Page 2 of Sinner's Malice

I didn’t care.

I felt nothing.

Removed so far from the reality of my current situation, it wouldn’t have mattered what they did to me, because right then, my mind was soaring, taking in everything around me, like some addict getting a much-needed fix.

However, like every drug-addled fix, eventually came the downslide, and in my case, that came when the man rutting his dick into me like a sex-craved animal had his head blown off his shoulders.

Talk about a slap back to reality.

During my last three years in the States, I’d seen many men, women, and children die. Death was as normal to me as breathing.

Yet, this was different.

Maybe it was because I was wearing half of his brain matter, my body dripping, sticky with his blood. It could be because while I was awaiting death, I was finally free to enjoy the last moments of my existence in this beautiful place. Who knows? All I knew was that one of the five men raping me was dead. His heavy body weighed me down, and I was unable to get out from under him. The other men, however, didn’t waste any time shooting back at the dark. Too bad for them they were horrible shots and one by one, I watched as they all fell to the ground.

Laying there, beaten and near death myself, I tried to ignore the knowledge that a dead man’s dick was still inside me because at that moment my stomach wanted to rebel. I tried to swallow the bile that threatened to erupt as my eyes watched in horrorwhen out of the darkness walked a man that could easily scare the Devil himself. Standing well over six foot six and covered in more tattoos than I thought humanly possible, with hair as black as the night sky. His sterling silver eyes pierced the area as he made quick work of the five men here to kill me. I didn’t know if this man was here to finish the job or help me, not that I cared anymore. After the life I’d lived, I just wanted to rest and enjoy what time I had left on this earth.

Yet the second his sterling silver eyes found mine, the desire to live took root. There was something about the man that felt comfortable, protective, almost like he could wash away my past and make it anew.

It was an odd feeling.

I laid there as he kicked the dead man off me, exposing my naked body to the darkness of the night. He said nothing while he stared down at me, frowning. His eyes hardening into slits as he took in the sight of me. For the first time since I was a little girl, I wanted to cover up, to hide myself, ashamed of the state I was in.

Without a word of warning, the large, tattooed man picked me up and carried me away from the darkness that threatened to consume me, and I let him. He said nothing as he spirited me away, leaving death in his wake.

The ride from the desert to a hotel in Las Vegas was interesting, to say the least. I’d never been on a motorcycle before and while it was scary, I felt safe with him. He still hadn’t said a word to me, and I was beginning to wonder if the man knew how to speak at all. When the bike slowed and parked in front of a hotel close to the city, I didn’t know what to say.

I was still naked, covered in blood and barely coherent. People stopped and stared, shocked at what they were seeing. A young man rushed over with a blanket, quickly offering it to me, and the man holding me growled at him.

The young man dropped the blanket and ran away.

With his head held high, the large man carried me into the hotel like nothing was wrong, as if carrying a naked, bloody and beaten woman into a fancy hotel was an everyday occurrence for him.

The bright lights of the hotel blinded me. The whispers, gasps, and cries of the onlookers pierced my ears. Ashamed for the first time in my life, I hid from the world, burying my head against the man’s chest.

He growled again.

Heading straight for the elevator, he said nothing when the doors opened and he stepped inside. The ride was quiet, reflective in a way, as I wondered how I came to be in this man’s arms. I should have died out there in the desert and yet I still had air in my lungs. I was ready to die. In some ways, I wanted my shit life to be over with. I read once that Buddhists believed in reincarnation. That depending on how well they lived their lives, when they died, they would come back as something more, something better. Hell, I didn’t know what was good about my life, but anything was better than the life I had right now.

I didn’t bother looking around.

What was the point? I wouldn’t be here long enough to enjoy anything.

For all I knew, this stranger was carrying me to my death. Not that I thought he was, but I realized it didn’t matter.

Nothing really did.

I was just a passenger, a voyeur in this life, and at any moment, this horror story would end.

Water running captured my attention.

Looking up, I found myself sitting in an enormous bathtub with warm water slowly filling the tub. The big man, still silent as ever, moved about the spacious bathroom, opening and shutting drawers and cabinets, looking for something. Whatever waseluding him was pissing him off because, in the next instant, he stormed out of the room only to reappear moments later with a black bottle of what looked like shampoo. When he placed it on the edge of the tub, I saw it wasn’t just shampoo but a body wash as well.

A 3-in-1 men’s soap.

Leaving again, he returned later with an ice bucket, placing it on the floor next to the tub. Unsure what he planned to do with that, I sat there in the warm water and watched as he stared at the clear water, turning red.

He frowned, turning away from me again. He removed his leather vest, placing it carefully on the bathroom counter. Kneeling next to the tub, he grabbed a washcloth off the cabinet and soaked it in the warm water, getting it wet. Reaching for the black bottle of liquid soap, he squirted a large amount into the rag before turning to face me.

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