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Molly’s sobs turned to low sniffles. Wes mumbled incoherently under his breath, and the Burrows made comments as they watched their brother fuck my face. The back of my throat became the target for his harsh thrusts.
“Good girl, Rosie,” he praised, grabbing my hair. I gagged and swallowed repeatedly, fighting to breathe out of my mouth. Mucus and a steady stream of tears coated my face, obscuring my vision and obstructing my airway.
I blocked out everything around me, desperate for his cum to coat my tongue and spill down into my stomach. Desperate to finish this.
I reached between his legs and grabbed his balls, doing what I’d seen porn stars do in the videos. Apparently, this was some magic trigger.
“Shit,” Con groaned, ramming his dick in and out with crazed, erratic movements. As soon as the salty, white semen was released, he was pulling out and coming on my face. Webs of white landed on my lips and mixed with tears. He pushed my head down and used strands of my hair to wipe my messy saliva off his now flaccid cock.
I huddled on the ground, feeling all the eyes on me and refusing to make contact with a single pair.
“You’re the best Rose yet,” Con murmured, tucking his dick away before striding towards Wes.
“A deal’s a deal,” he announced loudly.
I was still choking on cum and spit when he put the barrel of his gun to Wes’ forehead and pulled the trigger, blowing his brains across the forest floor.
Chapter Thirteen
Present
I stared down at the phone, already knowing who was on the other line. Snatching it off the floor, I answered, and I didn’t give him a chance to start toying with my head.
“You sick piece of shit. Why did you kill her?” I spat through the speaker. His answering chuckle had every hair follicle on my body rising to attention. I momentarily forgot how to breathe. He was really here—the proof was on the other side of this call.
So, what kind of game are we playing now?
“Rosie.” A soft sigh. “I missed hearing your dirty talk.”
“You’re supposed to be in hell.”
“I couldn’t arrive without you,” he responded nonchalantly.
“What do you want?” It was a stupid question; I knew exactly what he wanted: his sacred twelfth Rose.
The last diabolical link between our families and his devotion to his stepmother rendered him paralyzed when it came to letting me go. His scoff said just as much.
“I want my wife back,” he answered softly.
I despised the twisted organ in my chest for responding to his charm. My dark heart beat to hear his sugary words. They were always laced with bittersweet venom. This soul mate of mine had made me the worst kind of villain. He was to blame him for the ugly person I was inside—this fucking monster I was forced to hide from the rest of the world.
I couldn’t hide the memories, though. No matter how hard I tried, my past had a way of always catching up to me.
I shut my eyes and recalled everything he’d done to me and Molly. I remembered all the girls I’d helped lure to their deaths who’d just wanted to have a night of fun.
“I’m not your wife. It wasn’t even a real wedding.”
“I’m sure the dead officiate wouldn’t agree with that.”
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I slowly made my way back through the house, double checking every window and all the doors once more.
I grabbed the rusted poker by the closed off fireplace before heading upstairs. Con’s gravelly voice spoke in my ear the entire time.
“How did you get out of the house?” I cut him off, needing to know how he survived.
“Give me some credit, Rose. I’ve always known every move you were going to make before you made it.”
Touché, asshole.
I paused on the landing as realization dawned that he was never in danger of dying.
“Who do you think left the grease on high?”
“It was a test,” I mumbled, more to myself than him, cautiously peering in every bedroom.
“It was a test and you failed. Do you remember what happens when you fail one of my tests, Rosie?”
How could I forget? I’d strived to please him as if he were my king. I did it so Molly and I wouldn’t go hungry. I did it to keep us safe. If we failed a test, the ramifications always lasted far beyond the initial punishment.
For the past four years, I’d thought he was dead.
For four years, he’d had time to plan everything he was going to do to make me pay for abandoning him. I’d left him to be engulfed by flames, praying the putrid smoke would fill his lungs and kill him before the angry blaze did.
“Where have you been this whole time?”
“Reinventing myself,” he laughed.
“What are you going to do?” I stopped walking, readying myself for his answer.
