Page 22

The air in the shed is heavy, wet wood, rusted metal, and that thin, sharp edge of old blood, no matter how many times I’ve scrubbed, no matter how much bleach I’ve poured over the stains. Blood never really leaves; it clings, it marks, it whispers, but it never really disappears.

The gambrel creaks softly, a sound that once meant something clean. A deer strung up after a hunt, maybe, something simple, necessary. Now it’s just a cruel echo, twisted into a darker purpose.

A low groan breaks the stillness. His head slumps forward, a bead of sweat cutting a slow, shining path down his temple. His eyelids flicker, struggling against the pull of the drug still fogging his mind. There’s a sluggish twitch of his shoulders, the faintest hitch in his breathing.

And then, he looks at me.

“What the…?” His voice comes out rough, barely more than a whisper. Then his breath catches, and his body stiffens like a wire pulled taut. His eyes drop, and the realization crashes into him. He’s naked from the waist down. Exposed. Defenseless.

I see the fear in his wide, frantic eyes, and my grip tightens on the blade at my side. My gaze drifts over him, taking in the angles of his body, the pale, scarred skin, the bruises forming where I strapped him down. The sight leaves something cold and heavy in my chest, closer to disgust than pity. The male form has never been beautiful to me. It’s always been a weapon, built to take and hurt and leave behind scars that never fade.

I can still feel it sometimes, him and all of them. His hands grabbing, his breath against my skin. The cruel laugh that told me how small I was, how powerless. Those memories rise up now, uninvited, but I let them stay. I want to feel them. I want to remember what he did, what they all did. It makes this moment sharper and makes me sure of what I’m doing.

Now, he looks so small. Pathetic. The power he carried like a shield is gone, stripped away with his clothes. I stare at him, at the thing he once used to hurt me, dangling uselessly in front of him.

Weak.

Powerless.

He doesn’t deserve dignity, not after what he took from me. And tonight, he’ll know what it feels like to be helpless.

“What the fuck is this?” he howls, his voice cracking. He jerks against the chains, the faint groan of metal cutting through the silence like a warning.

I step into the dim circle of light, the blade glinting in my hand. “It’s about time,” I say softly, my voice calm, almost amused. “You should never keep a lady waiting. Where are your manners?”

Dennis jerks his head toward me, his face pale and slick with sweat. His eyes squint, scanning my face. “You…” His brow furrows, confusion flickering into something sharper. His breaths come faster, more erratic. “Wait. Lydia Anderson? Is that you?”

“Is it me?” I ask, stepping closer. “I should be offended you didn’t recognize me any sooner. I mean, my eyes, after all, are the things you stared at night after night.”

He flinches at the realization, and his body jerks violently against the chains. “How, how did you find me?”

“Believe me, for someone who wasn’t looking to be found. It wasn’t hard. Now, let’s get you in your favorite position, shall we?” I say. I grab the control for the gambrel and slowly lower it until his knees hit the ground. “Ahh, now that’s perfect. Now I know why you had such a thing for me getting on my knees. You said it made a girl holy. Tell me how holy it feels from your side?”

His face twists in rage and panic, his teeth bared like a cornered animal. “You fucking bitch! ” he spits, his voice trembling with fear. “You’re insane!”

“Insane? I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I’m very much the opposite of insane.” I snap, clicking the control to string him back up.

The metal moans under his weight. I can feel the power coursing through my veins. This one feels different than Virgil’s.

I just don’t know why.

I step closer until I’m inches from his face. “Do you know how old I was the first time I knelt in front of you, Dennis? I was eleven, Dennis. Eleven years old and on my knees in front of you, choking on your dick and your lies while you told me it was God’s will. Do you remember that, Dennis? Because it’s something I sure never forgot.”

Dennis’s face drains of color, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. “You… you don’t understand,” he stammers. “It wasn’t like that. I… I could’ve done worse. I didn’t… I never hurt you like…”

“Like the others?” I interrupt, my voice cutting through his excuses. “Is that what you’re trying to say, Dennis? That you held back? Should I thank you for being merciful? For only allowing your dick to enter my eleven-year-old mouth and not my eleven-year-old vagina? Is it even a cunt when it’s only eleven years old?”

His silence is answer enough.

I walk toward the wire crate in the corner of the shed. The pig inside snorts loudly, its pink snout twitching as it watches me approach, oblivious to what’s coming. I unhook the latch, and the second the gate swings open, it charges forward, almost knocking me back. I grab the leash and manage to loop it around its thick neck, but it bucks and twists, its hooves tottering on the floor. The sharp, jarring clatter echoes through the shed, matching my grunts as I wrestle it under control. The pig is all muscle; its weight is dragging me a few steps before I dig my heels in and yank the leash hard.

“Settle down,” I mutter, my breath coming quick and shallow. It snorts and jerks against the restraint, but I pull it forward, step by step, guiding it toward Dennis. The struggle is a distraction, a fight to keep my focus on the moment and not what’s about to happen.

Dennis’s breathing grows ragged as he stares at the pig, his eyes wide with terror. “What the fuck are you doing?” he whispers, his voice cracking.

I smile faintly, dragging the pig closer. “Pigs are fascinating creatures. Did you know they’ll eat just about anything? Even the parts no one else wants.” I tie the leash around the wooden post. It’s close that the pig’s able to nip at the flesh of his legs.

“No. No, no, no, wait!” Dennis’s voice rises in pitch as he thrashes against the chains, the clinking metal echoing through the shed. “Lydia, please! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to… I didn’t…”