My jaw falls open, and I struggle not to gag when Spencer pushes his cock deep into my mouth, but just like the precious pet Dexter told me I am yesterday, I keep my teeth sheathed behind my lips until Dexter signals otherwise.
Then, there’s no holding back.
twenty-two
DEXTER
The pounding of my temples clears away when Megan gnaws her teeth through the motel clerk’s veiny shaft without the slightest bit of remorse. She bites him with a viciousness that only took a handful of compliments to unearth yesterday.
Her munch ends when Spencer stumbles back with a roar. “What the fuck!”
He backhands her so hard the sweet scent of her shampoo overtakes the ghastly smell of his tainted blood. He thought he had the makings of a king, that he could play the game of a master without even a pawn left on the board.
Megan will teach him otherwise.
Not only is his dick limp enough to ensure it won’t be pressed up against the curves of anyone’s ass anytime soon, but Megan doesn’t back down when she’s against the odds. The Vicar and Lucy’s attempts to belittle her didn’t see her clambering away like a coward, and this fool won’t this time either.
Megan is up in the clerk’s face in an instant, her wish to gut him more on par with what I was anticipating when I took Lucy back to our hotel with the hope I could fuck a little ‘skitzo’ from my thoughts with a woman only half as beautiful as her but a whole lot saner.
“Now, Megan,” I demand, my voice as rough as it was when I ordered for her to slit my father’s throat. It’s not only raw from the arsenic my father tried to poison me with, but it’s also rough from the endorphins pumping through my veins.
Like all good little pets, Megan immediately obeys the command in my tone. She stabs her thumbs into the clerk’s eyes, scratching the corneas enough for the putrid scent of his piss to linger in the air. He should be grateful I disarmed her while still plotting my game plan. If she had her blade, it would have been slit across his throat by now.
I removed her security blanket as a test. She passed, which lessens my agitation about waking up to discover her ass being ground by a man with oddly similar features to Nick.
“Take him down, Megan!” I scream, frustrated by her lack of strength. When she tripped on her pants huddled around her knees, Spencer used her tumble to his advantage. He pinned her to the wall across from his desk, then crept his hand toward her neck.
He almost has her at an advantage—almost—because before he knows what’s happening, Megan wrangles an ankle out of her pants, then pops a knee into his groin.
I slouch back in the chair with a grin, more than happy to watch the spectacle unfold from a distance. As Megan claws her nails down his face, all I see is Nick. The rage, the anger, the years of abuse Megan suffered because of him is unleashed in the most brilliant way. She gives it her all, prompting me to wonder if she too is thinking about him.
She wants revenge for the way he treated her. As much as me? I don’t know, but I am determined to find out.
I do know one thing, though. She can now express herself without fear of persecution. I’ve awakened a beast. Her hunger for blood is rampant, and I plan to expose it even more so—afterI fix the problem that has my head murky with more than the medication my mother tried to force down my throat from the age of eight to eleven.
“You’re taking too long,” I mutter under my breath while standing from my chair and marching across the room. “You don’t always need to play with your pets, little doll. Even rapists are taken down humanely, so why are you toying with him?”
Before Megan can answer me, I drag her switchblade across the clerk’s jugular. A stream of red lines his neck from one ear to the other. The gaping wound isn’t the reason I’m smiling, though. It’s from the spurts of blood that coat Megan’s face and the wide-eyed look she gives me when I smear the still warm byproduct of the man now slumped at her feet onto her top lip. She goes from disgusted to turned on in zero point five seconds, and even quicker than that, I answer the screaming wails of the voices in my head by sealing my mouth over hers.
I thought the drugs I snorted to forget the naïve virgin my father wanted to corrupt had me mistaking the taste of Megan’s skin, that her mouth couldn’t have been anywhere near as scrumptious as my fucked head was believing, but as I slowly emerge out of my father’s shadow, I’m learning not all his teachings were correct.
He said the women who taste like heaven are discarded imps of hell, that God sullied them purely to take down his competition. They were conceived to destroy us, birthed to force governance, and that only the strong could see past their tasty mouths, succulent tits, and dripping cunts that could only be more appetizing when smeared with virginal blood.
That’s why he took down the innocent and hunted the pure. He said that by doing God’s work, he made the playing field even and that it gave more chance for boys like me to live a normal life.
Stupidly, I believed him. My mother did force pills down my throat, she let the doctors poke and prod me for days on end, and she didn’t care when the pills made me bedridden for a week, but only because if I was braindead, my father’s teachings were pointless.
A vegetable can’t respond, much less participate in a hunt with targets only a couple of years older than him.
My mother hurt me, but in a sick and twisted way, it wasn’t to be cruel. A lullaby doesn’t excuse the torment I was forced to endure under her and my father’s watch, but it assured me that you can’t nurture a boy to be a killer. He’s either a murderer or not. There are no in-betweens.
Although, I am beginning to wonder if it’s the same for women. Megan’s eyes are too innocent to portray the iniquity of a murderer and her skin too soft to believe it was scorched by Satan’s touch, but there’s a killer hidden inside her. It’s stronger than the evil my father instilled in me because it was derived from pure evil, embedded by the men who were supposed to teach us right from wrong.
We were tainted by our fathers, then left for slaughter. Except now, he’s slumped on a dirty barn floor while my fingers are inching toward a heat growing warmer the closer my fingertips get.
Megan’s cunt smells decadent, and although I’m dying to corrupt it as no man has, there’s one little matter I need to take care of first.
Megan hisses into my mouth when I strip away the thin, half-moon disc of skin at the front of her opening. If I hadn’t seen the truth in her eyes when I asked if her father inappropriately touched her, I would have never believed he hadn’t instilled the same cruel acts of purity my father forced on his little pets.
