Page 5 of Bake the Town Red

Takes his dick out.

“I’ve been too generous, I see.” He doesn’t acknowledge me growling at him. Doesn’t care that Ian fainted. “Cock it is.”

He thinks he’s so smart. Thinks that just because the neighbors are celebrating Halloween—that because almost no one cares that he’s torturing us—he can be worse than he usually is.

So sure of himself that he doesn’t notice my hand snatching the knife Ian stabbed him with.

Al pushes my legs apart with the tip of his boot, and I let him.

He kneels between my thighs, rubbing his repulsive two-inch dick. I let him do that too.

He tears my black panties off me.

And I. Let. Him.

That’s the only way to keep his attention away from my hand. To get him on top of me, where he won’t be able to run.

“What the hell? Shaved?” He sneers, disgusted, as he eyes my pussy. “You’ve been sneaking around, fucking boys?”

I haven’t. I don’t like the hair, that’s it. But that’s none of his business.

His only business is to die.

“You’ll be the first one.” With my free hand, I grab the collar of his shirt, yanking him to me. “Uncle.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Unbothered by my aggressive move, Al positions his cock to my opening. Nudges himself against my lips. “If you bleed, then I’ll—”

“No, Uncle,” I spit out. “You’ll be the one to bleed.”

His eyes squint for the longest, most delicious moment of my life. The moment when our uncle and abuser realizes the tables have turned.

The moment I stab him in the side of his neck.

His mouth gapes when I yank the knife out. Doesn’t close when I sink the knife into him again.

“You’ll bleed and bleed and bleed.” Each word is another puncture wound to his skin. More blood splashes on his white work shirt. More blood drips from his mouth. He spits on my face as he tries to breathe. “Just. Like. That.”

This is more than revenge. As I keep puncturing Al’s throat, then cheeks, then nose, I feel something bubbling up inside me.

A hysterical laugh.

A sense of joy.

When Al becomes heavier on top of me, I flip him to his back and get back to my mission.

Stab, stab, stab.

In horror movies, it looks different. Looks easier to break someone’s skin. In real life, it isn’t. I’m not cutting through butter. But I have madness on my side to fuel me. Six months of torture fuel me. My knocked-out, courageous brother fuels me.

Stab, stab, stab.

His chest cracks open. Al’s heart has long stopped beating. I don’t stop stabbing him.

“You hurt us,” I scream.Stab, stab, stab.“Hurt my brother.”Stab.

Blood dribbles along the sides of his body. Splotches of red cover my forearms. “Fooled everyone to think you’re this nice person, Uncle Al. Those days”—stab, stab, stab—“are over.”

There’s a knock on the door. A few of them. Loud ones.

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