Page 47 of Daddy's Sinner

That scares me more than anything has in a very long time. I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse, but it doesn’t matter. I feel something… there’s no hollowness when it comes to her. If it’s not love, then it’s close to it.

Placing a gentle kiss on her jaw, I quietly pull away and head to the door, but not before taking one final look at her. One final glimpse at the sinner who has me ready to burn the world down for her. The angel who has clipped my wings and cast a celestial glow on my darkened existence. Marisol has bound me to this earth in a way I had never known. There is no stopping my fall. I’m down. Undone. Damned.

As I step out of the room, adrenaline instantly kicks in, and my mind clears from my obsession. I can now focus on my hunt, let the devil take control. The priest sits on the sideline as the devil begins his hunt. Following the grunts, I make it maybe three doors down before I find the room. I can hear the slapping of skin against skin, moans, and groans, but only from the men. Not a peep from the maidens. Rolling my neck until it cracks, I listen, fueling my rage, my determination to end this all tonight. I let their pleasure fuel my anger as I force myself to move, to continue my plan. Marisol is mine. Victor has no real power over her, not since I came into the picture. I know she feels it too.

A smile spreads across my lips as I walk towards the back, slipping out of the backdoor and into the yard. Walking over to the white shed, I retrieve the red gas can that remains back here at all times. Good thing I like stalking my prey before the hunt my only saving grace for this plan. Unfortunately for them the gas can is there like I remember from my last run here. And fire will be their penance.

Fire.

How ironic.

My plan is not the best plan, I’ll be the first to admit it, and fuck, it might kill me in the process. But that's all I’ve got. Allowing myself to be caught is not something I can risk. At least this way, I can use my hands.

My pulse quickens as I unscrew the cap of the gas canister. The harsh smell of the fuel fills my nostrils. It reeks of death, destruction… and freedom. The corners of my lips curl into a smirk as I picture the screams, the fire consuming them. My demons take in the panic, the fear, the pain. A groan escapes my lips as I think of it. The glory of the fire, the look on Marisol’s face as I fuck her, looking over the destruction. As I show her what I’m willing to do for her. How I’ll burn for her, starting with the ones here. With her at my side, we will eradicate the sickness from this town and disappear. The thought alone increases my heart rate and hardens my cock. It’s intoxicating, more intoxicating than the rush I feel as I deliver penance. As the leather whip bites into my skin.

Tonight, they will burn. And she will be mine.

My hand tightens around the gas can as I tamp down my excitement. I need to focus. If I’m dead, I don’t get the girl. No freedom. And that alone anchors me as I start to purposefully pour the gasoline around the house, making sure that only Marisol’s window is free from the liquid. Carefully, through the shadows, I cover the rest of the ground before making my way inside. The backdoor is the first to be covered as I spread it throughout the kitchen, living room, and drag it to the corridor. I cover the door where the grunts and moans of pleasure continue. For fuck’s sake, it’s been hours. Yet they continue, oblivious to their punishment, indulging in their pleasures. It isn’t that which damned them to hell, however, but their perversion. How they prey on the weak to break them… to rape them and mold them. A cancer that spreads till it snuffs the life from you. And I can’t allow that.

My hand goes down to my pocket, pulling out a box of matches. Quickly, I look at the trail of gasoline trailing down the hall, and my heart quickens. Adrenaline is at its highest right now from the thrill. Theywouldn’t all die in the fire. I made sure to leave enough openings around the areas where the women and children lived. Making sure they can escape, but the rest will die. I swallow down the laughter clawing at me as I step back and light the match. But I won't drop it now. I watch the flame before throwing it behind me towards the back. There are only two ways out now: Marisol’s room and the front. For now, I’ll be happy with taking Victor out, so I’m betting he will go for Marisol. I’ll kill him there and take her from here. Then I’ll burn that hell disguised as a church down and deliver them peace.

The fire starts with a small sizzle, almost timid, as though questioning its job. But then it grows and engulfs the kitchen in minutes, reaching out greedily to the living room. I can hear it snap and hiss behind me, like a beast awakening from a long slumber, eager for its first meal.

