Page 69 of Sick Bargain

His blue eyes meet mine, glossy with tears that won’t fall. “I didn’t take you for a history buff.”

It almost makes me want to laugh that he’s so delirious. He’s naked, chained, and has a dagger pressed to his skin, but my interest in history is more pressing.

I hum to agree with him. “But those who were truly mad were considered tainted. Their blood was poisoned. Guess what they did to them, Remiel?”

He wets his lips and sucks his teeth. “Bled them.”

“Bled them,” I repeat, moving the dagger down his sternum. When I pass his navel and shuck it up to the base of his cock, he looks straight at the monsters in my eyes and hardens against the blade.

“Are you going to bleed me of my bloodline? Drain me until I’m no longer a Sauder?”

I grip his jaw and press the knife tip against the base of his cock. “Youareno longer a Sauder. That happened the night you became mine.” I squeeze his cheeks and pop his lips open, letting my spit drop into his mouth. “You already contain so much of my DNA, and ownership is nine-tenths of the law, so by that standard, you’re fucking mine, Remiel. I took your identity the first night you walked through the front door of Vile House, and you haven’t been a Sauder since.”

He swallows, wetting his lips again. “Then why am I still cursed?”

I slide my hand up his face and weave my fingers into his dirty hair. It’s limp and greasy, darker than usual, but still silky and thick. I give it a tug, tipping his head back until the metal digs into his Adam’s apple.

“Because of me,” I admit to him. “I drove you mad, didn’t I? When I wouldn’t tell you how I felt. When I didn’t answer your question. When I forced you through the maze of a long-forgotten ward of this asylum. It’s all me.”

“On purpose?” he asks, panting harder. Dick harder.

I release his hair and pet his cheek. “Not on purpose,” I admit to another fault. “But this, right here, what we do tonight, will very much be on purpose. And when you walk out of here, alive and mine, your blood will be purified and you’ll give your life tome for real. Your whole life, and so fucking help me, Remiel, if you try to end it early again, you will not like who I turn into.”

“Krypt,” he whispers, but I don’t know what it means. It’s a plea and a promise, tainted by a lie and wrapped in fear. “It’s not all you. It’s me. I’m the broken one.”

I push the other side of the gate open, stepping through it until I’m at Remiel’s back. Admiring him from behind, I can’t help but grope his ass through the bars, smacking him red and strengthening my claim over him. When we leave here, he’ll be marked so thoroughly by me he won’t even know who the fuck he is anymore. He’ll be able to build a new identity under my possessive watch.

Because I need him towantto live.

I grab the cart with my supplies, pushing it back to the front of the gate. While Remiel panics, looking at everything on the cart, I dip through the gate and fill the space with ignorant screeches as I drag a metal fire pit across the stone surface. Hot coals and glowing embers already smoulder within it, and I add a few pieces of wood to bring the fire back to life. It warms the space and casts a flickering orange light to see by. It licks in Remiel’s blue irises. I’ve been planning this for three days, and now I’m ready to purify him as much as I tarnish him.

He’s scared. Of the fire and the instruments I shove into the coals. Of the tattoo machine and the pot of black ink. Of the swath of fabric, neatly holding blades ranging from surgical precision to serrated hunting knives.

His dick flags a little, losing interest as anticipation wins out. “What are you going to—” He presses his lips together. He doesn’t want to know what I’m going to do to him. Instead, he meets my eyes and says, “Fix me.”

I offer him a real smile. “You’re already fixed, Remiel. Now you just need the reminder.” I jostle the handles sticking out ofthe fire, making sure each tool is properly heated. I’ll let them sit a bit, starting with a different tool. “Look at me.”

He rips his eyes from the fire and looks at me.

“Youareimportant to me.”

A tear falls down his cheek.

“Being important to me is not an easy thing to be. It’s going to hurt. It’s going to hurt so much more than it feels good.”

He nods, swallowing and crying. His breath puffs out his nostrils in harsh pants.

I pick up the tattoo gun and dip it in ink. Art isn’t my forte, but calligraphy and letters are. I’ve practiced with the tattoo gun, but Remiel’s skin is the only living thing I’ve inked. I trust myself enough not to need a stencil tonight, because every mark I make on his body is meant to be harsh. Every single scar he gets from this night will remind him who the fuck he belongs to and what the fuck he has to live for.

Me. Him. Us. Whatever the combination of us creates. A sick bargain that’s become a way of life.

“I don’t need your permission, Remiel. But do you give it to me?” I hold the tattoo gun and motion to the cart with every tool on it. I’m asking, and that has to count as growth because I’ve never asked for permission before.

“Will it hurt?”

“Very much.”

“I…” He meets my eyes. “I trust you.”

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