After some time alone, I gather my clothes and get dressed, starting to feel the unease settle over me at the thought of being here on my own again.
Finally exiting the death rooms, I make my way back to the trailer, each step weighed down by the confusion of the night's events, the wetness of my panties and the discomfort of the wounds etched into my flesh.
After making sure she gets home, I wait in the shadows, watching as she enters her trailer. Once the door closes behind her, my jaw tenses, and I linger for a moment longer, my eyes fixed on the spot where she disappeared.
I finally turn away, heading back to my own trailer, reaching into my leather jacket pocket. I pull out a cigarette and light it, drawing in the calming, toxic fumes into my lungs.
While admiring the bright red stain of her blood on my hand, the sight makes my aching cock twitch against my tight jeans, my thoughts crazy as I think about how close I came to losing control. I had to leave, but I’m far from finished. After tonight, I know for certain my Dolly has hidden demons and fantasies as predicted. I now know what draws me to her and I crave her fucking darkness.
Although she may think she was the one in control because I allowed her the power in that moment, the opposite is true. Her fight to push me away, only fuels my delusion to want hermore. Imagine the depths of sensations I could evoke if I were to have her beneath me, her little body weakening and responding to my every whim. The thought of inflicting both pleasure and pain upon her, exploring the boundaries of her limits, makes my fucking balls throb. I want to show her the lengths of my sick desires, guiding her through a journey of dark euphoria.
With each sadistic game we play, I want her to know how beautiful I think she is, drawing her deeper into our shared world of depravity that knows no fucking bounds.
When she asked me to cut her, surrendering completely to my wicked fantasies without me even forcing them upon her, and the way she exposed herself to me deepens my obsession with her. She surprised me by agreeing to let me see her completely naked and vulnerable. I expected a fight, but instead, she seemed to relish the feeling. Her eyes shone with desire as she obeyed my commands with little hesitation.
The way her skin flushed under my gaze, the slight tremor in her breath—it was clear: Noir craves degradation and being controlled. The memory of her trembling body and the way I felt her greedy pussy pulsing against our hands while she bucked her hips run wildly in my mind. The way her breathing came out ragged after she screamed, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, how fucking soaked her panties were and the sight of the blood dripping from her thighs invade my perverted thoughts.
Fuck. I’ll stop at nothing to take everything from her. I want to break her. I want to make her as insane as I am.
As I make my way back to my trailer, the realization that this is far from over settles in. Yeah, I reluctantly agreed that I would leave her alone, but I fucking lied. I lied so fucking hard just to get what I want. Things are about to get a whole lot worse for, Noir. This connection, this hunger I have for her, it's driving me even more crazy than I already am, and I can’t stop myself.
Now that I've had a taste of the darkness that stirs inside her, there's no going back, I want it all; I want to see it all. She has ignited something insatiable within me, and I won't fucking rest until I have her completely, until she is mine in every sense of the word, even if I have to take it.
While entering our trailer, I take in the familiar black walls and floor. Wrath's bedroom is downstairs, while Soul's and mine are upstairs. As I pass through the small kitchen area, I peel off my leather jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a chair. I continue towards Wrath's room at the back of the trailer, but I notice his door is slightly ajar. When I am within reach, I push it with my palm and I enter, only to stop as I take in the scene before me.
Wrath stands shirtless, only wearing black jeans, with a young woman suspended in front of him. Her wrists are shackled upward to chains fixed into the ceiling. Her pale, naked and unmoving body is hanging with her head lowered, her long dark hair obscuring her face. Small intricate words cover every inch of her skin, written in black script that I can't read from this distance. Wrath holds a pen in his hand, carefully adding to the markings on her figure.
Once he acknowledges my presence and turns to look at me over his shoulder, his red spiral contacts meet mine.
Jesus fucking Christ, what the actual fuck.
Feeling the usual mixture of disbelief and confusion when it comes to him, I’ve always known Wrath's madness knows no fucking bounds, and in this moment, he seems more unhinged than ever. He is probably the most psychotic person I have ever fucking met and that’s saying something. Wrath has selectivemutism, and he will only at times speak to me and Soul; anyone else gets complete silence from him. Well, from what I know.
As I watch him carefully from a distance, he blinks blankly at me, and I shake my head, “Is she fucking dead?” I ask, genuinely curious.
He doesn’t speak, he just stares at me as if he is peering right through my existence and my teeth grind. “We spoke about this, Wrath. Why the fuck do you keep doing this shit?”
He lifts his shoulder, “They never do as they’re told.” He finally explains, completely unfazed by how horrifying he is.
I fight the urge to argue with him because I know I can’t judge. After all, we're all messed up in our own disturbing ways, but sometimes, I think my brothers are even more unstable than I am or maybe that’s just me being in denial of how far my own depravity goes. I try to keep them in check if I can, or they'd bring this whole place crashing down. Each of us has our own twisted story of how we ended up like this, how we ended up here, and none of them are pretty, but despite the darkness that binds us, we're still a fucking family. Our trauma bond runs deep, forging an unbreakable connection between us. I keep them closer than ever since Haze was killed and it sometimes keeps me awake at night thinking I could lose them too.
When I remain silent, not knowing what the fuck to say, he turns back around, continuing to write on her and I watch for a few seconds longer before finally backing away and leaving him to his insanity.
Entering the kitchen, I spot Soul stepping into the trailer, his green whirling lenses catching mine, and he halts. I slump backinto a chair at the table, my head thrown back, and close my eyes. I hear the scrape of the chair opposite me and lift my head to see him sitting down. He pulls down his black and neon green half-mask, revealing his painted nose and lips, his eyes never leaving mine. As he draws back his hood, he ruffles his fingers through the top of his wavy blonde hair before resting his elbows on the table.
“What the fuck has he done this time?” he asks, knowing it’s Wrath who has triggered me.
I let out a long breath, feeling the weight of the night bearing down on me. “The usual shit.”
He falls back in his chair, eying me suspiciously. “Where the fuck did you go?”
I stay silent, staring at him and after a moment, a big grin spreads over his lips. “It was her you sensed, wasn't it?”
I sigh and face away, my jaw tense as I answer. “She was in the fucking death rooms, and almost got herself killed.”
He raises an eyebrow, his grin fading. “Anything else?” he asks, seeking for information.
I mimic his eyebrow arch before responding bluntly. “What do you want, you sicko? All the fucking details?”
