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“Tonight, we take her,” Nightshade hisses, “and fuck her. Together. Hurt her. Make her scream.” He steps back to the chair he’s seated in and pulls me to him by my waist, pressing me against his body. He kisses me hard. I whimper and grind down onto his lap, desperate for more.
I don’t even care that we’re in a room full of people, let them watch. Let themwant.I just hope he’s not fucking with me.
“That’s quite enough of that, Miss Kingfisher,” a sharp, feminine voice calls out, stepping into the room.
Satan.
Fucking bitch ruins all my fun.
“We have a therapy session to get underway and you’re holding everybody up.”
I ignore her and continue kissing Nightshade to prove a point. I whistle to my own tune. A light zap shoots through me and I groan. Bitch just pressed my shock chip in warning. Fuck, if my skin isn’t on fire from it. My pussy tingles and I’m half tempted to carry on to see if she’ll up the voltage.
My core pulses as I reluctantly break Nightshade’s kiss and take my own seat, glaring at Satan all the while.
“Now that you’re all here and paying attention, let’s get started.”
I narrow my eyes at the old bitch. I was here before her and she’s acting likeIheldherup. When she smiles, I wonder what she’s up to. Satan’s about as trustworthy as a spider that’s just eaten, or a shark that’s just killed. I think she’s as loco as the rest of us. No way am I opening up about shit around her. Where are the counsellors?
She smiles at me disingenuously before turning to face the rest of the room.
“Most of youhave all had your individual sessions with me and we’ve worked on your backgrounds, getting to know each other. How you got here. Who you are. We’re going to start getting to know each other as a group now.”
She pulls her chair up to the wall and sits back in it, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her twee blouse is tucked into a knee length black pencil skirt, absolutely plain. She doesn’t wear much makeup, if any, but her nails are neatly long, dangerous looking talons.
“While I appreciate that many of you have shared in group therapy sessions before, today we’re trying something different, and I think it will be highly beneficial for the rest of the group.”
The lights dim, leaving us in a soft glow and she covers her mouth with her hands, coughing delicately into her long, bony fingers.
“I have something of importance to show you all.”
She reaches over and the light flickers on an old television, the deep voice of a man instantly filling the room. The newsreader’s face comes into view a moment later.
“This is the main story from tonight’s news. The country has been stunned by the events in the small sleepy village of Breckton, where late last night, a deranged killer went on a rampage, killing an entire congregation during midnight mass.”
It’s clear the footage is old, from the grainy image to the dated suit and tie the newsreader is wearing. But why is Satan showing us this? I glance around the room but it’s too dark to make out the others’ expressions. I squint my eyes, trying to see better or read their body language but it’s no use. I can’t figure out what’s going on. Only that Seytan said this was important, so it must pertain to one of us, right?
The news report goes on for some time, announcing that the killer was caught in the early hours of the morning, still at the scene of the crime when Siobhan Whittaker, a parishioner unable to attend the service that night, raised the alarm when her husband failed to return home after mass.
I don’t get it.
“Reports from the Breckton community say that this heinous, monstrous crime was committed by one of their own, though we’ve been given no name yet.”
Satan switches off the television and the lights come back on. I blink and surreptitiously try to work out who the report might have been about, but everyone’s faces are careful blank masks. I don’t evenknowwhere Breckton is – haven’t even heard of it – so I can’t even try to place the guys’ accents to the area.
“Now, I’ve brought this up today because I want to know,” Satan begins, “what you think of the man who butchered innocent people in his own church.”
Well, I have my own thoughts on the matter. I mean, I’ve killed plenty of people in churches and on a number of occasions, the victims have been praying at the time. I personally don’t have a problem with it, so long as they’re on my list of demons to target.
I don’t know who killed those people, but I’ll bet if they’re sitting in this room with me, they did it because they had a damn good reason.
“We’re all different people with different life experiences. To some of you, this news will be shocking and hard to digest, but to others, it will be a reminder of the world you used to live in, the things you once did.”
I raise my hand for the first time in the group and Satan nods at me, inviting me to speak.
“I would have done the exact same thing as the guy in the news who killed all those people.” I shrug and rest my hand on my lap again, glancing around the room. “The world’s a hard place. I don’t see why a soul would have a problem with the person who rids the world of evil.”
All eyes swing to me, and I suddenly feel like the one in the hot seat, and not the one who’s supposed to be doing the questioning. “Why do you think that, Miss Kingfisher?” Satan asks, her voice even and modulated, though she’s unable to hide her dislike of me from her face. “Why assume that the people in that church weren’t innocent?”
