pushing her gently, but not remotely slow. If she senses
anything off with me, she doesn’t say it.
Her body does. She’s never been this tense in my palms before.
Sable bolts into the house like her dress is on fire and she plans to outrun
the flames. I take my time, calming the jittery energy coursing through me.
The drive home was completely silent. I didn’t risk glancing at her, but her
energy buzzed in the silent space like frenzied hornets.
When I get to our room, I find it empty.
Fuck.
I take the stairs two at a time, climbing to the sparring floor but hoping
she’s in the guest bathroom. When I step into the open space that serves as
our gym, that hope dies.
In the middle of the sparring mat, Sable stands rooted, with knuckles
wrapped, gripping a long staff in each hand.
“No.” I snap, dismissing this before it starts.
My bark doesn’t sway her intent to bite.
“Wrap your hands or I’ll break your knuckles on purpose.” She snarls,
tossing the staff at my feet.
Bandages wrap the weapon’s tip. I don’t remove them, or wrap up as she
instructs.
I’m not playing this game.
“You made promises Wrath, I want to fuck.”
My gaze rolls over her. I stay where I am, keeping the distance she left
me at.
Sable won’t hesitate to strike. She’s still wearing the dress, which I now
realize leaves her with a full range of motion. The high-low cut lets her legs
move as she needs them to, and the sleeveless design frees her shoulders.
The only weakness her attire gives me tonight is the heels.
She needs to take them off before she breaks a fucking ankle.
“I want to fight.”
Her voice is sure. She won’t let me gain an inch until I earn it. There’s too
much space between us. I need her close.
Now.
“Wrath, let it go. I have a dress to ruin.”
“Give it your best shot.”
The words echo our conversation earlier, reminding me of too many
things at once—I cave.
Picking up my staff, I point the end at her.
“If you wanted me to break your back in the gym, my beautiful wife, you
only had to ask. We don’t need sticks and stones. I’ll make you ache with
just my bone.”
“If you plan to win the battle with wits, you need to work harder.”
She snaps back, the edges of her lips turning up involuntarily.
“No sense of humor tonight?”
I chuckle as I circle her with my staff. She meets my movements with her
own, keeping her profile angled toward me by her left shoulder. A ripple of
annoyance crosses her face and the urge to piss her off further is irresistible.
“Fine. No humor, at least take the fucking shoes off before you break
your damn neck.”
A hard glint enters her eyes and I know I’m under her skin.
“Wrap your knuckles and I’ll lose the Louis'.”
“My knuckles are iron. They’re fine. Take them off.”
The devious woman grins, showing teeth as her shoulders loosen with a
practiced shake.
“I’ll be fine too.”
She strikes. It’s slow; unbalanced. Sable is more than proficient with a
staff. The shoes are throwing her off.
I dodge the attack, ducking under the jab as I dip left. Her movement
changes, sideswiping the weapon at the last moment, nearly catching my
arm.
The wooden crash of our weapons surrounds me as I roll backward
before rising slowly, as she stalks me like a lion. Her strides are sure; until
her ankle rolls slightly. She wobbles for a second before regaining her
footing.
“Take them off.”
I bark the command. My anger at her inability to take a damn second to
consider her safety skyrockets when she purrs her response.
“No.”
“Now, Wrath! Don’t break your fucking leg to prove a point.”
A sickly feeling envelops me when I see the resolve painting her features.
She’s going to hurt herself trying to hurt me.
“I won’t. Just for shits and giggles, though, what point do you think I’m
making, Kage?”
“What?”
“Tell me, husband. Why are we here?”
“Because you wanted to fight.”
I say, standing to my full height.
“Wrong.”
She’s lightning in black lace; lunging forward on one leg, her staff
extending to catch my calf. Shock gives way to heat as a wicked welt
blooms under her weapon.
“Fuck!”
My knee drops, leading into another roll before I spring to my feet. A new
frustration seeps into my consciousness as I realize what she’s doing.
“Using your weakness against me is new.”
“What you perceive as weakness is strength.”
“Take them off, or I will do it for you.”
The threat is low, but loud enough to make her shiver.
“Le-“
My attack cuts her words short.
I rush her, taking the blow to my back as she tries to stop me without
flinching. It’s going to be purple for a week, but it doesn’t matter because I
got close enough. I swallow her in my arms, twisting the staff out of her
grip.
The moment it leaves one hand, the other meets my armpit. The fingertip
punch sends shocks through my arm, dampening my grip as it robs my arm
of movement for a single second. It’s enough.
Sable pushes off me, bending backward in my arms, and flipping out of
my reach. She lands solidly on her heeled feet.
The weapons are gone and we’re fighting the way I always make my
own.
“Ass.”
Sable seethes, before she rushes me in return. The long back of her dress
flies behind her as she dives into a slide, intending to take my legs out and
pin them behind me with her own.
The rage in her eyes as I dive forward, landing around her and halting her
slide, goes straight to my dick.
Her knee crashes into my thigh at the same moment her opposite elbow
meets my ear. She’s good with pressure points and nerve bundles.
Unfortunately for her, I’ve been the subject of her sparring for a while and it
doesn’t get the response it once did.
I pull her arms under mine as her head crashes into my chin. Once her
arms are at her side, I pin them there, making a cage of my fists to hold her
down; while holding my body in a plank position over her. My hips drop,
cementing between her splayed thighs.
“There, we fought. I won.”
I grind into her as I speak, letting her feel my need as I lick her neck and
capture the lobe of her ear between my teeth.
Her body loses its fight, relaxing under me. When her head turns toward
mine, I don’t hold back.
Our mouths meet in a clash of heat and teeth. Little moans pepper the air
around us as our hips grind together. She spreads her thighs further apart,
giving me more access. I take advantage, pushing up from my arms to get
the best angle.
Her knee meets my ribcage without hesitation.
I fold to the left, taking the fall on my elbow to keep from crushing her.
Her freed arm crosses between us and shoves upward at the same time her
hips lift, neatly flipping us.
I’m on my back with hers pressed to my chest. She tries to flee, but I grab
her from behind. With her facing away and in my lap, I bear hug her,
trapping her ankles under my own.
We’re locked in place. Neither can move without giving the other an
edge. I bury my face in her hair, inhaling her as I grip the neck of her dress.
Testing the fabric, I realize it’ll dig into her shoulder—possibly cut her—if I
rip it from her body.
I pull her further up my body, angling my head over her shoulder enough
to get my teeth on the offending cloth.
“Behave, Wrath,” I growl before I jerk my face away while my wrist
moves outward. The tear of her pretty dress greets my ears and I smile like
a monster at the scene I’ve created. Her bare chest spills from the top,
begging to be fully free.
I submit to the request, pulling the dress down around her shoulders until
it tightens around her hips. It traps her arms and bares her chest to me. Mine
are free to roam. I take my time with my wife as I explore her.
“Have I ever explained what your skin feels like?”
I murmur as one hand draws circles on her stomach, steadily getting
lower, heading toward her core. The other gently brushes across the skin of
her collarbone. Chills erupt around my fingertips.
“It’s like silk, spun from the tears of angels. So tender and splendid, it
breaks you to hold it.”
Her heartbeat picks up under my explorations. The pulse in her neck
pounds against my lips as I plant light kisses along it. A moan escapes her
unfighting body; a response to mine digging deeper into her sweet ass.
“You’re like fire, sizzling to touch; inviting enough to risk the burn.”
My palm covers one of her breasts, and she arches into it. Silently
begging me to do more than cup her peaked softness. I refuse, leaving her
wanting under my touch. My other hand reaches the taut fabric of her dress,
and slides over, gathering the fabric between her thighs high enough to dip
under. I palm her pussy, the slick heat of it damn near convincing me to
throw my plans away and fuck her now.
I hold her steady between my unmoving hands. Slowly, I drag her body
up and down mine, stroking my dick with the sweet friction of her ass.
“I could come like this.”
I growl, as pressure builds in my lower back. The scent of her arousal
spins in the sweet musk of her skin. There’s not a doubt in my mind, I
could...
“You wouldn’t.”
The whimper of her voice is more plea than statement.
“Oh, but I fucking would.”
I move her faster, shoving harder into her dress-covered ass. I’m
rewarded with more slickness under my palm. Somehow, I resist the urge to
bring my hand to my mouth; to taste her sugar sliding on my tongue.
I have to. A single lick inevitably leads to feasting.
She moans loudly; the sound traveling through her and vibrating in her
chest under my hand.
“You’d waste it on your boxers when it could be so deep inside me that I
taste it when you explode?”
Fuck me. I love her filthy mouth.
“You shouldn’t have risked yourself. Now we both have to live with the
punishment.”
My body isn’t taking direction anymore. I should stop, reassess, and
release her.
I can’t fucking stop. Rage and lust are twin wolves fighting for
dominance in me. They both seem to win.
“I didn’t risk anything. I train in heels three times a week. Why do you
think I buy the same brand and style in so many colors?”
My movements stop immediately. Heat and pressure balloon in my chest,
something near joy, but more primal tears through my body. It churns with
the intoxicating cocktail of rage and lust that still courses through my veins.
I’m torn between the need to stop and the irresistible urge to continue.
She’s been training outside of our spars.
Harder than she does with me, adding elements that will keep her safe in
an everyday scenario. The thought pulses through engorged length and I
spin her again, pinning her under me.
“Very good, Wrath.”
A shutter runs through her body at the praise. She bites her lips to keep
the mewl on her tongue at bay.
Sitting back on my knees, I take in the perfection splayed before me.
Her sunset hair is messy; the smooth side, frays in wisps around her
immaculate face. The makeup I’m sure she paid top dollar for; is smeared to
fuck. The eyeshadow that started smokey has spread to her hairline, turning
her eyes to shining beacons of gold amidst dusky shadow. Lips that were a
pouty neutral, are now cherry-red and kiss-swollen.
Her chest heaves, her perky tits shaking with a stifled moan. She enjoys
being revered. It’s been a solid point of our relationship. She likes to be
seen; and I love to look. Her wrists are trapped at the base of her waist;
where her hips flare out. The tailor did impeccable work. The dress fits like
a glove; and holds her as well as my hands.
Bunched below is a mess of tangled and torn fabric. It falls mid-thigh.
Taking her knees in my hands, I push them until they’re straddling my
thighs. The hem inches higher, but stops just short of showing me my prize.
“You’ve been practicing without me? I’m so proud, baby.”
My hands move from her knees, climbing achingly slow toward the heat
I’m dying to sink in.
“Thank you.”
Her reply is breathy, barely forming the word as her hooded eyes never
stray from my palms.
“It surprises me. What other secrets have you been hiding with screaming
orgasms?”
The question shocks me as it comes out, deeper than I intended; with no
doubt of the possession behind it.
Her body jerks under my grip, her eyes fly to mine. They round ever so
slightly as they gauge me. She’s assessing whether this is part of the game.
The doorbell blares around us, pulling both of our attention from the
weight of whatever the fuck we’re doing.
“It’s after ten. The HOA never comes this late.”
Sable says, shaking her shoulders, and by proxy her chest. I stare at the
dusky pebbles in their center.
Still haven’t had a real taste.
I lean forward to catch one in my mouth as the doorbell rings again.
Her shoulders round, pulling her chest away from me.
“I wasn’t showing you my rack. I was telling you to untie me so we can
see at our door in the middle of the night."
Annoyance is dripping from her tone, but I can’t tell if it’s for me or for
being interrupted.
“I don’t care who it is. I’m staying right here until I’ve fucked you
through the ceiling and into our bedroom. We’re going to fall asleep wrung
out in the wreckage.”
Heat flashes for a second in her eyes, but that damn doorbell sounds
again.
“We need to see what’s going on. Check your phone.”
“Can’t. I threw it on the bed when I saw you weren’t in the room. I came
straight after your ass.”
A sound slap lands on her exposed cheek to emphasize my point, letting
my hand drift to circle her thigh.
The fourth time the damn bell rings, I regret having a speaker placed up
here. I’m removing it tomorrow. Tonight I’m going to murder whoever
interrupted me.
I climb to my feet, pausing to rip the fabric past Sable’s hip so she can
move.
Instantly I regret it. She slips out of the destroyed garment and heads
downstairs. I watch her naked ass sway with every step, mourning the
glisten of moisture peeking from her thighs.
Whoever it is at my door, is playing a deadly game.
Sable breaks left, heading to our room, and I break right. Straight for the
front door. I kept my clothes on in our spar, as blatantly fucked as they are.
So I have no problem swinging the door open as the sixth bell chimes.
What I find stops everything.
The rage, lust, lies, and love—all quiet at once. The world sharpens
around me, and my pulse slows. While my muscles slowly tense, preparing
for the next move, my face dons the mask that puts people at ease.
I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms, a smile playing at one
side just enough to let my dimple come out.
The woman’s brow furrows when she realizes it wasn’t my wife who
answered the door. She takes a step back; like prey.
“Sorry Mr. Wilde, I was looking for Sab.”
My grin grows to full width as I step through the door, closing it silently
behind me; like a predator.
“I know you were, Mara. You found her husband instead.”
OceanofPDF.com
Fourteen
For the first time in just under twenty-four hours, I feel… nothing.
No self-made consciousness prattling on, no war of trust and love, no
rage. Seeing Mara flipped the switch.
Finally, my psychopathy returns with all its wonderful gifts.
“What? No, I don’t need you. I need Sable, Mr. Wilde.”
Mara squeaks and steps back again, nearly tripping over the small ledge
of our porch.
“I understand. You want my Wrath.”
I step closer, so slowly that it doesn’t seem to dawn on the girl until I’m
within reach.
“I told her that’s a weird nickname.”
Mara says, uncertainty in her tone.
The breeze shifts, gliding across my skin. There’s a level of peace I only
get when I’ve decided to kill someone. A balm on the itch of my soul. It’s
like diving into a pool on a muggy day.
“It’s the perfect moniker.”
Sable’s disembodied voice sounds behind me.
I turn to find my door. She’s not here. Light explodes before me as my
wife finds me. And then pushes past me.
To her.
“What’s going on?” Sable’s tone is gentle, comforting as she takes Mara
in her arms, holding her to her chest.
The numbness erodes within me as I watch her brush the hair from the
younger woman’s face.
“Come inside. Let’s figure it out.”
Rage and possession are the first emotions to swing back in when I hear
Sable’s offer. I want to refuse, tell her not to invite the people on my kill list
into the house.
But I can’t speak. I’m immobilized by the rush of feeling so soon after
my blissful reprieve.
They’re already inside and sitting on my fucking couch before I can
convince my limbs to move. As though they stockpiled the movement, I fly
through the door, slamming it closed as I storm toward them.
Sable is up before I make it halfway, grabbing me by the bicep and
pulling me into the hallway before glancing behind to tell Mara,
“I’ll be right back. Sit down, breathe. You took busses to get here, no
trail?”
“Yeah.” The other girl sniffles her reply and some of the fire burning in
me fizzles.
This is wrong.
You’re missing something obvious. A secret you could uncover if you kept
your shit together for five minutes.
“What the fuck were you going to do?”
Sable hiss-shouts at me as she drags me to our room and closes the door
behind her. Her hair and makeup are still as wild as I left them, the eyes
have gone colder than I’ve ever seen them though. At least she lost the
damn heels.
The black length of her robe swishes around her calves as she moves
toward me. Fast.
Too fast.
She’s behind me in a move quicker than she shows me when we spar.
Sable’s been holding back.
Wrath wrenches my wrist against my spine and twists before I can
register that we’re fighting.
She’s not really attacking me. She wouldn’t.
I’m proved wrong when her ankle drags mine out from under me. I lose
my footing, taking the blow to my shoulder. Icy fire engulfs my arm and
neck. Agony claws at my mind, begging for attention.
I can’t give it the time because Sable is flipping me on my back,
crouching over my chest with her forearm on my throat.
Ragged breath echoes in my ear, and it takes a split second to identify it
as my own.
She attacked me.
“Were you going to hurt her?”
Sable’s tone is arctic. The little creak in it hurts more than my shoulder.
We always break the people close to us.
I wasn’t going to hurt Sable. Just Mara.
My voice is strained when I answer, emotions I can’t fathom echoing
through each syllable.
“Yes.”
“No.” Her tone breaks as she sobs the word.
Her forearm bears harder on my throat, slowly ebbing deeper as pain
gathers in her glassy stare.
It’s impossible to breathe.
Her eyes never leave mine as she strangles me from above. I won’t fight
back. Knowing she’s serious about ending me changes something and I
just… can’t.
What’s happening?
The first of her tears fall and I understand one thing.
I’m her dagger, too.
“Why, Kage?”
She increases the pressure on my neck as she speaks.
An answer is not expected.
Using my un-damaged arm, I cup her cheek, lightly stroking the skin
there as the edges of my vision go dark around my weeping wife.
I’ve never seen her cry.
If there’s a hell, it’s this moment stretched eternal. The last minutes of my
life; the first time I felt remorse.
When I broke her.
A sob wracks her frame, throwing her off balance and over my head. My
palm moves from her face to the base of her neck, stopping her fall. My
lungs greedily suck air when she releases the pressure.
I push her backward, seating her on my stomach once more. The quiet
streams emanating from her betrayed gaze flow harder when I place her
forearm back on my throat.
She needs this. I’ll give it to her.
“Why?”
She asks again, her arm limp against my throbbing skin. My voice is
gravelly when I try to explain. I don’t know why—I don’t know
anything. Three words are all I can manage.
“I love you.”
“I know,” she sobs, leaning forward until our foreheads press together.
Warm tears trickle from her face to mine. Every drop is acid, burning into
parts of me that shouldn’t exist.
“I know, Kage. I love you more than I should.”
She chokes on the words, little gasps slicing through me like razors.
“You can choose her.”
The words fall out of my mouth, but I’ll never allow them to come true.
Mara would be under my knife within a week. Sable can’t be with anyone
else.
If I’m alive.
The solution is simple.
Pulling her arm deeper into my neck, I provide her with what she
requires.
I will always give her what she needs.
“I just can’t be here when you do. You couldn’t even hide from me,
Sable. I’ll keep you.”
“What are-”
“If I’m breathing, I’ll never let somebody else have you. Be free of me.”
“What?”
She chokes the word as she pulls away from me.
“Letting you go isn’t something I can do, Wrath. I won’t, but we can fix
it. It’s okay, baby. My life was always yours. I’m giving it to you. Take it.”
Sable sits up straighter, her eyebrows knotting as the tears stop falling.
“What are you talking about?”
“You, and her.”
Even as I try to keep the threat out of it, my voice deepens, showing my
bride the menace boiling in my veins.
“Me… and Mara?”
I nod once, feeling the twitch of my lip when it snarls in response to the
woman’s name on my wife’s tongue.
“You have got to be shitting me.”
Sable shouts as she stands, holding my injured arm in her grip. Without a
word, she straightens it and pulls. The shoulder re-locates with a pop; and a
stream of expletives when the rush of feeling in the extension rolls through.
“You think there’s something between me and Mara?”
“I saw you. Tonight.”
I respond, not leaving the floor.
“Kage, I understand you have the emotional range of an acorn, but I’m
going to need you to tell me what you witnessed and why that registered in
your head as me sleeping with my MINOR assistant.”
Sable paces back and forth beside me, the jerky movements of her hands
making her robe and hair flutter. I do the opposite of what she advises,
instead taking the route of completely detaching myself from the recount I
give her; the way she held Mara, her lips brushing over the other woman’s
forehead. It was tender; intimate.
“How do you take me hugging her and turn it into an affair?”
Sable seethes, rolling her eyes as she glares at me, still lying on the floor.
I don’t tell her about the lingerie. The reaper can me have without her
knowing that. I go with the obvious instead.
“You don’t touch people.”
I growl, every muscle in me wanting to get up, circle her as she paces.
“Are you telling me an observation, or giving me a command?”
There’s a lift in her tone that confuses me all the fucking more. Does she
want that?
“Both. In three years, you’ve only touched me in any capacity that isn’t
completely formal.”
“You have never asked me not to touch others. Never been remotely
possessive. Why the attitude change, husband?”
Through the hell of this scenario, the monicker buoys me. She didn’t call
me by name. She used my title.
“Because your lips pressed into someone that wasn’t me.”
“Were you feeling jealousy, betrayal?”
Sable’s eyebrows rise as she sits on her knees beside me.
“Wouldn’t you?” I finally sit up, meeting her eye to eye. “How else
would I feel?”
My voice is rising and in another blow to my ego; I can’t control it.
“And you were going to, what? Hit her? Threaten her?”
I don’t look away from her searching eyes as I answer. I won’t lie here.
She should know.
She can’t choose if she doesn’t.
“I was going to kill her.”
“She’s a kid.”
Sable voice is a wisp of a thing, barely reaching me as it hits with the
power of a tornado.
“I didn’t know that. I won’t hurt a child—can’t do that. When does she
turn eighteen?”
“Kage.” My wife stares at me as though she understands the pieces of my
soul that hide in shadow and mist. “Babe, there is nothing going on with me
and Mara. Nothing sexual at least.”
Sable responds in a way that is counterintuitive to the actions of someone
with typical responses. She should be mad, calling the cops. Killing me.
She’s reasoning with you.
It’s working.
“Beside the fact that I would never cross that vile of a line, touching a
kid; you’re seeing comfort as passion.”
“What are you doing?”
I ask, slightly mystified by the red angel before me.
“Explaining. I’ve been expecting this day for a while. You don’t see
emotional cues like regular people. I know who I married. I took the
responsibilities of it seriously. Now I’m making you understand, husband.”
She repeats the word, leaning on the inflection. She’s reassuring me.
“Why were you comforting her?”
Sable sighs, her hands fidgeting slightly. When she answers, it’s slow,
every word calculated before spoken.
Is she enlightening me, or keeping me in the dark?
“Mara is like me.”
“No one is like you.”
Her eyes glitter, catching light the way only hers do. Mara isn’t like her.
The girl is like everyone else, like me; unspectacular. Sable is more. She’s
gleaming darkness, a rose steeped in blood.
“She’s like a version of me I used to be. Not the person I am now, but
when I was her age. When I was a homeless foster kid with no one in the
world to lean on. She leans on me.”
The concept makes sense, but I can’t grasp it. The kill-or-spare mentality
of my training is different than Sable’s. Hers left her with compassion. Mine
purposefully eliminated it.
You helped Harper.
I did. Why did I?
The further I search for answers, the farther I get from figuring out what I
need to.
“What does that mean?”
I finally ask, unsure how to proceed. Do I need to kill Mara?
I need to kill someone.
Who?
“It means I take care of her. Come on, let’s do this with her. She needs to
know you’re not a threat.”
Sable rises to her feet; a dahlia in bloom, holding my wrist and pulling
me forward. I don’t move, staying in my seated position with one leg bent
and the other extended.
“Wrath, I’m dangerous. I don’t understand, but I’m losing control.”
She responds wrong again, dropping to her knees and clasping my face in
her hands. I bask in the fire of her stare as she speaks solemnly, without a
trace of uncertainty.
“You won’t harm Mara. You’re going to help me protect her. Because I’m
asking this of you,” One hand drops to my body, landing on my heart,
“because you love me. You’ve never been without emotions for me. You're
feeling jealousy and possession. It’s natural. I cyber-stalk every secretary
you bring in; even if you don’t know their names.”
That tiny truth sparks in my chest. Floods unleash, but I can name most
of them. Desire is at the forefront. She feels it too. Sable isn’t leaving me
for intending to kill someone; she understands.
“I will never cheat on you.” The honesty in her words is reinforced in
touch and gaze. “If you ever see something you interpret as inappropriate or
threatening, tell me. I’ll explain what’s happening if it’s a
misunderstanding. If it’s not, you have my full and express permission to
kill them, because it will not be something I consent to.”
My heart thunders under her hand.
“But we’ll do it together. Killing someone on the front lawn would have
landed you in prison. I can’t settle for conjugal visits.”
She plants a light kiss on my forehand and stands.
“Mara is not a threat. She’s something you need to protect. I’m going to
talk to her. Take a second, grab an icepack from the bathroom. I restocked
the med fridge last week. Ice your arm, take some Tylenol, and then come
out. I can wrap your shoulder while we talk, or after when we go to bed.”
My confusion must be blatant because she releases another sigh, her
shoulders drooping slightly as she continues to spell out what is apparently
clear to her.
“I know it’s a lot to process. Here’s the breakdown. You’re okay. We’re
okay. Mara is not a threat. Come out and we’ll explain how she came into
my life. But first, the shoulder. It’s going to give you hell for a few weeks.
Get ahead of it. I love you.”
She leaves without another word.
OceanofPDF.com
Fifteen
The click of the latch, when our bedroom door closes, is the last sound in
the confined space for a long while. The two of us stand a room apart in
silence until Sable finally sighs and moves to me. She takes my hand and
pulls me to the bed, pushing me down on the edge.
“You have questions. Ask them.”
She says as she kneels before me, pulling my shoes off one at a time.
Between movements, her eyes find mine. Through the thick blanket of
lashes, they search me. When her hands move to my belt, I finally know
which question to start with.
“No.”
She answers before I utter a word.
“Not tonight. Not while she’s here.”
Something haunts my wife; the shadows of monsters clouding her
stunning face. Suddenly the questions that evaded me before flood my
mind. Only one takes precedence.
“Sable, how much is Mara like you?”
Her hands stop peeling the shirt from my wounded shoulder, her whole
body stilling before me.
Her robe parted while she moved, giving me a two-inch window of her
naked body. In three years, nothing has curved my lust when presented with
this perfect view of strength cloaked in planes pliant of silk.
Tonight, all I can focus on is the un-evenness in her breathing.
She’s scared.
“We’re as alike as we are different. Our parents passed away when we
were young. We both wound up in homes that never intended to help us.”
The anger that’s bombarding me has a distinct flavor. It’s almost painful.
Someone hurt her, worse than kicking her out as a kid. The damage is
deeper.
My mind flashes to Mara, her far-away eyes. Sable felt that. Alone,
before she found me. She hurt. The rage turns in me, building and growing.
“Who?”
I try to keep the rage from my voice, but the menace is clear.
“No one you know.”
She whispers.
“Give me their names.”
My growl vibrates under her palm, the fingers twitching against the
movement as she slides behind me, tracing the blooming bruise with the
pads of her fingers.
“It doesn’t matter.”
She’s trying to soothe me. Her tone is gentle, sweet. It has the opposite
effect.
“It fucking matters.” My voice is low, the predator inside clawing to
escape its prison. “I just want names. Please. I don’t even know your foster
parent’s names.”
“There’s a lot we don’t know about each other, my love.”
Her voice is thready, skipping in and out. The urge to turn around is
strong, but I might find tears. If I see her crying, I will lose the minuscule
amount of control I have left. Everything is shaking and crumbling inside
me.
“There doesn’t have to be.”
As soon as the words leave me I expect to be scolded, reminded how we
don’t tell anyone the secrets.
She’s silent. Even my subconscious doesn’t know what to make of the
turn my life has taken.
“I thought that once, but I was wrong.”
She says, her voice back to its natural smokey tone. Her hand disappears
from me, robbing me of the contact, keeping me sane. Before I can devolve,
she’s back, wrapping my shoulder in a compression bandage.
“I think it’s why we work so well. We don’t have to talk about our pasts,
we live here, in the present. Creating a future.”
I hate the words. They make sense, but I reject them. We did work for
three years.
It doesn’t now.
Something is happening in her world that I don’t know. But I will.
I catch her hand and pull her to my front. When she’s in my lap, her legs
hanging on either side, I hold her face steady in my grip, keeping her eyes
on me.
“Tell me the name of the people who fostered you.”
Her eyes erupt in icy fire. Hatred and vengeance flickering violently.
“Dead people don’t need names.”
“Wrath, I need... I need to do something. Give me their names.”
“No.”
The fire inside me touches her. I see it in her face, the realization that her
psychopath husband would really kill for her.
She has no fucking idea.
“I…”
My words fail. I have no idea what to do here. I need to kill someone.
The urge to see the grey of the world painted in the same vibrant beauty that
this incredible creature radiates pounds at my chest. I don’t want to kill just
anyone; I want to slay her monsters.
“Trust me, I know.”
I stand, not letting her go, and walk around the bed with her in my arms.
My shoulder hurts. I register it somewhere in my head, but I don’t let the
pain touch me. Slowly, I lay on the bed, cradling her head on the uninjured
side of my chest.
She curves into my body, draping her leg over mine as her arm reaches
across my chest to wrap around me. A little sigh escapes her.
“I don’t want you going over there without me.”
“Yeah, I know you don’t. I will anyway.”
Her tone isn’t combative, it’s resolved.
“I’ll be okay.”
“You’ll be armed. Take the .22 from the gun safe. You’ve shot it, you’ll
be able to use it.”
“Okay.”
Her response causes my chest to clench.
“You will?”
There’s a hopeful edge to my voice. It’s unfamiliar but welcome.
“I will. I was going to bring bear mace and one of the training daggers,
anyway. Gun is quicker.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you feel better?”
“No. Yes. I don’t want you in danger.”
“I can handle myself, Kage.”
My finger hooks under her chin, tilting her face until she’s looking at me
again. I need her gaze on me.
“I know that. You kick my ass regularly. But you’re still so small, Wrath.”
And it takes more than ability to kill someone. I haven’t had the chance to
cultivate murder in you yet. Don’t get yourself killed before I make you a
killer.
You can’t make her like you.
Sable scoffs, her brows knitting in disbelief as humor plays at her lips.
“I’ve been alone in this world my whole life… mostly. I have this. Go to
sleep.”
The finality of her tone bothers me. Her golden eyes close, leaving me to
find answers in the stillness of her ethereal face.
She’s right.
Sable’s breathing evens at my side as she falls asleep.
I still don’t know half of what I need to.
For the next four hours, I lay perfectly still soaking in the warmth of my
wife as the plan unfolds in my head.
I will know her past, and she’s going to know mine.
OceanofPDF.com
Seventeen
The last sheet of plastic flattens into place; the whooshing crunch of it, a
decadent symphony played just for me.
Two hours of preparation has made room sixteen of the Shady Palms motel
a barren landscape of sterile ivory. I’ve covered every surface in twenty-
millimeter polyethylene sheeting; the monotone of the walls, ceiling, and
floors blend to make an asylum of the space. The twin bed is pushed to the
back wall beneath the stark coverings, making a makeshift table for my tools.
To its side sits a low-backed barstool. It’s been wrapped and taped in four
separate layers of plastic too, but remains moveable.
Excitement bubbles in my veins. I let it course through me unrestricted.
This is a moment I allow myself to feel. The frenzied still, before the kill. The
chemical odor of the new sheeting hangs around me like a lover’s perfume,
enticing me to fill the contract.
Except, the only thing you have to kill right now is time.
Natalia won’t arrive for at least two hours.
I pull the phone out of my bag, the only part of the room not wrapped, and
do what I’ve done no less than thirty times since I left Sable this morning.
I stalk my wife.
Sable has an event today. I could barely get location tracers on her before
she and Mara left as the sun rose. The brunch ends in thirty minutes, so she
shouldn’t be home for another hour. Which makes the cameras I installed
after they left nothing more than killing time until I can do it to someone
more deserving.
