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“You remember what you did to me with the whip, don’t you?” She swings her arm, cracking the whip against the bottom of his right foot. Red lines rise on the sole of his foot. “You remember how raw my feet were, how you stripped the skin from them until they bled. I know you do. You took a lot of pleasure in causing me pain.”
Crack. The leather of the whip slashes along his foot again. Paul’s muffled cries feed the darkness in my soul and, seemingly, my angel with horns’ as well.
“Do you remember that first night when I got off the table and fell to the floor because the pain was that excruciating? Do you remember your reaction to my suffering? I sure as fuck do.”
Crack. She sends the leather strips sailing along the bottom of his left foot. She walks up to stand over his face and pulls on the ball in his mouth, pressing his lower jaw down to open wider as she forces it over his lower teeth. Not caring about the damage she inflicts.
“I want to hear you beg me for mercy. Mercy you never cared to show me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please stop. Please,” Paul begs, tears running down his cheeks.
“Why? Did you stop when I asked? Did you stop when you broke my skin, when you left your handprints around my neck from choking me or bruises on my ribs when you punched me? Did you stop when I begged you not to force your sad excuse for a dick inside of me when I was so dry you tore me up inside? No, you fucking continued on as though I was just some fucking sex doll there for you to get your rocks off with. Fuck my well-being, I didn’t matter. Well, guess what? You don’t matter, I need to get my rocks off, and I’m going to use you to do it.”
Eden swings her arm, bringing the whip down across his chest.Crack. Crack. Crack.Over and over, she slashes at his chest. Her face contorting into a mess of pain and fury, her eyes fixed on the reddening skin.
Crack.Blood pools in the valleys of his abdomen, flowing more freely with each new slice of leather that breaks skin.
She moves down his body, beating him with the whip as she moves. His cries grow louder until the pain overwhelms him, and he falls silent. Too silent.
“Eden,” I call her name softly, not wanting to startle her. “Eden.”
Nothing, no twitch of the eye or tilt of the head. Tears flow down her cheeks as all the pain, anger, and mess of emotions she’s been bottling up for months—maybe years—pour out of her and into him.
I walk up behind her, wrapping one arm around her chest, catching some stray strips of leather in the face as I catch her wrist with my other hand before she can hit him again.
“Eden,” I growl low in her ear.
She spins around angrily, her red eyes meeting mine. Splatters of blood coat her from the top of her head down to her feet. Tear tracks streak through the blood on her cheeks.
“It’s okay, little killer.”
She shakes her head vehemently; her arms dropping to her sides and the whip slipping through her fingers. Air saws between her clenched teeth as she tries to breathe. The anger I saw in her eyes moments ago morphs into soul-shattering sorrow and heart-breaking grief. She steps forward, fisting my shirt in her hands, and buries her face in my chest. I wrap my arms tightly around her just as sobs rack through her body, and she melts in my hold. “No, it’s not. It’s not okay. I’m not okay.”
Her legs try to give, but I hold her up in my embrace, refusing to let this asshole or any others break my girl. I rub a hand up and down her back, trying to soothe away some of the grief.
With a sniffle, she pushes away from me and looks over the bloody man on the table. “It’s time to end this,” she says and storms over to the metal tray with a line of knives. She picks up a sharp switchblade and returns to the head of the table, and I move to stand beside her, seeing where this is going.
“Stop, little killer.” I cover her shaking hand with my steady hold, slipping the blade easily from her grip.
“No, he needs to die.” The conviction in her voice is raw and real.
“Eden, look at me,” I command, leaving no room for argument.
She looks up, tears filling her bottom lids, but she’s holding them back in a death grip.
“My strong girl. You have no idea how powerful you are. As much as it fucking turns me on—because, fuck, if you aren’t beautiful covered in blood and wielding my tools of pain and death—taking someone’s life leaves a stain on your soul, one that will never wash clean. I agree, he needs to die, but despite everything you’ve been through, everything men like him and Donovan—even your stepfather—put you through, you’ve kept this beautiful light inside of you. This glimmer of hope and goodness. If you do this, the same darkness that stains my soul will snuff out that light in you.”
I cup her face between my hands. “I can’t have that. I need your light to guide me out of the darkness that swallows me. You are the one pure thing in my life, and I’m not ready for that to dim. Let me save that part of you. Let me be your weapon and shield you from this part.”
Sliding my hands down to her shoulder, I nudge her to turn around. “Turn around and close your eyes. You don’t have to see it to know what’s happening.”
With one hand on Eden’s shoulder, I reach out with the other—blade clutched firmly in my hold—and slide the edge along Paul’s neck from ear to ear. Slicing through his carotid arteries.
An ominous gurgling sounds as blood spurts from his mouth and neck while his unconscious body gasps for air fills the room.
I wipe the blood from the blade along my pant leg and close the blade, sliding it into my pocket. Gripping Eden’s shoulders, I lead her out of the warehouse, not allowing her to look back.
The once clear night sky is now filled with clouds and cool rain. Eden tilts her head back, the rain washing the blood from her face. She turns and looks up at me with a small smile. Reaching down, she takes my hands in hers and holds them up to collect the rain. Silently, she wipes at the blood that paints my hands until they’re clean.