Springing into action, I head down the hall and into my little sinner’s room. Quickly, I open her French doors, making sure she’s able to breathe in here and, well, I can get out quickly if I need to. But for now, I wait. Placing myself in her bathroom, I wait for Victor with my switchblade in hand. I’m not one for killing someone by stabbing them in the back, but right now I need the element of surprise. This is his hell after all. I need this to be as quick as possible. Just like that, the man comes running into the room, startling Marisol out of her sleep. Her naked form jumps up as his voice booms through the room.

“Get up! We need to leave!” he shouts.

But he freezes when he sees her, naked and vulnerable, a twisted smirk etching his face. The flame reflecting in his eyes gives him an even more monstrous look. And even with death knocking on his doorstep, his desire for her overrides him. Unfortunately for him, he sealed his fate. He doesn’t even sense me behind him until he feels the coldness of my switchblade sink into the base of his neck. Marisol’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t scream… doesn’t look away. She watches as I twist the blade, cutting his life away as easily as I had flicked that match just moments ago. Victor’s hands shot up to his neck as I remove the blade. I circle him, watching as the blood spurts through his fingers, his eyes locked on Marisol with horror and disdain. But she doesn’t look away. No, my little demon stands in all her naked glory and crouches in front of him, her hands going up to his wound, her fingers playing with his blood.

“Burn in hell,” she says before shoving him away from her.

His body hits the floor with a dull thud, blood pooling around him. Now we can hear the panic from outside the room, the screams. But Marisol doesn’t speak. She walks over to her dresser, pulling out yellow sweats and a white V-neck. Quickly, she slips into everyday clothes, surprising me with how normal she looks.

“I wear sweats too,” she says, tipping her chin at the corpse of the Prophet. “He prefers dresses. Makes me look innocent,” she adds as she slips into her clothes.

The smoke begins to filter into Marisol’s room, and I can hear the crackling of flames growing closer, licking at the edges of the door. The heat starts to build up, creeping in like an invasive entity. Still, Marisol doesn’t flinch. She continues to put on her shoes, then grabs a bag, throwing her belongings in it quickly.

“We have to go, pretty girl, before we burn,” I say, watching the door as it starts to cave in. The smoke makes the air hard to breathe even with the French doors open.

“I’m ready,” she says as she walks over to me.

My bloody hands move to her face, and I kiss her. Not a soft or tender kiss, but one filled with lust, passion, and death. At this moment, the world outside her room ceases to exist. All I am aware of is her, Marisol.

Her lips taste like sin and vengeance, a tantalizing combination that leaves me wanting more. But there’s no time.

The soft, whispering hiss of the fire begins to amp up into a roaring crescendo. I pull away, our eyes locking for a moment—a mirror of themadness we share. Then I turn, leading us out through the French doors.

Sinner

But just as we step outside, there are some of Victor's men—five that I can see, but I’m sure there are more, and I don’t have time for this. I look over at Marisol, who has that same wild and intense look on her face as she did the night, she killed that sinner. Fuck, was she stunning, but right now is not the time. I tug her hand, silently instructing her to crouch; we have the element of surprise. We saw them before they saw us. She cocks her head to the side where a couple of gardening tools are—more like a shovel and garden shears. I grab the shovel because it would be easier for me to use to take them down and hand her the shears.

The men separate, and Marisol creeps behind one of them as I follow the other two. The first one I knock out instantly; he barely turns around when the shovel connects with his face. The other tries to advance onme, but I hit the shovel straight into his throat. The man brings his hands to his throat as he fights to breathe. Standing over him, I bring down the shovel once more, finishing the job. That’s when I’m surprised by man number four.

“Who are you?” he asks, walking toward me with a gun in hand. That’s when her voice rings out. “Daniel, help.” Marisol staggers toward him, covered in blood.

“Where's the Prophet?" he asks, keeping his gun on me but his eyes on her. She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know. It happened too quickly.” The man instructs her to stand behind him, which she does. Once the queen is in place, she strikes. The shears go into his groin; his gun falls, and his focus is on her. The commotion gets the attention of man number four. I grab the gun on the floor only to realize that it’s empty.

“No bullets,” I say. She sighs. “Only his trusted men carried bullets in their guns. I guess he's not worthy,” she replies.

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