Still, I flip through every screen looking for my carmine queen.
She isn’t home.
Regardless, I check the cameras every few minutes. As I flip through them,
I grumble about the fact I don’t get to see her perfect face. Mara needed
clothes and kept a spare set at the office.
Sable has security cameras in her office, but I was the one who installed
them; with no ability for outside connectivity. Her system is hard-lined. The
only way to tap it is to physically break in and do so.
I wasn’t able to do it before I flew to Oklahoma. The WS tracers that I hid
in the lining of her laptop bag, Mara’s purse, and passenger side seat cushion
will have to do until I can find the optimal method to infiltrate her systems.
You keep saying you’re not spiraling, so I’m supercurious. What do you call
this?
Intelligence.
I nearly flip past the alternate camera in our room, the one that faces from
the rear wall to the door, when I notice something missing.
For the second time in as many days, Sable’s “med kit” is gone.
She isn’t sleeping; she doesn’t need comfort. What use is a needle? Unravel
the lies.
There are medical reasons for needles.
Try again.
Addicts use needles.
The thought of Sable hiding an addiction so abundant she keeps her vices
in sight doesn’t fit either. I’d know if she was using. Even suspecting it is an
obvious symptom of my current contract.
I wish I had access to her bank account. Keeping separate accounts always
made more sense for us. Now it’s verging on suspicious.
Why was she okay with it?
Water, meet, Sky. Oh look, you’re both blue.
The words from the gentle voice inside my head rock me. My chest
tightens, my lungs burn. I haven’t heard them in ten years, not since-
“Get it together.”
The sharp sound of my snapping tone interrupts my thoughts, causing me
to veer away from the hazy voice in my mind that tangles with fragments of
memories.
I haven’t slept for thirty-six hours.
I should sleep now, take a quick nap before my target arrives. It will not
happen.
With a groan, I stretch my legs out in front of me. Under the ebony of my
kill suit, my muscles twitch, itching to move.
Restlessness isn’t an emotion, it’s a symptom. Harder to control, but not
impossible. I concentrate my effort on the grain of the fabric, the way the
lines seem solid until you examine closer and find each strand woven under
and above its siblings. My mind goes blissfully blank, allowing me to
remember why I’m here.
I picture Natalia Davin.
She’s on the younger side, for one of our contracts. More often than not, we
catch wind of potential victims late in their lives. At thirty-seven, Natalia has
done enough harm to expedite her to the top of the list.
She’s a chef by trade; running the successful restaurant she purchased at the
very impressive age of twenty-four. In one year, she built a solid place
without problems. Until her brother-in-law went on a three-day cocaine binge
that resulted in the slow death of his pregnant wife. Natalia’s sister.
The husband had carved meaningless runes and symbols into his wife’s
baby-swollen body for days. She lived through it, endlessly fighting to
escape. The police report states that Natalia went to the sister’s house when
she couldn’t get a hold of her.
The brother-in-law, Cameron Lewis, attacked her on sight. A six-inch
incision from earlobe to collar bone nearly killed her. She survived long
enough to plant the blade that bit her into the eye of the man still wielding it.
Nine hours after being admitted to the hospital, Corina Lewis and her
unborn baby succumbed to organ failure.
Austin police had a hard-on for Natalia after the rescue.
The reports are basically fanfare for a hero without a badge, taking out a
piece-of-shit druggie who didn’t deserve to live. When I followed up on the
suspicion that they were fans, not officers, I found she dated one for a year
and keeps in regular contact with four more.
All the while she’s been murdering addicts.
Her method of choice is nothing short of spectacular.
Once a month, she finds an addict and offers them drugs to help her move
out of her office. When they arrive, they find an abundance of whatever their
vice of choice is. She tells them they can get high first and leaves, locking the
door behind her.
We’ve only obtained footage once, streamed from her personal computer as
she watched it live in her living room.
For the first hour, the woman on the screen didn’t leave the table. Smoke
churned around her as she sparked the lighter beneath the foil again and
again.
Finally, she stood and took stock of her surroundings.
In the footage, recorded last month, you could pinpoint the moment she
realized she was trapped. Alone in a room with nothing but foils, a zippo, and
what she would never realize was hallucinogenic-laced cocaine.
Hidden speakers began playing a soundtrack. One that would rise in
volume and tempo gradually as the woman lost her grip on reality.
At first, it almost sounded like water, rolling over stones in a trickling river.
As the sound grew, the distinctions emerged. Thousands of insectile legs
scurrying over a hard surface chattered in the empty space.
The captive—a neon-haired girl whose bones protruded far enough from
her meat to look skeletal—started screaming then. She banged on the doors
and pleaded to be released. Her body ran with tremors, her eyes shifting over
every inch of the room unendingly.
After an hour, she started talking to someone who wasn’t there, following
instructions and moving items that only existed in her drug-fueled illusions.
At six hours, she stopped trying to escape. Instead, she returned to the table
and got high again.
Then the descent into madness really began.
The sunken hollows of her cheeks swelled and dipped as she sang out in
bird calls, twittering and hooting at the unseen bugs still crawling in audio all
around her. Singing came next, a shrill song about fences and mud, that didn’t
make half as much sense as it did noise.
Twenty-six hours—and what’s known as an eight-ball—later, the audio
playing gained an addition to the sound of swarming bugs. A whisper of a
voice barely making it past the scurry of unreal legs.
“They’re on me... get them off, get ‘em off!”
The recording repeated every twelve minutes.
Within an hour, the captive on the screen started brushing at her
extremities, shooing phantom bugs from her.
Four hours later, after another round of burned foils, the voice on the
recording changed again. This time it was slightly louder, and significantly
more urgent.
“They’re under my skin! I can see them moving, crawling, get them out!”
The captive responded quicker this time, examining her arms and legs. She
didn’t start seeing what Natalia wanted until hour two of the recording.
Then the scratching started.
Unlike the gradual slide of the other audios, the next wasn’t on an obvious
timer. It happened the moment Natalia’s target started seeing bugs under her
skin. The scurrying sound intensified, getting louder until a screaming plea
broke it.
“They’re eating me! They’re eating me from the inside out. Oh God, get
them out, CUT THEM OUT!”
The crazed victim on the video responded as though it was her own voice
she was hearing. She threw herself onto the floor, crawling over the broken
bottles until her palm closed around a piece big enough to grasp.
She cut until there wasn’t enough skin for something to crawl under.
Then she slumped against the wall, her gaze bouncing over every inch of
the room as the woman on the track continued to scream.
She bled out, studying the trails of her self-inflicted murder, spattered on
the ground around her; still scratching at her flayed wrist as though she could
feel one last leg-covered-larvae, burrowed between the grains of glossy gore
in the open muscle.
Her fingertips stopped there, freckled with the milky-yellow hue of
subcutaneous fat bound by the burgundy of dried blood, an inch into her own
wrist.
The person in the video, Natalia’s victim, was fifteen years old.
She’d only been on the streets for one month. After vetting her, we found
she met the criteria of innocence by Wilde standards. Killing her, by
definition, was an offense punishable by death.
By Wilde law.
Ours are the only laws I keep.
We found sixty-eight bodies that resembled the girl and had traceable
connections to Natalia. Thirty-seven of them met the same criteria her last
victim did. By our tenets, they were innocent.
If she’d only slayed snakes, you’d be murdering someone else tonight.
A tenet that saves as many lives as it dooms. Abstractly, I understand the
need for it, the way it protects us; it’s not the reason I honor it though.
That honor belongs to a ghost. One that felt everything for everybody, and
desperately tried to teach me her gentle ways.
I never learned them. It’s not something I can control. Outside of her and
Sable, I have no empathy. My blades don’t thirst only for the blood of the
damned.
They just thirst.
Tonight they’ll be sated.
I can’t think of another time when I needed it as bad as I do now.
Logically, I know I’m edging dangerously close to mania. The Academy
was fastidious in making sure we understood the proclivity our family has
toward taking things too far.
Ironic isn’t is? Teaching a class of ten-year-olds that they can’t kill too much.
It becomes less ironic when you see the numbers. When you know many of
us have to be brought back, dispatched by their own blood because we took it
too far.
We’re never supposed to go more than twenty-four hours without sleep.
That’s what the handbook clearly states, and intentional disregard of the rule
can result in being sent back to the academy. Realistically, most of us go that
long without sleeping regularly. The unspoken rule is forty-eight hours.
I’m still good by a long shot.
Of course, there’s not really a way to tell whether one of us has been
sleeping.
Until the bodies drop too quickly.
A tickling crawl of vibration starts up my thigh. When I open the phone to
stop the nuisance, I see a string of texts from Mueller and an attachment. I
can’t see the picture because my automatic downloads are turned off. I’m
about to block her contact, annoyed that she texted me again, until I see the
last line.
Hey Boss, sorry to bother you on your day off... and I’m not even sure
I should be. I have been going back and forth about whether or not to
text you. I would want to know, and with what we talked about last
week... I just thought I should ask. Is your wife with you?
XXOOEmma
Why the fuck would she ask that?
Alarms blare in my head as my thumb scrolls toward the photo, still asking
to be downloaded.
Damn it! Why aren’t you answering?
XOXOEmma
Because you sent that text exactly four seconds after the first.
Ughhhh... OK I don’t want to leave an open-ended question.
XOXOEmma
I’m just telling you. I’m so sorry, I pray that I’m wrong... but is this
your wife? I’m at a bar with some friends and I swear this is her. With
another man...
XOXOEmma
As though the thing hates me for every eye I’ve ever shoved it through, my
thumb doesn’t hesitate to push the fucking download button. Instantly, I want
to cut it off for showing me this horror.
It’s Sable.
She looks wildly out of place at first, and then I realize she doesn’t look out
of place—she just doesn’t look like my Wrath.
Sable looks effortlessly stylish while still maintaining a polished
look. Sporting a high ponytail, striking makeup, and sleek skin-tight jeans,
and a v-cut t-shirt, her presence would be impossible to miss. No wonder
Mueller noticed.
Beside her, a man in baggy pants and an oversized t-shirt has his hand on
the small of her back. Tattoos cover most of his skin, but no scars.
Sable loves scars. She once told me I could never get a tattoo because it
would cover the art of my life. And here she stands with a man covered in
them, and not a single visible scar.
Some dark feeling I don’t know well enough to name sweeps away the
stillness I created moments ago.
Sable is cheating on me.
I was right; I don’t want this confirmation.
She lied.
You knew that.
I lie.
You don’t cheat. Where’s Mara?
Where is Sable?
When I check the tracers, the dots on my screen are split. One is at home
and two are at the same address. A bar near Sable’s office. Checking the
tracking ID’s I see they’re the ones I put in each woman’s bag.
They’re together.
Why?
Another text comes through, this one from Harper.
Looked into that taco recipe from our lunch, can’t find anything that
matches with the flavor we’re looking for. Maybe I need to expand the
search. Look at recipes with higher ingredient counts. Help would be
great, asshole.
It’s a coded message. We’ve never discussed a code. I gather she means she
has found no leads, but the ingredient line is too vague. Does she mean
someone higher in the company? Someone with more keys than us? More
than one person?
Another player in the game altogether?
There are no other players.
I don’t have time to hunt recipes, I’m working. We need to go back
and take tacos home with us to evaluate. Tuesday? - KW
I can barely even blink at the screen before another message rolls across the
top of my screen from Mueller.
Do you want me to tell you when they leave?
XOXOEmma
Ignoring it, I answer Harper’s ludicrous question.
Let’s see if we can figure it out ourselves before we bring in the AI.
- KW
Harper doesn’t respond. I stare at the message for five minutes before
thoughts return to me and I finally answer the gnat.
Seeing her name on my screen pisses me off. The fact that it pisses me off
—pisses me the fuck off. The realization that I love my wife has somehow
allowed other emotions to bleed free of their confinement. Love and rage are
always at the forefront. Sable has all my love, so this insipid insect buzzing
around my phone can only garner the latter.
You can’t kill her.
Oh, I can.
I can break the fingers sending me pictures I don’t want to see. I can pluck
the eyeballs that picked the image out of a crowd, and I can bathe in the blood
that made mine boil.
It sounds peaceful.
It sounds psychotic.
I scoff audibly at the voice before sending my message.
No. My wife is working. That isn’t her. - KW
This woman doesn’t deserve to know a damn thing about Sable Wilde.
Her response is instant.
I honestly didn’t even really think it was, but you’re a friend and I had
to say something, you know? Bro code. LOL at least now you know
I’ve got your back ; )
EmmaXOXO
Why does she think we’re friends? I’m torn between telling her to stop
bothering me and letting her continue in hopes of more updates on my wife. I
don’t respond before another stream of text messages makes the device in my
hand vibrate for a full minute.
Anyway, I’ve been meaning to text you. I was talking to my girlfriend
about the cheating thing and she had some thoughts.
XOXO Emma
Women cheat because that’s who they are. It’s what brings them
satisfaction. It’s actually where the saying came from, once a cheater
always a cheater,
XOXOEmma
Do people just blindly believe anyone who says they’re a therapist? Only
an idiot would swallow that line of bullshit. Mueller fits the requirement, so I
spell it out for her.
Your friend is a terrible therapist. That advice should have her
credentials and ability to see patients terminated. You should
surround yourself with better-educated people. - KW
Again, her response is instant. How does she text that fast?
I know right? I was in the middle of a paragraph about how dumb the
assessment was, but you beat me to it LOL its crazy how alike we
think. Twin flame energy ;-p
EmmaXOOO
If we hung out more it would help with the educated people part : D
XOXOEmma
OMG you’re so right! It’s like I’m seeing my friend in a whole new
light. She doesn’t even look professional, here check out this selfie we
took.
XOXOEmmaXO
I don’t waste space on my phone downloading the picture. If fucks grew
wild out of my ass, I still wouldn’t have one to give the therapist and mid-
level data-migration specialist. The next photo she sends, however, I
download immediately.
I know you said it’s not her, and I totally don’t think so either but I
feel obligated to keep you updated LOL the sleazy ginger and wish
brand Post Malone are leaving together! Looks like you and I are
going to bed alone, but they aren’t! I’m jealous LOL ;)
EmmaXOXO
In the photo, my wife is following the man out the door. Lead boils in my
gut as I stare at the tension in her body, the clench of her fist as it sways
beside her perfect thigh. I don’t know what she’s doing, but that is not the
way Sable moves when she’s about to get fucked into another dimension.
Maybe she’s not cheating.
I’m at work. I don’t have time for bar updates. Stop texting me. -
KW
I ignore the text that calls me a grouch and instead pull up the tracers.
OceanofPDF.com
Eighteen
For forty-five minutes, they stay still. Both dots sit one building over from the
bar they originated in. The address belongs to a parking garage. When the
trackers move, they leave together, separating when Mara’s arrives at her
place. Sable disappears, bleeping back onto my screen twenty minutes later.
At home.
I watch every step she takes from the moment her heeled toes enter. She’s
wearing her regular work clothes, but her hair is damp and her face is freshly
washed, every trace of the bold makeup from earlier erased.
She took a shower at Mara’s place. Did she need to wash his scent off her
perfect skin?
My flesh heats, but my heart seems to stop beating.
What the fuck were they doing for forty-five minutes? Not enough time to
have sex, too much time to be saying goodbye to the man I’m going to tear
apart so slowly it makes Natalia’s murders look tame.
She moves through the house silently, not stopping until she gets to her
desk in our room. Watching from a state away, I see my wife pull the “med
kit” from her purse. She opens it and does something I can’t see from this
angle before setting it back in its place.
She walks to the bed, an almost dizzy grin on her face. When she gets
there, she turns and stares at the needle, her body lighting up as giddiness
rolls through her usually severe frame. I’ve never seen her like this.
She’s high.
I need my inner monologue to be wrong, but I can clearly see it isn’t. She
isn’t cheating on me, she’s doing drugs. Relief and rage take turns spilling
into my system, poisoning me with feelings. Meeting dealers could have put
her life in danger a hundred times over. She could overdose.
As I watch my wife, weight that I didn’t know she carried dissipates. It
rolls away with every sway of her loose shoulders, and I come to a new
understanding.
I don’t care. If getting high gives her this, whatever this is; I want it for
her.
She deserves this serenity.
A good man would get his wife help.
I’m not good, I’m a monster. A villain who belongs to an angel.
She’s so... happy. Blissful. Her world grew brighter the moment she played
with that needle.
I want her to feel this way. Free. Joyful.
Do not support this!
We’ll see.
The voice in my head goes silent when Sable slides up the bed and settles
between our pillows. The TV flicks on as she fidgets with her phone.
A moment later, the eighty-five-inch flat screen mounted across the room
mirrors her screen.
“Fuck,” I croak as the images play out before me.
Sable follows the instructions of the unseen man in the video, peeling away
each layer of clothes and touching her body. My voice from two years ago
guides her, instructs her to run her hand up her stomach until the pads of her
fingers skim the curve of her breasts. Slowly she drags them back and forth as
my body enters the screen, pushing past Sable onto the bed and speaking in a
panting growl.
“You need something to watch while you have fun with your toys, Wrath?”
Both Sable’s, past and present, whimper yes.
My wife is watching the porn we made together for our work trips while
pleasuring herself.
I’m already stroking my growing dick through my pants, kill suit be
damned. It’s ironic, the pornographic version of inception that’s happening
here. I’m about to fuck my hand while I watch my wife; who is working her
clit in slow circles as she watches me devour her another on screen.
I need her to know I’m thinking of her. Now.
My fingers fly as I type a quick message to her while I go to the bathroom,
the only space separate from the stage I’ve set, and pull the laptop from my
bag.
I have it booted up and loading the security camera so I can watch on a
bigger screen when my text pops up on Sable’s screens.
Miss you. - KW
She moans hoarsely as the words cross her phone at the same moment her
finger crosses the pretty little pearl encompassing mine.
Sable dials me so fast I barely have the laptop muted before I answer,
putting her on speakerphone next to the vision of her in our bed.
“Wrath.” I pant her name, forgetting she doesn’t know I can see her.
She stills, her hands no longer playing across the flesh I’m dying to taste.
Her body tenses on the camera.
She can hear it. Sable knows my voice when I’m strung like a cable with
need, plucked until the vibrations overtake us both.
Except I’m not home, and she’s feeling the fear I have since Mueller sent
me those pictures.
She’s wilting before my eyes. I’d tear the sun from the sky and string it
with my life to hang from her flawless neck; if that was what it took to keep
her bloom eternal.
She needs to know it’s only her that takes my control, that unleashes this
part of me.
“Sable,” I grunt her name, the word coming out broken as I strip and the
rough fabric of my kill suit rubs my hard length, “wife, you have perfect
timing. I’m watching the curve of your lips whimper my name. Fuck, the feel
of your nails on my scalp through every flood my tongue caused that day.
Perfect. Can you feel my tongue still, love? Can hear the way just
remembering your taste has me ready to come on my fist?”
I should be cautious and throw out a random moment from the video. I
don’t. Instead, I described the exact scene she’s watching.
In the live video, her perfect chest rises and falls in time with the little
breaths coming through the phone. Her hand covers her eyes.
I almost tell her to look at me. I bite down, holding the words between my
teeth and tongue until I taste pennies. She can’t know I’m watching.
“I can hear it.”
Her satin voice slips through my speakers. I max the volume, letting the
sound of her quick breaths fill the room.
“Are you busy?” I grunt the question as I grip myself, the rough pads of my
hand feeling like a loss when I can see my perfect wife naked and quivering
on our bed.
“Would it matter if I was?”
The wicked temptress keeps her tone level, a hostile edge inching in.
She’s pushing. I fucking love this game.
Even as she starts it, adding edges to her voice to seem mad, her hands
travel back to her breasts. They trace feather-light circles on nipples pebbled
so hard the thought of them between my teeth makes my mouth water. I’m
grateful.
I need the lube.
“Not... a fucking... bit... Wrath,”
My words come out choppy, broken by the sound of spit hitting my palm
before I work it against my shaft.
“If you’re busy... mmm,”
I hold the phone next to my pumping hand.
“Fuck baby, I wish this was your,”
A loud grunt works from me as her lips open on a muted moan
“Perfect mouth. If you’re busy, love, hang up. When I call back, send me to
voice mail.”
I make a song of my grunts and fist working.
“I’ll leave you the best fucking message.”
On the screen, her thighs have parted. Her palm rubs against her glistening
clit. Two slender fingers work themselves inside as her hips rise and fall in
shallow thrusts that match the sound of me pleasuring myself.
I want to tell her I can see her, how hard it makes me, that she’s
subconsciously matching my rhythm. My teeth ache to sink into the springy
flesh of her bouncing tits, to taste the sweetness of her skin before it gets
sweat-salty from every orgasm I push her through.
“I don’t think you’re busy. I think you're doing the same thing I am. You
need to get off too, don’t you, Wrath? You want to hear your filthy husband’s
mouth say all the things that keep your thighs covered in waves of screaming
bliss?”
I swear she’s fucking purring, little rapid-fire moans that push me further.
“You can’t have my tongue buried in your cunt, so you want it in your ear.”
Her moans get breathier, her hips working higher off the bed as I increase
our pace with the sound of my hand meeting my stomach with each punishing
stroke. My name crosses her lips like a prayer, but I want more.
“Say it, love.”
She squeals and I curse as our combined bliss entwines from hundreds of
miles away. Every whimper and cry that falls from my wife’s immaculate lips
drives me closer. They counter the sting of my rough hands doing the job of
the petal-soft pussy I can see so clearly.
“Tell me you’ve got your fingers buried between those delicious lips, just
waiting to hear how fucking sweet it tastes.”
I want to watch her come as I do.
I need her eyes on me.
Can’t have that, so I’ll take her music.
“Say it, Sable.”
I stop moving my hand, let my breath fall silent, and wait.
The far-away vixen does the opposite. Her hips rise further and she
whimpers my name once before her breathless voice gives me everything I
need.
“Kage, yes, FUCK! I’m so close already.” there’s no game in her now, just
pleading, “I miss you.”
The words go straight to my groin. At some point, I will contemplate why
her missing me had this effect, but not right now. In this moment, I strangle
the base of my dick, trying to physically hold back the response my balls
have.
“Fuck, love,”
I grunt, still wanting not to come.
“I miss you, baby, too damn much.”
On my laptop screen, Sable puts me on speaker and sets it beside her head,
her eyes watching the TV as past me pulls all the way out before slamming
back in so hard the camera shakes. Her hand moves faster between her
thighs.
“You’re so wet I can hear it over the phone. I fucking love that shit, Sable.
So fucking good, baby.”
My voice is so rough my praise nearly sounds threatening. She attempts a
response, but it comes out in jumbled moans of affirmation.
“You know what else I can hear, love?”
“N-noo”, she answers me in the same halting moan as before.
“I can hear how fast you’re fucking the dream I’m being teased with on
screen.”
Sable gives me a squealing grunt, her palm grinding down as her digits
disappear inside the part of her that belongs to me. I want to be those fingers,
pounding into her hot, slick body.
“They feel good, don’t they, Wrath?”
The prickling in my lower back intensifies as I watch my words cause a
visible roll in her body, the buck of her spine stuttering when I say her name.
I can’t hold it off much longer. This woman, my incredible wife, is going to
make me come all over my fist, five minutes in like a fucking rookie.
“Wha-” a moan wracks through her as she keeps the punishing pace on
herself. My pace. Our pace. “feels good?”
“Your fingers. I’ve been between those walls with every part of me that can
be. The way you clench and ripple around my cock,” I grunt at the thought.
“Are your lucky little fingers grateful for their time in my perfect cunt?”
My composure breaks the moment hers does.
On the screen, her back bows so far off the mattress she looks possessed.
Her eyes squeeze closed, her thighs and arms shake and stiffen. My name
floods from her sweet mouth in a long-drawn scream.
The sound breaks the dam and my release rushes forward as my hips pound
into my fist like it’s her body, my voice praising and commanding the woman
still in the throes of her own orgasm.
“So fucking good, you did so fucking good, baby. My perfect wife, crimson
queen, my-”
I bellow into the empty bathroom, ropes of fevered pleasure erupting from
me, painting the laptop screen where a dreamy smile is breaking through the
haze of bliss on Sable’s flushed face; mountains and miles away.
“My love.” I gasp, finishing the sentence that my orgasm cut short.
“My everything.” She pants in response.
Sable is limp on the bed, her hand and thighs glittering from our
conversation. Beauty never describes her, perfection comes close but is still
subpar.
Sable is greater than either. She’s inevitable, encompassing, ethereal.
Knowing all of that, seeing it before me, I still can’t think of what to say
now.
With the need to see her unravel to my words fulfilled, I can’t ignore why
we’re doing this.
Because I’m watching her.
Stalking her.
And because she’s keeping secrets.
She’s doing drugs.
“How’s the trip going?”
Her voice is tired but happy. Oblivious to the change that’s happened so far
from her contentment.
“Better now,” I answer honestly. If nothing else, at least I got some damn
relief from what seems like an eternity of blue balls. “Still waiting on the GM
to get his shit together for the presentation this evening.”
“Mmmm,” she mumbles, her eyes already closing. “Good luck. I hope he
doesn’t make it harder than it needs to be.”
“Thanks, love.”
“Will you be home tomorrow?” Eagerness threads her words, and it breaks
some of the tension in me.
“Should be. Probably after noon. Hopefully sooner.”
“Good. I miss you.”
Something in the way she says it cuts me.
“I miss you too.”
My phone beeps through the call, alerting me that my target entered her
room. It’s almost time. I need to do another sweep of the room and change
kill suits. I made a fucking mess of my crime scene before I unsheathed a
single blade.
“Sorry, babe, that’s work. Gotta go get set up for the meeting.”
“Okay. I love you, Kage.”
“I love you, Sable.”
We end the call, and everything about it seems wrong.
OceanofPDF.com
Nineteen
“Natalia.”
My voice shatters the silence of the shrouded hotel room. The woman
stands before me, her arms spread wide as she opens the closet I’m
concealed in. Positioned directly behind her, the speaker emits the
recording, filling the air with the low threat.
Natalia turns toward my pre-recorded summon. As she moves, the sound
of fabric and feet shuffling masks the faintest whisper of my attack.
She never saw me.
The absence of color in my kill suit is as near to perfect as humanly
possible. I made sure none of the lights, except the low-lumen bathroom
fixture, worked before my prey sought her trap. The thready darkness left
more than enough shadow for monsters to hide.
We hide so very well.
One ebony-clad hand reaches around to hold her head in place while the
other renders her fight-less. My needle placement is perfect, the tapered
edge sliding through the muscle before reaching the gap between the C2
and C3 vertebrae. I depress the plunger, injecting my addict-killer with a
concoction that leaves her gasp trapped behind paralyzed lips.
Immediately, her body goes limp. When I lift her into my arms, her eyes
bug. The whites of them expand so much she’d look cartoonish, if not for
the blatant terror swimming in those animated eyes.
In three strides, I’m at the door that connects our rooms. A sound rumbles
from the woman in my arms when the barrier between her space and mine
swings open; something akin to a grumbling sigh. If either space had so
much as a fan running, I would have missed the hushed protest.
How hard she’s fighting is impressive.
It should worry you. Making sounds at all with 6741 in her system is telling
you something. Think, Kage.
Once inside, I drop her on the makeshift table and go back to her room.
I have at least ten minutes before the effects of her first dose reduce.
More than enough time to stage and bail. After hundreds of kills, staging a
room is laughably easy.
You’re not listening.
Later.
Three minutes remain when I close the door between our rooms, first
from her side, then mine.
I’m finally alone with my target. In the corner, her pale pink luggage and
Chanel purse stand out against the sterile plastic covering all but them and
their owner.
“P-p-p,”
Natalia’s voice is ragged when she tries to begin the bargaining.
It should be. She shouldn’t be talking for another two minutes, minimum.
I’ll call the lab after.
“P-pll-p-l-l-e,”
Natalia gasps between attempts, the effort showing in each attempted
word.
“Please?”
My voice isn’t cold. There’s this expectation that a serial killer will speak
to their victims with menace, the vitriol rolling from their tongues like a
first dose of poison before the killing blow.
It’s never been that way for me. I don’t hate my targets. I rejoice in them.
So the voice that meets this murderous woman’s ear is one of warmth,
like that of a child on the morning of their birthday, eager excitement in
every word.
“Please, what?”
Her gaze glazes and her lids lower. Pale pink eyeshadow becomes visible
for the first time; it frames rage-filled eyes the color of nearly dead grass
with attempted femininity. Her lips, smeared in clear gloss from my attack,
purse closed. The pale yellow sundress stops convulsing with her furious
attempts from a deadened body.
She’s assessing.
What does she think is happening?
You’re a man. One who injected her with something that made her unable to
fight, but still conscious. What do you think she’s thinking?
Voices in my head shouldn’t be snarky. This is bullshit.
You’re bull-
“I will not rape you.”
Calmly, I speak to the woman whose eyes finally stop darting around the
room to land on me.
“I know what you’re thinking” I start, before Natalia interrupts, her
speech improved, but still broken.
“Ummm... nit,”
“You’re not?”
“Yyss,”
“You’re not, what?”
A huff bursts from the woman, accompanied by a cloud of fine-mist
spittle, as her eyes roll.
She should be scared.
I wouldn’t be.
Exactly.
“I don’t think you’ll rape me.”
The sentence sputters from Natalia in long vowels and choppy spaces, but
still clearer than before.
She’s coming back way too fast.
At this rate, she’ll regain arm movement in less than twenty minutes. A
timer begins somewhere in the recesses of my mind. In ten minutes, I will
inject her again.
“I won’t.”
“You’re going to kill me.” She says, her sputtering lessening as she gains
ground on her control.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to.”
The woman before me has the gall to gasp. The sound pulls a laugh from
me.
“I enjoy killing. Holding the life of another human, another evolved
being, in my hands. It’s addictive, that kind of power. But you know that,
don’t you Natalia?”
Her face pales, the sneer falling into a mask of confusion.
“You know my name?”
“More than your name. I know the kind of monster you are. Which is
why you get to know the type I am.”
“I’m not a monster.”
Her voice is so quiet I doubt she even convinces herself.
“You are.”
“I’m not!”
Natalia’s shout is weak, barely reaching the sound of a TV quietly
playing in the background. It’s clear, the struggle to speak is gone.
“Okay.” I answer, moving to stand over her.
“I’m not.”
Her eyes wrinkle as she squeezes them tight. Too tight. She’s trying to
produce tears. As though there was an ounce of sympathy in me to glean.
Clever.
Not clever enough.
“I injected you with something very specific. It’s called 6741. A paralytic
cocktail composed of ketamine, scopolamine, mescaline, vecuronium, and
succinylcholine. The mixture renders the subject awake, aware, and
completely paralyzed.”
“Please, I’m not what you think, really. You don’t have to do whatever
this is.” My prey whimpers, still aiming for pathetic and landing in
comedy.
I continue, ignoring her outburst.
“You might not have understood what those words meant, they’re
medical terms after all,”
“PLEASE!” Natalia breaks in again, her shout getting nearly as loud as a
spoken conversation.
