Page 116 of Evil Hearts

Which is what sends me over.

A stream of incoherent bullshit spills from my lips as the first rope of cum explodes from each of my dicks, both of them emptying into Jericho’s warm palm as he catches it, using every drop he can to make my orgasm last long enough for him to join me.

“Fuck,mon coeur serpent,goddamnit,” he growls as he smashes me between him and the wall, pounding into my ass with jerky, forceful thrusts until I can feel his cum leaking out of me, and running down the back of my thighs. “Shit.”

I nod as he stands us up, holding me against his chest while I catch my breath. “Honey, that was… Is that fuckingblood?”

Moving as quickly as I can, I lunge forward and grab his giant hand, his cock slipping from my ass as I do. I turn it over, inspecting the palm to see that all three fingers and his thumb are coated in blood, and for a split second, I’m a little worried it might be mine.

We’ve been together long enough, I can take Jericho fine now, even if his enormous body has an equally if not more enormous cock attached to it—that, truthfully, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to take after the first time I saw it—but I have to wonder. It isn’t out of the realm of possibility, anyway.

Which my mate clearly realizes as he steps into my line of sight with a smirk before he thoughtfully helps put my dicks away. “Not yours, Dorian. Consider it…” He frowns as he finishes then begins tucking himself into his trousers. “How you say, lubricant?”

“Yes…” I say slowly as I pull up my pants. “But where did it come from?”

Jericho nods over his shoulder then starts fixing his suit as if he didn’t just tell me he used the blood from a dead man, that he literally tore into two pieces, to lube his dick, both of mine, and my asshole before we had sex over a couple of corpses.

To think, somewhere out there, someone else is missing out on all of this.

I almost feel sorry for them, but they better be ready.

We are coming, and we won’t be stopping until we have them.

2: A Closed Mind is Such a Terrible Thing to Waste

Mina

Idrag the smallpiece of stone down the brick, pressing hard enough for the little white line to score it permanently.

Twenty-nine.

There are twenty-nine, inch-long lines. Tally marks. One for every day I’ve been down in this cell, trapped in the damp, dark, musty hole. The tiny window at the top of the cell is the only way I’ve been able to keep track of how long I’ve been here, the minuscule amount of light it provides enough to tell me when night falls after each gloomy day.

If it wasn’t for these silly little lines in the brick, I might have gone completely mad down here.

No light, no sound. No interaction with another living thing. I don’t think I’ve used my voice since the first week I was here. Asking questions got me no answers, begging got me laughed at, and threats led to being whipped. Since then, I’ve been quiet, left with nothing but my tally marks, and the voice inside my head.

Voicesmight be more accurate at this point because I don’t just hear myself anymore.

There aren’t any sounds, any noises, the foot traffic outside the window isn’t even loud enough to permeate the glass. But somehow, I’m hearing the faintest voices, female voices, and I know they aren’t anywhere but my own mind.

Whispered pleas, shrill begging. Moans of pain, uncontrollable sobbing, and panicked screams. All of it is filling my head while I sit here and count the days, and at times, it’s as if those feelings, those emotions are my own. So, no, I’m not completely mad, but I’m well on my way, and if I have any hope of getting out of here, I can’t allow that to happen.

I have to find Reggie.

My chest tightens at the thought of that sweet little boy being left all alone in that house, his parents gone, no one in the world that would know he was there to save him. I can only hope that one of the staff came by for some reason and found him, but I can’t count on that. Most of them were let go in anticipation of our trip to America, and the few that were coming with us, they weren’t sure they were going to, so why would they stop by the house? What would they find when they did?

I hope that terrible man, thatmonster, doesn’t have him.

Pelifer. I hope he didn’t take Reggie when I was knocked out.

I don’t know what he’d want to do with a baby, anyway, so taking him, especially when his parents were dead, doesn’t seem like it would be beneficial to that terrible creature.

Then again, I have no idea why they took me, either, and I’m not sure I’ll ever find out based on—

My head swings toward the heavy, iron door as I hear a key turn in the lock.

Why are they back so soon?

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