Page 52 of Anorthic Anarchy

He stands and gives a loud round of applause. Each clap slices through my ears like stab wounds. With his long legs, he strolls toward me with a serious expression, globs of tissue from some woman dripping off his skin. When he reaches me, his fingers slick back some of the hair that collected on my damp face. He tucks it behind my ears and presses his lips to my forehead.

“Are you finished?” His voice is deep and penetrates the part of my mind I don’t have control over. It soothes it back to some level of awareness.

It comes out as a whisper. But the resolve behind my voice is forceful. “I’ll never be finished.”

Leaning over, he whispers in my ear, “Do you remembernow, my grim reaper? Your first slay?”

White walls. Blood. “Stay down. Be quiet.” My chest freezes as air seizes in my lungs. I say it aloud this time and can picture it all as if I’m there... “I killed them. Those men sent for my parents and my brother.”

“Yes, my precious angel. You killed them. They sent more, but you got the first ones. You were chosen by me. My perfect match…”

Blinking, I can still feel the butcher knife from the kitchen heavy in my right hand. None of the men were suspecting me when I cut their guts or necks as they fell to the ground. My parents were tossed into a pile on the couch, but Wyattdistracted them by grabbing a gun and shooting a couple while I held the blade and sliced the first man’s legs so he couldn’t run.

And it didn’t even bother me, their faces so screwed up in agony. Spurts of their life force gargling through their throats.

The muscles holding my weapons shake with a mix of anger and retribution. They grasp onto the handles like my lifeline, an extension of me. Tears heat my eyes, not so much from sadness, but from understanding.

How did he know? Thatthisis who I am.

A horror.

In a flurry of passion, he captures my lips with his, forcing his metallic tongue into my mouth. My grips on the machetes tightens. I’m not letting go. The war between want and will rises deep within me.

He grabs my ass, then pulls me up, so I wrap my legs around his waist. With a pivot, he falls on the bed with me underneath. As I plunge onto the mattress, my back meets the squishy remnants of my massacre.

Vincente’s hand slides over my arm and grasps the end of my weapon. When he backs away from me, his eyebrows dip with a question. Do I give it up for him? Clenching my jaw, I relent, and he takes it, then sits on my waist. My fingers tingle from the tightness with which I hold the other blade.

I jerk in surprise as he takes the machete and slices his bloody shirt off my body, then the pajama pants he wears. His thick, long cock juts out at me. It looks as if it just experienced the best porn it’s ever seen.

He slides off my body, then lifts my knees, holding them out wide. A chop of his hand in the crook of my elbow makes my arm bend so my other blade rests against my exposed throat. Instead of his dick, the firm wooden handle of the ax presses against my entrance. When I try to look down, the other knife nicks me, so I freeze.

“Ah, ah. Careful, or you’ll get cut.” Then he thrusts the hilt inside me as I squirm at the intrusion. “Fuck this blade. And get off on it like the dark serpent you are.”

With the heat of my rampage dissipating, an all-out lust furrows in my thighs and I do. I hump the fuck out of the machete. My weapon of destruction.

“Yes…” Leaning over my body, he presses his mouth against mine as I work myself into a frenzied state. “You thought you were a precious angel… ButIknew your secret. You’re my angel of death.” He watches my body move against his tool, my back arching off the bed as surges of pleasure rise within me. I explode with a rush of ecstasy, replacing every erratic ire that I held on to.

Vincente’s cock replaces the blade. Shoving deep inside me, his full thickness splits me wider, forcing a ragged breath from my lungs as I writhe and whimper. I’m instantly with him again, away from the source of my sorrow. It’s muffled when he places his lips against my neck and sucks.Hard. When he raises up to meet me with his fiery gray eyes, blood coats his lips. Then he feeds it to me.

Panting against my parted mouth, he says, “That’s it. Fuck your husband. Fuck him on a pile of his dead whores. This is where you belong.”

I grip his waist with my thighs and swivel my hips, trying to fight him off me. The irritation I’d had before storms back with a vengeance. His hands snatch my arms to hold me in place, but I battle with everything left inside me. “Fuck you! Fuck you for using them. For usingme. I will fuck you,Strauss.”

“Fight me. Go on. Do it. Give it all to me.”

One of my palms slips from his grasp, and I slap him across the face. While his head is turned from the blow, I get on top of him while he’s still inside me. The fullness of his dick is everything I never knew I wanted. I bounce on his lap to get evenmore of it. With one sharp downstroke, I’m shuddering with all-consuming pleasure, my fingers grasping at his neck to hold on while he grabs mine.

“Why are you so angry? Huh? Where is it coming from? Tell me.”

Biting my lip, I refuse to speak. My inner muscles clamp onto him, not letting him go.

He laughs as I swivel my hips on him, working his granite length inside me, chasing the high and wanting another orgasm.

“Why? I didn’t fuck them.”

Gathering up a wad of spit, I let it loose on his bloody face. He only laughs harder as the grip around my throat tightens. “Admit why…”

My vision darkens until white spots swirl around like the clouds outside. Just as I lose consciousness, I hear him instruct me again, “Admit it.”

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