“They’re important terms, nonetheless. Several of the elements used to
make this drug have euphoric effects. Our people are the best. They’ve
isolated those aspects so our subjects don’t panic.”
Natalia is silent for the first time, waiting to hear what that means for her.
“Which is how I know,” I tilt her head to the side exposing the new angle
I want to inject her at, “That you aren’t panicked now. It’s the longest-
lasting effect. You’re smart, Natalia. Just not smart enough.”
“Our people?”
The woman says as the new needle slides home; re-injecting my prey. All
her movement ceases until only the shallow rise and fall of even breath is
apparent in the woman.
“Let’s see if this keeps you still until I’m done. ‘Our’ people are my
people. We’re something different from you, but very similar. Unlike you,
we get paid for our favorite pastimes.”
I roll her head upward again, arranging her limbs so that they fall over
each side of the narrow table she’s laid on. Her eyes go insectile again and I
don’t need my inner conscious to tell me why.
The woman is splayed wide, both arms and legs. Her dress has risen to
her hips with the movement, exposing her layers of pantyhose and Spanx.
“I already told you, I will not rape you. Even monsters have boundaries.
At least my kind does. We have a code. Never kill someone who didn’t earn
it, never earn it yourself.”
Methodically, I bind the woman.
“Most of our targets pay very well. A crooked senator will net us a
million on a slow day. A C.E.O. who trafficked in life just paid four to my
cousin.”
Her arms are first, pulled back and under the table. I bind them high, as
close to the armpit as the plastic-covered table allows. Each wrist is pulled
outward, away from where her biceps remain bound. With her wrists facing
upward to prevent damage before I’m ready, I cuff each wrist with a rope,
feeding them into a system of attached pulleys.
“You, Natalia, will pay out at a measly five hundred grand. That little op
you screwed over, not so little.” When I see her eyes twitch, I answer the
question I assume she’s asking, “I tapped your phone. When you bragged to
Officer Plank, I was listening. Putting people in prison doesn’t eliminate
threats, Natalia. Only death does.”
Next are her legs, tied high on the thigh just beneath the table. Her ankles
are pried upward and out, the natural twist making her toes point the same
direction as her immobilized knees, before I bind her in a larger pair of
cuffs attached to the same pulley system.
“I’m supposed to tell you some pathetic line about regards, but I’ve found
my methods are far more terrifying than any re-worded movie quote.”
When I straighten, I catch a slight quiver in Natalia’s lips. The drug is
progressing at the rate it should now.
“Do you have some sort of spinal deformity?”
I question my captive as I pull her dress as far down her thighs as it’s able
to go. It feels unfaithful to leave the woman so exposed. The strangled
screams of her last moments are mine, but seeing her undressed holds no
appeal. She doesn’t answer, of course, and I resolve to carve into her spine
and see what’s there myself.
You’re not a doctor. You’ll screw it up.
We’ll see.
My gaze devours the woman’s as I pull the lead rope, tightening all four
cuffs and wrenching her extremities outward at awful angles. Tears spring
to the corners of her eyes, her stare never leaving my own, as what is surely
a scream bubbles out of her paralyzed lips in barely audible sputters.
“This rope,” I say, pulling it into her line of sight. “is the main line. It’s
going to keep you from rolling off the table while we proceed.”
When I take the slack, forcing her limbs against the binding until they
pop, I’m rewarded by the tremble in her throat as another scream gets
trapped in its frozen chords.
Idly, I release the rope to its benchmark. It leaves her still uncomfortably
bound, but not painfully so.
The sound of my blade unsheathing is loud in the room whose only
ambiance is Natalia’s heavy breath. Her round eyes move to my right hand,
inspecting the glinting steel with horrified eyes.
“Relax, it’s not time for that.” I chuckle, holding the looped end of the
lead rope to the end of the table; directly opposite the eyes following each
movement. The blade flips upward when I flick my wrist, launching it over
my palm before I catch it with the end pointing downward. The moment the
rough texture of the hilt touches my palm, I slam the blade into the table,
hitting my mark as perfectly as I have for the last seventy-two assignments.
It’s a good sign when the blade pins the lead loop into place without
slicing or fraying it.
It’s good luck.
Luck is bullshit. This means I’m practiced and in my element. Ready for
everything that comes next.
If the monster on the table looks, she’ll see that the edge is facing the
place where the rope will put tension. If she struggles hard enough, she
could break free. I always leave an opportunity for my victims to escape.
It’s not a requirement of Wilde Securities. They’d never even allow it.
Which is why I don’t ask.
Or tell.
It’s an unspoken rule that we Wilde’s will do anything not strictly
forbidden. We’re all twisty in different ways. Some enjoy the hunt, some
the kill. Harper is fond of ancient weaponry or those that no average person
could get hold of.
The exquisite agony of a person being ripped apart while their freedom
was so close; that’s my playground. That’s my drug.
Is this what Sable feels when she’s high?
When did you start caring why people do the things they do?
I don’t.
Moving away from the bound woman, I take the only seat. It’s wrapped
in enough plastic to make an adolescent giggle when I sit and the escaping
air sounds like a whoopie cushion.
Less tape would allow your kill room to not sound like a joke shop.
Less tape means more opportunity for bio-matter to contaminate the
room.
Better than making fart sounds every time you sit down.
I don’t care about the sound.
Obviously, you do. Isn’t that why I exist?
Yes. No. Fuck you.
Fuck you right back. I’m some voice in your head, a part of you that isn’t
devoid of humanity. You put her voice to these words. Maybe what I say
matters.
It doesn’t. She’s dead. She was my conscious before, and then she opted
out. My psyche needed a replacement, so you became a voice that echoes an
existence long gone.
Sounds like some psycho-babble-bullshit invented by the oh-so-prestigious
doctors of Wilde Security. I’m an echo? She never knew your wife, idiot.
How could I echo her name?
Because I’m crazy.
You’re psychotic. But when were auditory hallucinations ever a part of your
experience? Never.
Until you.
I’ve always been here, Kage. Somewhere inside, begging you to hear me.
“Mm-m-mm,”
The muffled sound of Natalia’s voice held prisoner by her own body
gathers my attention.
It’s too soon for auditory control, again. Yet she’s already trying to speak.
Interesting.
I’m standing above the bound woman in two long strides, watching her
eyes dart around the room again.
Dangerous. She’s going to gain control of her limbs far too quickly. Use
something other than a stupid knife to hold the lead rope in place.
No. I can handle her.
“What is special about you, Natalia? Why do you have a resistance to
something you’ve never touched?”
Her responses are more strained grumbles.
It didn’t fail as quickly as before. It has to be the physical anatomy. I have
to bring her back to the office. Her body, at least.
“It’s not a question I expect you can answer. My cousins will.”
Her pupils become saucers, blacking out the edge of color that was there
a moment before.
“No need to fear them. They won’t meet you until you’re long dead.”
Natalia’s eyes roll back and fall closed.
“Did you just fucking pass out?”
The woman doesn’t respond to my astonished question, remaining as
peaceful as snow white in her coffin.
How? There are stimulants in the dose.
You should consider the why for more than one person with drug
paraphernalia.
You think she’s built an immunity to uppers? There’s no indication that
she uses. She kills people who do.
Remind me, in all those files about her, how did it say her sister met the
man she married?
It didn’t.
And yet I’m asking questions about it. The little voice in your head that sees
the things your underdeveloped conscious mind doesn’t. Wonder why...
It takes less than ten minutes on my laptop to find Natalia and her now-
dead brother-in-law, Cameron Lewis, met in culinary school. In a Myspace
account she surely hadn’t visited since the 2000s, is a gallery of photos. In
twelve of them, her brother-in-law makes an appearance.
They were friends who regularly partied together. Captions run the
gamut, but the one that catches my eye is above a photo of them in the
kitchen with chefs’ jackets on, faces glistening with exertion. ‘Red Bull
gives you wings’ titled the picture in a typical 2008 style.
Cameron commented on it, ‘can’t become a chef without learning to
ski.’.
A friend with weed is a friend indeed; but a friend with snow has got to go.
This time the voice is an exact echo of the long-dead person who never
stops yapping in my head.
You remember that? Sarah taught it to her. Her friend was so scared of how
quiet she got after she found out. Imbibing on the devil’s lettuce was bad
enough, but when her link showed up at the party with cocaine, her bestie
actually said that to him.
She was still laughing when she told me the story.
This woman has secrets even you haven’t found. Kind of running theme for
you lately, huh Kage?
No. Natalia is an addict. She’s going to wake up soon. Or worse, die
peacefully in her sleep.
My palm covers her collarbone, and I shove down.
The snap of bone sends tingles down my spine. I’ve waited weeks for
this; to feel something besides lust or paranoia.
Or love?
Natalia’s scream muffles the voice in my head as she regains
consciousness in a quiet wail. There’s enough paralytic to keep her quiet,
but not silent. Jittery excitement crawls over my skin.
I’m not playing the slow game anymore. The fun starts right now.
Below me, Natalia is crying. Actual tears stream down her face. She’s not
pacified, she’s terrified.
It stalls me.
I don’t kill this way. I meticulously recreate the moment to play out like
Carl’s death. The serene beauty of it, all the chaos, purified into anger and
agony. This is different. It isn’t anguish manifesting itself in saline streams,
it’s terror.
She’s scared.
She should be furious.
If your special cocktail worked, but it didn’t.
It could be the damage. People cry from pain.
It’s both, genius. Look at her.
I do. Examining the micro tremors in her shoulders, the stutter in her
breathing.
“You’re a drug addict.”
My statement brings her gaze to mine.
In it, I find the emotion I need.
Here lies her rage, buried in the same shallow pit her pregnant sister
slowly died in. The hollowness that swallowed her only living relative has
always had her in its maw. Well before she brought it to Corina’s door in the
form of a lover.
She grunts a single syllable that I can only assume is her denial.
“Yes. You introduced Cameron to your family. You knew he was an
addict, like you; though not as high functioning.”
If glares were razors, I’d be ribbons now.
“I take it you didn’t expect your baby sister would fall for him, though.”
Her lip twitches, and I wonder how long before she gains enough control
to fight back. Maybe she’ll get out.
“I made a mistake.”
Hope colors her blotchy face for a moment, but killing it is too fun to
resist.
“No, I’m not letting you go. I didn’t fuck up that bad. I was wrong about
why you kill people.”
She looks away, not meeting my eyes anymore.
“I thought you were destroying him. Over and over again.”
The woman’s shoulder trembles the slightest bit. Fresh tears pool on her
lashes.
“I do it, recreate the same death because it makes me feel... it just makes
me feel. But you aren’t killing Cameron, are you, Natalia?”
A hushed whimper escapes with the tiniest suggestion of the word no.
“I know. Tonight, the person you murder repeatedly will finally meet her
end.”
The rage in her eyes when they find mine is palpable.
“uggck oo,”
She stammers, her lips still unable to do more than twitch occasionally. I
don’t need to hear the enunciation of every letter to know what she’s saying.
Fuck you too, Natalia.
“I’m married. It seems she’s like you, not a killer, unfortunately, but an
addict.”
I say as I place the heel of my foot on her bound forearm.
“I should have known. Her pain tolerance is too high. I saw her break
three bones in her foot and finish oiling her practice weapon before
allowing me to take her to the hospital. I just thought it was hot; turns out it
was deeper than that.”
My heel comes down hard, snapping the radius and ulna in one fluid
motion. The sound that emits from her immobilized body is the ghost of a
scream.
It’s more than enough. Her misery rushes through me, replacing ichor
with intensity.
Her shoulder twitches as she sobs, a movement that should come well
after the full ability to speak.
Dose her.
I want her to talk.
Fuck that, Kage. DOSE HER.
She can’t over-power me. It can wait.
No. Don’t be stupid!
“Can you speak?”
My voice is too loud. It bounces off the walls like a threat, not to her, but
to me. To the safety of doing this in a way that doesn’t get my meat sent
back to the academy.
“I-I” the bound woman gasps through tiny sobs that are getting
alarmingly close to regular decibels “don’t know.”
The words are choppy, but understandable.
“Why?”
My question lingers in the air nearly long enough for me to force an
answer. When she meets my gaze with her own, I see something in it, some
emotion I can’t figure out.
Because you don’t have that one.
It’s familiar. A spark igniting and fading again and again in the same
instant.
“You were right, okay?” She slurs her words like an accusation amid
sniffles and shakes. “It’s not him. I’m killing myself. Like I killed her. And
him. And every one of us I ever find.”
It’s shame, Kage. She’s ashamed of everything she’s been a part of.
The voice in my head fades, like it’s walking away; into the vast cavern
of darkness that fills my mind.
I see her as it diminishes. The tangle of straight dark hair swishing around
her shoulders as the storms in her eyes raged; the same eternal flicker living
and dying in them as the woman bound to the table now.
She was ashamed? Of what?
The silence stretches until the loose shake of pulleys as Natalia tests her
legs breaks it.
I lean into her, taking all the space she has to see, letting her witness the
truth in my next statement.
“If you pull hard enough, the rope will cut.”
Her brows twitch inward, before she schools them back in place. It’s
fucking impressive.
She’s smart enough to hide her level of mobility.
Natalia answers before my supposed conscious.
“Liar. You didn’t leave me a way out. You just like to see women
squirm.”
Not smart enough to fake a slurred speech pattern. She’s coming around
fast.
I wait for the voice in my head to insist on another dose, but she doesn’t
return.
So I cradle the back of Natalia’s head, lifting and angling until she can
see the blade stuck into the table a foot below her thighs.
“I’m a liar, but not this time.”
“Why the fuck would you tell me that? What are you getting from it?”
“The truth. I want to know why.”
“I just fucking told you!”
This time there isn’t anything quiet about her shout. It pushes past me and
into the night. My palm covers her mouth and as I explain myself.
“I don’t care why you kill people. It’s a need I understand well. I want to
know why you do drugs.”
A bark of laughter sounds under my hand, rattling the woman’s broken
bones and turning them into delightful sobs.
“When I move my hand, do not scream. Do not yell. Do not raise your
voice above a whisper. If you do, I will take that knife from the loop and
sheath it in your throat.”
The weeping falters, and her eyes go blank before she gives the barest of
nods.
As soon as I remove my palm, she repeats the question.
“You want to know why I do drugs?”
“Yes.”
Her vision loses focus, like she’s holding a quiet council in her mind.
When they refocus, it’s clear the internal group decided.
She’s going to tell me.
“It’s bec-RAAPPEE!”
Natalia’s bellow catches my head off-guard, but not my body.
The blade slices through her flesh, severing her vocal cords mid-scream.
Blood pools around the silver disappearing into her. It’s already spilling
from both sides of her gasping mouth. The life in her glassy eyes fades as
quickly as the tears flee them.
She’s dead within a minute; the knife pinning her to the table as her
arteries drain the person she was, into the nothing she becomes. Her blood
gathers and flows in the ways that usually make me feel human.
It’s not working.
Tonight, the cardinal hue that paints my dreams does fuck-all for my
soul.
This isn’t the way I kill.
She chose the ending, not me. Worst of all, she didn’t answer my
question.
OceanofPDF.com
Twenty
My shoes leave an annoying click through the empty house as I pace the hall
outside my room. It reverberates off the walls, bouncing back to the source in
discordant waves so heavy they’re nearly tangible.
My grip on the blade hidden in my coat pocket pulses in time with the tick
of my jaw; like it’s waiting for the sound to break the veil so I can tear it
apart.
Or just walk quieter? You’re irritating yourself on purpose, weirdo.
My pacing falters, then stops.
Now you speak? Sixteen hours of silence when I needed answers, and you
pop back in for fucking noise?
I’m never silent. You don’t always listen. Where’s Sable?
You tell me. You know everything I do, and more. Remember?
You’re a delight. Anyone ever tell you that, Rage?
The nickname hits me like a baseball bat to the chest, obliterating my
breath and robbing me of the chance to take another. Her last words.
Why would you repeat them to me now?
Because Sable is doing drugs too?
Does she want to hurt herself?
She wouldn’t.
Sable wouldn’t opt out.
Where the fuck is the air?
Calm down.
Why do you keep doing that? Answering me in memories, with her exact
words.
Truly, why would I do that? What are you trying to tell yourself?
That I’m crazier than I fucking thought I was. That this shit crawling in me
needs to be purged, whatever it is.
It’s fear, genius. And rage, and irritation, and uncertainty, and worst of all—
love. You, poor little baby Kage, have been afflicted with something that’s
always lived inside you. A rational person would wonder why. Why are your
barriers breaking? What made you spiral? Why now? Lucky for us,
rationality is not one of your weaknesses. Where is Sable?
Against the knuckles still clutching a useless blade, my phone vibrates.
Answer it. Could be your wife.
Mueller’s name on the screen isn’t the first disappointment I’ve faced
today, just the worst. It’s not my splendid wife, it’s the ladder-climbing gnat
that keeps buzzing around my damn ear. I dismiss the notification and pull up
the tracker app.
Like the last dozen times I checked, the unblinking dot at her office offers
no solace. I know her schedule inside and out, these days at least. It was
empty today.
She should have been here when I got home.
I thought we didn’t suspect infidelity and were optimistic about her addiction.
If you’re fine with it. Why fret your pretty head about where she is?
I need to know where she is. And I’m not hopeful about shit. I don’t know
what she’s doing.
You don’t know she’s not cheating.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth crack audibly.
I do. Open your eyes, Kage. It’s-
The voice in my head goes silent as a hand touches my shoulder.
The reaction is second nature.
My right hand crosses my chest, wrenching the slender fingers up and
backward. My body swivels and my left forearm moves to trap my target
against the wall behind us.
I see the shock of crimson hair swirling around us as I twist, and my
momentum changes with my motive. Before I can make contact, I push the
rotation further, deeper until my arm misses the original target to land way
too fucking close to her face.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Sable’s golden eyes round in confusion, shocked by the reprimand in my
tone.
Shit.
“Damnit, Wrath. Are you okay? I almost took your head off. I’m sorry
baby, I didn’t know it was you, I thought-”
The words fade before I tell her I’ve been tracking her.
Instead, my hands smooth over her body, assessing and reassuring me she’s
okay. That no harm came to her for existing in her own fucking home.
My palms slide down the airy fabric of her loose grey t-shirt. When they
reach the edge, I move under it, sliding across the velvet of her belly, then
ribs. I skip her chest, knowing where that road goes, and instead asses her
hips and lower spine, cautiously staying on top of the leggings that feel and
look like powder. Can’t let myself get distracted.
I almost hurt her. I could have killed her.
Why didn’t I check the house?
Her purse and car are still at S&S. Why?
I start to ask her why she snuck up on me, ignoring the need to know how
she did, but she stops me with a question of her own.
“Why are you so jumpy? You’re never jumpy.”
Her tone is cold, some unsaid accusation skating across the icy edge of the
words.
“It’s been a long weekend, after a longer week, before another starts
tomorrow. I didn’t see you when I came in and I reacted without thinking.”
My phone vibrates again. Devoid of my hand to cushion the blade, the pair
emit a loud buzz from my pocket. I don’t bother looking at it. Sable’s right
here and I just finished a job.
Whoever it is can fuck off.
“Shouldn’t you answer that?”
Sable’s eyes narrow as she speaks, crossing her arms over her chest as she
does. I almost wonder if I’m seeing things when her scrutiny darts to my coat
the second the buzzing stops.
“No. I need to see you.”
What’s going on, love? Who was the guy at the bar? Why did you ditch
your purse and car? What are you hiding, baby?
Now say it to her.
“Funny,”
Her hands push my shoulders; moving me from in front of her before she
walks into our room, me at her heels like a fucking puppy, and points at the
bed.
“I’ve been sitting here watching you pace for half an hour. You didn’t
notice me right there, but you pulled out that phone to stare at plenty of
times.”
Her movements are wrong. Every step and gesture is deliberate. She’s
keeping her front to me when she moves, never letting me out of her sight.
She’s on guard.
Against me?
“I-” The buzz sounds in my pocket again, but I don’t let it stop me “didn’t
think you were here. I didn’t see your car. Where’s your car, love?”
As I speak, I shrink, rounding my shoulders and bending my legs. I cage
my hands in the tight pockets of my slacks and kick my shoes off. My voice
doesn’t rise above its normal timbre. I’m debating kneeling to make our size
difference irrelevant.
Don’t be scared. I am not a threat to you. Never to you.
“At work.” She shrugs, watching me with eyes that seem to peel layers of
me away with each appraisal. “Mara treated me to lunch for helping her. I
Ubered home. Left my purse and car there.”
The cadence of her words changes, the pitch staying locked in her PR
voice.
She’s lying.
“Oh, where did you go?”
I don’t mask my implication. We see through each other too well. Right
now, we both know we’re lying to one another. I want to see how far she’s
willing to go.
“Y-” The buzz interrupts her and my wife’s eyes flash an emotion I’ve
never seen. “I don’t want to talk about the restaurant. Who’s blowing up your
phone, husband?”
Ice pours from her lips with each word. It makes every nerve under my skin
burn. My throat dries and clenches. Every trace of the warmth that coats her
musical voice for me is gone. Its replacement is making me ill, physically
sick to my stomach.
It’s hate. Right now, your, Wrath, hates you.
“You hate me?”
My words crack, a groan a wounded beast ripping from my chest.
Her eyes mist immediately, growing colder as if my statement solidified
something in her. The words that follow cut me further than any blade has.
“Should I?”
“Yes.” My reply is as hollow as I feel. “You should. But you never have.
Why now?”
A flurry of movement follows her scoff as she rushes me, pushing me
backward until my back meets the wall. Her face is so close I can smell the
mint of her toothpaste.
“Who the fuck is calling you? Why are you dodging the question?”
Her rage slips, her voice cracking the slightest bit, and I see it. The love
she’s protecting, the want of me.
And something else.
It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t hate me, not completely.
“I don’t know.”
I pull the damn phone from my coat pocket and unlock it in front of Sable.
On the screen is Mueller’s name on four missed texts.
“Open them.”
I do, groaning when I see how many of them there are. I’m about to fire her
for tying up my fucking line.
Sooo I have like a million things to do tomorrow and some of them
are kind of… more than I can handle… they seem like jobs someone
with your skills would handle well… XOXOEmma
You’re THE numbers god so I’m praying to you… will you come
teach me a thing or two? I really need it. XOXOEmma
I’ll be the best student, pinky promise! I can call you professor if you
want ;) ….. JKJKJK LOL XOXOEmma
Pretty, pretty please??? With all the cherries on top? You’ll owe me a
big one!!!! XOOOXEmma
OMG I’ll owe you big time! Stupid autocorrect. Anyway……. Let me
know what you want to do XOXOEmma
Sable makes a sound between a laugh and a growl; and then goes silent,
taking the phone from my hand and scrolling up. Her expression gets vicious
at the same moment I remember Mueller sent me pictures last night.
Photos I denied being my wife, even though they clearly are.
Fuck.
Double fuck.
Her golden eyes land on mine and I have no fucking clue what’s going on
behind them. Tension fills the silence between us as I wait for her to clarify
what she just saw.
I expected her to scramble. Explain herself, apologize even.
I was wrong.
“You’re seriously not going to say anything?”
Her voice raises octaves with each word, ending with a shout and my phone
thrown back to me.
“What?” My confusion seeps into the words.
In my hand, the damn thing vibrates again.
This is fucking ridiculous.
This time it’s Harper’s name on the screen. It’s a quick text,
Tacos tomorrow?
It’s the only text from Harper. The entire thread from last week is gone. I
flip back to Mullers, trying not to sigh when I see hers is shorter too.
Wilde Securities was my first stop, always is. To decontaminate, which
includes device wipes. Everything from before 9:39 AM was deleted,
removed for my safety.
Thank you Beep and Bop.
“Seriously?”
Sable spits the word at me as she throws her arms in the air. She’s pissed,
not scared.
But not for me almost checking her throat with my goddamn forearm?
I am so fucking confused.
“What the fuck is going on?”
I’m unable to fathom what else to say.
“Nope. No, we aren’t doing the ‘poor giant psycho can’t figure out the
humans’ bit right now. You cannot be that oblivious, Kage. You’re not that
stupid.”
“The hell I’m not.” I bite back before I think it through.
She’s the one keeping secrets.
Eh, chalk one for both of you in that category. Focus, why is she mad?
“You’re angry. It’s not because I attacked you?”
When Sable steps closer with a grumbled threat, I keep going.
“Not about that. Because I threatened Mara? I apologized for that.”
“Are you actually fucking kidding me?”
She throws her hands in the air again, turning around to pace a few steps
before coming right back and resuming the onslaught.
“First of all, you never apologized. You got all emo and said sweet things
and fucked up things and then we dropped it. Second, how can you not know
what this is about?”
“I-”
“No, I’m done with the back and forth. Who the fuck is Emma?”
“What?”
“Don’t play with me, Number God.”
She emphasizes the nickname with a breathy valley-girl accent that paints
the picture I need to see.
“You’re mad that Mueller texted me?”
“I swear to…un-fucking-believable…there’s no…”
Sable cycles through a half-dozen partial insults before adopting an eerily
chipper voice that sends prickles up my spine.
“Husband, I’m about five seconds from dislocating your shoulder again.
Yes! I’m pissed about the thirsty texts blowing up your damn phone!”
“They weren’t flirting. They were stupid. Mueller’s an idiot social climber
who thinks I can advance her career. She’s trying to be my friend, and get me
to do her work, apparently.”
Sable sighs, anger still etched on her ethereal face.
“She wants to be your buddy? That’s what you think, that she’s hoping to
pal around the IT department? Men are idiots.”
“Accurate.”
I agree without hesitation.
“Even ridiculously smart ones.”
“Especially psychopathic ones.”
I answer, reminding her of my inability to understand without more
instruction. For the first time, I want to. I need to make sense of what’s
happening in her head.
“She’s flirting with you. Blatantly. Does she know you’re married?”
“We work together, of course, she knows. Everyone does.”
A new understanding dawns on me, and I share it with my wife as the voice
in my head urges me to stop.
“I thought Mara was a threat, but she wasn’t. I think that’s what’s
happening here.”
Dumb. So dumb.
“Oh, fuck you. I love you, but fuck your stupid brain. Which probably
won’t even care that I’m saying fuck it.”
Why would it?
“The worst part is I don’t think you’re intentionally gaslighting me.”
“I’m not.”
Right?
Idiot.
“I believe you.” She thrusts her palm out toward me as she speaks. “Give
me your phone.”
I hand her the phone and she opens it immediately and goes right to her
target.
“Did you delete the last text, the one that came through last?”
“No, that was from Harper.”
“Okay, look. She puts XO on every message, hugs, and kisses. That’s
flirtatious. Do you agree?”
“It’s her signature.”
“No one has a signature programmed to their phone anymore.”
She must see the confusion on my face because she follows it up with,
“Except the few freaky exceptions like you. Either way, it’s not a signature.
The placement and amount around her name change. She types it every time
she messages you.”
“Oh,”
“Yeah, oh. We’re not done. Could you please hand me my phone? It’s on
the dresser.”
I grab it and bring it to her, curiosity eating at me.
“I’m going to send her a text. ‘New number, how are you?!’” Sable speaks
as she types. “Let's see if she takes the bait. We’ll see if she emotes all over
everyone, or just you.”
“O-”
“Not done, husband. Let’s put these innocent texts to the test. Stop me
when you feel they’re too flirtatious.”
A boulder takes shape in my stomach as I listen to Sable instructing her
phone to send a message to Lucas; a man she says works for a company she
favors. Her voice is quiet, breathy, as she speaks.
“So, I have a million things to do tomorrow… and you’re the god,” she
fucking moans the word “of catering, would you mind teaching me? Pretty-”
“Enough. Delete the message, Wrath.”
Heat builds under my skin, weaving with the tension in my muscles.
“It’s not flirting, remember?”
“The choice is yours, Sable. If you want Lucas to retain ownership of his
lungs, you’ll delete that fucking message.”
Rage rolls through me in waves that desperately need a target.
Unfortunately for Lucas, it’s him.
Fortunately for me, I’m not the only person enraged. My reaction must
have answered a question I didn’t get, because my love goes from fake
flirting to real fighting without hesitation.
Her fist meets my jaw and knocks me back. Pain erupts at her point of
contact, but quickly shifts to her next target when she slaps me across the
other cheek.
She’s calling me every name in the book as she goes, her energy seeping
into me with every hit; it’s leaving my dick a raging monster dying to be
released.
I pull my arms behind my head, giving her all the access she needs to calm
herself on my flesh. Her menace quiets my rage, spins it to lust as she strikes
me two more times, in the chest, and then another blow to the mouth, splitting
my lip so well I taste iron.
“How many times have you fucked her?”
Sable screams the question as she launches another attack.
I don’t let that one land, instead I catch the punch and pull her arm around
her core. Pinning her back to my battered chest. Every breath aches, courtesy
of my beast-mode wife, but I don’t care.
“You can hit me all night. I love that shit.”
I take her hand, guiding it to the angry length straining against my dockers.
My other hand wraps around her throat, thumbing her wild pulse as I tip her
face up, turning her enough to meet her eyes from behind.
“I’m fine with your hands on me at any speed, love. I draw the fucking line
at being accused of putting this,”
My hips grind into her palm, loving the way she cups and strokes me.
“In any body but yours. That dick gets hard for one woman, for my wife.”
Her eyes narrow, but the softness that usually greets me creeps back in.
“You accused me of cheating first.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
The pressure inside me shifts, making things feel simultaneously worse and
better.
“You mean that.”
Her brows crease, the corner of her lip dips.
I release my hold on her, letting her body turn toward me before backing
her to the bed. My lips land on hers for a feather-light kiss before I pull the
bottom of her shirt up and over her head.
“No bra. Perfect.”
“Kage-”
“I have never cheated on you. I will never be unfaithful to you. When we’re
done here; I’m going to text Mueller one last time. To tell her she’s a nasty
presumptuous bitch who needs to lose my phone number and stay the fuck
away from me. Right now I don’t want to think of her, or what she made you
think. I’m going to devour my wife, the only person I love, the cure and cause
of my afflictions.”
My palms slide down her delicate throat and to the curve of her spine;
pinning her to me. The pounding under my fingertips as they slide from her
throat to jaw beats through me like a war chant. It urges me forward when I
push my thumb into the plump suppleness of her bottom lip, prying her
mouth open just enough to feel her panting breath sweep across every word I
speak.
“Let me show you what you do to me, Wrath.”
Her body trembles against mine. The grey shirt that enables me to blend
into my technical world is the enemy now, keeping my body from savoring
the warmth of hers as it responds to me.
“Take my shirt off Sable.”
The corner of her mouth flickers up and down, like she’s unsure. Her body
is telling her to do what I say—take the pleasure I offer.
Her mind is fearful. The way mine has been for too long. It’s like a balm
for my fears, knowing she’s plagued with them too.
The relief is gone as quickly as it came, replaced with prickly heat inching
through my chest like spilled syrup.
She shouldn’t feel those things. Mueller caused this.
The gnat doesn’t need to keep breathing. The wrongness grows until it
becomes a pit, swallowing me in shaky despair.
