Page 71 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

I scramble across the floor, and when I look over at him, our eyes lock. His eyes have gone feral. The pupils so dark, I can’t see where his brown irises end. Within seconds, he’s on his knees, rushing for the gun, and I think we both know whoever falls short won’t be leaving this church with their life.

Don’t care.

If living means living in a world without Abi Kincaid, he can fucking win.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, rushing even closer. We’re neck and neck—or perhaps knee and knee—each trying to beat the other. I’m fast, but I’m not fast enough. He’s got it in his hands, and I know I’ve lost. I make a choice; a conscious decision that will probably cost me my life.

Screaming, I charge him, my head tilted down. Dull, thudding pressure presses across my forehead when I crash into his chest, and I hear him gasp like he’s just had the wind knocked out of him. Benito stumbles back, but I’m not done yet. I can’t be done yet. Being done means facing the truth, and Abi’s death is a truth I have no desire to face.

We come to a stop when I pin him against the wall. There’s achurch pew beside me, and in the back, there’s a small Bible tucked in a wooden pocket. Christians have used the book as a weapon for centuries. It’s my turn.

Benito’s still gasping for air as I lift the Bible over my head and bring it crashing against his skull. The sound he makes is unbearable, but it doesn’t stop me. I smash the Bible against his head as many times as it takes, until he’s a weeping, sobbing shadow of his former self.

The gun is right in front of him, and with him too engulfed in pain to notice it, I make my move, grabbing it and taking a few steps back. I aim the gun at his head and sneer. I’ve never seen anyone look so defeated. He isn’t furious. There isn’t a trace of anger on his face. Seeing him like this, candy-coated in terror, is almost all the pain I need from him. Almost.

“Six months,” I growl, cocking the hammer. “You ruined my life in six months. I watched you take everything I had for yourself.” The corner of my lip curls up, and I rear back my leg and kick him in the balls. He rolls onto his side, gripping his stomach as he writhes on the dirty floor. “I invited you into my life. Into my fucking home, Benito. Then you destroyed me.” I kick his ankle as hard as I can, making him cry out. “You look at me when I’m killing you, you son of a bitch. Be a man and look me in the eyes.”

He jerks his head in my direction, that same pained expression still covering his face. “Just do it.”

I could kill him. It would be easy. Just the slightest tug on the trigger, and the world would be rid of Benito Blankenship. No other men would fall for his deceptive good looks. No other twinks would have to know the pain of an unrequested cuckolding. They wouldn’t see this monster steal away the life they’d planned for. The life they wanted. But my mind goes back to Abi. Of what he might say if he saw me like this. He would be devastated to find I’ve allowed the darkness to claim me. It would crush him. He’s still my tether. He’s what keeps me holding on to the last of my waning sanity.

“You took something from me. Something I cherished.” I take a deep breath and hold it in, hoping it might center me. “So, now, I’m going to take something from you.” I aim the gun at his knee and give him a cheerful smile through my tears. “Hope you cry.” When I pull the trigger, I’m not sure which is louder—the sound of gunfire in an enclosed space, or the ungodly scream that escapes him.

“What the fucking fuck, Tatum?” he sobs.

The sight of him in pain eases a bit of the hurt I’m feeling, so I aim the gun at his other knee and fire a round into it. “Hope you die.” Finally, I lift the gun until it’s aimed at his upper thigh. I know there’s an artery somewhere in there. Whether I strike it or not is up to the Goddess. “Hope you take a bullet through the thigh.” I pull the trigger one last time before whirling it around, lifting it over my head, and driving the heavy part down against his skull. He falls flat on his back and goes motionless. “I’ve just pistol-whipped a man,” I announce to the almost-empty room. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so proud of myself before. The surprising thing is, I want to share that pride. To crawl into Abi’s lap, wrap my arms around him, and tell him how fucking badass I just was.

Abi.

I’ve got to get to him. Between the gunshot wounds, the blunt force trauma, and Abi’s serum, I know Benito’s not waking up any time soon, so I rush back to the one who needs me.

His body is motionless on the floor. His chest doesn’t rise, nor does it fall. I hover over him, too scared to speak. Too scared to move.

“Daddy,” I whisper, leaning closer, touching my forehead to his. “Don’t leave me.” With shaking hands, I leave him long enough to grab my phone and place a quick call to Brody. When it’s done, I stare down at Daddy, praying to Rinna for a miracle.

