“I’m getting my father out of prison, and certain people need to die for that to happen,” I respond, sounding more like an automated recording than a person, trapped in a rehearsed trance.
“I understand he’s your father, but why would you want him out when he’s clearly using you?” His tone ignites my ire, and rage surges like a riptide through me.
I pivot and straddle him, pressing the knife against his throat, already drawing blood. Seething, I glare at him, our noses nearly touching. My heart races. The ringing in my ears grows louder. I feel drops of sweat trickle from my forehead onto Hunter’s face, and the rage surging through me causes my body to tremble.
His hands find my hips, gripping me firmly, keeping me pressed against him as his cock rises against my inner thighs. He smirks at my fury, his hips thrusting upward to provoke a reaction from me. The truth is, I’m not sure how to respond. I know what he said about my father triggered my anger. I can’t explain why I defend and support him despite his actions; it almost feels like an obligation.
He took my mother away from me, yet I feel indebted to him. Make it make sense.
From that fateful night onward, my life changed forever. Things were never the same; I was neglected in foster homes, treated like a punching bag, a vessel for anger, and a quick release. But despite the chaos, my failing mental health, and my struggles with schizophrenia, I tried to build a life for myself. I graduated high school, pushed through college in Salem, and thought I could escape the shadows. But then everything unraveled: Carli’s murder, me killing River, the masked men, the bloodshed, the drugs—my life spiraled into absolute ruin. They tormented and tortured me, yet I found myself inexplicably drawn to them, even when they planned my death. I loved them.
Lost in the memories, I’m jolted back to the present when Hunter flips me onto my back, taking my knife and using it against me, making me feel small under his commanding presence. He drags the blade down the center of my throat, gliding it across my collarbone. Our eyes lock, and I can’t look away, even as I feel him pressing the knife into my skin, drawing blood and revealing the artistry of his viciousness. He winks before lowering his head, his tongue trailing across thecuts, tasting the blood he spilled. An unexpected thrill courses through me from the sensation of the cuts stinging.
Locking my legs around him, I pull him closer until our bodies align, his cock pressing against my pussy. I sink my nails into his inked back, raking my hands beneath his shirt, leaving deep, red scratches in my wake.
“Tell me what you want, Bones,” Hunter murmurs, his lips barely inches from mine.
“You,” I admit breathlessly, disregarding how desperate my confession sounds.
“Funny, because I fucking want you too.” He grins, then closes the distance between us with a kiss that ignites an inferno within me.
The kiss is electric, sending shockwaves through my body as warmth radiates from our bodies, hot and desperate. Hunter’s lips claim mine with an intensity that dares and promises, intensifying the chaos swirling inside me. A part of me knows I should resist—should fight against him and the turmoil of what we’re diving into. But all rational thoughts evaporate as I pull him closer, deepening the kiss and surrendering to instinct like an addict.
His fingertips brush over the cuts on my chest, merging pleasure and pain in a way that makes me shiver. I’ve never felt so alive, lost in a whirlwind of adrenaline and lust, the ground beneath us fading into oblivion. The tragedy surrounding Blade feels like a distant echo, a haunting past unable to penetrate this reckless embrace.
“Let’s not pretend,” he whispers into my mouth, breath hot against my skin, “that we aren’t going to test those boundaries tonight.”
His words send a thrill surging through me, the imminent danger too intoxicating to ignore. The knife remains in his grip, a reminder of how unpredictable he is. The thought only fuelsthe inferno within, igniting suppressed fantasies. I want to be reckless, to burn it all to the ground again.
“Then let’s play,” I challenge, my voice low, dripping with invitation.
He chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating against my lips. “Oh, we will.”
In an instant, he pulls back just enough to scrutinize my eyes, measuring the wildness behind my gaze. I see the devil in his smirk, the dangerous edge that has drawn us both to this moment. He nudges the knife, its coolness teasing my skin—a reminder of what lurks just beneath the surface. The threat has always been part of our game, but I’ve always danced on this fine line, toes dangling perilously over the edge.
Hunter’s hands move with fervent intent, tracing the scars of my past and the wounds I thought healed. His touch feels transformative, as if he’s mapping the contours of my story, each mark resonating with unspoken truths. I arch my back, baiting him, hungry for release, desperate to blur the lines between pleasure and pain and to forget about the scars on my body that tell the tragic story of my past.
“More,” I demand, pushing against him as I bring the knife closer until the pressure forces a gasp from my lips. “Show me how far I can fall until you catch me—if you catch me.”
The heat igniting his gaze sharpens, shifting from playful allure to primal need. “You ask for it, you’ll fucking get it, sweetheart.”
His tone flows with smooth darkness matching my own, and he shifts, pressing the blade against my collarbone, making a little knick that stings instantly from the sharpness of the blade. The sharp edge intertwines with the chaos and desire that have woven into an intricate tapestry. Breathless, I can hardly think, my body overwhelmed with the contradiction of fear andexhilaration. Hunter tilts his head, searching for the limits he can push, measuring the threshold between ecstasy and agony.
“Just remember,” he murmurs, trailing his finger along the knife’s edge, a symbol of our unspoken pact, “you wanted this.” He glides his thumb along the fresh cut and smears blood all over my skin, licking his thumb clean when he's done painting.
And I do. Deep down, I crave everything that comes with him—blood, chaos, love, and loss. I long for the beautiful messiness, the raw emotions that bind us. I thread my fingers through his hair, collecting uncertainties in the remnants of his blond strands as I tug him closer. The scent of danger cloaks me, a mix of musk and intensity.
“Then let’s embrace the madness,” I whisper.
With a smirk curving his lips, Hunter plunges the knife into the mattress beside us, his brow raising with challenge. He captures my mouth again in a fervent kiss, deepening the connection and teaching me a language of intimacy wrapped in shadows and danger as we spiral into our own exquisite chaos. As the world outside fades away, it becomes just the two of us—two beautifully broken souls fully surrendering to the darkness.
The weight of the silence enveloped us, as Hunter's hands roamed freely over my body, a relentless exploration that left no part of me untouched. Each caress ignited fires beneath my skin, and as he traced the remnants of my struggles, I felt the barriers of my heart begin to crumble, layer by fragile layer.
“More,” I murmured again, almost pleading, my words laced with urgency.
The more he touched me, the more I craved him—craved this dark descent that felt like both a punishment and a salvation. The blood on my skin seemed to sear and pulse with life, a maddening reminder of everything I had endured while simultaneously transcending it.
With a grin that spoke volumes of the danger lurking in his essence, Hunter pulled away momentarily, his breath hot against my ear. “You really don’t know what you’re asking for, do you?”