I made her feel that way.
Warm fingers find the hem of my shirt, pulling it up my back. Her body
still presses against mine, making the ascent of my shirt slow. Every inch
that’s uncovered meets her warmth, calming the shadow dancing at the edge
of my mind; clarifying the pit inside me.
I caused her pain. As she did mine. We’re liars, both of us. We hide from
one another while demanding transparency.
Her hands reach my shoulders, clutching the bunched fabric. I pull my head
far enough from hers to allow the fabric to pass. Finally, I take my hands
from her body and she drags the garment from mine.
“I know you’re hiding something from me, Wrath.”
The words flow from me without a plan. Everything about this is wrong.
I’m working on instinct, not muscle memory or ingrained training; true
instinct. The foreignness of it shreds my nerves.
“You know I’m hiding something from you.”
The quick inhale of her gasp makes her tits shake.
The consideration to abandon truth in favor of sucking and biting the tender
flesh there while she gasps my name is instant. I want her. Every moment of
my life I crave the way our bodies blur together.
Her smile flickered.
Gently, I cup her face with my hands, tilting it upward so I can see every
facet of life in her gaze as it keeps mine.
“Is it infidelity?”
The words taste like poison, but her response is an immediate antidote.
“No. Never.”
“Ask me,” I say, still studying her eyes.
She needs to see the truth beyond our lies.
“Are you having an affair?”
Her voice cracks at the end, and it shatters the glass wall around the ever-
growing pit of misery. I’ve never considered myself anything less than
extraordinary, a marvel of murderous intent and intelligent decent; until this
moment. I don’t feel like a living god now.
I fucking hate myself. Hate that my lies made her question the depth of my
devotion.
In her eyes, I see the same struggle.
“Never. You’re the fucking sun in my world, Wrath. The moment you’re
gone, darkness wraps around me like a second skin. You change that version
of me. I become all of me with you. Only you. I will never ruin that.”
I descend on her, devouring the sweetness of her in a kiss that I force
myself to pull away from, keeping her face trapped between my hands. Hers
drag around my body, landing on my shoulders in their customary place. The
solidity of her there strengthens my resolve.
“Will you tell me what you’ve been hiding?”
A film of tears gathers over the golden ponds that have kept me enraptured
since the first time I saw them. I understand this. Before she says it, I know
her answer.
“No. I won’t.”
“Neither will I.”
Her lip trembles. It grates against my heart like rough metal with each
tremor.
“I love you, Sable. It’s okay to have secrets. I’ll live with it. Can you?”
The tremor runs through her entire body this time. Her answer has the
opposite effect on me; every cell in my body is alive with energy, with need.
“Yes.”
OceanofPDF.com
Twenty-one
Goosebumps follow my hands as they slide down her throat, over her
peaked nipples, and under the fabric of her yoga pants. Her face heats, the
need I feel reflecting in the blushing hues of her flesh responding to mine.
The sound of some Star Wars robot interrupts us when her phone goes
off.
“Ten bucks says it’s your girlfriend.” Sable snipes, the venom I crave
coats every dagger her words send my way.
I respond to her menace with a rough promise, letting the growl in her ear
combine with the movement of my hands, stripping away the last two
things, depriving me of her naked body.
“That’s one, Sable. Keep it up. I’d like to see double digits.”
I kneel to reach her ankles as she steps out of the clothes bunched around
them. Staying on my knees, I lean back to get a better view. Sable bends
forward like she’s giving me a view of her tits, but I know better when a
devilish grin splits her plushy lips.
She sits on the bed, covering her breasts with her arms and hiding her
pussy with the cross of her legs.
“One what, Kage? Spanking? We both know I’m not bending over your
knee. How are you going to punish my smart mouth, husband? With your
co-”
“I’m going to make you come.”
Six words; the quietest bomb I’ve ever ignited. Sable’s mouth pops open,
the pink of her pretty tongue peeking beyond her lips.
“My cock will be a part of it, but first you’ll get my tongue. Lean back,
baby, let me punish you.”
Her arms fall first, making her heavy tits bounce. Above them, her tongue
darts out to lick her lips as she leans back. Her elbows shake when they
lock in place, keeping her raised enough to watch me. Her legs un-wind, but
stay together; hiding my prize.
“Spread your knees, Wrath. I took my licks. Time for you to take yours.”
A little moan escapes her as she follows orders, spreading herself nice
and wide. I fill the space immediately, notching her knees on my shoulders
and peppering the crux of her thighs with light kisses and sharp nibbles.
Desperate whimpers mix with her addictive taste to drive my need. My
tongue flattens between her lips and drags up to the little spot begging for
attention. Her hips try to raise—to demand more pressure—but I hold them
down. I take my time, circling her needy clit in tight loops, pausing to lake
long, slow licks of my prize.
Her mewling gets louder as I explore her. Her pleasure paints my lips in
sweet arousal. Delicate fingers pull the sheets beside her hips, and then she
asks too nicely to deny.
“More, please, please! Make me come, Kage.”
I increase the pressure on her clit as I wrestle two thick fingers into the
tightness pulsing just below my tongue.
Need flavors my excitement; it wants to drive. It would take four seconds
to free myself from my slacks and rut into this sweetness like the animal I
am.
Her desire drips down my knuckles, coating my tongue and hand in
unison while my fingers curl to massage another favorite spot as they pump
into her.
My name becomes a mantra on her lips, smeared in the blood she drew
from mine. My pants get tighter with every husky moan of it. She’s ready to
pop off my hand already, so close to the little death. My perfect wife wants
this punishment.
I will always provide.
My focus never leaves her ethereal face. I study the way each wave of
pleasure paints the landscape with a new brush.
Her molten body pulls at my fingers each time they retreat; her panting,
blood-tinged mouth quivers and pouts in unison.
“Your cunt is greedy, love. It’s begging for more. Is that what you want,
more punishment?”
Her clit gets needier; becoming a hard bead beneath the even, tortuous
treatment of my tongue. I want to devour her body with my gaze, but my
vision stays on the honeyed glass of her eyes, watching each fissure of need
burn there, beg there, for me.
For what I can give her; for what she takes.
“Please,”
The wiggling of her hips joins her moaning plea when she tries for more
pressure. Her pleasure coats my injured lips as they curve into a grin, my
tongue staying still, applying frictionless hold, creating an orgasmic limbo.
She squeals in frustration, wriggling her hips and squeezing her eyes
closed. The pulsing under my tongue reverberates through me, demanding I
rip my way into her with every beat.
“Eyes on me, Wrath.”
My voice growls across her over-sensitized mound before she follows my
command.
“I love how well you listen… when you want to.”
My cupped palm comes down hard on her clit, louder than it is painful.
The sound disappears in the scream Sable gifts me. She never breaks eye
contact.
“Such a good job, baby.”
My palms slide between her thighs, and I let myself bask in the view I
denied myself earlier. Her glistening entrance is flushed and already getting
puffy.
She’s going to swell me out tonight.
The thought makes me pulse inside the ever-tightening pants that are both
my condemnation and salvation.
I want to fuck her now. I also want her first orgasm to be on my tongue.
Champagne problems.
Her pretty clit is swollen, peeking out at me. A coy invitation to suck it
between my teeth and play it like a kazoo. Her sex glaze has started; her
skin shimmers with the exertion of being denied orgasm while being held so
close.
Without warning, I stand, taking her with me.
With her knees still locked behind my shoulders, she slides forward and
up when I get to my feet. The angle it leaves her in is absurdly sexy.
The naked silk of her skin drapes from my collarbones to the bed, where
her shoulders and neck rest. Her hard nipples bounce as the inversion of
gravity makes them settle closer to her face.
She moans when my palms find them, squeezing and tugging at them.
For a few moments, I give the world’s most glorious tits the attention they
fucking deserve; swaying between gentle caresses, slaps, squeezes, and
delicious pinches. The blush on them goes crimson far quicker at this angle.
It’s too much.
One of my hands leaves her body to attack my belt and pants. In what has
to be the quickest undressing of all time, my more-than-ready dick springs
from its cell to push at the supple satin of her dangling ass.
It’s been too damn long.
“I want to see you unravel like this.”
It’s her only warning.
I lift her until my tongue can dance on her nerves again. Thighs clamp
around my ears, muffling her cries but leaving my hands free to invade and
claim the rest of her.
One thrusts into her wetness like it’s the steel sliding against her bare
back as I work her body against mine. The other drops to her chest, flicking
between the bouncing lusciousness. I pull one of her nipples so far out she
could take it between her whimpering lips in this inverted position.
The visual is crude. It would scandalize the innocent neighbors to see the
beastly ways I pound my wife into marital bliss.
I fucking love it.
Every nerve in my body vibrates. The cardinal blush coats my wife's like
paint as blood pools in unusual places. My shaft swells, getting hungrier
when her body quakes, and those pretty tits actually hit her in the face a few
times with each rough dive my fingers take.
I circle her needy clit with my tongue, making the rounds smaller until
the tip of my tongue is vibrating, right where she needs it most.
I’m rewarded immediately by her hungry pussy, sucking my fingers like
it could milk my nut straight through them. Her back bows away from my
body as her knees release me, taking my treat right before her release
splashes down her inverted body.
My arms wrap around her waist, making a fleshy fulcrum as I tip her
head up and push her hips to rest on mine. I turn before I lay down on the
bed. Sable’s legs part on the descent, leaving her straddling my waist naked,
the head of my angry cock nudging her plush ass.
The whisper of a sigh releases from her pretty lips. She needed this as
much as I did. And I have so much more in store for her.
“Feel better?”
I ask as my hands trace up and down her bare spine, giving her chills
randomly so her sweaty body trembles.
“Yes.”
My perfect wife answers through the cutest fake pout I’ve ever fucking
seen.
I want to break her. I want to break with her. Our pieces fit better together
than apart.
“Wrath, I need you to ride. I can’t be in control yet. I need to fill you first.
It’s been too long since I got in there,” my left hand drops around her ass to
pet her puffy lips, swirling the wetness around but not quite into her “I
might really break you.”
The crimson-crowned vixen spreading her sweet body above me, shivers
from head to toe. The slickness under her hips spreads with the movement,
glossing my stomach with desire and fulfilled promises.
“You love to break me.”
She says in a husky mewl before covering my chest with hers and sinking
her teeth into the scarred flesh of my shoulder. I answer with a groan as my
hips buck, trying to get my dick beneath her again.
“In case you’ve missed it, I love to break you, too.”
My hands find her hips, the tips of my fingers digging into their silk,
manually rocking her naked slickness against me.
“Does that make us fucked up?”
I grin as I say it, enjoying the way her eyes hood a bit more when I
continue to move her excited body against mine.
Her knees dig into the mattress, stopping her movement. Her eyes look so
deep into mine, I wonder if she sees every secret I keep.
“You don’t ruin me.”
She sits up again, sliding her hips down until her lips glide along either
side of my painfully hard dick.
“I need to be broken, Kage.”
Her hips rock, sliding her scalding pussy up and down my steel.
“I need it. I can only do it with you.”
She whimpers when my hips raise as my hands push her clit roughly
against my hard dick.
“You will only do it with me.”
The smile that dawns on her face—as a sweet cry leaves her lips—keeps
the rage that flashed at bay.
“You don’t understand.” Her hips stop their movement as her gaze
swallows mine. “I can’t with anyone else. I can break with you. It’s okay.”
Her eyes dart between mine, willing me to understand. Some part of me
must because the boulder builds in my stomach again.
“It’s safe. I’m allowed to fracture and shatter because no harm will come
to me with you. I only trust you.”
Something emotional is happening. I have no idea what it is, but it’s
fucking with me physically.
My heart rate spikes, the blood pumping through my veins igniting at the
thought of her safety ever being compromised. My ears buzz and feel
numbly …floaty? That’s not a thing, but that’s what it feels like as
vibrations pulse between them; as my mind repeats that she trusts me, she’s
safe with me.
Only me.
“So when I say I need it, understand what I’m saying. I need the
satisfaction of knowing I have you, this one moment to unravel and break in
every way; knowing I’m safe to do it, because we always rebuild together.”
I don’t know how people respond to stuff like this. So I pull her into a
hug, closer proximity, making the ache in my chest lessen.
“I love you. I’d do anything to keep you safe.”
My wife giggles. Not the sultry laugh reserved for when we fight, or the
popping ha-ha-ha she gives in social situations. Sable Fox giggles in a way
that reminds me of a caffeinated squirrel chittering at my chest.
What is happening?
“I know.” She says, letting the giggles fade as her hips start to wriggle
again.
Somewhere in the room a phone rings, but not mine and not Sables. I’m
nearly on my feet, my wife still wrapped around me, when she pushes my
shoulder back with enough force to put me on my back again.
“It’s your phone. I added a special ringtone for your gir-”
The sound of my hand meeting her jiggling ass re-writes her sentence in
real time.
“For the bitch who keeps begging for me to fucking end her. She needs to
back off or I will kill her.”
Holy shit.
The snarl of her lips, raise of her eyebrows, and narrowing of her eyes tell
me it’s true. She would do it. She’s closer to being like me than I ever
considered hoping for.
Sable, threatening to kill Mueller, ignites a dormant need.
I could do it. I could make her like me. No painful backstory needed.
She’s already got the bloodlust.
My hips thrust. My length thickens; the weight below my stomach grows,
and my balls tighten. I’m close to coming just from the thought of Sable
partaking in my delights.
The woman in question smirks, grinding her weeping heat along me. Can
she feel my veins pulsing with the need to bust when she drags that needy
clit over them again and again?
“You seem to like the idea.”
Sable purrs, watching me with a scrutiny that should concern me. It just
turns me on. She’s seeing parts of me she shouldn’t.
I don’t care; I want more.
“Like isn’t the word, Wrath” I grind harder, slipping her far enough
forward to notch myself in her pleading entrance. It’s fucking pulsing,
suckling at my tip like a prayer. “Tell me. Spare no fucking detail about
how you’d kill her for wanting me.”
I shove into her, letting my desperation for her bleed into my actions
when my dick doesn’t stop until the base is flush with her ass. She screams
above me, her toes curling into my thighs at the same time her fingertips
plant themselves in my stomach. The color of her manicure seeps past her
fingertips where the nails penetrate my skin.
“So much for not breaking me.”
Sable pants as her warm silk pulses and spasms around me.
“I heard you love.”
My growl leaves her skin pebbled as I lift her to the tip of me and drop
her, savoring the blend of surprised shriek and moan that meets me.
“I fucking listen to my wife.”
I lift and drop her again.
Her plush heat has a death grip on my steel. Gravity won’t allow it to
hold her up; so she slams right down with a squeaky moan and gush of
pleasure where our bodies meet. Our slick sounds, and her louder-by-the-
drop moaning, are a cacophony of need as I repeat the action again and
again.
“Fuck, I missed you.”
I sink into her heat the same way, smiling when she tries to reiterate my
words.
“Perfect,” I growl before I take her again. “Goddess.”
She shudders over me, waiting for the next drop. Inside her, my shaft
quakes in tiny pulses, begging me to continue.
“I want a story, Wrath.”
My hands leave her hips as I speak, moving to cup the tits that I’ve
watched shake and bounce as I gravity-fucked her. I wanted to touch them
then, so I ease the frustration now.
Electricity crackles under each inch of velvet flesh my palms travel.
When my thumb and forefinger slide from beneath to encircle each hard
nipple; I squeeze, hard.
“Kage!”
The name turns moan as she grinds against me.
“A story, and a ride,” I growl, forcibly stopping her movements by
holding her hips in place.
“What story?” Her eyes are glassy, the golden hues hidden by the inky
layers of lust and need.
“The one about the wife who killed her husband’s co-worker for trying to
sleep with him.”
My cock grows as my balls tighten, the buzz at the base of my spine
going haywire.
“You really want me to tell you about how I’d kill someone while we…”
“Fuck. Yes. Tell me, baby.”
The silk strangling me tightens in response. Her gaze darkens before she
tilts her head to the side, evaluating me again. I like whatever conclusion
she came to, because her body relaxes against mine, and she leans forward
until her hard nipples graze my chest.
I’m still gripped in heat as her words brush against my lips, her focus
never leaving my eyes.
“You want me to tell you about how I’d kill her?”
I jerk inside her, my body reacting to her words like she bouncing for all
she’s worth above me.
“Please, Wrath.” My hands slide over her body, one caressing her hip
while the other pins itself between my pelvis and her clit. “Tell me, baby.
How would you do it?”
She sucks in a breath and cries out immediately, moving ever so slightly
with the rhythm of my thumb on her bundled nerves.
“I’d find out everything about her.”
“How?” The speed of my thumb increases and my gaze finally leaves her
so I can watch her hard nipples drag across my chest with each of her
answering bounces.
“I’d use her IG to track down her IP address, then her physical address.
Run a background check on her through a third-party source,”
My growls make her panting words hard to hear, but I can’t stop them.
I’m so close to exploding.
“Until I knew everything from her childhood pet’s name to the contents
of her bank account.”
“That’s so fucking hot, love. I’m about to come,” I lift her once,
slamming into her before returning my thumb to its place. “You’re doing so
good, lov. Give me more.”
Her movements become less stilted, more of my steel being pulled away
from and slammed back in as my thumb makes her speech sound wobbly.
Her words become jelly before her body reaches climax and does the same.
“I’ll find a piece of her schedule I can squeeeeeeze,” the molten sheath
encasing me fucking clenches as she says it “into. I’d have to drug her, get
her to—”
Her tale becomes a screaming orgasm. Her tits shake above me when she
throws her head back. My lips lock onto one of them, licking and sucking
her nipple while my arms circle her hips and waist. Never taking my mouth
from her body, I flip our positions.
I can’t wait any longer.
The damn breaks as soon as I have her on her back. I rut into her
spasming heat like an animal, pinning her arms at either side of her body so
I can see her shake with every thrust. I praise her in an all-consuming roar
as my body meets her bliss with its own; filling her until our mixed releases
drip from her perfect ass to my shaking thighs.
Slowly, the spasms subside and the tightness of my body loosens. I
release Sable’s wrists and fall to my elbows above her, grinning when she
squeals at the friction it creates. My lips graze her collarbone, leaving light
kisses from one side to the other as we come down from the high.
Residual tremors weave through her, gripping the part of me still inside.
My hips surge forward with each one, stoking embers still alight with her
flame.
Her pulse picks up when my mouth travels to her neck, steadily climbing
with my lazy thrusts and slick tongue. When my teeth sink into her fevered
throat, she screams and clenches.
The sound alone is enough to bring my diminishing length, shoving
through her slick heat, back to full attention. But the way her inner lips suck
me in like a mouth, desperate for another drink?
That makes it the only option.
“Again?”
My wife pants the question, the glorious of her naked body wriggling
beneath me as she does.
“Again.”
I grunt as the need to push inside her takes over again.
I want another angle.
Doubling up my pillow and laying her hips on it, I reposition us. Beneath
her, I sit on my knees, guiding myself back to bliss. Sable digs her fingers
into the top of the mattress, like a fucking champ.
“Good, brace for it, baby.”
Before I sheathe myself in molten silk again, I guide both of my wife’s
heels to my shoulders. I hold her stare as I speak.
“These don’t move, Wrath.”
I say, moving my hands up to her ankles, calves, knees, thighs, and
finally, to her perfect pussy. I spread the puffy lips with my hands, leaving
my thumb to stroke at a pace that will drive her to madness.
“That’s your only goal. Keep your heels planted.”
“And if I don’t?”
The smokey threat in her voice makes my dick jump.
“Then the count will rise, my beautiful wife.”
I want to keep staring into the depths of her, but the scene she makes is
too much. With her feet locked against my chest and her hips on the pillow,
she’s tilted backward again. Sweat covers her body with a slick sheen. The
intensity of our love is evident in the flush of her skin. It’s mesmerizing.
Her hair frames her head in a chaotic halo of blood-colored tresses.
It’s the little shutters that have my attention, though. The way excitement
becomes too much for her and it escapes in little bursts of shivers and
trembles.
“What count?”
She purrs, her left foot leaving its place to drag up and down the contours
of my abs. Her gaze heats as she does it, her body flexing on and around
mine.
“The amount of times I’m going to make this,”
My rough palm saws against the part of her sweet pussy that isn’t already
swallowing me; back and forth across the tight little bead that makes her
head fall back and her mouth drops open.
“Pretty cunt squirt, quake, and come before I let you stop.”
Her golden eyes overtake her face. Knowing how I feel might not be a
prerogative, but knowing how Sable feels; that’s been the mission since day
one. I know every emotion that flits across her gilded gaze as it devours me.
Raw hunger overtakes her shock before the fight settles in.
This woman is too perfect.
“And how many orgasms have I earned?”
“Twenty-seven.”
My words are steel, as though I didn’t just pick a number from the ethos
to add to from this moment on.
Sable erupts in laughter for only a moment before her flexing muscles
pulse around my length. Then she moans, a long drawn-out sound that ends
in a little sighing squeak as she bounces against me.
“Twenty-eight.” I amend, “Where should your foot be gorgeous?”
She follows the command before answering me, a cute little smile
peaking through the haze of lust, keeping her wriggling on me before I ever
start pumping.
“That’s not possible.”
She always says that seven is the lucky number; the amount of orgasms I
need to pull out of her exquisite body before they blend into one and her
personality splits.
She’s wrong.
It’s different every time. Whatever the digit is; she’ll wriggle beneath me
as the blistering vise of her pussy clamps and spasms, but instead of
stopping when the orgasm ends, it’ll slow down and roll into the next,
becoming something better.
Then she’ll change. The feral part of her taking over, rising to meet mine
until we lose ourselves in hours of sweaty screams and slick grunts.
“We’ll see.” I push into the grip of her velvet walls and remind her of our
earlier conversation. “I still want that story, Wrath.”
Her body flutters in response, the gentle squeezes drawing a curse from
me as I fall forward, shoving further in when I’m supposed to only be
teasing.
“Kage…”
Her voice trails off, getting smaller.
“It’s okay, baby. What we do in bed is just fun. The idea of you getting
mad enough to kill for me,” I shove further in, “makes me want to split you
in half.”
The battle in her reaches her brows. They pull together and fall apart as
she tries to think, but succumbs to the pleasure taking her. Lust wins. Lust
always wins with us.
“I’d have to dru-ahhhh,”
The moan that breaks her sentence is all wrong. It’s scratchy, like it’s
being forced from a dry throat.
If this is what a fake moan sounds like, I call bullshit on every man that
ever left his woman unsatisfied because ‘he couldn’t tell she was faking’.
Gently, I take her feet from their place to the bed. My body covers hers
and my hips stop the slow dive into her molten slickness.
Panic plays on her face and the need to bring her peace overrides
everything else as I cup her face on either side, holding her gaze to mine.
“Stop.”
My thumbs stroke her cheeks, and I wish my heart wasn’t pounding so
hard that I can’t keep track of hers.
“I never want to hear another fake moan. Ever, Sable.” Her lips tremble
and part, but I continue, “When you scream for me, I need it to be real. If
the story bothers you, tell me. You’re only meant to enjoy me, love. Never
placate. I’m going to spend my life finding a million ways to get the sexy
sounds you make. I need you to be honest about what doesn’t work for
you.”
Her eyes glitter, the unshed tears making me think I need to get the fuck
away from her. Give her space, that’s always what women need. But I
cannot fucking drag myself from her.
The boulder is back, shadowing me in its hazy horror.
“I like the way you see me.”
My head actually tilts when she says it; I’m so confused. Like a damn
dog.
“The ‘me’ in the story she’s not the one you love. What if I tell you a
stupid story about killing your co-worker and you can’t look at me after?
This is dark stuff, Kage. Like dungeon-level kink.”
My face must be showing my lack of understanding, because my perfect
wife sums it up for me.
“I’m scared seeing me covered in blood and killing people will also kill
your love for me.”
She had to have felt my heart jump at her words. She definitely felt me
swell inside her.
“I won’t see anything. It’s just a story. Your conscious is clear. I know
you feel it; how much I like the sound of that story.” I trail my thumb across
her bottom lip, dragging the plump center sideways. “But I only want it, if
telling it gets you hot enough to paint me with sticky Sable goodness.”
Her shoulders relax, and her gaze steadies.
“I’d have to drug her. Find a secondary location… like on the shows.”
My forehead drops to hers while I fill her slowly; not stopping until I can
feel the heat of her clit at the base of my dick.
“Smart, baby. That’s clever.”
I praise her, my hips rolling with excruciating slowness.
“I’d tie her down. Make sure she couldn’t escape.”
Her voice changes as she goes, getting surer, bolder the further she sinks
into my fantasy.
“I’d let her wake up naturally. Can’t have the drugs numbing what I do to
her.”
Fuck.
My pace increases, the steady slapping of our bodies picking up pace
with her story.
“I’d tell her she doesn’t get to speak. We both know why she’s here, and
nothing she can say will change it.”
Her words are feathers panted on moans. Light, unreal, better than I could
have imagined.
Don’t come. Fuck. Not yet.
My fists dig into the mattress on either side of her ribs, holding my body
off hers as my strokes turn into slams; pounding her harder with each word
she speaks. She slicks my sex with wet heat every time it shoves inside,
leaving her sheen on every vein and ridge.
“Since she’s so obsessed with numbers, I’d let them be what kills her.”
“Fuuuuuuckk” My inner monologue breaks into reality with a roar, but
Sable isn’t done.
“My knife, the one you gave me, would put holes in every inch of her
body.”
I almost explode.
The tingle in my spine becomes a hornet's nest of vibration. She’s talking
about the tri-edge trench knife. Illegal by Geneva Convention standards.
The damage it would inflict…
My hips meet hers harder when I move back to my knees, using the angle
to grind her G-spot with each stroke.
“That’s a dangerous weapon. You’d get soaked in blood.”
I pull one of her legs to my shoulder, rotating her halfway so I can stroke
deeper, plow harder. Too soon I’ll be painting her insides a very different
color than red.
“I don’t mind blood. I’d probably,”
Her words break as she screams through an orgasm that tears at my
resolve to hear the end of the story panting from her swollen lips. Before
she even comes down from her climax, she’s finishing the story, and
climbing the mountain again.
“I’d send you a selfie, all covered in what was left of the threat to our
marriage.”
My thumb meets her clit when she finishes while I helplessly rut into her,
restarting her orgasm and releasing mine. I praise her in growls and shouts
as my body erupts inside hers again.
“You’re so hot… so good, baby... I’d come to that picture… every-
chance... I got. Perfect... my perfect wife... my perfect love… my perfect…
Fuck, MINE!”
All the muscles in my body unwind at once, but my mind is still going.
I want it. To see her become the blood-covered angel of all my little
deaths.
Her breathing slows, and I let her leg slide from my shoulder to the bed,
but don’t leave her. Between us, our passion leaks out, sliding down the
seam of our bodies.
“Mine? That’s new.”
Her voice is light when it travels from the lazy smile gracing her divine
face.
“Not new.” I grunt, sliding my hands up her thighs. “You’ve always been
mine.”
She chuckles beneath me, making her partially inverted tits sway. I
should move the pillow, but I don’t.
I like her this way, at my mercy.
“What about the need to roar it like a damn bear in rut when you come?”
“I don’t know much about bears. Based on that sentence, I don’t think
you do either.”
Fast as a striking cobra, Sable punishes my smart mouth by pinching the
living hell out of my nipple.
“Yeah? What the fuck do you know about bears?”
“I literally just said: nothing.”
Her eyebrow quirks up at the same time as the side of her lip.
Synchronized annoyance.
It lights in her eyes and I’m so instantly ready.
“Which just so happens to be the same amount you do.”
Her hand zaps out, grabbing at the opposite nipple, but I’m too fast. I
catch it, bringing it to my mouth to nip and lick.
The brat doesn’t give me the time to do it before her other hand gets the
first nipple, plucking the damn thing what feels like a foot off my body.
“That’s it!”
My yell erupts around us with the heat and percussion of Vesuvius. It’s
met with Sable’s screeching laugh as she throws her leg around me, trying
to escape what she knows is coming.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
My words slip off her as readily as my hands do.
Fucking sex glaze.
She’s on her feet in a second. Naked, red, and glittering with exertion. My
wife jumps to the side of the bed, her arms held outward at either side, a
grin unlike any I’ve seen splayed on her face.
“Guess you know as much about where I’m going as I do about bears,
huh, handsome?”
She’s so happy. I don’t want it to stop.
I’ll finish her punishment later. Right now, all I want is to get my arms
around her.
“Sable, I don’t understand what’s happening.”
Her stance straightens, her arms dropping slightly as the poor sweet thing
considers my inabilities. I should feel bad playing her like this.
I don’t. Instead, I pounce when her shoulders drop.
I leap across the bed, landing at her feet and rising with her on my
shoulder. Usually, I’d slap her ass. So it’s no surprise when her hands cover
her lower half to stop me.
My fingers find her ribs, tickling up, and down them as I tell her
punishment is postponed.
Sable loses her shit. First, she squeals, then snorts, then rolls into
hysterical laughter.
It’s as good as sex; hearing her joy.
I toss her to the bed, climbing over her and attacking her knees, thighs,
hips, and armpits with failed and successful tickling attempts.
She doesn’t let it happen without a fight.
We become a blur of strikes and blocks, her laughing and begging me to
stop while her free hands search my flesh for a spot to tickle back. I’m on
the verge of telling her it’s pointless; when she lightly drags her fingernails
down my tricep.
Electricity shocks through my muscles, making them tense and shake. I
fall beside her, laughing like a lunatic.
She jumps on me, pinning my elbows under her knees while she tortures
me. I roar and fight through the laughter, careful not to throw her tiny body
off mine.
Finally, she collapses on me, puffing and laughing as hard as I am. She
stays on my chest, moving against my fingers as I trace her spine and push
through her hair.
“I love you, Kage.”
Her words are balmy, some hidden emotion threading too lightly through
them to identify
“I love you, Sable.”
I’m exhausted; utterly spent… and happy.
We stay tangled together naked on our thoroughly ruined bed. Her
breathing changes faster than usual. For a moment I think she’s faking
sleep. But a few short minutes later, her hands start.
At my sides, they twitch and turn with brief spasms.
She told me it was a side effect of the wreck that killed her foster parents.
Not an effect of addiction.
My gaze slides away from the rise and fall of Sable’s back in unison with
mine. It’s pulled to the needle displayed on her desk.
She said that was a med kit.
OceanofPDF.com
Twenty-Two
OceanofPDF.com
Twenty-Three
OceanofPDF.com
Twenty-Four
I press the hilt of the well-balanced Sgian-dubh in Sable’s palm. It’s a gift.
A very sharp gift that she joked might disembowel her if she missed.
“And then what would you do?”
“I’d kill myself, or let you.”
I answer honestly, never taking my attention from her gaze
“Why do you keep doing that? You’re supposed to say ‘scoop up your
guts’, or ‘take you to the hospital’, or something that makes sense.”
Sable growls, making her naturally low voice jagged gravel in my head.
“It was one thing with Mara, but you can’t solve every dispute with a
blade to your throat.”
“It’ll fix it.”