CHAPTER 15

TATUM

I’ve been in this miniscule waiting room for the better part of eight hours. It feels like I’m crawling out of my skin. The room we were ushered into is dark with unwelcoming walls. They seem to be constructed of cement, but the cement’s been painted black, and there are several places where the paint’s chipped away. The dark walls don’t hold a candle to the darkness spreading inside me. The longer I sit in this uncomfortable chair, waiting for an update on Abi’s condition, the wider that darkness spreads. It twists and turns inside until all I feel is numbness and rage. Rage at Benito Blankenship. Rage at Abi for stealing my fucking heart, only to break it by bleeding out in front of me. Perhaps, most of all, rage at myself. Bitterness and resentment that festers, chipping away at me like the paint that’s chipped from these stupid, idiotic concrete walls for having the audacity to fall in love.

His blood dried hours ago, and now it too chips away from my skin, falling to the floor like crimson snowflakes. There’s a pile of dust-dry blood flakes littering the floor beneath me. I feel a bit like Jackie O, sitting in the hospital, drenched in my lover’s lifeblood. Mom’s begged me to wash my hands at least a hundred times. Dad told me if I don’t do it myself, he’ll do it forme. The Bens have been whispering their worry into each other’s ear. Fiona just stares at me with an overwhelming amount of pity. In a bizarre turn of events, the only person who isn’t giving me hell is Brody. There have been no threats made on my life. No promises of slit throats or toilet bowl drownings. He’s been a lifesaver.

After Abi was shot, it felt as if the world was crumbling around me. Every dream we shared was ripped away like they meant nothing. Like our lives were undeserving, and Benito Blankenship was the one sent to take away this one thing that was never meant for me.

Abi’s love.

After the gunshot rang out through the chapel, it took me a moment to realize what had happened. I stared at Abi’s lifeless frame for what felt like lifetimes. Feeling numb, I called Brody immediately after it happened. It had to have been over ten minutes since everyone left us at the church, but somehow, he was behind me in what felt like the blink of an eye. He didn’t comfort me, not that I expected him to. He left that to Scotty, and as my biffle knelt behind me, holding my shell-shocked body against his chest, I watched Brody come alive. He didn’t even take a beat to mourn the potential loss of his best friend. He pulled out his phone, made a call, and then there were others. Faces I’ve never seen speaking words that sounded muffled. They hovered over Abi, packing his wound and checking his vital signs. A man tried to lift him, but Abi’s just so big. It took three of them to lift the man I love and carry him out of sight, out of mind. Rationally, I knew what was happening—they were trying to save his life—but my irrational side won out, and I found myself lunging and kicking and crawling, desperate to get to him. When the church doors shut behind them, it felt like they were also closing a door on a future I never thought possible. Then a pair of big, strong arms lifted me from my crumpled heap and held me close to their chest. When I looked up to find Brody’s determined face, I mumbled his name, unable to reconcilethe man cradling me in his arms with the beast who’s threatened my life daily for six months.

Since then, Brody’s been working his fingers to the bone. He’s made hushed phone calls and sent a flurry of messages to names I don’t know. A few hours after we were escorted into an old, abandoned Walmart building on the outskirts of town, Dad had told a man in a white coat and with an unfriendly expression he thought I might be shutting down. I didn’t hear what the other man said in response.

About an hour after we arrived here—wherever the Hellhereis, considering when I asked Brody why we were going to an old, abandoned Walmart instead of Tallulah Memorial Hospital, he simply blinked at me and said, “Hitmen don’t do hospitals”—a man in a black suit walked in, carrying a limp body. Its hands and feet were bound with zip ties. The head of the body was covered in a black hood, but I didn’t need to see his face to know who it was. The moment I spotted the small Hello Kitty tattoo on his wrist, I knew it was Nito.

Brody, who had been sitting at my side the entire time, shot me a stern glare and gave me a clipped nod before standing. He made his way to the man, and as I watched him walk away, it was like I’d been submerged in freezing water. My body came alive, nerve endings firing flickering pain and grief and fear through every inch of me. I stood from the chair and called out, “Brody!”

He jerked his head in my direction, his face serious. “Yeah, queer boy?” The name may seem cruel to others, but it almost felt like an endearment at that point. That’s who I am to him. Queer boy. Cumdump queer. Abi’s finger-fucking slut.

“Is he dead?” I asked, pointing at Benito’s body.

---