Page 13 of Daddy's Sinner

I scoff, unable to suppress the bitter laughter that bubbles up. “God’s will? Sounds more like a convenient excuse for your perversion,” I sneer, each word laced with disdain. His gaze stubbornly meets mine, the fervor in his eyes as unyielding as steel. My grip tightens unconsciously on the knife, and in one swift movement, Emma’s throat spills open.

The crimson tide of her life surges forth, stark against her pale skin. Her eyes widen in shock, hands flying to her neck in disbelief, desperate to stop the relentless flow. She collapses onto her knees, a gurgled gasp escaping her lips. The man before me shrieks, his faith crumbling as he watches the life drain from the woman he calls wife.

“No!” he shouts, lunging toward Emma. He falls beside her, crying over her lifeless body. “What have you done?” he cries, his voice thick with anguish.

“Justice,” I reply, my voice colder than the void of space, each syllable striking him like a blow. “What you call God’s will, I call justice.”

He shakes his head frantically, trying to touch Emma as her life ebbs away. “This is not justice!” he wails, tears streaming down his face, splattering onto Emma’s lifeless form. His gaze shifts from her face to mine, a storm of despair and rage swirling in his eyes.

“You’ve killed her… you’ve killed her for nothing!”

“Nothing?” I retort, my voice echoing through the chamber. “This is a reckoning—the rightful punishment for your sins.”

“You’re no better than us. You’re a monster!” he spits, the words meant to wound. I shrug.

“Perhaps, but I don’t rape. “I don’t hurt young girls,” I whisper, my tone as cold as the knife that just ended her life. Using my foot, I nudge him, forcing him to face me. “How old is your breeder?” I ask.

“My what?” he stammers, confusion flickering in his eyes.

I sigh, patience wearing thin. “The young women you pigs breed like animals. How old is she?”

“Four…fourteen,” he whispers, the confession slipping out as I descend the knife into his groin. The scream that tears from his mouth echoes through the chamber, a symphony of vengeance to my ears.

“Fourteen,” I repeat, the word sour on my tongue.Pig. I want to spit it out, to purge it from my mouth. But I keep it inside, holding onto the taste of his sin. “How many maidens?”

I watch as he writhes on the floor, blood oozing from the wound. He coughs, spitting out something between a sob and a scream. “How many?” I repeat, disgust tingling in my voice. His eyes flicker to mine, a momentary flash of defiance in his gaze before he looks away. I grab his chin, forcing him to meet my stare. “How many?” I demand the words laced with venom.

“I…I don’t know,” he stammers, his voice barely a whisper. I twist the knife before pulling it out. I heard enough.Judgment is passed.

“You get no peace, no penance,” I say, my voice a growl. “Fire is your punishment.”

“Fire!” he screams, his voice trembling with fear and shock. His eyes darted around the room, searching for a way out. But there’s nowhere to escape. The only exit is through me, and I have no intention of letting him go. His cries start to echo in my ears as I walk toward his bar. I begin smashing the bottles of expensive alcohol on the floor, making sure every corner is soaked. The sharp smell of liquor penetrates the room, suffocating the heavy scent of blood.

He’s muttering under his breath, pleading, “God’s plan… This can’t be the end… Victor will save us… He promised salvation…”

I hear him, but his words are meaningless to me now. I grab a bottle with a significant amount of liquor left and approach him. His face is now as pale as the moonlight filtering through the small window above us.

“Drink.” I press the bottle to his lips, and he does, gulping down the liquid like it’s a final sacrament. I dump the rest of the alcohol on him, soaking his clothes, then drench the corpse of his wife beside him. Tossing the bottle to the side, I pull out the matchbox and remove the matchstick.

“The fire will consume you,” I say, my voice echoing ominously in the room. I strike the match, holding the tiny flame between us. His eyes fix on it, wide with terror and despair. He trembles, his whole body shaking violently. He opens his mouth, perhaps to beg, to plead for mercy hedenied so many others. But before words can leave his lips, I throw the lit match onto him.

Instantly, the flames catch. They dance across his skin, red and orange tongues licking hungrily at his flesh. He screams again, a sound of pure agony that cuts through the silence of the room like a razor blade, but I am deaf to his pleas. His pain does not move me, not after all he has done. I watch as the fire consumes him. The sight is gruesome yet peaceful. The fire begins to spread through the room, and if I want to make it out alive, this is my time to escape. But I stay a moment longer, letting the heat of the flames warm my face, watching him writhe and twist as justice is finally served.

The fire burns bright, casting eerie shadows over the room, the crackling noises and his dying screams composing a symphony of retribution. The screams finally die down, replaced by an eerie stillness that only emphasizes the crackling of burning wood and flesh. With one last glance at the grotesque sight, I make my way to the back door and run out. I only stop to pick up the brown paper bag that contained the books I purchased earlier. Then I continue my run until I’m back in the cheap motel room I continue to rent.

Sinner

Once in the privacy of the room, I strip down and step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the grime of the night. But it doesn’t wash away my thoughts of Marisol. My cock throbs with the memory of her soft, golden skin, the way her curves moved beneath her clothes today. I can't get her out of my head. Her naked body haunts me, an obsession I can't shake. I crave her. All I can think about is burying myself inside her warmth, watching her glisten with sweat as she rides me, her skin slick with my spend. The thought alone makes my cock pulse with need. Before I know it, my hand is sliding down my length, stroking with a desperate rhythm.

God, I need her.

I imagine her lips wrapped around me, her mouth warm and wet. I shudder at the thought of her tongue playing over my skin, teasing, tasting. The heat of the shower feels like it’s seeping into my bones, but it’s nothing compared to the fire she ignites in me. I picture her jaw taut with effort, her gaze locked on mine—those eyes burning with desire, with that unspoken promise. Her lips part slightly to take me in, a soft sigh escaping from the corner of her mouth.

Fuck, I want to hear that. I want to hear her moan for me.

There’s a twisted power in the way she holds me, the way her tongue traces delicate patterns over my cock, coaxing me higher and higher. I imagine her chest heaving, breasts bouncing in rhythm with the movement of her head, a soft moan vibrating through her lips, sending shivers up my spine.

I need to feel that. I need to see her like that.

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