“How? How would killing the person who keeps me sane fix anything?”
Her sentiment crawls over my skin like ants, latching onto my nerves
with fiery pincers.
She spirals too?
“What makes you insane?”
“Right now? YOU!” Sable scoffs, shaking her head as a misplaced smile
tugs at her lips. “Life, husband. Life makes me insane. You’re the tether that
keeps me bound to the earth.”
“I hold you down? Cut the bond.”
I push the hilt of the dagger into her palm again. I’m offering her
freedom; a life away from me before I break into every corner of hers.
She throws it, sticking it an inch into the wall beside our bed.
“I’m not being held down by you. You’re the rope that winds in the
hollow place, you lead me out of it. You bind me to reality, sanity. To life.
Before you, I wasn’t great. If I’m forced to live after you; the last piece of
me, the bit that never cracked, will shatter.”
“My instinct is to destroy anything that harms you. Even if it’s me. How
else do I fix you?”
She pulls me to our bed, settling on the ashen comforter with her back
leaning against the metal fillagree of our headboard. Her hands don’t
release mine when I sit in front of her.
“You don’t. I fixed myself. Don’t make me do it again.”
“How?”
“The way you did with Mara.”
She tells me not to go straight to elimination, then cites exactly that. The
full human experience is bitter in my mouth.
It doesn’t improve when she pulls her hands from mine to absent-
mindedly apply sweet-vanilla-something lotion as she speaks.
“I was seventeen seconds from disemboweling her on the lawn.”
“You stopped when I told you to.”
Is she intentionally ignoring the part where she dislocated my shoulder
and choked me?
“You took me down.”
She stops rubbing her hands together, placing the decorative bottle back
on her nightstand before she gives me all her attention. The combination of
vanilla and cedar fills the air as she gestures while speaking.
“No, I told you to follow me. Then I went into the room ahead of you.
You could have turned, tried to hurt her then. You didn’t.”
“Because you proved you weren’t having an affair.”
She shakes her head, blood-toned curls bouncing around her face as she
gives me an upside-down smile.
“No, my love, I didn’t. I told you I wasn’t. I backed it up with solid
evidence, but you believed me before then. You listen to me. In everything
you always have. For a domineering guy outside and inside the bedroom,
I’ve always been in control here. You already trust me.”
Her hand again comes to rest on mine, becoming the tether she claims I
am.
Above anyone else.
And yet, you plan on sneaking out to dig up all her skeletons.
“I only trust you.”
“I think the voice in your head makes things harder.”
How does-
She’s not talking about me.
“The voice?”
“It’s this thing in your mind constantly scraping at the edges, whispering
things that scare you, promising they’ll come true.”
Sounds like she’s talking about you.
“It’s anxiety. My safety makes you anxious. My happiness does.”
Told you.
“Anxiety.”
I repeat the word, rolling it over my tongue as I associate it with the exact
feeling she described.
You know what it is.
I’m not an idiot.
Experience always differs from knowledge.
It’s bullshit. A flaw in evolutionary design.
“Are you worried about Mara living there because you think the guy will
come back?”
I take my time, considering what she’s saying, cataloging it against
everything that’s happened.
The answer is no; I don’t believe he’s a threat anymore. I am concerned
with his whereabouts, though, so I answer that instead.
“Yes.”
“And you don’t want her to get hurt?”
Her eyebrows gather over the cute scrunch of her nose when she asks.
“I don’t care if she gets hurt.”
She can always hire a new receptionist. Sable rolls her eyes, her face
turning toward the ceiling before she gathers herself and asks,
“Why do you care at all, then?”
Because I’m less than twelve hours from knowing your secrets.
“If he hurts her, you’ll go to her. He could hurt you.”
It’s only a partial lie. The fear of that exact scenario kept me awake for
two days. I’m just not harboring it anymore.
“Something happening to her would hurt me.”
Her golden eyes search mine, willing me to understand. To my surprise, I
do. The best way to harm me would be through my wife. Her circle includes
this girl.
“He won’t hurt her.”
“I know. This is where I need you to understand me. Feeling things isn’t
your specialty,” she reads my expression and adds, “outside of me. But I
have them, a metric-shit-ton of them. I promised to protect Mara. I worry
for her. If it wasn’t completely safe for her to be back at her place, I’d never
allow it. He will not show up there again.”
She thinks she’s reassuring me; she’s confirming my suspicions.
“How do you know?”
“He had warrants. The landlord turned his location in to the police and
they scooped him right up.”
No, he didn’t. Alex is missing and Sable knows it.
“Please, trust me, husband. That man will never step foot in our lives
again.”
I hate to make her a liar, but I will. He’ll be back in my life tonight.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
Sable repeats. Bewilderment and suspicion, painting her magnificent
face.
I know how to curve that.
“Yes. You need to have dinner now. I plan on punishing you soon.”
“Kage!”
Sable screams my name as she falls, swallowed by bliss as the seventh
orgasm pulls her under. I demand more while I feast on her mouthwatering
pussy.
“More. Give me another one. I need more, Wrath.”
Her nails scrape across my scalp and ears when her back arches. It’s
everything; the way she gets inside my skin. Her touch makes pain
euphoric. I’ll never get enough.
My hips slam into the bed below her extraordinary body, as my name
becomes a long stretch of vowels and her thighs clench around my ears.
“Fuck, you taste so good. So sweet, so damn hot.”
My tongue never stops the assault; licking and flicking her in a rhythm
like a drum roll, growing faster and faster to keep her peaked. My fingers
move inside her slick tightness, forward and back, massaging her swollen
G-spot each time.
My thumb takes the place of my stiff tongue, rolling over her swollen clit
as I move up her body. I leave a kiss above her belly button before my
tongue travels her center, only stopping when her breasts are on either side
of my face. My teeth sink into the firm flesh of one, then the other, making
her scream and soak my fingers.
I trace wet circles around her hard nipple with my mouth, teasing and
tasting the supple, gathered flesh while her hips buck into my palm. My free
hand works opposite my mouth; roughly squeezing the supple, bouncing
skin. It becomes a discordant rhythm of caresses, slaps, and pinches that
make my red angel squeal and clench.
My pace, on and in her orgasm-swollen center, increases when I take the
peaked flesh between my teeth, holding it tight while my stiff tongue flicks
the tip like it was her clit. I grunt and growl through my work, demanding
more.
“Let go, baby, soak me one more time and I’ll give you my cock.”
The symphony I’m orchestrating with her body comes to a crescendo of
silence when her screams slip into soundless notes. Her body arches until
she looks possessed, only anchored to the bed by her head, and the hand
working her spasming heat. Every muscle in her body clenches and holds
for the sweetest moments of my life, and then she collapses.
The hand on her chest rounds her ribs to her back. It makes the descent
gentle, her sweaty body meeting the silky sheets with the grace it deserves.
Slowly, I rise from her, gently taking my hand from her warmth and
bringing it to my mouth. My tongue revels in the flavor of another victory
as it overtakes my senses, drowning me in the scent and sugary-sharp taste
of her bliss.
“That’s eight.”
My voice is hard, harsher than I mean it to be.
“Fuck, that’s…”
A little smile graces her lips and her eyes fall closed. Hair clings to her
glowing face in little cardinal rivers. The story of our last two hours paints
her skin in a deep blush. She is simultaneously serenity and lust personified.
“You’re not done, Wrath.”
I lay down beside her, tracing my fingers down her buttery throat,
between her abused breasts, splaying my palm beneath them. She chuckles
lightly and opens one eye to look at me.
“Who said I was?”
My palm slides lower, stopping when only the tip of my middle finger
grazes her flushed bud.
“Tell me again.”
Sable rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but the smile on her lips is
playful.
“Candy apple.” Her eyes meet mine, and they burn into my soul. The heat
there has been different since last night. “If I can’t handle it, I’ll say candy
apple.”
“Thank you.”
It’s my only response before my fingers start their work again. I find her
throat with my mouth, painting it with kisses and bites while I settle my
weight between her legs.
Her breathing turns sharp immediately, quick pulls of air jerk into her like
a piston valve.
This punishment is a fantasy of hers, and mine. Telling her I’d fuck her
into a coma turned into an idea.
Now, I’m going to make my wife come until she passes out. We’ve been
talking about it, setting boundaries and expectations, for months. The
timing couldn’t be better.
“Shit, Kage-”
Sable sputters as my cock shoves into the scorching slickness of her
perfect pussy. Spasms flutter around every inch she takes.
“You’re going to come before I get all the way in. Shit, so good, love.”
It’s so hot. The pressure builds in my groin. I’ve watched her unravel
again and again tonight, but not this quickly.
“Ye-ye-”
“I know,”
I grunt, slamming my hips forward, spearing her until our bodies are
flush. She pulses around every inch of my throbbing shaft. When the
spasms rob me of my last ounce of patience, draining it with every suckling
pull of her scaling body, I resume my mission.
“I can feel it building, baby. This tight little cunt wants to explode again.
Give me another one, Wrath.”
She does; screaming my name and arching so that her tits jut and shake
while she thrashes.
“Come all over that cock, baby,”
My hips move and the pace immediately becomes punishing, making my
wife squeal and squeeze around me when her pleasure peaks.
“I’m not gonna stop, Sable.”
My thumb brushes her clit at the same pace as my hips, while I ravage
her like a beast. Her body is loose, moving with the rhythm I slam into
again and again.
“So tight and wet… too beautiful, you’re too beautiful.”
Her orgasm slows, but I don’t. My pace doesn’t change. I keep fucking
into her plush body like I’ll die if I don’t.
I need her to come again; to see her eyes glaze and her teeth chatter.
“Another one. Give me one more Sable.”
The bed frame creaks with my savage thrusts. Her moaning reply mingles
with it between lascivious groans.
“Wii…waiitt…ooo…shit, Kage…I can’t again,”
Sable pants the denial, her tongue dragging across her bottom lip
afterward, begging me to ignore what she just said. Her heat clenches and
spasms around me again, ready to fall off the edge already.
“You can.”
I lift her legs over my shoulders, angling so I can go deeper, harder. My
legs burn from the pace, but all I focus on is the euphoria of anchoring
myself in the goddess murmuring unintelligible words.
“You will. One more.”
My breath is choppy, the words edged as they fall between the violent
meeting of our bodies.
“I could come right now. Fill this perfect hole till it spills out. You first,
baby. Give it to me.”
I almost follow her when she screams, giving me what I asked for.
She’s limp, but I don’t stop. My thumb works her clit as I impale her
sleek body. Immediately her body tenses, ready to blow again.
Fuck… tight… wet… so fucking pretty.
“One more, Sable, give me one more!”
I bark the command like a madman, tearing us both apart with feral need.
Need to feel her come again, need to hear her scream, need to come so
deep inside it seals us together.
My world screams for me again, quaking around my still-pumping dick.
“Another. I need another. One more baby.”
I chant the words before she’s even come down; falling to my elbows, her
legs still on my shoulders, my hips still punishing her.
My hands move to her head, creating a crown above her. A halo I use to
keep her in place while I slam into her again and again.
“FUCK!”
Sable screams as one orgasm rolls straight into the next. Her body is
convulsing around me, tightening, clenching, soaking us until the sucking-
slap sounds we make are as loud as she is.
I demand more.
“Fuck yeah, Wrath, you’re amazing, baby. Give me one more. Just one
more.”
Sweat slides down my back, making her nails glide too easily off my
needy flesh. I want them to cut me, mark me with bloody paths of accolade.
She convulses, screaming and soaking my rolling stomach.
I don’t slow down, I only demand more.
“Another one, Sable. One more.”
She complies again, this one rolling into so many I don’t have a count.
The base of my spine tingles and my balls tighten.
“Again, one more beautiful. Come for me again.”
She screams, arching her body into mine. I can’t stop myself from
erupting into her scalding grip this time. My forehead falls to hers, and I
pound harder than I ever have, her name a looping prayer on my lips as I
empty all of me into her.
When it’s over, Sable isn’t moving or speaking.
She’s already sound asleep, a dizzy smile on her face, my still hard sex
planted against her cervix. The laugh that rumbles us makes her squeal a
little in her sleep, but I don’t care.
She’s so cute. I’ve missed it. For three years, I only saw the brutal badass
who took and gave what I did; lust. This version, the one growing in love; is
a whole new woman.
A part of me missed her before I knew her. Like this one piece has been
missing. My fingers trace the damp skin of her face, pulling the sticky
strands from her face.
I almost fucked it up.
I damn near let our lives pass without leaning into this; into us. The
warmth that pools in my chest, as I watch the color on Sable’s skin slowly
reset in rest, is familiar now. I love this woman; wholly, impossibly,
consumingly—I ache for every facet of my precious wife.
Without a sound I drag myself from her, noting her face as my finally
softening length is taken from her. She’s fucking pouting in her sleep.
Does she want me to sleep with my dick inside her?
I think not, but the idea is intriguing and I’m resolved to ask later.
Right now I need to wash and care for my woman, get her settled in bed;
and then go talk to the man I thought was her drug dealer.
Two hours later, I’m wearing a full kill suit with a very special mask, as I
finally get to Craighill Construction’s latest site. Union workers walked off
a week ago, leaving the near-building alone.
Perfect for hiding.
I’m five feet into the back entrance when I find plastic sheeting in a
section of the foundation that will be poured tomorrow; if Craighill is smart
enough to listen to his workers. The plastic throws me. We’re so close to the
entrance… it couldn’t be here.
No way.
Definitely not.
Still, my body moves as it should, carefully marking each step as I
approach the plastic. It’s not even fully buried; maybe a foot deep.
Construction debris. Someone didn’t wanna go all the way to the dumpster,
so they buried the used sheeting since it’s all getting covered in cement,
anyway?
I get to my knees, and the scent of pressurized ozone overwhelms me. It’s
my mask, filtering and disguising the air I breathe.
Fuck.
I can’t feel the plastic crunch under my gloved hands, but I can hear it.
And it sounds fucking cheap.
Irritation crawls over me in waves, grating against my skin like gravel.
Sloppy.
I’m not being careful anymore. The scene already needs to be re-. I rip
the bullshit excuse for sheeting away and stare at the puffy corpse inside.
It’s not entered the full-bloat stage, there’s no foamy blood coming from
its purple lips.
Thank fuck for that.
His bulged and bloodshot brown eyes stare into the abyss he crossed into
two days ago.
“Hello, Alex.”
My voice sounds foreign to me, no doubt filtered by the bio-hazard mask
made specifically for these situations.
Sable killed him.
It’s the only explanation.
I don’t have to make her a killer. She’s already there.
Is she? Or is she motherly, and this dude came at her cub?
Look at the wound on the neck. No hesitation, quick, efficient.
Strangling someone like that takes more strength than people think. She
kept whatever she used in place—and tight, far past the point he stopped
struggling. She held on until she knew he was dead.
I’m not the only murderer in my marriage.
You could realize that with considerably less enthusiasm.
I really couldn’t.
I stand, and my foot crunches on the fucking plastic again, raising my
blood pressure. She’s experienced. I have no doubt about that. The timing
alone was too quick. The wounds tell a matching story.
She went to a bar with him. Was seen with him. Fuck, she had connections,
too. And then she used half-ass killing supplies?
She’s too smart to be this dumb. Something isn’t adding up.
She didn’t have a teacher, asshole.
She does now.
OceanofPDF.com
Twenty-Five
“It’s been thirty-eight days. She hasn’t killed anyone. Not a second of her
schedule is out of place or unaccountable.”
My voice booms in the hollow room. The man I’m talking to doesn’t
flinch at the sound; he simply cocks his silver head and furrows wily brows
above wrinkle-encased hazy grey eyes.
“Do you have cameras in her office?”
His voice withered with age but still powerful, asks honestly. I shuffle,
my feet displacing the hay strewn about the barn floor.
“No. I created her firewall, but someone fucked with it afterward.
Probably Mara.”
When the man lifts his brows, I answer the unsaid question.
“A girl who works for her. Wrath saved her, and now she’s Sable’s Jekyll-
and-Hyde office manager. My wife loves her.”
The words grind out easier than they did the first time I said them in my
head. Pieces of me understand that it’s okay for her to love people that
aren’t me. Others don’t. All of them want her happy, which makes Mara an
unmovable factor.
“I remember Sable saying the girl had a conference once; I think was
technological.”
“Why?”
“Sable’s tracer went dead the night Alex died. Vanished. Doesn’t make
sense.”
“There are a million ways to blind a plant.”
“If you know it’s there.”
“Fair play.”
Servo Caltini sits back in his worn rocking chair. His gaze is far away; no
doubt thinking through the problem. Mine takes him in.
This is who I thought I’d be at sixty-five. Servo is one of the deadliest
men to come out of the Caltini crime family, and my latest assignment.
Forty years ago, he forcibly put his father in charge of a burgeoning
alliance of terrible people. Thirty-seven people died by his hand. All of
them technically fit our code, so we didn’t care; until his father started
hiring us.
Servo worked with my dad once. Somewhat. In so far as he and Dad
showed up to kill the same person, and didn’t kill each other. Somehow it
sparked an off-the-books friendship.
Servo looks strong.
He’s always had the meathead physique, but it looks like he’s put twenty
pounds of muscle on since I saw him last. The sleeves of the white shirt
struggle against the bulk of his arms as they cross over his chest.
Scared?
Fuck off. I’ve had Servo's number since I was fifteen.
Still…
“You sure it’s time to call it old man?”
“Yes. First your problem. Has your schedule changed since you decided
she was like us?”
Fuck yes.
I haven’t done a day’s worth of data migration in a month. I’ve just been
watching her.
“Yes.”
“Has she been watching you longer than you’ve been watching her?”
“It’s possible. This weekend is the first time I’ve been away since I found
out, I’ve been watching the feed, but everything is normal.”
“Good luck. Margaret knew my reputation long before we met, so I never
had these problems. In hindsight, not hiding improved my life. You Wilde’s
cannot say the same. Come,”
He stands, moving to the center of the old barn, brittle straw crunching
under each step.
“It’s time to fight.”
The old man squares up, and I won’t lie; it’s impressive.
“Why now?”
I question, taping the wrap on my wrist.
“The memories bleed. I…” The man's face falls, a shadow crossing his
features, “I thought Margaret was a ghost. I almost killed her before reality
turned toward me again.”
“Fuck,”
“Yes, fuck.” The old man taps his knuckles together. “She must be safe.
We fight.”
He holds his fist for me to tap, and I do.
If I was a danger to my wife, I’d call in the cavalry too.
He strikes first, jabbing with his left hand as his feet dance him forward
and back. My right hand knocks the blow away.
He used to be faster.
You both used to be younger.
My jab strikes true, breaking his nose, spraying us both in a mist of
crimson. Servo backs up and his eyes look lost until they land on me again.
“Nico? I have to kill you twice?”
The lines between reality and delusion blur as he relentlessly pursues his
imagined adversary.
Nico?
In his eyes, I am no longer the son of his only friend; but a phantom, a
target for his uncontrolled fury. I brace myself for each blow, feeling the
sting of his hatred pierce my soul.
Fight back, dumbass.
My fists stay at my ear and chin, blocking anything that comes for my
face. I allow blow after blow to snap against my core, waiting for the man
to come back from his madness so he can die how he intended to.
His fists fly with relentless fury, a blur of rage and desperation. Each
blow reverberates through the empty room, echoing off the decaying
wooden walls. They mix with our grunts and growls to fill the space in a
primal symphony of violence.
I can wait him out.
I dodge and weave, feeling the whoosh of his punches as he unleashes a
relentless onslaught. His black eyes burn with determination. He’s a beast
hunting; and I look like a rival wolf.
I fucking love this.
Each landed strike is lightning on my skin. The pain is there, hidden
behind the adrenaline that surges with every impact.
He’s not coming back. Put him out of his misery.
I fight back, as precise as he is unhinged. My fists bash his ribs, chin,
skull… everywhere. Each hit lands with a satisfying thud, but he only
grows more ferocious until he’s a blur of sweat and brutality.
Sweat drips from his brow, mingling with the still-flowing river from his
nose, but he never stops attacking.
Copper fills my mouth when his fist lands against my teeth. I strike back,
catching him in the ear hard enough to throw his balance.
He stumbles for a moment, and then charges. His movements are wild.
There’s no finesse, only raw, unbridled aggression. The barn on his back
forty has become a battleground for his inner demons. I chose this chaotic
dance; to observe his savage display.
One last time.
Servos remains a relentless force, attacking whatever ghost he sees me as,
fighting like a fucking animal. Three jabs come for me in quick succession
as he crowds my space; pushing me backward so I have enough space to
block.
The knee to my groin I never saw coming. I cough, doubling over for a
split second before I twist away, circling behind him in movements fluid
from rigorous drills.
He might kill you. Wonder what your Wrath will do then?
With my back to his, I grab the bottom of his jaw with both hands,
wrenching his body over mine by throwing my weight forward and taking a
knee. When his chest lands in front of me without the crack of his spine; I
roll forward over his back, his head still in my hands.
The sharp snap of his death doesn’t fill me the way it should. I lie there,
gripping his lifeless head in my hands, and the world remains mundane.
No vibrant hues paint the scenery, no melodic symphonies fill the air.
The stillness I yearn for eludes me.
Instead, there is only the acrid stench of sweat mingling with the metallic
tang of blood. The room is suffocating. My heart pounds in my chest, a
steady rhythm of adrenaline-fueled anticipation.
The fading warmth of the body beneath me is a grim reminder of the
violence that transpired. Despite that, there is no catharsis, no release. Only
a hollow emptiness that lingers, as if the battle waged was never meant to
be won.
Maybe because you just murdered your dad’s only fucking friend?
This was a favor. Why would I feel bad about it? It’s her. I want to do this
with her now.
You’re so fucked up.
Says the voice in my head.
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Twenty-Six
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End of part one.
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A Rose steeped in blood
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Part Two
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Twenty-Seven
Sable
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Twenty-Eight
Sable
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Twenty-Nine
Kage
Sable’s skin pebbles under my hands as they travel over her; experiencing
the satin of her body while I quench my never-ending thirst.
More.
Her silky hair feels like wonder as I wrap it around my fist, angling her
head so I can deepen the kiss.
I have to stop.
My breath is ragged when I pull away, the rough sound matched by the
ones my wife makes. Without thinking, I dive into what she needs to know;
so I can have what I need.
“Wilde Securities is a front. People like me learn to use our need for
destruction to keep us safe and very well funded. Anyone with my last
name, that works in our company, is a serial killer.”
I’m going to tell her everything.
Do it. All of it. About the academy, about me.
Heaviness builds in my stomach. I’m not ready for that.
“Who do you kill?”
Her gentle voice isn’t accusing.
I tell her about the Matriarch’s code of unethics and the tenets we’re
raised to follow. The handbook comes to my mind. The picture of it is so
tangible, I relay it to Sable; exactly as I read it aloud every day for ten
years. I speak the words laid out in formal font behind my eyelids;
When I finish and open my eyes, I find churning gold—staring through
me like she’s seeing the pieces of me I haven’t shared.
“It could almost be heroic.”
Sable sighs, her fingers skating down the same length of her hair until the
strands separate so she can smooth them again.
“It’s not,” I grunt in reply. “Our matriarch was, I think. It’s hard to gauge.
The only thing that made me feel before you was watching color overtake
the world in shades of death.”
Liar. Tell her about me. Eliminate the last secret. Trust this one person with
everything, Kage.
You aren’t her. You’re a piece of me that won’t join her in the grave.
Sable continues, unaware of the conversation in my head.
“Still, you choose not to take life outside your code. I like your code. It’s
kind of wonderful.”
Her voice is ethereal, a spectre embracing me as terror and hope find
footing in my head. They claw for dominance in a place they’ve never had
the title.
I should push them out, but I don’t. I’m too strung on to every word as
the woman I allow myself to feel for tells me she sees beauty in my
darkness. The way I see it in hers.
And yet you keep her from knowing the other half of you.
She’s the other half of me.
Now she is, but she wasn’t always. She deserves to know.
Every fact about you. Every weakness.
“I get it. Why she did it—your matriarch—it was smart,” Sable’s voice
grows firmer, the spectral tinge fading as her thoughts solidify “a way to
keep her loved ones from losing parts of themselves they can’t feel, while
keeping those who do, safe from creatures who sold it in their pursuits.”
“What is it?” My voice is foreign, wonder and fear break through in
cracks I don’t understand.
“It’s the pieces of you that aren’t bound to your bones. Sometimes I see it
in your eyes, sparks in the cunning of your gaze. Like it’s guiding you
against all odds, steering you toward using your impulses in a way that
gives it more power within you.”
Her hands finally leave her hair to land on my leg, the tips of her fingers
digging in until the tiniest bite of pain grounds me, steadying me for what
she plans to say next.
In this moment, I know the emotion trying to break free, and I let it, like I
always have. My love for this woman runs unchecked.
“I can feel mine still, barely. It,” her voice breaks, before she finishes her
hushed confession, “was almost gone when we met. I’d gotten lucky.
Targets were practically lining up. I killed nine people in one year. It was
hard at first.”
She’s quiet for a minute. I want to encourage her, tell her I’m listening,
but she knows. When her gaze finally crawls back to mine, I feel like I can
breathe. There’s so much happening in her, I can see all of it in her eyes.
“I didn’t think it would be. Hard, that is. I thought it would be easy to
destroy the monsters that destroyed me.”
“You were wrong?”
The question is stupid. She just told me she was. But I can’t wrap my
head around it.
Killing is easy, clean.
“Yes. You were born with your darkness. I wasn’t. I didn’t grow and learn
with it; I was branded with it. Forced to hold it as close to me as I’d held
my identity until the two became one. I didn’t know about the balance. The
push and pull of the parts still bathed in light and the pieces that embraced
the dark.”
“What is it? The thing you’re talking about, the one people in my family
can’t feel; the part of you bathed in light?”
“Our souls. The part of us that exists as something more than the sum of
our means. That part of me didn’t like the killing. Or the lying. Or any of
what I’d become. Every time I stole the light from someone’s eyes, a little
of mine went out, too. But the nightmares eased. The world was safer. I was
safer. The darkness kept me untouched. I didn’t care that it was blocking
out the light.”
“And then you met me. And I made you come until you saw starlight?”
The joke lands, gifting me with a snorting chuckle from my wife.
“And then I met you. And you loved me until I saw things beyond my
shadows. My soul, so close to being ripped away by my hand, found a place
in me again. In the things that we did; the way we had joy and laughter. In
good things. You didn’t even know it was love,” she laughs, like knowing
what I feel when I’m completely disconnected made my ignorance okay
“but you loved me. You said it often enough, but I knew you thought it was
a lie.”
“How did you know it wasn’t?”
I counter; my voice raw. It’s like I’ve always been made of paper, and she
can peel layers apart and look wherever she chooses. Places I can’t see. She
can.
“I got sick. The week before we got married.”
“I remember.”
I hate this memory. Seeing her weak, the way the coughs racked her body
in waves. The fever. It was the first time fear had crept into me since I was a
child.
“This reaction,” she waves her hand to my fists, clenching beside me, “is
exactly what I’m talking about. I got sick, and you acted like an apocalyptic
event was taking place.”
“It was. You don’t remember the fever,”
“YOU don’t remember,”
Sable interrupts me, her voice filled with humor. It’s out of place. We’re
talking about her health, and she’s laughing at me.
“I had strep. I was fine once I got the antibiotics. You weren’t. You, dear
husband, who I adore, were losing your fucking shit.”
“That’s not how I remember it.”
“You assaulted the ER doctor for laughing when you suggested an ice
bath to bring down my temperature.”
“He shouldn’t have laughed.”
My pulse picks up. It beats at my neck and chest when I think of the
sound he was making before my knuckles fixed it.
"You weren’t well.”
“My fever was only one hundred degrees. He thought you were joking. I
did too.”
“Six pins and two surgeries later, he wasn’t laughing.” I growl.
Sable chuckles before winning the argument.
“A quarter-million dollars richer to settle outside of court, probably
makes him smile to this day.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I huff, bringing the conversation back. “Me being the
type of asshole to break a doctor’s face doesn’t scream love.”
“It absolutely does. Especially when you lose the one thing you covet
above all else to do it. You lose control when it’s about me. You love me,
and not being able to control everything around me makes you crazy,” she
cocks her head as she examines me with exaggerated scrutiny, “well
crazier.”
I let the humor roll through me, laughing as I push my wife backward
until we’re standing in the center of our shower. The natural stone circling
us on three sides creates a cavern, making my words echo.
“I’ve always loved you.”
“Even when we didn’t know each other.”
“That didn’t last long.”
I grind, sliding my hand to her thigh, moving until my fingers bury
between it and its twin.
“Didn’t it? You saw my job for the first time last month. We’ve talked
about real things more in the last hour than we have in the last three years.
We basically dragged the initial hookup out until you thought I was
cheating on you.”
“I’m-“
“No. We shouldn’t be sorry. But, we can’t keep secrets anymore,” Sable’s
eyes search mine as she continues, “not telling someone you’re a serial
killer is just good sense. From here on out, though, we share our whole
lives.”
She sees my physical reaction but doesn’t slow down.
“I’m not asking you to share every moment of your past in the next five
minutes. I’m asking you not to hide any of it. If it's relevant or comes to the
surface we share it.”
How do I do that? How does she?
“Can you handle that?”
“It’ll be like swallowing those little squares of glass that surround a car
wreck... but I have to. I need to trust you totally. I need that from you.”
“You have it.”
My answer was quick, so quick I can count the worries that form on her
brow as disbelief crowds her mind.
“I’m serious, Wrath. I want to be what you need. Honesty is a cheap price
to pay for it.”
“See, that sounds pretty heroic to me.”
Her smile is slow but so brilliant I stop breathing. I want to bathe in it,
soak for days in the languid beauty of this radiant woman who chooses me.
“For you, I could be a hero. Just for you.”
“Okay, Superman.”
“Superman would let Lois die for the greater good. I can’t even tell what
the greater good is without a guide.”
My thumb slides across the silk of her jaw until it reaches her lips. I tug at
the pillowy softness there, my vision rapt to the glinting of her tongue as I
open her mouth and speak my last words at her lips.
“I’d steal the air from every lung in existence to keep you breathing.”
A shutter passes through her as I release her and pull away, moving
toward the shower knobs.
“You’re right, Superman is a bad title for you.”
The heat of the shower steadily increases with the turn of my hand until
the devil himself would piss vinegar in his eye before crawling beneath the
liquid flames our seven-foot rainfall shower spews.
“Perfect.”
Sable sighs, her arm outstretched in the inferno.
“Get in, not all the way. Stand in the dry half.”
My words come out rough, harsher than I meant them to. Lust is making
a beast of me as I watch the water beneath her arm churn with the blood of
her kill. When her gaze snaps to mine, I see the same hunger in me
mirrored.
“I need to watch it wash away, Wrath.”
My voice is low, raspy as I beg and command with the same breath.
“I thought blood was the first taste of beauty for you. You’re quick to
remove it.”
Smoke and lust weave through her voice as she teases me.
“It was. Past tense, Sable.”
I’ve been waiting so long to have her like this, longer than I knew.
