Page 2 of Unholy

“Elijah. This wasn’t D. That is his missus.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Cheeky bitch, well fucking played.

“Regardless. Whatever shit you all do in your spare time isn’t my business. I don’t need to see my dad like that,” I state while pointing at the phone screen, which shows an image of him and D in silk pajamas, as adults, perhaps even recently, having a pillow fight in some fucking bedroom that I’ve never seen before.

“She photoshopped it. We haven’t done that since we were kids.” My dad is now wheezing with laughter, the same as Rain was when I left our house to come here moments ago.

Throwing my head back, I blow out a sigh of frustration and squeeze my eyes shut. “You do you, Dad. But I don’t need to see it. It’s fucking weird. I’m your kid!”

“Says the kid who can kill without batting an eye, but a photoshopped picture of his old man is crossing a line?”

Throwing my arms out, I reply, “Abso-fucking-lutely it is.”

1

RYLEE

“Fuck, Mistress. Yes.”

Moving my black glitter flogger over his bare skin one last time does it, and he comes. His cock pulsates tiny shots of white release onto his stomach.

This client has a tickle fetish.

I keep moving the dangling tassels over his hairy chest while using the long, sharp painted nails of my free hand to circle under his arm as he rides the waves of his short-lived orgasm.

He’s always been quick, which I appreciate.

The entire appointment lasts ten minutes. We both leave satisfied, him by coming, and me, I get five hundred dollars to line my pockets.

Stepping back in my knee-high latex heels, I begin to undo the pink metal cuffs locked around his wrists and ankles. My long black hair is slicked back into a high pony; it hangs down to my waist, and I know the ends are tracing his skin, getting him hard while his flesh tingles in satisfaction. But unless he has another five bills, this show is over. But I’m not stupid; this will have him yearning for more, craving me in his dreams, andwishing I was the one getting him off while sitting in a boring fucking board meeting.

It’s all about repeat business. Grandma didn’t raise a dummy. And if Greta ever heard me call her Grandma, she would throw her bedazzled walker at me.

Yes, I am related to the mysterious and infamous Greta Vandenberg. She’s raised me since I was five. My mom, Nic, was fucking stolen from us. I can feel my heartbeat beginning to escalate. Red rage coloring my covered cheeks. I blink rapidly in an effort to clear my mind. Now is not the fucking time.

Walking around the table, the sound of my heels on the hard floor echoes in the silent space. My client still panting, I catch myself in the reflection of the mirrored wall, admiring myself. My body is clad in a black latex bodysuit, arms and bare legs exposed, which my client couldn’t give a shit about, but I do. I know I look fucking good. I know I’m a strong bitch and when the time is right, I’ll show The Exiled just how bad I can be.

Sweat is still glistening on the man’s chest hair, and I remove the restraints.

He isn’t in it for the sex, just the pleasure. But he wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve shoved in my mouth if he were.

“Time’s up, you vermin. Now get the fuck off my table and out of my sight,” I whisper with disgust dripping off my tongue. He also likes being degraded.

His eyes shoot open. Panic-stricken, he jumps off and gathers his clothing before rushing out the door in just his saggy boxers, which have a wet stain on the front. I chuckle to myself, satisfied with his reaction. He knows if he doesn’t listen, I could edge him the entirety of our next session.

“Ry, I have a favor.”

Greta’s walker can be heard over her gravelly smoker’s voice.

Rolling my eyes, I say, “What is it?”

“Ungrateful bitch. Don’t roll your eyes at me.” Greta knows me better than I know myself. She continues, “Sinclair lost a bet against Delacroix. His dick is nine inches into the glory hole, just fucking hanging there.”

“That crazy motherfucker?” I saw what he did to his cousin at Hell Fire Night. How her blood dripped down into the wine goblets as her body hung lifelessly from the aerial ribbons.

“Fuck no. His dad. Rain would cut Elijah’s cock off if he even stepped foot in here.”

Bending over, I take the cold metal clasps of the zipper of my boots in both hands and slowly pull them down. I too am a sucker for sensory, the sound of them unzipping; the metal unlatching from each other strangely calms me. Closing my eyes, I take in the few moments of peace it gives me before Greta interrupts.

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