My nostrils flared.
But I carried on, carving the lines of a puppet into her flesh.
I’d let them heal over, rip into them again and again so they scarred. Maybe even find a tattoo gun and dig ink into them to make them vibrant, bright, there forever so she would never forget. It wasn’t her death I wanted to claim, not at all. It was her life. Her life under me. Forever.
The hardest lines to carve were on her face. The two running from the edge of her lips to her jaw snagged and caught, so I had to pull the skin taut to get the line smooth. These were the most important ones. They had to look good. Believable.
But I went too deep, slicing all the way through her cheek, leaving her chin hanging half off her jaw, teeth and gums exposed.
“Oh fuck,” I hissed, pushing the skin as it if might just stitch back together. “Shit.” It looked garish,barbaric, ugly. For a few moments, I floundered, trying to figure out what to do. How to fix it.
Steadying myself, I stared down at what was becoming my masterpiece. Despite the slash down her jaw, she was fucking beautiful. Disgusting and diseased, but beautiful. I sliced the other side, the knife slipping through her flesh with no resistance.
For a second, nothing happened, then her chin flopped forward, her bottom lip going with it, inverting and exposing more of her mouth, milky teeth, almost too sharp, and pale gums.
“You look fucking hideous,” I told her. She said nothing. “Penelope.” Nothing.
Sighing, I pushed the skin flap back up and used one of the thin needles and some clothing thread to stitch the area back together. The lines there were jagged now, prominent and ugly.
But the effect was the same.
I was taking away her voice. Her say. Never again would she be able to tease or chide. I missed it now, but I knew with time it had to be gone. Her ability to speak, it had to be gone. She was a puppet now, a toolto use for enjoyment only. If she had her voice, she had a say.
My head throbbed with pain and anger, my sight wavering, the tool in my hand digging into my palm. Carry on.
When I pried her eyelids back open, it was the first time I hesitated for real. And instead of slicing her eyelids off, as I planned, I pinned them so they couldn’t close.
It was garish, but I could tell she was awake just from the way her eyes blazed. The thick pins made her look ridiculous; her eyelids stretched to a point in the middle, angry and red, turning purple, ripping.
The sedative didn’t remove pain, only the ability to move. I winked at her and kept working, wiping the blood as it formed, moving across her body to carve and create.
I knew she’d be urging me to do it, to end this now. To do what I needed to do.
Penelope Karner never cared for her life. Every action and reaction, it was always from a place of uncaring. Even inside the prison, when I watched her pickfights or cause chaos because she was bored. Over and over, she tested the boundaries of fate and tried to die.
It was the ultimate thing she wanted. The thing she most craved, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself. I didn’t know if she did, if when she begged for it, she meant it, or if she thought she was playing me.
And that’s what stopped me. Time and time again.
She wanted someone to take her life from her, to take the decision away from her. If I did, was she winning?
I paused, the short blade at her throat again, reminding myself of what she did to Jake, of how little remorse she had for it. He died with her face the last he saw. He died because she was bored and bitter.
My baby brother died because she overheard him talking about me, about my role in her near capture. Because he was bragging about his big brother, and she was listening.
Anger boiled in my gut again, always volatile, always right there, ready to burst out and react. Seconds flickered over, going from rage and hatred, to regret and disgust.
Do it, Adrian. Do it…She’d be urging me, demanding of me, teasing me with my indecision.
I climbed on top of her, pushed her floppy legs to the side and yanked my cock from my pants, hard and angry for her.
When I drove into her soft pussy, it was wet, clenching around me. Even through the sedative, she’d be enjoying this. She was so fucked up she could never resist it. Resist me.There was no give, my cock chafing as I pumped into her. I yanked my cock out and scooped some of her seeping blood onto it, jacking the shaft until it was all coated. Blood was sticky, too thick, but I shoved back in, groaning at how rough it felt.
I rubbed her clit, fucked her until her body shifted up the table. Her hands would be moving if they could, clawing at my skin, urging me to go faster, harder, to destroy her, injure her,killher.
“Fuck, you feel so good, little killer,” I said through thrusts of my hips, ignoring the way my knees ached, the way my hands were digging into her shoulders to the point where my fingertips were clawing at bone. Blood streamed from her wounds, pooling on her stomach, under her back. I kept going.
She would be moaning, loving this, meeting me thrust for thrust.