Longer than possible. The pounding in my veins feels like I’ve been waiting
for this last mask to fall away.
To share every piece of each other: the bliss and agony, the control and
release, the monsters and lovers.
I’ve seen other facets, but not this one. The beast in me delights in her
blood-spattered beauty.
I move past her, standing under the licking flames of water pouring down.
Pulling her in; I usher her to the dry portion of our shower, pushing her
down onto the heated built-in stone bench.
“Wrath, you eclipsed every ounce of beauty in this world from the first
day I saw you.”
I stand above her; splashes of the water hitting me, mists around her. The
silk blouse, painted in strokes of death, sticks to her skin.
I kneel. My front half is dry while my back is pelted with fire as I reach
for her buttons.
“I wished for this. It’s not what I expected.”
I speak slowly, intending my words to show the love behind them. Only
feral lust is clear in my low growl. I continue my work, removing each
button before peeling away the fabric.
“Fuck, love,”
I let my forehead fall to hers, my vision never straying from her naked
torso.
The skin is stained pink in large patches where blood leeched through the
fabric to touch her flesh. Lucky blood. Her nipples are puckered, hard, and
splotchy with the evidence of her kill. I might come on myself like a
fucking teenager.
“Not what I expected at all.”
“What did you expect?”
Heat and honey coat me with her words. Her gaze is fixed on me, but it’s
roving. The gleaming gold caresses over my skin like a visceral thing,
taking in every inch of me as the red I bear streams away with the water.
I don’t need to take off the scrap of fabric that played as her skirt tonight,
to know the thong beneath it is getting steadily wetter. She’s as turned on as
I am. Somehow, this perfect creature wants all my facets, like I want hers.
“I expected to want to bury myself in you until every hole spits me out.
Then I’d add ropes of white to the red staining your pretty skin.”
I untie the “skirt” and let it fall around her. I was right, she’s soaked. With
a quick tug, I pull the last of her clothes down her legs and away from her.
Pressure builds in my spine. She’s too much. An angel of wrath and lust
spread before me, imploring me with her molten gaze.
My radiant killer.
My savage rapture.
Carmine and crimson stripe her like paint on canvas. Deep hues pool in
the places her skin was bare. More vibrant tones linger like hazy strokes
where she wasn’t.
This art isn’t meant to be permanent. It’s designed to fade so the original
beauty can radiate again. I facilitate the need by putting my hands on the
stone behind her shoulders. Water slides from my shoulders, down the bulge
of my biceps, and spouts from my bent elbows.
Sable gasps when the liquid heat rains on her chest; the twin steams
coming from me turn dark as they streak down the curves of her body.
Her eyes meet mine, demanding my attention. I will always provide, and
I do now; locking onto the golden fire that drives me to madness and
redemption.
Pain sears through me at the same moment they flick away.
The mist on my wife’s beautiful body becomes less water than blood,
coating her in thick, fresh drops.
And then the sound of the gunshot that created the red rain registers in
my head.
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Thirty
Sable
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Thirty-One
Kage
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Thirty-Two
Sable
Laughter seems wrong here, harmonizing with the rush of water behind me,
yet it flows from me with a lightness I haven’t experienced enough of. Kage
doesn’t find humor.
Which makes me laugh twice as hard.
“With them?”
His voice is aghast, genuinely offended.
I’m fucking dying of laughter. After everything, it wasn’t blade or needle
that took me; it was the joining of my two worlds.
“Why are you here Mara?”
There’s a comforting ease in his tone with her that steadies me. He isn’t
putting on the mask. He’s trusting her.
No. He’s trusting me, and I trust her.
“Uhhh, are you serious right now? I walk in on my sister covered in
blood, surrounded by bodies, while you hold one of them in your hand; and
my presence is the thing to focus on?”
As much as I love incredulous Mara vs insulted Kage, my heart tightens
when she calls me her sister. She’s been doing it more lately and I wish I
could tell her to stop.
You don’t want to be my sibling. It’ll get you killed.
The younger woman stands frozen in the position she landed on in her
tirade, palms skyward and extended, mouth in an ironic sneer, and her
mahogany eyes wide. Kage is also a statue, but I don’t think his state is
intentional. When he doesn’t answer, she finally does.
“Whatever.” Mara shakes her head and drops her arms. “I’m here because
you threw someone through our perfectly planned murder, and then, like,
five more followed.”
One of Kage’s eyebrows twitches up, his mouth still set in a hard line.
“Ughh, you hadn’t even figured out we were streaming to my room
across the street? This is stupid. We need to move. Sab, we don’t have time.
I cleared the apartment and office. Full blackout.”
Shit. The levity of the situation evaporates instantly.
Full blackout.
I’ve been found.
“Mara is with us,” I move to my husband, pulling him out of the
bathroom as I speak. “I have a cottage in Oregon. That’s where we’re
going.”
I beeline to the closet, stripping out of Kage’s wet shirt and donning black
leggings and a matching long-sleeve shirt. I toss him dry sweats and a shirt.
He follows my lead while we continue.
“I can call them off.”
He’s lying. I think some part of him wants to hope he can, but that’s not
the way it works.
“How about we figure out why they’re on me? I don’t fit your code.
Every life I’ve taken destroyed another first.”
The guilt that flashes in the depths of his eyes makes me want to hug him.
It’s not his fault, but he will claim it, regardless.
“It wasn’t you,”
I pull him out of the closet and back into the bathroom where Mara has
arranged the bodies next to one another, face up. She’s gagging, holding her
hands under the long-cold water still pouring from the shower.
“It was us.”
I take the matching Mr. and Mrs. towels from the decorative display and
lay them over the faces of the corpses. Kage is watching me, waiting for me
to finish my thoughts. His eyes keep losing focus and I want to ask why he
does that, but there’s no time.
“I wanted to see how you would react to everything. I needed you to
witness, so we showed you.”
Retrieving the marble swan that sits between our matching sinks, I return
to where I was. My limbs are beginning to feel the cold. The adrenaline is
wearing off.
“It was stupid.”
I murmur, my arms stretching far above my head, swan held tight; before
I slam it down onto Emma Mueller’s mouth. The wet smack of it makes
Mara gag again.
“Shit, Sab, let me get out first!”
Mara sputters as she leaves the room.
“Break the wall. I’ll be right there!”
My shout follows her and I hear a grunt of understanding. My focus finds
my husband, and unsurprisingly, his eyes are already on mine.
“What are you doing, Wrath?”
I repeat the process on the man Kage called Jed. The sound of his teeth
shattering settles the need. He’s paid for his mistakes now.
“Making the coroner’s job harder. I want to be four states away before
they realize the bodies in the fire aren’t you and me.”
Kage’s eyebrow arches, the dried blood on his brow crinkling with the
movement.
“We’re burning it?”
There isn’t a trace of resistance in his words. My crazy, beautiful, very
murdery husband doesn’t care if I burn his world down as long as I’m
outside the flames. I love him so much. It actually hurts.
“Not so much burning as blowing up.”
My answer is far from what I want to say, but it’s what’s necessary now.
“Do you,” Kage cocks his head and looks at me with utter disbelief.
“Have the house wired with explosives?”
“Of course not. I have explosive set into the foundation.”
His face lights up, and he grins at me.
“It’ll look like a gas leak until they dig into it. We should be home free by
then.”
My husband comes to me, wrapping his arms around me and tilting my
face until I meet his gaze.
“We’re going to have a lot to talk about on the drive.”
My shoulders sag, and my body begs to just stop. To breathe for a minute,
but we can’t afford a minute.
“We are. C’mon.”
I lead him through our room, grabbing the photo album in the bottom
drawer of my desk on the way out. I can replace everything else.
In the guest room, Mara has taken down the wall behind Pizza Rat.
Debris covers the poor stuffed thing. It’s sadder than it should be. I killed
multiple people today, but the thought of leaving the grotesque thing almost
breaks my heart.
He can’t come with us. Too many belongings make getaways messy.
“Oh good, you’re here. You pull the bag out.”
Mara hands Kage the flat strap that she’d been pulling on when we
entered.
“How did you do that?”
He gestures to the perfect square of that Mara sheetrock pulled away.
“We built it to have a zipper effect. If you know about the tab, you can
remove it in a minute.”
I answer him, moving to his side to help pull the duffle out. It’s not heavy,
just over-stuffed because I added to it well after it was full. Kage and I tug
together and it pops right out.
“What is this?” He says, pushing the canvas bag that is taller than him
and twice as wide.
“Everything. Clothes, money, necessary tech, and medical supplies for all
three of us. Grab your no-access kit out of the closet. We might need it too.”
Behind us, Mara curses and closes the curtain on the window.
“Ninja’s inbound. We gotta bounce.”
She lugs the front half of the custom duffle and gestures at Kage to grab
the other. He does, and they’re out of the room. Ignoring my better instincts,
I put Pizza Rat on my photo album and follow them.
Mara takes Kage to the formal dining room, and he tries to continue on,
but she jerks their shared load and stops him. I flip our table, giving cover
from the floor-to-ceiling window. The rug beneath my fingers is an odd
sensation as I tear it away, as if my plushy life is vanishing along with its
softness.
There’s a knock at the front door. Kage and Mara look toward the sound,
but I keep going. I push the pressurized floorboard and the biometric
scanner pops out. My palm tingles when I flatten it on the cold screen. It’s
only been a minute since the knock, but it might as well be decades.
Everything is taking too long.
Mara is here. Hurry, door.
The innocent girl isn’t a killer. She’s trained as well as any 18-year-old
could be, but killing someone is different from training to do it. She’s not
ready for that burden. It shouldn’t ever fall to her.
The display emits a sound and the hardwood floor separates, opening a
wide stairway. I dart in, and Mara pulls Kage in behind me with the duffle
bag. My palm meets the next screen, and it beeps. I hit the lockdown button
at the same time dual crashes sound from both entrances of our home.
They’re inside.
The floor above the dimly lit hallway we’re standing in closes,
concealing us two minutes before footfalls sound above. Behind me, the
entrance to the panic room slides open.
Our strange trio files in and I close it.
The lights brighten to full and we stand in the most pathetic panic room
ever.
When I bought the house, the owner hadn’t finished it, and it looks the
same now as it did then. Barren grey walls encapsulate us on all sides; they
aren’t reinforced by steel plates, just normal wood and sheetrock. The only
thing I added was the other door, which Mara is already opening.
“I parked in your neighbor’s driveway. The shrubbery might be enough to
keep them from seeing Murder Bot’s ride.”
Mara speaks as she leads us down the narrow passageway. So that’s
where she got the color-absent clothes. She stole them from him.
The thought makes me laugh internally as we walk. The tunnel is 500 feet
long and stops under my neighbor’s yard. When she reaches the end, she
turns back.
“Silent from here.”
She whispers as she unhooks the strap she’s been using on the duffle bag
from its clip. I move to Kage, taking his end and pulling on it until it slips
through the loops underneath and Mara’s end is in my hand. It’s two feet
longer than the ladder we’re about to climb, just enough to pull it up after
us.
“Where did you get this?”
The question is so random I think I’m imagining it until I hear the muted
scoff of ascending Mara. Only my husband would ask about the duffle bag
and not the secret tunnel.
“I had it made by an Italian tactical company based on my designs.”
“Hmm,”
Kage doesn’t say anything else, but I know I’m in for a long conversation
about this. It’s cute. And not at all what we need to be doing right now.
“Up you go.”
I tell him, jutting my chin to the ladder that Mara has just reached the top
of. Dust rains down as she pushes the lid open. Moonlight envelops her
when she climbs through.
“You first.”
My husband ushers me forward, casting glances down the long hall.
“They won’t get through.”
I know the argument won’t sway him, so I climb, leaving him the duffle
rope so he doesn’t have to maneuver around it during his ascension.
The night feels heavy when I emerge, and far too quiet. Kage is right
behind me, pulling the bag up as soon as there is ground under his heels.
Once it’s up, Mara points to the driveway, and the murder bot comment
finally makes sense to my husband.
“You stole my car?”
Kage’s voice is a low whisper in the night, which Mara imitates; roasting
him as we make our way to the SUV in question.
“I left my door wide open with the keys inside a vehicle that obviously
costs more money than most people will ever see; what do you mean
someone stole it?” She looks at him over her shoulder as we round the
bumper, finishing her thought before she disappears behind the passenger
side door. “That’s what you sound like right now. Of course, I looted it.”
“We’re supposed to be silent.”
Kage hisses, as we lug the bulky bag into the hatch Mara releases. I stow
the urge to say he had every intention of killing her a few weeks ago, and
instead, reassure him.
“If she’s giving you shit, she likes you. It’s the customer service version
of her that means she hates you.”
When the duffle is in, we split; Kage, taking the driver’s seat, and me
heading for the passenger. I’m barely to the door when a sound like a piston
slices through the night, right before the bullet carves through my side.
I throw the door open and scramble inside, ducking below the glass as I
urge my family to do the same.
“Get down! I’m shot. Stay under the windows!”
Mara ducks, but Kage just searches the night while he brings the vehicle
to life.
“Bulletproof windows, you’re safe. Where are you hit?”
Our tires screech as Kage hits the gas, flying out of our neighborhood for
the last time. I don’t even have time to look back.
“My side.”
It feels like someone left a poker in the fire until it turned cherry, and then
shoved it into my back, just below my rib. Warmth oozes from me, sliding
down my sides too fast.
When the last house passes in a rush beside me, I figure we’ve gone far
enough.
“Pull over. I’m bleeding too fast. We need to stop it.”
I hiss through clenched teeth as I push more firmly on my wound. Too
much blood.
Kage doesn’t stop. His eyes are flickering between my side, the road, and
the rear-view mirror.
“Kage, we need to stop for a second. I’m shot. Get the-“
I don’t tell Mara to get the actual med kit, because my husband cuts me
off.
“We can’t stop. We need to put miles between us and them. Mara, pull the
headrest of the driver’s side seat. Inside you’ll find a bag marked quick-clot.
Bring it up here, check the wound. Look for entry and exit wounds.”
His eyes dart to the rearview again. I do the same.
We’re being followed. Shit.
Mara crawls up to me and peels my shirt up. The wound looks like a
black pit, torn and oozing thick, pulsing waves of my blood.
Her nimble fingers find the wound in front and back, tracing the distance
between and counting finger lengths from my belly button. It hurts. More
than I expect it to. I’ve been beaten, sliced, branded, and injected. Being
shot is a whole new experience, like ice and fire tearing through me.
“Only muscle damage. No organs or bones. It went straight through the
above the left hip. Shit, Sab, we don’t need to stop. I can fix this to-go
style.”
Mara grins at me, but the smile doesn’t hide the anxiety.
“Hell, half the books I read have characters getting hurt just like this. You
weren’t even supposed to tell us until it’d been like four hours and your
clothes were all sticky with blood when you took your black jacket off.”
I groan. I want to tell her it’s okay, it’s normal to be freaked out by fixing
a GSW on the fly. It wouldn’t make it easier for her. I go the other direction.
“Fuck that! This shit hurts. This isn’t a fantasy book Mara, I don’t have
powers.” I grin as I scold her, keeping the energy we feed to one another.
“I’m a human, and when hot metal rips through our goddamn bodies, we
want to stop the fucking bleeding.”
Mara tears something in her hands before she blots the wound with my
shirt. The effect has negative returns, smearing the area with more blood
instead of removing any.
“You don’t have to bite my head off. I was just distracting you while I got
the quick-clot. Buckle up buttercup, this next part is gonna hurt way worse
than a slap on a sunburn.” Mara says in a low drawl I know mimics the
main character of her current fantasy read.
“Quit channeling book characters and focus. I’d like to be clotted and
wrapped before I bleed out.”
“As you wish, Buttercup.”
Mara replies in a low, calm tone, bowing in her seated position.
“Jumping to film isn—”
My words fail when the white hemostatic patch meets my skin. I was
wrong about the hot poker thing before. That didn’t feel like fire, at least
not like this. I grunt and squirm as it heats. It’s like wearing coals, feeling
them sink into you until they don’t move.
I lean forward so Mara can place the next one, grateful for my ability to
not show pain right now. She shouldn’t feel bad about saving me.
When the second patch lands, a hiss escapes my lips and my body curls
toward the pain.
“Sorry.”
Mara says with none of her ironic flair.
“Thank you.”
I squeeze her hand and settle back into my seat, keeping my face as
straight as possible. Mara climbs to the backseat, and it’s suddenly way too
damn quiet.
“We need a safe house between here and your place.”
Kage’s voice is thick and I wonder what’s going on his that head of his.
“I don’t have one. I’ll be fine. Just drive.”
Kage looks at me once, then hesitates before offering an alternative.
“One of my cousins has one.”
Any Wilde outside Kage is not someone I trust. Not when so many
people with that name have tried to kill me tonight.
“I don’t think we should involve your family, Kage.”
He stays silent for a moment, processing in his weird way.
“I think we can trust her.”
Her. Knowing it’s a female eases the instinctual worry, but the fact he
won’t name her concerns me.
“Why?”
Mara’s one word question encompasses my thoughts.
“Because someone in Wilde Securities tried to set her up not too long
ago, and I helped her fix it.”
The answer is slow, like he has to reassure himself of every syllable that
passes his lips.
“Why would anyone set her up?”
My question seems useless. We need to know if she’s safe to work with,
but there’s a thread there and I have to pull it.
“Don’t know.”
Unease creeps into his frame, and I know what he’s thinking.
“And you think it’s the same person who put a contract out on me?”
His grip on the wheel tightens, his knuckles paling.
“I do.”
In for penny…
“Let’s go.”
OceanofPDF.com
Thirty-Three
Kage
I don’t call Harper or tell her I’m going to her place. She’ll figure it out
when her systems alert.
But you’ll be able to check out her place first. It’s a good idea.
If I’m wrong and Harper can’t be trusted…
She called sixteen times. I still haven’t checked the messages. Not with
Mara here.
You would if it was just Sable?
Yes.
So why haven’t you told her about the voice in your head, the academy, or
dad’s special training yet?
Headlights pass us for the first time in a hundred miles, stopping the
asinine conversation only I hear. We’ve been driving for an hour, and only
have a few more miles to burn before the road to Rascal Ranch. The name
has to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, but Harper didn’t
change it when she bought it, so she must like it.
Look at you, thinking of someone else’s feelings.
I should have done it when you were alive.
You are. I’m as alive as you are; because she made a barbwire noose and
kicked the stool from beneath her feet when she found out what you really
were.
I see it again, the images my uncle sent superimposes over the inky road.
The choppy cut of her black hair spiked out in chaotic layers around her
purple face. A milky tint had already overtaken her eyes, making them
different from mine for the first time since the day we were born. Torn apart
in jagged folds, her throat was wrapped multiple times in our security wire.
There wasn’t beauty in her death; not like the people I kill. Because
Kristin Wilde was good, she harbored no darkness; until I burdened her
with mine.
My chest tightens, my throat burns. Everything looks hazy. Beside me,
Sable gasps, grabbing the dashboard in front of her when we go off the
road. I correct my mistake and have us back on the asphalt, but Sable’s
scrutiny is on me already.
“Are you…” Her beautiful face scrunches, her lips pouting out like the
words won’t form. “Crying?”
The last word is hushed. I doubt Mara could make it out if she was
listening.
“Sneeze. It won’t come out.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Grow up.
“Okay.”
Sable lets the conversation go; but I doubt it’s for very long. There’s too
much to catch each other up on, too much to reveal, too much to trust each
other with overnight.
You’ll get there. Heads up.
I see the ornate wooden sign for Rascal Ranch and make the turn.
Fifteen minutes later, we pull into the wide circle driveway of Harper’s
hidden home. I escort Sable and Mara inside, assuring them everything is
safe.
The angsty one did not believe that. She wandered off to claim a room
where she could “find her own fucking answers since everyone else insists
on being entirely full of shit”.
Sable be-lined to the bathroom with instructions to bring her bag inside
so she can get patched up. The request is exactly what I needed.
When I’m back inside what Mara named the murder bot ride, I call
Harper.
She answers before the first ring goes through.
“Your fucking house blew up?!”
Damn.
I expected them to wait, or at least tell me when that would happen.
“How many of ours burned?”
“Outside the seven at the hotel, you mean?”
Does Harper know everything that happened tonight?
Suspicion blooms, but the woman on the phone squashes it.
“They put a fucking APB on both of you. I assume she’s still breathing
since you’re bothering to call me. Why did two squads of Wilde assassins
converge on your wife?”
I’m hesitant to tell her everything, but the choice goes out the window
when she continues.
“And why the fuck are you at my safe house?”
“Because Sable is a serial killer and someone put a contract on her.”
“How did you not know that? What have you been doing with this
woman for three goddamn years?”
“Fucking, fighting. Feasting on her presence.”
“Fucking, fighting, and feasting; those are the three pillars of any solid
relationship. Might I suggest a fourth pillar?”
“Does it matter if I say you may not?”
“Not even at all. The fourth pillar–and I’m no expert here–but still would
have seen this if it was past the curvature of the earth–is finding out who the
fuck you sleep next to. Starts with f and everything.”
“Yeah.”
Harper sighs.
“Maybe I’m not one to talk. Someone is setting me up in the organization
I live for. How screwed up is it that we actively expect it to? I love the job,
but sometimes I wonder if we’re doing it right.”
“What do you mean?”
“You ever notice how high the suicide rate is in the third year of the
academy?”
“No.”
“Of course not. Why would you? They were the weak, the ineffectual.
The ones who couldn’t drag the blade.”
A memory flashes through my mind of Evan Wilde; the deep cuts on each
arm from wrist to elbow. Not a single member of his class shed a tear,
though several of them spat on his lifeless body. Ruthless is the baseline at
the Wilde Academy.
“Why does it matter?”
“I’m getting there. What about the shrinks? Ever notice how all our
shrinks basically spout the same bullshit verbatim?”
“They’re all talking about the same thing. Why wouldn’t they sound
similar?”
“Not similar, exactly the same, cousin. Why do you think they’ve been
saying the same things about psychopathy for fifty years? That’s a hell of a
long time to not evolve.”
“It is.”
“I’m just saying, I’ve been researching, and there’s a lot more to the
diagnosis than ‘you’re a psychopath, so you’re a killer’. Look into primary
and secondary psychopathy. I’ll send you a link later. They're not telling us
a lot, and I think it’s got everything to do with why we’re being targeted.”
“We? I’m not being targeted.”
The lie is quick, a non-thought.
“You passed on the job I botched. They’re after you too, I know it. You
know. Let’s not do the secret thing. Let’s do the least Wilde thing possible.”
“What’s that?”
“Trust each other.”
I don’t have any other options right now.
“Either way, I’m on my way to you. We can talk about those calls you
screened. We have a lot to talk about.”
Harper ends the call without saying goodbye or letting me know her
ETA.
OceanofPDF.com
Thirty-Four
Sable
The water in the rustic bathroom is blessedly hot and makes quick work of
the blood that’s dried over my body. I washed my hands and face a dozen
times with bottled water on the way here, but this is what I needed. A few
minutes to cleanse myself and regroup.
I can’t make sense of all the things happening right now. But two are
obvious.
Someone sent Kage’s family after me.
And that someone has apparently been setting him—and this mystery
family member—up somehow.
Shit, three things; I also know I need to get Mara out of here.
I never wanted the responsibility of children. It’s why I had my tubes tied
when I got the first round of plastic surgery; the one that shaved my jaw,
forehead, and nose until the face that hung on those bones looked nothing
like Rose.
Still, it didn’t matter what I wanted. Not when I saw the bruises on the
thirteen-year-old girl’s wrists. I called child services, but hung up when the
memory of Albert selling me to my foster parents became a screaming
soundtrack in my mind; the shrill sound slicing deeper with every number I
pressed.
I figured I could handle a few years of Mara.
And here we are five years later, running from people who want to kill us
all over again.
Mara was the first person to know all my secrets. She wasn’t supposed to
know the depths of my disease, but I promised her we’d find every picture
he put online. I hired the best black hats I could find before Jeitra found us.
Jeitra.
A piece of my heart breaks. It’s the toll of remembering the woman who
made Mara so dangerous. I pay it every day. Once the Oracle stepped in,
my teenager surpassed my technological ability to an extreme I couldn’t
guard against. She hacked everything, digging until she found my lies, and
worse; my truth.
She’s in danger because of it.
She really does have an aunt on the other side of the world. We need to
get her on a flight.
“We need to get the quick clot off, dress the wound.”
Kage’s voice pulls me out of my dissociation.
Coals are burning on my side. The patches are wet now, red finally
coloring through when the water soaks the bandage. A hiss escapes me
when I pull the first one off; the sound must be like a dog whistle, because
Kage is at my side, moving into the stream fully clothed… again.
Does he never consider how many clothes he goes through doing shit like
this?
“You know, our laundry service isn’t exactly hitting the road with us.
Might want to be careful, maybe even undress before you get in the
shower.”
Kage smiles quickly at me before he drops to his knees, turning me
around until my back is to him. Carefully, he peels the other patch away
from my body. The water at my feet churns with streaks of pink.
“If I take my clothes off, this shower ends with you screaming my name.”
His words touch the dimples on my back, kissing them as he speaks.
“Do you want to scream my name, Wrath?”
My response is immediate, and I have to backtrack just as quick.
“Always,” I sigh before revising. “But, no.”
Kage continues to leave kisses across the top of my hips before he spins
me around and places them on my stomach, carefully avoiding my wounds.
His eyes meet mine.
“That’s what I figured.” He rises until we’re face to face. “Let's get you
dry and patched up.”
“Mara can stitch, but she doesn’t like to. How’s your medical game?”
I ask while my husband pats me dry and pulls the buttery leggings up my
thighs, folding them over so they barely reach my hip bone. Above them,
the fresh gauze slowly turns red. My wounds aren’t bleeding too badly now,
but the pull on my mind that comes with blood loss is starting.
“Decent. I can get the job done, but it won’t be pretty.”
He answers while he wraps my chest in the bandage like I asked. I can’t
put a shirt on until after the stitches, and Mara doesn’t need to see my
husband ogling me.
His fingers never graze my body, like he’s scared if we so much as touch,
we’ll erupt into spontaneous sex. It’s sweet; would be sweeter if I couldn’t
see the hard outline of his dick wrapped in the wet fabric of his sweats. As it
is, I’m torn between annoyance and gratitude.
I can have stitches and orgasms.
As I think it, my head swims and I smell chlorine.
No, I really can’t.
And he knows it. My heart pounds and I’m glad the man concentrating in
front of me can’t feel it.
Kage’s hair clings to his pink-stained forehead in little swirls. His mouth
is a hard line, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle near his ear is visibly
twitching. The smokey mahogany of his eyes doesn’t meet mine.
“When you’re done with me, I’ll do you.”
I offer, gesturing to the gashes on his head and ribs, grimacing at the
patch of gore that covers his shoulder.
“If there’s time.”
I laugh at his complete lack of care for himself when he’s so tender with
me.
“The scars will be worse if we don’t stitch them.”
“In that case, we won’t.”
“What, why?”
He finishes his wrapping and leans into my ear, his steamy breath
contrasting with the cool waves of my wet hair.
“You like my scars. You always kiss them. I always want more kisses.
Simple math.”
I give him exactly what he wants more of, kissing him in a way that tastes
like joy. It’s different from the way we usually tear at one another, to feel
him smile as he returns everything I give him.
When I pull away, I laugh again; pushing him backward so we can make
our way to the room he left the bag in earlier. I have enough medical
supplies to handle a simple through and through, but it’s useless if we never
leave the bathroom.
There’s a smear of blood on his grey shirt, opposite his cut. I bled through
the dressing. Pointing to it, I tell my husband,
“Careful, I bled on you.”
The sparkle in his eyes fades a bit as he looks at my wounds again. He
nods once and leaves. I fly after him, nearly slipping on the wet wood.
“What’s your malfunction?”
My question hits his back as he digs through the bag. To his credit, he
doesn’t skirt it for a change.
“You should be in shock. You shouldn’t be okay.”
What the fuck?
The heat drains from my face. He doesn’t mean it like that. Not Kage. The
reassurance does little as all the times someone grinned while I pled, pours
through my memory.
“Wrath.” Kage’s hands are on my shoulders, their warmth grounding me,
telling me truths I can’t believe. “What’s wrong?”
“You want me to—”
“Fuck no!” Kage puts my thoughts together and rushes through an
explanation. “You should be hurt, but you’re not.”
Kage steps back from me, scrubbing his face with his hands. He’s not
calm, not controlled; he’s nearly manic… with sadness or anger?
“Pain tolerances like that, resistances to going into shock–”
He shakes his head, gritting his teeth, and I see it. My pain becoming his.
It’s not his though, he has his own can of shit to swallow.
“To learn something, you have to practice it. I am well schooled in agony,
but so are you.”
I say gently; placing my hands on his chest, trying to ground him like he
did for me. I pointedly look at his wounds. Two gashes and a dozen pellets
broke his skin tonight, and he doesn’t care.
“It’s not the same. I was born for it. You were born for… something
better.”
He sounds younger than he ever has. He’s empathizing with me.
My sweet psycho, learning to feel for me.
“Could I be, Wrath, without a chokehold on pain?”
My joke falls flatter than a penny. He doesn’t even crack a grin, so I
switch tactics.
“We can’t change the past, Kage. But you can change this bandage, in the
present.”
He moves robotically until he finally comes back. Moody Kage is
ridiculously hot. The sharp angles of his face make his pout more of a
smolder.
He holds his hand out, waiting for me to pass him supplies from the bag
beside me. I appreciate the olive branch. I hand him another piece of gauze
and see the matte grip of the .45 I procured tonight. Pulling it out, I weigh it
in my hand while my mind weighs the need to keep it on me in this place.
“Explain.”
The feminine voice catches me off guard, and I twist to find the source;
my gun targeting the black space between her sharp brows.
OceanofPDF.com
Thirty-Five
Sable
OceanofPDF.com
Thirty-Six
Kage
“Get up.”
The voice is a thread in the darkness, thin and tight. If I were asleep, it
wouldn’t have woken me. But Harper knew I wouldn’t be sleeping, because
Sable was right; we are very alike.
I slide one of my palms between the crook of my shoulder and my wife’s
serene face, holding it steady as I pull my body from her warmth and place
her on the pillow. Her lips twitch, her brows furrowing as she searches for
me in her sleep. My chest tightens in a newly familiar squeeze.
I don’t want to leave her.
She’s safe. Harper idolizes you. She’ll die before she lets you down.
Harper idolizes Harper.
Because Kage idolizes Kage? Except he doesn’t. He idolized Dad, then her,
and now the woman he can’t bear to leave.
The polished wood is cool when my feet silently meet it. Stained grain
flows from beneath them in wavering roads to meet my cousin.
“The quicker we do this, the quicker you get back to her.”
Harper’s voice is Wilde, steel, and sure. Her body language mirrors it, but
her eyes betray her surety. They’re soft, lined in worry; nearly childlike.
She leaves the darkened doorway to tread silently down the halls. I
follow, making her path mine.
The ranch is not small. It should boast no less than nine bedrooms and
half as many bathrooms; yet we only found four on our preliminary search.
