With every thrust, I assert myself deeper into her—and not just physically. I want to reach into the cavernous shadows of her heart and throw a spotlight on the person she is now. The survivor. The warrior. The woman who should not be shackled to her tormentors.
“I’m not trying to erase them, Scarlett,” I counter softly, brushing my lips against the back of her neck as I quicken our rhythm. “I’m trying to set you free.”
She lets out a shuddering breath, the heat of her body igniting an inferno in my chest. As her walls tighten around me, I feel her grappling with the connection we’re forging, caught between desire and the ghosts of her past.
“I need them to understand,” she finally says, voice dampened by passion but strong with conviction. “I’m not—”
“No!” I cut her off, pulling her hair until her head tilts back to meet my gaze. There's a battle raging in her eyes—herneeds pitted against her memories. “You don’t need anyone’s understanding but your own. You are not their victim.”
With that statement, something shifts between us. It’s a fragile balance, but it’s there—a tentative thread of hope, threaded through the rawness of our bodies and souls entwined under this starlit sky.
“Show me what you want, Bones,” I coax gently, softening as I knead her hips and slam into her cunt, urging her to surrender to the moment, to the connection we’re building from broken shards.
"Bones?" She hesitates, and for just a flicker of time, I fear I’ll lose her again to the darkness that looms around us.
But then, in the depths of her eyes, I see it—a glint of rebellion, a spark of resolve that ignites the fire within me.
With a sudden burst of energy, she pushes back against me, taking control, flipping our positions until she’s facing me, her hands gripping my shoulders as she begins to ride me with purpose. Her eyes blaze ferociously, and it sends a premonition spiraling in my gut—this moment is both our liberation and our salvation.
“Make them remember me, too,” she orders, voice firm yet hot with lust. The challenge in her gaze dares me to keep following her lead, to meet her spirit with an intensity that rivals hers.
“Then let’s make them wish they never existed,” I rasp, feeding off her fury as I sit deeper into the darkness between us, the world around us fading into insignificance.
We clashed like wildfire and ice, consuming one another with every glance and touch, breaking free of the chains that once bound her. As we ride the waves of our tempestuous exchange, I realize she is rewriting her story—and I am determined to be at the center of it.
As the moonlight bathes us, illuminating the truth with a soft glow, I know without a doubt: I’m not just part of her newnarrative; I'm going to be the fucking author of it. Together, we'll rise from the ashes and redefine what it means to survive in a world that tries to bury us alive.
With one final thrust, we head towards oblivion—a symphony of crickets and moans, lost in each other and reborn in this bind. In this twisted moment, as we let go together, giving into desire, we plunge into uncharted depths where love, rage, and liberation violently collide.
11
Bones
Scarlett
Ihadn’t realized Hunter’s knife had sliced into me while he fucked me over the guys' grave until now. Crimson marks are scattered across my neck and chest, dried blood clinging to my skin. Instead of washing it away, I leave the wounds undisturbed, fixing my hair into a loose bun. I change into one of Blade’s old shirts, nostalgia almost trapping me in the bathroom for the entire night once his scent envelopes me, but I know Hunter is waiting for me in the living room.
The scent that wafts around me is distinctly him—a reminder of more than just his favorite shirt. I have to physically force myself to push open the door and step out of the bathroom,trying to banish thoughts of Blade and our twisted love. It was sick and so incredibly wrong, but it was ours.
He knew everything about me, but I didn't know much about him, other than he was a Marine and he and Saint were adopted brothers. But I loved him. He was gorgeous with his blue eyes and short, dark curly hair. His bright smile even though darkness crept behind it. His muscles that looked literally painted on. But what I loved most, was his twisted way of showing me he loved me too. He'd unlock my cuffs when the others weren't around. He'd take me outside of the mausoleum so I could get some fresh air. One minute he'd hold my hand and shower me in affection, and the next he'd be recuffing me to the bed and fucking me while he kept his knife against my neck. He'd force pills down my throat when Nixon was around, but wouldn't press the issue when it was just us. He had a funny way of showing me love. But I saw it in almost everything he did. The stalking. The breaking into my apartment and forcing me to do things. Forcing me to kill. For some reason none of it bothered me when it came to Blade, or Saint for that matter. With Riley and Nixon it was quite the opposite.
And now I'm starting to feel things again for Hunter and the others, but it feels wrong. I feel like I'm betraying the guys, even though they're dead. I can't quite move past it or figure it the fuck out.
I find Hunter sprawled across my bed when I discover the living room empty, flipping through TV channels. His long blonde hair spills across the pillowcase, framing his sharply defined jaw, lightly dusted with stubble. The white T-shirt he wears hugs his body but rides up, accentuating his lower stomach and the sculpted V that leads enticingly down to his cock.
“See something you like?” Hunter teases, noticing my gaze.
I shake my head, attempting to maintain my composure, but it’s incredibly difficult. “No, I’m good. Just zoning out.”
“Yeah, zoning out on my cock,” he laughs, and I can’t deny the truth in his words.
“If I wanted you or your cock, believe me, I’d have you,” I responded, my tone sharper than intended but playful nonetheless.
As I settle on the edge of my bed, I make the mistake of glancing at the only picture frame I have—a photograph of my father and me on my seventh birthday, just before he was convicted of murdering my mother in front of me. I lose myself in his eyes, which mirror my own. That genuine smile raises questions I can’t answer. Did he know he would take her life when this picture was taken? Was he truly happy, or merely performing for the camera? Too many questions swirl, and I’m left with no fucking answers.
I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder, and swiftly pull my knife out, pressing the blade against his knuckles. It takes a moment to reorient myself, and only then do I realize Hunter is here with me. I drop my knife when it dawns on me, clearing my throat to confront him. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes, but I know there's a similar gleam in mine.
“Is that why we’re doing this? Killing off random people for your old man?” he questions, clearly already aware of the answer.
