Page 56 of Cruel Cravings

Haunted - Chris Grey

The gunshots echo for seconds to come. Two in quick succession that feel jarring in the otherwise quiet wooded area.

It doesn’t seem to register to Jael what she’s done until another moment passes.

The pistol goes off in her grip, the kick back throwing off her aim slightly on the second shot. The first bullet nabs the sheriff in his chest. He drops to the ground like a fly swatted out of the air.

She turns the pistol on the deputy but the bullet goes astray and hits him in the shoulder instead. A more experienced shooter would’ve braced for the backward force when discharging a firearm.

But Jael, for all the trouble she’s caused, is not a natural killer. She’s not naturally violent. Her behavior is reactive. Desperate actions she takes when she feels she’s backed into a corner.

The kickback takes her by surprise. The gunshots rattle her to her core.

She remains in the same stance, arms straight out, gun gripped in her palm, though she doesn’t budge otherwise.

As the gunshots echo and Deputy Dudley’s blown in the shoulder, she blinks in shock. He’s reduced to his knees like his superior, though he quickly recovers. Releasing a deep grunt of pain, he fumbles for the firearm holstered on his hip.

Jael finally seems to realize that she must act.

She fires again—ortries to, by clenching the trigger a third time. The pistol clicks, the unmistakable sign of a jam in the chamber.

There’s no time for her to figure out why. Dudley’s withdrawing his own weapon as he winces through the burning hot pain in his shoulder.

Jael rushes toward him to pry the gun from his hands.

I listen from inside the main cabin room as feet pound the porch area and grunts follow.

The chair groans beneath me, old wood that’s carried my weight for days now. I’ve spent the past seventy-two hours bound in place when I could’ve escaped the moment the chains were snapped onto me.

But I stayed put. I remained where I was, allowing Jael to believe she had power in the situation. The object of my obsession was finally confronting me for all the things she believed I’d done.

I held on more out of fascination than any other reason. It was an immersive experience getting to look into her hooded eyes and see the spark ignited in them. It was incredible to listen to her as she spoke to me, vented her frustrations, and shared her deepest thoughts and fears.

Exhilarating as she lost herself to the same pull I felt between us. She could hardly resist any better than I had over the years, surrendering once she realized it was inevitable.

Her pussy had always felt so warm and inviting as she slept. I savored the chaotic slumbers that afforded me the chance to have her.

But there was also something to be said about the frenzy that was the other night, where she climbed into my lap and fucked herself on my steel cock. Her pussy clung to me so snugly, heat pulsing all around me as she bounced up and down and took her pleasure.

How could I break these chains when my obsession was gifting me these things? I would have let her pull the trigger if that’s what she needed.

Shoot a bullet straight into my skull if that’s what she wanted.

Because that was how deep, dark, and twisted my obsession with her was. I would die just to have her, even if it was once. I would do anything to make her happy.

But I wouldn’t ever let her escape me, so long as I was living. So long as I’m alive, we will be together, and she will learn there’s nowhere she can go to rid herself of me.

The only escape would be death.

As she struggles with the deputy outside, I realize this is the moment I knew would come—the time I would finally exert my strength, break free, and reveal just how indulgent I’ve been by allowing her to hold me captive.

Days of being bound and starved have left me weaker than usual. Pain throbs throughout my whole body without my meds, and the flesh around my wrists has been rubbed raw. Sleep deprivation has taken its toll, though I’m still the monster in the dark she’s feared.

I’m still more powerful than most men walking this earth.

The scuffle continues, a mix of thuds, thumps, and throaty sounds. If she hasn’t taken him down by now, she won’t manageit. The longer the struggle lasts, the greater his upper hand becomes, injured shoulder or not.

I pull, testing the chair’s endurance. The wood creaks but holds under my weight. That won’t be the case for long as I gather air into my lungs and bear down. Every ounce of strength surges through me, my muscles flexing.

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