The master bedroom is locked. Harper slides the doorknob, revealing a
metallic square she covers with the pad of her thumb.
Perfectly paranoid.
The solid oak door swings open, and it’s not a master bedroom at all.
It’s a dimly lit version of her office; exactly like the one at WS. Except
for the door directly across from the one we enter. My body tenses, and the
air around me seems to stop churning. Is there Wilde tech in these walls?
“Harper,”
She doesn’t answer me, instead circling behind me to close the door.
When I glare at her, she hits the switch on the wall behind me, increasing
the light to full.
“I haven’t connected any of my systems to WS. I built this place to keep
me safe. It’ll do the same for you.”
Harper’s voice is hesitant, almost fearful. The reaction it spawns in me
is… curious. My heart rate increases. Shaky chills emanate from the base of
my skull.
Intuition. What would Harper be afraid to talk about?
“You’re spooked.”
My statement doesn’t offend her like it should, instead she just cocks her
head to the side and squints her eyes at me, studying my face like there’s an
answer there for her.
“Harper, where have you been?” The tingling shivers at the base of my
skull start again, so I add, “And what does it have to do with my wife?”
Harper doesn’t turn away or sigh, the corner of her lips twitches and she
walks to the other door, opening it in the exact way she did the first. When
she turns back to me, there’s a pleading in her eyes; just like the day weeks
ago when she dropped too many bodies.
“Once I bring you in, you can’t go back to Wilde Securities.”
She says it like it’s still an option; like I didn’t just break every protocol
in the manual.
“I can’t go back. Whatever you have to tell me won’t be worse than
turning on the family for Sable.”
She chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. Misery paints her face. The
blatantness of it—bunching in the corners of her eyes and dragging her
mouth into a grimace—dulls the edge of my suspicions. The wrongness of
open emotion on her murderous face makes her words strike me like a
blow.
“You can. If you want to. Right now, you can go home.”
“You’re dragging this out. Why?”
Harper doesn’t answer me with words. Instead, she flicks another switch
and I finally see the other half of the house. Not waiting to hear what
Harper says; I step into what looks like a lab identical to the one Beep and
Bop claimed as their own in Wilde Securities headquarters.
“A secret lab in a secret office. How very Wilde of you.”
My words don’t pull an answer from Harper, so I move forward, gripping
the metal railing that keeps people from walking over the edge of this story.
She must have built the dual-level laboratory halfway underground; because
Harper and I are looking down on another floor.
The flooring on both levels is the same silver hexagon pattern as WS. The
walls are the same stainless steel, even the prison cells lining the far back
wall of the open space are the same; plexiglass cages with no holes.
Prisoners can’t breathe our air. Not out of a sense that we’re better than
the people we prey on; our testing simply needs to happen in precisely
controlled environments.
You do think you’re better than the people you prey on.
I’m better than everyone. Mostly.
“Kage. I wondered when Harper would pull you in.”
Tingles travel my spine as my vision finds the source of the fresh voice;
though I’d never need to see my cousin to know it.
“Beep.” I turn to find the older of the twins climbing the metal staircase
to get to me. “What are you doing here?”
“Micah.” Beep corrects.
The disdain for his nickname is clear in tone, but the man adds a flash of
teeth for effect.
“Micah.” Harper steps around me to stand between us. “Kage needs to
see it.”
Beep scrubs his hand over his face, irritation radiating from him.
“We told you not-”
“You told me his wife was on the fucking list. I did what was necessary.”
Harper snaps.
She’s slipping?
She’s desperate. The closer you get, the more unsteady she becomes.
Why?
Silence is the only response I get before Beep continues,
“I understand.” Beep states, “Regardless, you were supposed to vet and
inform first, tell then show. He’s untested, and in our lab.”
“Harper’s lab.”
I correct; needing to have a foothold in this conversation. The deadpan
stare Beep levels at me settles on my skin like acid.
“Our lab.”
Beep’s words are exaggeratedly slow; as though I’m a child.
He’s more confident in this lab. Less scurry, more spine. I don’t like it.
“My dad is setting us up.”
Like mine, Beep’s eyes dart to the woman between us when she speaks.
“It gets worse.”
Harper loosens as she speaks like the burden she’s carrying has finally
been set down.
“He fucked with the Academy.”
My body tenses, unease scrambling through my system.
He couldn’t. It’s sacred.
“No Wilde would do that.”
I deny her truth with my own, because mine makes sense. Wilde
Securities exists, therefore the Academy is functioning as it should.
One cannot exist without the other.
“A sadist would.”
Beep says as he scrutinizes me like one of his lab rats.
“We’re all sadists.”
The company line feels like a winning blow that misses by an inch when
I utter it.
“Are we though?” Harper’s tone is surreal.
“Yes. We are.” The strange pressure in my chest means something, but
it’s out of reach. “We don’t feel.”
“That’s not true. It’s also not what a sadist is.”
Harper notes as she moves around Beep and descends the stairs to the
lower level. Beep follows suit, and I do the same as she continues.
“How many of your contracts have you raped?”
The question is so out of order I nearly run into Beep, who stopped short
of the last step.
“None.” My answer slices through the immediate tension, but doesn’t do
enough. “Sexually sadistic interests are bled out. I’m still standing, so I
must not have them.”
The hostility in my voice simmers in my blood; it pounds like thunder in
my ears. Memories of probes and wires attached to my teenage body before
every kill flood in.
No Wilde makes it through the Academy with those tendencies.
“Yeah? Those kids you took out at the hotel? All of them are listed as
expelled at The Gentleperson’s Academy of Science and Art. Every single
one.”
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh; the sound of my heartbeat drowns out
whatever Harper says next. Kids.
They were kids?
One of them was at least half a foot taller than you and built like a
linebacker.
I was a big kid.
They weren’t kids. They were Wilde spawn.
I killed…
There’s a buzzing behind my right eye, making it twitch.
Kids.
My feet remain planted on the steel stairs. My body is dry, but the scent
of chlorine surrounds me.
I murdered children. I broke the doctrine.
You defended your wife from people trying to end her life.
I. Killed. Minors.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
I’m drowning without water. I can’t breathe. My scalp tingles like it’s
being pulled to the crown of my head. My toes go numb.
What the fuck? You can’t pass out!
Is that what this is?
A sharp crack sounds in front of me, but my vision is fuzzy as it fades
into a peaceful darkness.
The pain comes first, burning through my nasal cavity before the
overpowering scent of stale urine slides down the back of my throat.
I almost retch.
The result is immediate. My vision clears and I feel the rush of energy
that comes with smelling salts. Beep’s hand, holding the tiny white
rectangle, drops from my face.
“Would not have pegged you for a fainter.”
He muses from the step below me, a grin pulling at his lip in the face of
my failure.
Neither did I.
It’s not what I say. I don’t want to save face. I just need to know.
“Are you sure? About the people in Sable’s room? They were…”
I can’t say it out loud. I don’t need to see Beep’s face fall—the
understanding of my revelation becoming his own—to know.
“Yes.”
His answer is fast and simple. An efficient blow. The burning in my chest
doesn’t need to be explained this time. I know what it is. I deserve the
embers of shame charring me from the inside out.
“Look,” Harper says from below us, toeing the ground and avoiding my
eyes. She’s carrying coals of her own. “It sucks that they’re using kids. But
it can’t stop you. They’ll kill you, and then her, and then… anyone else you
may care about.”
The way she avoids mentioning Mara is strange.
She doesn’t want another kid on her tally.
Mara isn’t a kid. She’s eighteen; but she wasn’t a child long before that. She
was robbed of it, like your wife. Like everyone in your family. Like you.
Beep moves again, walking to Harper who is now standing in front of a
door and still speaking with that hint of pleading Wilde’s never give.
“Put it away. They taught us a lot of lies, but the way we can separate
ourselves is real. You can’t face it right now, Kage; there’s more you need
to understand first.”
I follow her instruction as I go to my cousins, slowly laying bricks in my
consciousness. I separate myself from the guilt, shame, and horror.
Imprisoning who I became without knowing.
I build until I’m numb; far from the things that make my scalp tingle and
my chest burn.
Harper opens the door and I’m greeted by blue light and the lingering
scent of isopropyl alcohol. Screens span two walls, floor to ceiling. There
are no less than forty.
We pass mainframes as we enter; they flank us on each side and stretch
the full length of the wall. In the center of the room, a round desk holds four
computers set up like the directions on a compass; Harper logs into the one
in the southernmost position.
“This video,” she says as her fingers fly across the keys. She pulls up an
encrypted folder and selects its only content. “Is one I found at my dad’s
house three years ago.”
On the still screen, I can see the uniform of the Edgerton Institute draped
over too-skinny shoulders.
I don’t need Harper to press play so the camera can pan around to the
front of the person; I already know who it is.
The mess of choppy black hair styled in spikey layers could belong to
another student at E.I., but the necklace hanging behind her so ‘the lion
could watch her back’ could only belong to one person.
“It’s-”
“I know who it is.” I cut Harper off, not wanting to hear the name that
lives as a voice in my fucked up head. “What is this?”
“Her exit interview.”
Beep speaks from my back, reminding me that he is here. It should alarm
me that I forgot about the killer in my blind spot… but she’s right there. As
unchanged here, facing away from the camera, as she is in my mind.
“Elaborate.” I hiss, stepping nearer to the screen.
“The Academy isn’t the only place training Wilde killers.”
Harper’s eyes are duller than I’ve seen them in our years together.
Without another word, I understand what they’re insinuating.
They’re wrong. The girl on the screen didn’t have my darkness.
“There’s a long version that you’ll get as a hard copy before you leave
tonight, but this is the gist.”
Beep takes over the conversation while Harper scrutinizes me. I don’t
care. All I can do is stare into the onyx eyes of the golden lion head, glaring
right back at me. I don’t want this to be true.
Not for her.
How did that Rolling Stones song go? You can’t always…
Her voice fades in my head, and it feels like there’s something stuck in
my throat.
“Caleb is building an army. We aren’t sure why, but we suspect it’s
another bid at taking over WS.” Beep says.
“Tell your dad.”
The words sound juvenile, but are accurate. Beep's father is the president
of Wilde Securities. He rallied the board to seize control before Caleb could
enact his coup once. He can do it again.
“If it was that easy, we wouldn’t need all this.”
I don’t turn around to see what he’s doing. It’s obvious he means this
place, and the sight before me is one I haven’t seen in more than a decade.
“My dad,” Harper cuts in, grimacing at the words and switching to his
name instead “Caleb, got better. He didn’t leave virtual trails to track. In
fact, he’s the cleanest member of WS that we can find. Except for this.”
She taps the screen I’m staring at with her fingertip. Without warning, the
video plays.
A robotic voice asks the sullen teenager questions, the automated tone
visibly affecting the person whose face I still can’t see. Her shoulder
twitches, the long fingers on the table begin to tap.
“Fletcher, Larkin: report.”
That’s not her name.
“Complete.”
Her voice bears the metallic tinge of a recording, making her sound
unreal. Or maybe it’s that I’m hearing it again after so long; unbarred and
not of my making.
“Any setbacks to report?”
The teenager doesn’t respond physically, the same beat tapping from her
fingers fast and irritable.
“None.”
“Spectators?”
The unknown robotic voice asks.
The room around the girl is stark. Shadows barely gather in the corners;
banished by the blinding white on every wall. Even the table under the
rapidly tapping black nails is monotone. It’s as unnerving as it was
undoubtedly intended to be.
“Of course not.” The tapping stops when her palm slams into the table.
Feedback sounds in the small space. The mic must be in front of her, just
out of my view.
“Grow some balls and come ask me yourself. This microphone shit is
stupid.”
“Fletcher, Larkin: reframe from outbursts. Personal consultations will be
up for review after the six-month probation period for your last offense has
passed.”
The girl sits forward, placing her face nearer to the center of the table,
where I suspect the recording device is hidden from my view.
“Is Markis facing the same penalty?”
The ferocity of her voice is welcome in my head. The indignant fury it
carries is as familiar as it is painful. My mind works, cataloging names to
evaluate later, all while I take in the girl on the screen.
“Younger, Markis; succumbed to his injuries. He wasn’t strong enough to
overcome the natural consequences of his actions. As such, he was
cremated and disposed of.”
Her gasp is sharp as she slumps until her forehead meets the table;
leaving me with a rounded view of her bouncing shoulders.
She’s laughing?
No.
Light sobs trickle through the crackling audio on the screen. I’ve inched
so close to it; my face is nearly touching her likeness.
“You let him die?”
Her voice is lace, stricken as it fills the air then and now.
“He succumbed to his wounds.” The robot voice—detached from
whatever human is monitoring her—says and quickly adds, “Wounds you
inflicted.”
When she turns around, facing the camera down as she stands, my heart
stops beating.
The ebony of her blown-out pupils swallows the chestnut color of her
eyes. Her lips are split, the cut crossing both at the far left corner. A yellow
halo surrounds the opposite side of her jaw. I can’t swallow the pride I feel,
seeing how unarmed she is. She killed someone, and this is all she took in
return.
You miss more than you see. The worst of it isn’t on the skin.
“So I killed him? That’s what you’re insinuating from behind that bitch-
ass camera?”
She paces now, embodying the lion at her back.
“Fle-”
“Fucking quit with that Fletcher shit! My name is Kristin! You can’t take
it from me. I won’t give it to you!”
She kicks the wall beneath the camera, making my view of her shake
momentarily.
“I didn’t kill him. You did. You all did! Sending us to that fucking school
every day. You know what we are; what he was!”
She moves to the other side of the room and slams her fist into the wall. A
guttural sound comes from her, and she does it again, leaving spots of blood
with each blow.
And again.
And again.
And again; sobbing as she punishes the world for the actions of the
creatures in it.
She’s not like me. There’s no peace in her madness. She never had the
darkness. She just lived in it.
Finally her strikes slow, the heaving sobs subside as she leans on the wall,
sliding down until she’s a rumbled heap of fabric with bloody fists and
mascara-streaked cheeks.
“I didn’t want to hurt him. He was following Melanie again. She’s only
eight—I couldn’t let—I had to stop him. He was sick. Why did you let him
out? Why do you let me out?”
The last question becomes a repeated plea on her lips as her head rocks
back and forth against the stark wall. Above her, the wall is painted in splats
and blotches; the pieces of her finally give the room color.
For the first time, I don’t rejoice in the red.
Figures in the same monotone white of the room flood in. They surround
the girl cautiously. On the floor, she scrunches her eyes closed when the
needle enters her neck, grimacing at the invasion before her face and body
go lax. They carry her out, her lifeless arms dangling under her lolling
head.
“She looks just like you.”
Sable’s voice is sweet, dark, and utterly unexpected.
The surrounding room erupts, the scrape of Harper’s chair screaming so
loud it hurts my ears as she whirls to face my wife.
Sable has her handgun aimed at Harper already. She shakes her head at
my cousin, who stays perfectly still.
She didn’t see Beep, though. He steps around the mainframes he was
toying with while I watched the video; and wraps his forearm around
Sable’s throat as he jams his pinky into the slide of the pistol in her hand.
He curses when she squeezes the trigger, pinching his hand but not firing
the round.
Harper’s fingertips whisper across the back of my neck when I move; her
attempt to keep me in place failing as I throw myself at Beep. Sable is
between us, but Beep is distracted by the fighting woman in his arms, so he
doesn’t utilize his only advantage. I round him in three strides, capturing his
skull on each side and twisting until he shrieks for me to stop.
Sable scrambles free, moving to my side as she clears her firearm of the
jammed bullet, and one more for good measure, before lining the sight on
Harper; who hasn’t moved an inch since she tried to stop me.
“I don’t like you very much.”
Harper says to my wife.
“The feeling is mutual.”
Sable replies, her eyes darting from Harper to Beep. His face is turning
red from the extreme angle I’m holding him in. His eyes are watery and
bulging. But all I see is the red bar on my wife's throat. I think I’ll kill him
for it.
“He didn’t hurt her. He stopped her from killing me. Don’t be stupid,
either of you,” Harper says, gesturing to Sable and me.
“We’re on the same side, remember?” Harper holds her hands up and
looks my wife up and down before speaking again. “How did you get in?”
Sable smiles in a way that seems more like a snarl.
“Picked the lock.”
Harper laughs and mutters something. I must have misheard, because
there’s no way she called Sable a ‘pretty little nuisance’.
“Killing Micah will make finding whoever killed her,” Harper points to
the screen, paused on the last frame of the drugged girl being carried out of
the white room, and then Sable, “Or tried to kill her much harder.”
I lean forward until my lips are at Beep's ear and whisper for only him to
hear.
“Your life is in her hands. If my wife gives you grace, you can keep
breathing; this time.”
The man in my grip doesn’t move or speak. I momentarily wonder if I
broke his neck already, but I know the way he thinks, the way he was
trained. He already understands the situation. I drive the point home,
anyway.
“If you ever touch her again, you’ll get no warning. I will rip you from
this world in ways even I haven’t thought of yet.”
I pull away and look to my wife; she doesn’t need the question to give me
the answer. A quick nod of her head is enough. I release Beep.
He doesn’t fall from me gasping and holding his neck. Micah Wilde
slowly turns his head until he is facing Harper, breathing deep before
turning around and addressing us.
“That was… stupid.”
I think for a second he means himself alone, but his irritation spans
everyone in the room. Except for Harper, perched on the edge of the desk
since her chair remains toppled ten feet away; she gets a half-smile hidden
in a huff.
“Who would have thought bringing a bunch of secretive serial killers
together would be hard, right?” Harper laughs, her mask of certainty firmly
in place.
“Is that the Academy?”
Sable points to the screen.
Ice crawls over me, encasing me in frozen panic as more of my worlds
collide.
“No.” It’s Harper who answers, picking up my slack again. “We don’t
know where that was. We’re trying to recruit you to help us find it.”
Sable’s golden eyes find mine and the cold eases.
“Who is she?”
Winter retreats from my veins in a heady rush. I don’t want to hide this
from her. Everything is fucked, but we are on the brink of full transparency.
And I want it.
“Kristin is the only person I loved before you. She killed herself on my
sixteenth birthday. On our birthday. She was my twin.”
OceanofPDF.com
Thirty-Seven
Sable
“WHAT?”
Mara’s voice is shrill, buzzing through my earpiece like a squeaky yelp.
I’m right there with her. He has a sibling.
He has a fucking twin? Had.
My heart drops to the pit of my stomach, taking whatever righteous
indignation that was building in my mind with it. Once again, our jagged
edges mirror one another. The pain of losing a sibling is one I understand
too well.
“You haven’t said anything,” Mara chirps in my earpiece.
I want to speak, to say words that will… do something—anything.
The silence drapes around us like a cloak, edging out the Wilde killers
behind my husband until the warmth of his chocolate eyes is all I see.
The scar on his brow reminds me of the menace that thrives in this man,
but it’s lost on me.
It always is.
Because I see the man underneath. The one who held my hair and rubbed
gentle circles on my lower back as I knelt in front of the toilet; paying the
tithe for trying to drown memories in whiskey.
He’s there, under scars and violence; the angel of death who gave me
unconditional safety for the first time since I was six years old.
My mangled hero.
“I’m sorry.”
My words come out a quiet, emotion I didn’t expect ricocheting like a
bullet trapped in my ribcage.
Kage’s charcoal brows twitch, worry deepening the crease between them.
When he reaches for me, I fall into his chest.
I breathe him in, the scent of my home–woods, and musk–reassuring me
we’re okay. His arms are cozy steel, wrapping me in comfort as he buries
his face in the top of my head; inhaling me like I am him.
We stay like this until I hear feedback in my earpiece. Mara is quick to
apologize for the disruption, but I needed it.
I may have never left the peace of his arms otherwise. When I pull back, I
see the white t-shirt he’s wearing has translucent streaks, and I realize I’m
crying.
“I’m sorry,”
Kage says, as he pulls his torso far enough from mine to bring his hands
to my face. He brushes the streams of empathy from my cheeks, his gaze
evaluating my face as he continues.
“Should I have lied?”
There’s no condemnation in his voice or touch. Confusion, or confliction
—maybe both—is all he bears. My sweet beast, asking if the honesty I
demanded was too much to bear.
“Never. We say the quiet parts out loud now, right?”
Blinding hope shines through his answering smile.
I’ve never seen hope in him.
Why does it feel like shards of glass in my lungs?
I pull further away, but take my husband’s hand in mine.
I turn to the people who are undoubtedly evaluating each of our actions
like they’re discernable parts of a story.
The man is older than us, maybe ten years. His sandy blonde curls and
cerulean eyes don’t match the white coat and thick-rimmed black glasses he
wears. Even his physique is too much for the attire.
Like my husband, this man is obviously strong, the bulges of his crossed
arms stretching the pale fabric so tight it looks uncomfortable. He looks like
a surf bro that’s been forced into STEM.
Harper hasn’t bothered to change out of her blackout fabric. She’s all
blonde braids, pale eyes, and… grins?
“What are you smiling about?”
My words bite through the silence. The woman they’re directed at tips
her head back and roars with laughter.
“Rude. Maybe she was happy for you two,” Mara says in my ear, the tone
making me cringe a bit.
Why is the queen of snark calling me out on mine?
“You, of course.”
Harper answers me. All humor is gone from her voice; but her eyes
twinkle.
“I might not like you, but I respect you, Sable Wilde.”
I grumble a ‘gee thanks’ at her response, deciding to never tell another
living soul that the sliver of acceptance from Murder Barbie warmed some
deep part of me.
No other member of my husband’s family has called me by their name.
“So,” Harper starts again, “Are you here alone, or is there a little birdy in
your ear, guiding you through my halls?”
Shit.
I’m about to lie when Mara stops me. By taking over an intercom system,
I didn’t know the room had.
“Chirp, chirp.”
Her words drip with sarcasm when they flood the room.
The way I jumped would have embarrassed me, but nobody saw it. Every
eye in the room went to the speaker above the door I crept through minutes
ago.
Every eye except Harpers’, which went to the opposite wall; a grin that
only the Cheshire Cat could rival spreading over her glossy lips.
That must be where the camera is.
“Hello Dovey, will we be graced with your presence anytime soon?
Or am I doomed to only meet you through screens?”
What the fuck? No. Wait–no. Harper is not-
“I told you not to call me that.”
Mara’s disembodied voice snaps at the blonde.
“What? When did you tell her that? When did you call her that? You’ve
been talking?!”
I ramble through my questions, forgetting to stay stoic in the face of these
psycho killers.
How can I? When one of them is seducing my… Mara?
Stones settle in my gut, calming my erratic mind when it nearly calls her
my sister.
Harper turns to me, the smile on her face disappearing when it’s not
aimed at Mara.
“Earlier. She hacked my system. The least she could do was answer the
chat.”
I don’t get to respond to Harper, because the man cuts in.
“Something you should share?”
We spend the next half hour catching one another up on who is here, and
what we can all collectively do.
WS is so much more than I thought.
Micah seems to be half machine with the way he speaks about the
technical aspect of how their family has maintained a stronghold in the
cyber-security world. Everyone in the room, and even Mara watching from
the other side of the house through cameras, inherently understands
everything he says.
I do not.
I can keep up with the medical aspects, the murdery aspects, and even the
monetary ones; but their level of technological expertise makes me wonder
how soon I would have been caught if Mara wasn’t with me.
I feel more relaxed when the discussion delves into psychology. I’m no
doctor, but neither are they.
“Sexual sadism isn’t being bled out, it’s being bred true.”
Micah says.
Kage, and Harper to a lesser degree, have physical reactions to the
statement. It’s almost holy to them, this doctrine of whom to kill and how.
“How?” Kage’s icy voice gives me chills.
“Thirty years ago, the cadets bled the sadists themselves.” Micah says,
“Until the president of Wilde Securities thought it would be better for them
not to practice on peers. Staff would identify and dispose of sadists.
Somewhere along the way, the kids started to disappear, they’d be
diagnosed, and then gone. Until their far too grown bodies show up. Sean
and I had been noticing them in the system, but every time we went back;
they’d be gone. No trace of the bodies or their murders.”
Horror rises as bile in my throat.
“The only way to make it happen inside our systems is by having access.
There’s a reason Mara couldn’t get in for the last three years. My dad has a
video of your sister two days before her suicide. When I looked into that,
there were no pictures. Anywhere. Just like the rest of the Wilde’s who
flunked out.” Harper says.
“Kristin was not a sexual sadist.” Kage scoffs.
“No, she wasn’t. She was normal. Just like me.”
Harpers’ words collide with my husband like a force of nature; making
him step back.
“We are reasonably sure that our line doesn’t produce nearly the number
of psychopathic people we’ve been led to believe it does,” Micah adds, with
no amount of sympathy for the way Kage is taking this.
“So, you’re not all psychotic?” I ask.
“I am. I believe Kage is, though he may just be good at
compartmentalization. Harper isn’t. We can’t say for sure without access to
the academy records and population, but our estimates show a roughly
thirteen percent rate of true psychopathy.” Micah replies.
“You’re wrong.” My husband states without further elaboration.
It hurts to see him fighting both sides of this war.
He wants it to be false, for the place that made him to be everything he
believes it to be. But when do those who wish for better beginnings get
anything less than hellish ends?
“I thought so too,” Harper says “Until I saw a psychotherapist.
Everything we’re taught is bullshit. The clinical science is decades behind
modern psychology at the academy, and even then it’s twisted to fit their
narrative. They aren’t making safe places for people who can’t help
themselves, they’re making armies of kids who had a shot at something
different.”
“There was no other shot.”
Kage snarls, the feeling he ‘doesn’t have’ painting his face in defiance.
“For you.” Micah intersects, “Like I said, I believe you are, to some
degree, psychotic. Not all graduates are. There were five level-two suicides
last year. That number is astronomical.”
“That’s your baseline? Because a few graduates couldn’t handle...”
Kage’s voice trails off, the distance in his eyes blurring his reality before
he speaks again, this time without the desperate need to protect the place
meant to do so for him.
“They couldn’t handle it. They felt remorse.”
“Yes.” Harper sighs
“So how do we know who’s what type of crazy?”
Kage turns to me, his vision imploring the depths of my soul for answers
I’m not sure I have.
“How did you know?”
“How did I know what?”
“That I was psychotic. You knew before I told you.”
Three damn years later and he catches the slip-up that kept me awake for
a week straight.
Figures.
“Remember when I told you I’m in therapy? Obviously, that’s a lie. I’m
not a narcissist. I didn’t have a name for what I was, but I knew the girl who
hit the embankment with her parents after church didn’t want to kill people.
So I got professional insight.”
Damn it. I do not want this conversation. Especially with the Wilde horde
in my blind spot.
“You told a therapist about this?” Kage gestures to the wound below his
hairline.
Half of me wants to be a smart ass, lighten the situation with a quick joke
about my therapist having no clue about my future husband’s wounds, but I
can’t.
Levity won’t save him. I can though.
“Please tell me you don’t for one second think that I’d be stupid enough
to tell someone that I’m meticulously killing my way through an
organization powerful enough to hide decades of trafficking and murder?”
Kage’s eyebrows rise and his lips tilt in a half smirk when he quips,
“Now I don’t.”
My fist aims for his un-injured shoulder, ready to knock some sense into
him, but he catches it. My stupid momentum becomes my undoing when he
spins me until my back rests against his chest. His arms cross over me,
caging my body to his.
In this position, it could just be us. He plants a kiss on the crown of my
hair and tilts his head until his smile presses against my scalp as he speaks.
“It’s not a criticism of your intelligence, Wrath. I’m well aware of the
terrifying brilliance this perfect packaging holds. It’s the emotional part I’m
unsure of. We trained in spotting lies, keeping our faces passive or humble.
I aced every test. You never respond the way they said you would.”
I resist the urge to tell him we just established the fallacy of his training,
instead leaning into the intimacy of the moment.
“Neither do you.”
The people behind us must have picked up on something, because they
haven’t interrupted us or made a sound since his arms became my armor.
“But you knew I wouldn’t. You spotted Mara’s abuse. You understand the
way I see things… you anticipate when I can’t handle my humanity. And
you’re always right. Why?”
No lies.
“Like I said, I talked to a psychologist. Two years after the cabins. I
arranged to bump into a psychology student who was writing a thesis for his
doctorate. I told him I was studying for my undergrad and was stumped on
a theory; I asked for help. My story became hypothetical, and we talked
about what diagnosis he would give her. That launched all of it. In the end, I
learned enough from him to know where to start. It took another year of
studying myself and psychology to figure it out.”
A little chuckle slips from my lips. Eighteen-year-old Sable would have
never guessed the quest to heal herself would help the part of herself she
hadn’t even met.
“What flavor of psycho-killer are you, Wrath?”
His voice is low, awe slipping in his timbre.
“I’m exactly that. I’m Wrath. Not a born psychopath, but one created. I’m
a sociopath, Kage. I don’t have a disconnect from my feelings. They’re my
fuel.”
A cough behind us disrupts us for the first time since we came together.
Reluctantly, we separate, mostly. Kage has my hand in his, the warm iron
giving no signs of letting go.
“And that’s exactly how we find out who is what. I feel things. All the
things, every time.”
Harper admits her humanity in a tone that speaks of shame and woe.
“It hurts you?”
Kage asks, with the timbre of a curious child asking about how long
cookies take to bake. It’s so strange. Not a soul in this building knows how
to human.
“Sometimes.” Harper says.
The little gasp that tries to break from my lips is masked by the long sigh
she releases before elaborating.
“It depends. It was hard when I was little. The first time I cut someone’s
throat, I cried myself to sleep for a month.”
Kage’s hand grips mine a bit tighter, but he doesn’t respond to his
cousin’s confession.
“And now?” I finally ask.
I need to know if she isn’t really like Kage…maybe she’s like me.
“Now it makes me happy.”
Killer Barbie smirks at me, malice dripping from her elongated canines. A
wolf in lamb skin.
“Me too.” I answer, before adding, “Most of the time. It creeps back until
I remind myself-”
“Of all the things that made it perfectly reasonable to pay their life for
your sanity?”
Harper finishes my sentiment in words I wouldn’t have chosen; but ring
as true as if I had.
“Exactly.”
“Which,” Micah says exaggeratedly, as though this conversation is taking
too many of his minutes, “is why I believe she isn’t a psychopath at all.
She’s likely a trained sociopath.”
“Records show a spike in academy admissions thirty-nine years ago. Not
a regular spike, one that tripled the enrollment in a single quarter. Since
then, every year the number of Wilde’s entering the academy has risen, as
have the number of suicides.”
My words follow Harpers so quickly they garner the attention of the
room.
“Because they didn’t want to be killers.”
OceanofPDF.com
Thirty-Eight
Kage
Why?
The question rings through the silence of my mind, begging for an answer
from the memory of my sister.
I’m alone again. The subconscious voice I molded after the sole bastion
of empathy in my adolescent years, is hiding.
The surrounding room is dusky. Early stains of light filter through the
gauzy windows, casting the modern rustic decor of the room in the same
shades as my mood.
Sable breathes in a steady rhythm beside me, the rise and fall of her
body–curved around mine–keeps me sane through the madness.
