I flick on the wiper blades when rain patters my windscreen partway down the long dirt road that leads to Jim’s. This is the slowest part of the trip when it’s dry, so I have to go even slower in the wet.
My tires slip and slide more than usual when K exercises her vocal cords for the second time today. “Duchess.”
Even with it being dangerous for me to do, I remove one of my hands from the steering wheel so I can wiggle a finger in my ear, certain I heard her wrong. I’ve only ever called one woman that name. It was when I was claiming her virginity in her daddy’s food pantry.
Although this is a piss-poor excuse, my head was still a little fucked-up from the drugs I consumed last night, so mixing Dok’s weak-ass prescription with my already drug-laced veins could be causing a slight bout of hearing loss.
“What did you say?” When panic darts through K’s expressive eyes, I’m quick to shut it down. “I’m not mad at you. I just want to make sure I heard you right. I can barely hear anything through the thump of my pulse in my ears.”
I wasn’t meant to say my last sentence out loud, but I’m glad I couldn’t hold back when K removes my hand from my ear to place it on hers. Since her heart is beating as fiercely as mine, I can count her pulse through her ears.
Because I’m too busy staring at her, fucking lost on what the hell is happening, I fail to notice the massive pothole I narrowly missed two days ago. When I hit it front-on, it juts my car out far enough, my tires slip off the portion of road Nikolai pays to have graded every six months so his crew can travel to Jim’s as often as needed without hindrance.
Since the road is in the process of being redone, the sides are high and full of loose dirt. I’m bogged in an instant and seconds from burying Rory in a shallow grave instead of feeding him to the pigs as per Nero’s suggestion.
After numerous failed attempts to free my back tires from the slop, I stray my eyes to the pigsty on the horizon. It’s drizzling, but Rory is as weightless as he was pathetic, so I’ll have no trouble carrying him to his final resting place before asking Jim to tow me out of the slosh.
“You can wait here, K. I’ll only be a few minutes…” My words trail off when she cranks open her door and slips out of the passenger seat at the same time I notch up the trunk’s latch to release its lock.
Like a psychopath with a fondness for blood and gore, my cock hardens to the point its painful when the removal of Rory’s naked-ass from my trunk is quickly chased by K’s foot landing in his stomach.
I can’t understand a word she snarls at him when she lays her boot into him for a second and third time, but I’m as confident as fuck she deserves the title of Duchess.
As Nikolai said all those years ago, not all princes wear crowns.
The same can be said for princesses.
“You good?” I ask her when the lack of nutrients in her stomach has her grappling for air four kicks later. “He’s already dead, but I’ve got no issues with you tendering him up for the pigs. They’ll chew straight through his bones either way. Kinda like someone tried to do to his cock.” In my earlier rage, I failed to notice Rory’s dick is all chewed up. It looks like someone tried to bite it off. Serves the fucker right. If you don’t want your dick gnawed off by an angry woman, don’t force it between her lips. “Pity they didn’t bite straight through. Might have taught him some manners.”
K’s eyes flash my way. They’re brimming with the strength I saw in them when our eyes locked and held. The resurrection of her will to live has me holding back on my plan to toss Rory over my shoulder. If K wants to help send the man who attempted to assault her to hell, I’m more than happy to allow her to do that.
Redemption comes in many forms.
* * *
“Just a little bit further,” I assure K when her pants grow rampant. I transferred a majority of Rory’s weight onto my half of our duo before commencing our sloshy trek across a muddy field, but K’s help is still noticeable, especially since she has a cut-up hand. She’s holding Rory’s legs, which are at an odd angle since I had to bend him up to fit him in my trunk. “I can take it from here if you want to head back.”
The sprinkling of rain does little to cool the heat that roars through my body when K grunts out her disapproval. She’s come this far, and nothing is going to stop her from reaching her goal.
“Alright. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Duchess. I was just checking.” My smirk grows when her eyes shoot to mine during the middle of my reply. It isn’t her nickname gaining me her attention, it’s the way my voiced dipped when I said knickers. It was as British as it could be, and it doubles the tension teeming between us. I doubt any of the men who tortured her under Vladimir’s watch called her panties knickers. That’s the reason I used it. To remind her she’s no longer under Vladimir’s watch.
She is sheltered by mine.
“Ready?” I ask K after ripping Rory’s body through a gate too narrow for his wide shoulders.
When K nods, we toss Rory into the pigsty like kids throw their mates into a swimming pool. Mud kicks up when he hits the sloshy ground with a thump. It dots my clothes with smelly pig shit and God knows what since Nikolai’s crew has dumped multiple bodies here the past two years.
K is nowhere near as lucky. She gets it in her eyes and her face, and it has her stomach protesting to the smell with violent churns.
“Shit, come here.” I drag her until she’s standing under the drain spout running across the pigsty’s roof, wordlessly warning her body it better not bring up a smidge of bread rolls in her stomach. I’ll be pissed as fuck if Rory causes her more harm.
The flood of water teeming down her face clears away the mess in an instant. It also drenches her shirt to a point I can’t ignore. She’s not wearing a bra, and her rosy pink nipples are budded and staring up at me, begging to be touched.
I’m not a good man. I’ve told you this before, and it’s proven without a doubt when I track the back of my fingers down one of K’s hardened peaks without seeking permission. When her rosy bud stiffens more from my meekest touch, my cock knocks at the zipper in my jeans. We’re standing next to a pigpen, the smell is fucking atrocious, yet I’m two seconds from whipping out my cock and plunging it into K’s fragrant-smelling cunt no amount of manure and blood can take away from.
I wouldn’t hesitate if K’s head wasn’t angled to the side, and her eyes were blank and unblinking. She’s still here, with me, but only just.
“Look at me, K.” When she fails to jump to my command, I get snappy. “Look at me, Duchess!”