I haven’t slept. It’s been three days since my infatuation with my wife
nearly killed us both.
That was something we learned from Bop, who came in at the tail end of
our conversation yesterday. My relentless pursuit of my wife’s secrets
almost cost her life.
Sable left bread crumbs for me to follow.
I wasn’t the only one who devoured them. The boogeyman my wife
feared most had been looking for her all along, just waiting for any sign of
who was responsible for so many of their deaths.
Sable is wickedly intelligent, but Mara is the only reason she made it to
twenty-five. Her skill makes mine look minute. A hacker—who WS
believed wasn’t even real—taught the girl. Our best people concluded The
Oracle was a program, a code created to vex cyber securities for the sake of
pure chaos.
She took her handle from a movie, for fuck’s sake. I never thought I
would appreciate my company’s ineffectiveness, but here I am. If it wasn’t
for Mara,
No.
I can’t go there again. I already doubt I’ll ever find sleep again. Not when
so many eyes lurk in the shadows, waiting for a moment of weakness. For a
moment, they can take her from me.
They came too close.
My fingers leave their place on Sable’s ribs to trace the rough square of
gauze covering her stitches. She hasn’t complained about the pain since we
left the car.
Part of me wishes she would grunt or grimace more often; the part that
knows why she doesn’t. If I bring it up, she’ll tell me I don’t either. Which
will lead to how I was trained; and I can’t think about her going through a
comparable situation.
Except hers wasn’t comparable. It was far worse.
My free hand slides through her hair; each silky strand that glides through
my fingers assures me she’s right here. She’s not fully-healed, but she’s
working on it.
I’m going to help her. I’d decided the moment she told me why she kills,
that my purpose was hers now. We’ll carve through her demons together.
The couple that slays together stays together.
I ignore the barb and beg my subconscious for something it can’t give.
Why didn’t Kristin tell me?
I need this answer like air, but silence is all I find. On some level, I know
it’s because even the parts of me I can’t access don’t know.
I keep searching for some arbitrary memory, a snippet of our lives where
Kristin hinted at what was happening. There are none. She protected the
secret, kept it as tight to her as the necklace I gave her. Even after she found
out about the academy.
Harper showed us all the information she had.
Kristin’s body was cremated before our father, who was out of the
country, could identify her. The autopsy photos were pixelated, poor-quality
things that any amateur photo-shop enthusiast could create.
It made the cover-up of her earlier wounds as clear as the digitally added
ligature marks on her throat. I don’t know what killed Kristin, but I don’t
believe it was the girl herself anymore.
Two days before my sister’s faux-suicide, she got into a fight at her prep
school. The boy suffered severe wounds, but reports show that he
voluntarily left the hospital.
Allegedly, they released Kristin into her uncle’s custody. Her pseudonym
stops there, the only note being a transfer to a school that never existed.
Mara is already creating a code to unleash, one that will flag every
mention of the school that both Kristin and the boy she fought “transferred”
to.
Bop said he already made one, but he’s not Mara. I considered asking her
to join us permanently, but she has no darkness. She’s an avenging soul, not
a punishing one.
Which is why we are leaving Harpers’ place today. We’re traveling 1,898
miles in the next three days to reach the Seattle-Tacoma International
Airport.
Thirty minutes before we arrive, Harper will buy and send the tickets.
We’re cheating the system in a hundred ways, but Mara will be safely away
from our war.
It’s what Sable wants, and I agree with her. I can’t tell if I’m actually
starting to care for the girl; or if I just want Sable to breathe without the
bitter taste of fear chasing each breath.
Once she’s gone, I’ll call my father. The rest of the family will have
questions about why my house exploded, and I went M.I.A., but my dad
will have answers. He’s been preparing me for the possibility that WS
would turn on me. Now I want to know if he considered it probability; and
why.
Every graduate expects to be set up by their saving grace and is still
somehow surprised when it happens. A Wilde is a Wilde, is a Wilde.
Dad knew.
But does he know about Kratos?
It wasn’t Wilde Securities that came after Sable.
It was Caleb’s operation, Kratos.
A shadow organization that we know basically nothing about. Beep and
Bop found discrepancies in the systems five years ago. They’ve been
digging ever since. Harper joined them over a year ago. It’s why she was
being targeted, no one knows why I was offered the contract first.
What they have found is a long stream of dead people we declined
contracts on; and hundreds of Wilde corpses.
The academy never lets us leave. Our ashes are literally in the foundation.
Bodies piling up outside the confines of our power unsettles me in a way I
can’t decipher.
A long mumbling groan comes from Sable as her legs and arms stretch
around mine when she wakes up. The questions that plagued me moments
ago melt in the heat of her golden gaze when it finds mine.
“How long have you been up?”
Her question blurs in a long yawn, making it very easy to evade.
I kiss the tip of her nose, then plant another one between her brows,
before I bury my face in her hair. I breathe my wife in, inhaling her
sweetness tinged with the amber scent of her soap.
My arms encase her, holding her to me in an extended hug. She angles
her head until her chin is resting on my chest and her eyes are on mine
again. The corner of her lips tilt in a half smile that doesn’t reach her bronze
stare.
“So you didn’t sleep at all, then?”
My chuckle rumbles under her chin, making the carmine curls bounce
and shake.
“I don’t need it.”
My hand slides down her spine and over the curve of her hips until it
covers the smooth, panty-covered globe of her ass. I squeeze it once; then I
remember her wounds and decide cradling it is the better option. I can’t let
myself get carried away.
“It’s incredible, you know, the way you Wilde’s have discovered a way to
exist without rest.”
Smart ass.
“I’ll sleep when we’re on the road, when we switch off.”
I don’t plan on switching, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Pfft, okay Kage.”
Sable rolls out of my arms and sits on her knees, her feet taking the place
of my hand under the plump smoothness I was just enjoying.
She’s annoyed, but it’s not landing very hard.
Partly because I know she’s about to call me out on my bullshit; but
mostly because she went to sleep in one of my long sleeve button-up dress
shirts and a tiny pair of black lace panties that are fighting for their life
across her thick hips.
It’s making my mouth water.
Don’t go there. Protect the crimson queen. No sex until the stitches are
out.
“We’re going to do a five-hour switch. Every five hours we rotate whose
driving between the three of us; should be a thirty-hour drive, so two shifts
per person that cannot be taken back to back.”
She arches a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. Her head bobs in a
way that dares me to push back.
“Okay.”
She opens her mouth to fight me before she registers the words; leaving
her slack-jawed with a confused look on her face before she wiggles her
butt on her feet and smiles like the sun.
“Okay.”
My head starts to buzz when she leans forward until her arms are holding
her up and she’s on all fours, crawling over my legs and up my body. The
top three buttons of her shirt are undone, letting me see down like it doesn’t
exist. The sway of her tits, already peaked and begging for my teeth, makes
my dick jump.
“Sable-”
Her face drops to mine, submersing me in her warm subtle scent as her
tongue darts out to lick the seam of my lips.
“I know your mind, god of sex.”
She kisses the corners of my mouth between the title that stokes my ego
as thoroughly as her panty-covered heat strokes my thickening shaft.
“You’re worried you’ll hurt me; but I’m starving.”
My wicked bride whimpers as she grinds against me. Her eyes change
from the doe-eyed facade to husky and halfway closed as she grinds
deliciously between us.
I meet her effort, lifting her body with the force of my need to
reciprocate. She gasps when my hand comes down on her ass. The sharp
sound of the second slap nearly covers her moan.
“Very fucking naughty, Wrath.”
I lock her head in place by the back of her neck, leaving my mouth next
to her ear.
“Appealing to my need for your satisfaction while you grind that hot
pussy all over me is a low fucking blow, baby.”
My hips move under hers, rubbing the place she needs me with achingly
light friction. Her breath comes in desperate little pants. She needs it. I will
always be what she needs.
“I won’t risk your recovery, wife.”
Did she feel the way my dick pulsed when I called her the title that keeps
me eternally hard?
This marvel of a woman, this goddess amongst humanity, bound herself
to me in name. And blood, and mayhem, and lust. She chose me, and the
thought of it nearly makes me come on a weekly basis. As always, I turn the
feeling on her.
“But what kind of man would I be if I didn’t give you what you crave?”
My hips stop moving to the utter—and audible—dismay of the writhing
beauty on my chest.
“If I fuck you, your stitches will rip.”
She grumbles an angry little whine at me, bathing me in her precious
gaze as her hips push against mine; begging them to resume their mission.
“If I put you on your back and eat until I have you running down my
throat, your stitches will rip.”
“Kage,” the smoke and need in her voice make the pressure in my back
start to build. “Please.”
“Don’t worry, baby. I have a plan.”
I move both of my ankles over and across her calves; spreading her thighs
wider and pinning her legs in place with mine. My hand slides from her
neck, crossing her back to land on the opposite side of her ass; becoming
another bar to keep her body from bucking and endangering her wounds.
My other hand moves in feather strokes up her thigh, toward the place she
needs me.
“I’m going to hold you just like this, so you can’t hurt yourself.”
I reach her panties, pushing through the lacey material like tissue paper,
and letting the tips of my fingers skim her swollen clit before I rip them off.
“You have two jobs; be still and come.”
My fingers whisper over her slick lips, tormenting her into agreement.
Her body tenses, and I wonder if she’s going to fight me.
And then she melts into me, her body turning pliant as her whimpering
pleas surround me. I don’t make her wait a second longer. I slip between her
lips and massage rough circles around her frantic pearl.
My sweet love is so primed her release is immediate.
She squeals my name, her body trying to buck my hold. I keep her
against me, pinning her at every angle so all she can do is shake and soak
my fingers.
Before she can catch her breath, I push into the silk heat of her still-
spasming pussy with my middle fingers. Every shutter that runs through her
body mirrors the strangling on my fingers as they pump into her. I give her
shallow thrusts, letting the next orgasm build slowly as I command the
thing I crave most in the world.
“Eyes on me, Wrath.”
She complies immediately. The halo of gold is thin around her dilated
pupils, half hidden by heavy lids. Her lips are parted, little pants and gasps
making her pretty pink tongue dart across them.
“You’re too perfect.”
I grunt, pushing deep enough for my pointer finger to graze her clit with
each thrust. The pressure of her body on mine makes the brand on my chest
burn. My hips ache with the need to shove upward, to find the friction that
would set us both free. I keep them pinned with her body, focusing on what
she needs.
“You consume every moment of my life.” With the need to see those
pretty eyes, squeeze close and pop open when I make you come.”
I curl my fingers inside her, massaging her G-spot in time with her clit as
I pick up the pace of my efforts. My focus stays on her eyes, watching
every flicker of pleasure spark in them. I’ll never get enough of this, of
watching her in the throes of bliss.
“With the desire to pin your hips to every surface in existence and fuck
until our limbs give out.”
She grunts as her body tightens around my fingers; the uhn, uhn, uhn, of
them, mixing with the wet sounds my hand and her desire make. I love it. I
love her.
“With your sounds.”
Her grunts turn to full-throated moans as her climax peaks, so close to
falling into bliss.
My body is strung like a cable under hers. Every part of me wants to
move, to let her move. Feeling her come for me again and again isn’t
optional, so I keep undoing her with my hand and voice.
“With your scent.”
She falls from the precipice, chanting unintelligible things as her body
grips my fingers like a vise. I don’t slow down. I keep the rhythm, stroking
every sensitive part she has inside and out. My boxers are soaked, the wet
heat of her arousal keeping me harder than iron.
“With your taste.”
She screams as one orgasm bleeds into the next. Her release drips all the
way to my wrist. Irritation tinges my bliss; I want to watch her body coat
mine in sweetness, watch the way she gets flushed with each explosion I set
off in her.
“I’m consumed by your fire, Wrath; every second of every day I burn in
the exquisite anguish of it. You’re a force of nature, outstanding in ways I
can never touch. Come one more time, baby. One more.”
My name becomes her prayer as I force her to remain still through her
fourth climax. This time, I let her come down, slowing my strokes until the
last spasms have passed. I release her legs and take my arm from her back.
She’s barely free when she rolls off me, taking the place beside me on the
bed and meeting my gaze again.
“Your turn.”
No fucking way in hell.
“I can wait. You’re injured.”
“My mouth isn’t.”
My balls tighten painfully, drops of need adding to the drenched state of
my briefs.
“Wrath…”
“I’ll stay still, on my back, while you fuck my face. No risk to the
stitches.”
Sable moans as she speaks, ending with a mischievous smile. Her hair
clings to her face in little patches, slick with sweat and pleasure.
Perfect.
I free my dick from its cotton prison—not bothering to take them off—
and straddle my wife’s chest. Her hands reach my shaft before I do, and the
smooth, hot pressure goes straight to my balls.
“I can’t. I’ll hurt you. This,” I say, covering her hands with my own,
guiding her speed, “this is what I want. I won’t hurt your hands.”
“You wouldn’t hurt my mouth.”
She argues but matches the pace I set. Releasing her hands, I pinch her
nipples, pulling them up just enough to stretch the skin before I let them
fall. I’m mesmerized by the way they bounce just off the rhythm Sable uses
on my cock.
“I’m consumed with you, too.”
Her whispered confession might as well be a moan. My hips move, my
ass flexing with each thrust. The tingling in my spine feels electric as beads
of pre-come spill, lubricating my length as her hands slide up and down.
“You made my world brighter, too. I love you.”
The pressure boils over. I feel myself thicken in her small hands as each
wave of my pleasure paints her tits and chin. I praise her as I come on her
perfect body, telling her how much I love her, how beautiful she is.
When I finish, I hurry to the side, not allowing myself to rest before
inspecting her wounds. I breathe better when I find them snowy, not a drop
of blood showing on either covering. Said breath evacuates when I look up
to see my pristine wife drag her finger through the mess on her nipple and
pop it in her mouth. I swear I almost come again when she says,
“That was insanely hot. I might be into more restrictive play.”
Monsters don’t deserve angels; but I’ll never let mine go.
OceanofPDF.com
Thirty-Nine
Kage
OceanofPDF.com
Forty
Sable
OceanofPDF.com
Forty-One
Kage
We watch Mara board her plane from the furthest possible vantage point.
People mill around us, looking for their gates, grumbling at the lines. The
sun pours through the window at my back; a warm reminder that we're not
covered here, four terminals from the small woman talking to the flight
attendant.
Sable didn’t want us being photographed together, so they said their
goodbyes an hour outside Seattle. It was short, but I expected as much after
Sable’s confessions.
A quick hug, silent tears, and a promise to call when Mara lands was the
entirety of the four-minute exchange. Stray sniffles peppered the remainder
of the drive here, all coming from the person my wife was willing to kill me
for, but can't seem to face now.
Sable won’t answer when Mara calls. I understand her plan like it’s my
own. Honoring it is turning out to be harder than I anticipated. Mara is
useful. And vaguely funny.
You like her.
When the girl’s bag rolls into the dark tunnel of the boarding bridge
behind her, my wife sighs. The tension in her frame doesn’t dissipate. The
grinding of her teeth still crawls down my neck. Her load should be lighter,
but she’s as weighed down as she was before.
I don’t know how to fix this problem.
You don’t.
“I’ll drive. You have calls to make.”
She says as we make our way to the front of the airport.
When we cross the threshold, a little boy, maybe ten years old, runs
straight for us, excitedly shouting.
“Momma!”
His brown curls bounce with each step as he squeals and grins, heading
straight for Sable. Panic rounds her eyes as she waves her hands back in
front of her torso. Her head shakes, her curls bouncing as wildly as the child
rushing toward her.
“I’m not your mom, not mom!”
Unfazed, the boy continues his crash course. Before he smashes into her,
I spot a metallic shine peeking from his sleeve.
They don’t make impact injectors small enough to fit that little wrist, do
they?
Move!
It’s not me the boy is about to hit. It’s my wife; directly in front of
me. Instinct takes over. I grab Sable’s wrist and yank; the pull disrupts her
balance, sending her into the nearby wall.
The child doesn’t have time to change course. He slams into my legs. The
sharp bite of pain in my thigh registers, and I watch the needle withdraw
when the boy stumbles backward.
He’s too young.
He’s not smiling now, the facade is gone. This isn’t a teenager, it’s a boy.
A child.
That was sent for Sable.
I grab his arm, cradling it as I struggle to keep my balance.
“Who sent you?”
The boy sneers at me, tugging at the hand holding him immobile. His
little voice squeaks as he shouts at me, his tiny green eyes narrowed on
mine.
“I’m sorry!”
Sable gasps and moves to my side, confusion in her words as she frees
the boy from my grip. She doesn’t see his smirk.
“What are you doing?”
He flees without a look back; taking my only shot at an antidote with
him.
This is bad.
My vision shifts, making the world a fishbowl. Whatever balance I have
left can’t handle the change, and I stumble.
My body is failing at a deliberate pace, too slowly to be 6741; too fast to
fight. I point to my thigh, but my hands aren’t working right, so it becomes
a slap.
“Poison.”
There’s light coming from under Sable’s skin as she registers my
meaning. It makes the crimson curls around her seem to float in a lazy haze.
Each strand moves toward me, like a hand gesturing for me to come home.
Visual hallucinations.
I like them.
Sable’s arm wedges under my shoulder, taking my weight as she pulls me
to the place we parked.
The toes of my sneakers are working against her. They catch every crack
and dimple of the poorly kept asphalt. I try to lift my feet higher, but they’re
turning to lead and I don’t have the strength.
“Shit, how fast does this work, Kage?!”
Hysteria tinges my wife’s voice for a second before she switches gears.
Now she’s telling me it’s okay. There’s a hospital nearby.
I can’t walk now.
My useless feet only slow our pace.
Her pace.
My wife is dragging me now.
She’s so strong.
So shiny.
I love her.
“Love you, Wrath.”
“Oh, fuck you, Kage Irek Wilde! You are not saying your goodbyes.”
If someone could change fate with sheer will, it would be this woman.
My exquisite, Wrath.
My perfect wife.
It’s not fate at our throats now. It’s the same beast it’s always been; my
blood.
“Still love you.”
My words slur.
I made Harper sign a contract to help Sable in the event of my death.
Knowing she won’t be alone makes me smile.
For a moment, I’ve never felt so light; utterly joyous.
You’re dying. Euphoria, visual hallucination, bodily impairment, verbal
impairment. Next comes paralyzation, then seizures. It’s a political
cocktail.
I miss you.
“What did he give you?”
Sable questions me as the light around her changes.
We’re in the car?
No, she’s putting me in the car.
“The senator special.”
I try to say, but it’s choppy. It doesn’t matter. No hospital can save me.
I wish she didn’t have to see it.
Sable climbs into the opposite seat and I’m grateful I can see her from
this position.
I get to see her last.
She’s speaking again, but my auditory functions are failing, cutting in and
out.
Her movements are frenzied, but still a dance. The way her hand pulls
through her wild hair, the way she twists to look out the back window, the
stare she levies on me as she says words I can barely hear.
“So beautiful.”
My words slur, but she must understand them because her face turns
grim.
It doesn’t pull from her radiance. She’s living art I had the privilege of
loving.
I hope she answers when Mara calls.
“Perfect, Wrath. Wife. Love you more than...”
Her light comes to me in waves, each one washing me in the warmth she
brought to my life. I wish I could stay, but the pitch of death is tingeing the
world around her. She’s the only light; I’m being pulled from it too fast.
“You do not give up!”
She’s screaming at me as she pulls the wheel to the left so hard it nearly
flips the vehicle.
I hear her melodic voice, but it fades quickly, her next sentence sounding
miles away.
“Fight it, Kage. You made me love you. Made me believe you were
invincible. So be fucking invincible, God damn it!”
“K”
It’s the only sound that comes out when I tell her she’ll be okay without
me.
She’s so strong.
I can’t fight poison.
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Forty-Two
Sable
“Kage!”
I shake his massive shoulders with one hand, guiding the speeding
vehicle with the other. My fingernail catches a hole in his flesh from the
shotgun pellets. It sinks into the newly scabbed surface. He still doesn’t
wake up.
My touch moves to his neck, shaky fingers sliding against his sweat-
slicked skin. I find a pulse, soft but steady. My voice fills the space between
us, the command bubbling through panicked sobs.
“You are not allowed to die. I forbid it, Kage!”
The blare of a horn brings my attention to the road.
I swerve moments before a blue semi-truck meets us head-on. I need to
keep my attention on the street, but my husband is dying beside me and I
can’t remember where that fucking hospital was.
How can I think of anything when he’s dying so fast, too fast. His
sculpted face is changing, overtaken by the sickly hue of impending doom.
The tinge has made its way to his eyes; they’re open and unblinking.
I push the pedal harder, begging the vehicle to outrun the reaper.
Adrenaline fuels my reflexes. I swerve, narrowly avoiding another SUV.
The blare of the horns and screeching tires is the soundtrack of my waking
nightmare all over again.
This can’t be happening. HOW is this happening?
Beads of sweat roll down my face, my heartbeat thumping in my ears as I
search desperately for any sign, any glimpse of familiarity. The road is a
maze, a cruel puzzle I can’t solve.
“Hey, if you live through this, I’ll kill someone in the Lizzie dress. I’ll
even use an ax. Just please, hold on. Please?”
My voice breaks, but I finally realize what I have to do.
I fumble around my waist, trying to find my phone in the hoodie pocket.
When my fingers contact the plastic square, I dial the only person I can.
She answers on the first ring.
“I’m sorry too-”
“They poisoned him! I need to talk to Harper. Get her to call me now!”
I hang up without another word, trusting that Mara will make this happen.
She can do it.
The phone is silent for so long; I think it’s too late. Time is slipping
through my trembling fingers, but I refuse to let my husband go with it. I
will not outlive him too.
I slam my palm on the steering wheel, the immediate heat soothing and
provoking me; my very own dichotomy of hysteria.
“FUCK!” I scream, slamming my hand into the wheel again.
Still no phone call.
Hurry the fuck up. Call me, fucking call me.
I can’t tell if time has come to a standstill or if it never existed.
Hopelessness claws at my chest like a beast made of daggers.
Please call.
My skin is on fire, the drops of sweat feel like ice.
I won’t lose him.
“DAMN IT, HARPER, MAKE THE CALL!”
An unknown number rings through with a timestamp. It’s been three
minutes.
Harper doesn’t bother with niceties, and I swear I love this fucking
woman.
“What are his symptoms?”
“I don’t know. He went down fast. He called it the centaur special.”
“Senator special.” She corrects. “Hospital won’t help. How far are you
from the Seattle branch of WS?”
“I don’t know, I’m going south on Pike St, passing…” What the fuck?
“Another Pike Street?”
“Pike Place, I have you. Turn left at the next intersection. That street will
take you straight there. It’s a thirty-minute drive.”
“I’ll get there in fifteen.”
“He’ll be dead in twenty. Listen, when he starts to seize you have less
than five minutes. There’s always a side entrance. The chip in his left wrist
will get you through any door. Seattle’s entrance is—”
“We’re going through the front door. Thanks, Harper. Call you when it’s
over.”
I hang up and make the turn, hitting ninety-five miles an hour on the
straightaway.
I steal a glance at him. He’s fighting for every breath, his body weakened
by the relentless assault of a poison I never even saw.
Tears blur my vision, but I blink them away, my focus returning to the
road. It’s only five AM but there are enough cars to have my knuckles white
every time I have to swerve around them.
I’m going to kill us.
A sick part of me takes comfort in knowing we’d go together if I did. Just
like mom and dad. Never apart. Fire burns the back of my eyes. My nose
tingles.
I can’t cry.
There’s no time.
The WS logo crests in the distance. I don’t slow down until I’m half a
block away, bringing the vehicle to a screeching stop in front of the lobby.
The tires are smoking from the effort, the clouds plume outside our
windows.
I take my new micro-nine from the middle console and shove it between
the waistband of my leggings and the small of my back as I round the SUV
to the passenger’s side.
Kage falls out of his seat when I pull at him. The weight of his body on
my shoulder somehow makes me feel better.
I can carry him; they can cure it.
“Just a bit farther. Don’t die on me.”
I see a secretary at the desk through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the
lights are low. The door doesn’t open when I pull it, so I put Kage’s wrist in
front of an antiquated scanner I don’t think will work.
“If Harper is wrong, I’m going to have—”
To my surprise, the doors slide open. The cute blonde-haired receptionist
goes pale when she sees me carrying my gigantic husband inside.
We must look insane. My five-foot-nine, hundred-and-seventy-pound ass
dragging an unconscious man literally double my width through a door that
was supposed to be locked hours before opening; both of us soaked in sweat
and peppered with blood from reopening wounds.
“We’re here, you’re gonna make it. A few more minutes, hold on. Just
gotta talk to your family.”
I speak to him as I gently lay his body on her desk.
It’s okay, I’m gonna fix it.
I ignore her shrieks when I pull the gun from my waistband. I level it at
her forehead, idly thinking how pretty her hair is.
“Platinum takes forever to get right. Don’t fuck it up by acting on stupid
ideas. I just need to talk to a Wilde, any one will do. All you have to do is
make the call. No need to stain your hair.”
The woman gasps but doesn’t move.
There’s a good chance she’s in shock, so I give her a moment while I look
for cameras. Someone has to be watching. This family has one resounding
trait: paranoia.
An elevator beeps ten feet away. I lower the gun, sidestepping the
receptionist as I run for the parting silver doors. A man in a tailored
charcoal and chalk Kiton suit steps out.
I leap at him, realizing I’ve seen him before at the same moment my gun
meets his temple.
“You might be fast, but no one outruns a bullet, Armand.”
I have a gun on the president of Wilde Securities. Micah and Sean would
approve.
Hopefully, their father does, too.
“Someone poisoned Kage. He called it the senator special, fix him. Now.”
Behind me, the woman is no longer a blonde statue, and instead is full-on
sobbing. I want to check on Kage, see if he’s seizing, but taking the barrel
from a Wilde is suicide.
“You could have just asked.”
Armand’s voice is exactly how I remember it: cold, smooth, deadly. The
first time I met him, I thought it was because he was hiding a secret. It
made me dislike him. Now I know, the killer in me saw the killer in him.
“I doubt that.”
We stand in silence for a moment before my husband begins to gurgle
and gasp.
He’s got five minutes.
“Turn his head to the side, make sure he doesn’t choke.”
My words come out level; the length of my control has never been more
welcome. Tears threaten to fall, but I don’t let them. He’s going to live.
I will save him.
Armand nods to the woman behind me, and then there’s a shuffle of
movement at my flank. She’s doing it, even as she hiccups and wails.
The elevator opens again. A gurney comes out this time, flanked by four
people in grey Wilde Security polos and surgical masks.
They pass me, but I keep my eyes on Armand.
The way he’s evaluating me makes my skin crawl. He takes stock of my
grip on the pistol, the width of my stance, even the rise of my brow is
clocked by the dark-haired man with piercing green eyes.
He knows I know.
“Bold of you to come here admitting my nephew broke our code, and
then still expect us to save him.”
He grins as he speaks to me, his voice threateningly amused in a way that
makes me want to take a step back.
I will fucking not.
“I don’t.” Rage boils in my gut, and I’m not trying to hold it back. “I
expect you to save your own. Make no mistake, if my husband stops
breathing, you do too.”
I shove the pistol further into his head right as the elevator opens a third
time.
What the fuck is happening?
The man that walks out looks so much like my husband, I almost say his
name. Except this man has salt at his temples, and eyes that would shame
the emerald sea.
“Kage?”
The word I almost said falls from the man’s lips as he walks toward the
growing crowd behind me. For a second, I swear worry flashes in his eyes,
but they’re passive before they move out of my peripheral vision again.
My voice wants to break, my head feels light. But Armand’s stare hasn’t
left mine for a single moment, so I don’t sway, and I sure as shit don’t
fumble my words when I speak to the man I can no longer see.
“He’s been poisoned. Are you Lucian?”
“Yes.” the man’s voice is tight, and growing closer.
The gurney passes me again, heading toward the elevator. Kage is on it.
His ashen face passes me, and I follow, leaving Armand in place with my
gun trained on him.
When we reach the elevator, Armand chuckles and winks at me.
Then a shot fires.
Pain blooms in my chest.
Everything slows down.
Armand’s face falls, the grin disappearing in a snarl as he turns to find the
shooter. He’s calling a ceasefire and putting his body between the elevator
and the place the shot came from.
Weird. I thought he was going to kill me.
Lucian, the father-in-law I’m finally meeting in person, dives for me.
It’s unnecessary, because Kage catches me. His body is so still now it
doesn’t even move when I land on it.
No more seizures. They must have already given him the antidote.
My head feels right on his chest, above the name he gave me. He’s my
home, and he’s safe now.
His heartbeat is so slow; I haven’t heard it yet.
My lungs hurt. I hate being shot.
Still no heartbeat.
The wound on my chest sends ripples of blistering agony through my
body.
There’s a hand on my shoulder, but it’s not his.
Because he’s not here. There’s no heart beating under the name he calls
me.
Whatever magic made time slow, goes in reverse.
“He doesn’t have a heartbeat!”
The sound of my scream reverberates in the moving elevator. Frantic, I
try to stand, but my legs are wobbly, too weak to support my trembling
body.
“Where is his heartbeat?”
Fear and desperation are anchors; it’s impossible to find my balance. I
can’t give him CPR or make the faceless grey polos hovering around do it. I
don’t have the strength.
So I beg.
“Please, Lucian, save him. He’s your son! I’m sorry he married me. Don’t
let him die for it.”
Arms wrap around me, pulling me from my husband’s body.
His face is so blue.
“Noooo!!”
The screams shred my throat but don’t stop the man pulling me from
Kage. I thrash in his grip, my arms desperately clawing at the air to get back
to the man I love. My legs don’t kick; I can’t feel them at all.
“Please, please! He’s your son! SAVE HIM!”
The tears I’ve fought finally win; scalding my cheeks with rivers of
misery.
“Let me die, I can die. Please, just…”
Wet sobs steal my voice as I beg Lucian, Armand—anyone—to save my
hero.
This isn’t the way we’re supposed to end.
Woodsy cinnamon and warm vanilla overtake my senses; I smell my
mother’s Snickerdoodle cookies.
Darkness is setting in. I can’t see Kage, only an ever-shrinking orb of
light and sound.
I’m dying.
The peace I always envisioned isn’t here.
Just the scent of a life I barely tasted, the fiery cold of a gunshot, and the
fading vision of the only person who was ever mine.
I didn’t save him.
I didn’t save us.
I’m sorry…
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End of book one.
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A note from the author that just
broke your heart...
Thank you for reading F*ck Marry Kill! I appreciate everyone who picks
this book up and gives my silly self a shot. It’s hard to be seen in this world,
especially as an indie. If you enjoyed reading Kage and Sable’s story, please
consider leaving a rating or review. They're the ships that carry books to
readers and enable authors to continue writing.
Do you think you know how the Savage Rapture ends? Tell me about it!
Email me, make a video on social media, or even message me there. Find
out if you’re right when book two drops later this year! You survived FMK,
but who will remain standing after our next game?
Get ready for Two Truths and a Lie.
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About the author
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Acknowledgements
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