Page 20 of Of Heathens & Havoc

I glare up at him, refusing to nod when he called me that vulgar term.

He laughs softly, menace lacing the sound with bitterness, releases his hold on my face, and chucks me under the chin. Then he yanks up my long, cotton t-shirt, revealing my panties. I struggle, trying to fend him off, but he’s too quick. The next second, he’s wrenching my cotton nightshirt over my head. I scream behind the gag, my hands flying to the white cotton bra and panties set I wear to bed, trying to cover my exposed flesh. Chuckling, Heath takes a moment to stare down at my ivory skin, a smirk of pure evil curling the corners of his lips.

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy hunting down this little lamb,” he says, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip.

My pulse flutters at the quick glimpse of pink, and my thighs squeeze tighter together.

His smirk grows into a feral smile, and heat throbs in my cheeks that he caught the slight movement of my knees from the corner of his eye. Does he know what it means?

The look on his face says he knows exactly what it was.

He reaches out, running a knuckle down over my belly. I slap his hand away, growling behind the beads. He doesn’t retaliate or push, but instead bends and picks up a bundle of white fabric. He wrestles it down over my head as I flail my arms, trying to get it off. I’m operating on blind panic, since I’d rather be covered. But nothing he’s going to do to me is welcome, and even if he’s stronger than me, I’ll be damned if I let him take my innocence without putting up a fight.

He wrenches my arms into the sleeves and lets the garment fall over my body. It’s a frilly, white nightgown that reaches to my mid-calf and has long sleeves with ruffles around the wrists. It looks like some nightmare a grandmother from the eighteen hundreds would wear. I hate how much I love it. Every inch of me is covered.

He smirks when he sees my expression, my eyes wide and the beads making my cheeks bulge as I hold them in with tight lips. He reaches for my face, gripping my chin with one hand and carefully extricating the small iron cross that was cutting into my lip. Releasing it, he lets it dangle against the outside of my lower lip.

“Well, aren’t you the most fuckable little lamb I’ve ever seen?” he murmurs, his eyes heating with something a thousand times worse than the hatred I’ve seen there already. He strokes his thumb over my lower lip, toying with the cross when he reaches it.

“The ways I’m going to defile you…” He shakes his head, looking truly regretful for one moment.

Then he grabs my hands and wrenches them down, holding my wrists in one of his strong hands while he snatches a cincture off the floor. I yank a hand free, but he shoves me back on the bed, straddling me. My panicked gaze moves to meet his sea-glass eyes, electric with the thrill of the chase, excitement vibrating through his every cell, and for one moment I’m that stupid girl who was caught on Eternity’s bedroom floor while he thrust his bare shaft against my belly.

His eyes harden, and I know without a word spoken between us that he’s remembering that day too. He jerks my hands in front of me, quickly looping the tie that’s usually used by priests on their robes and pulling it tight before I can free myself. Giving a sharp tug, he makes sure the smooth rope is tight enough to hold. I snarl behind the gag, and he gives me a triumphant look and leans down, gripping my chin and pulling my face straight.

“I’m going to enjoy breaking you in for the others,” he growls. “I can’t wait to hear you scream when I bury my cock in your tight little virgin cunt for the first time. But the real fun will be watching you shatter into a million pieces as they rip away everything good and pure about you until you’re nothing but a used up, hollow shell like the rest of us.”

I shake my head frantically, a hiccupping sound escaping as a tear leaks down my cheek. Saint would never allow that. He’d never let anyone else touch me.

“I will love every second of it,” Heath grits out. “Watching you break will be my life’s greatest triumph. If I catch you tonight, I’m going to keep fucking you until you’re a lifeless whore who knows nothing but being used and abused. And don’t think surviving tonight is the end of it. If you escape, I’ll just come for you harder.”

I shake my head harder, yanking at my hands.

Heath leans in, his eyes sparkling with malice. “Maybe the others will join me sometimes,” he whispers against my cheek, his hot breath curling over my skin and lighting it on fire. “Would Saint’s sweet little sister like him to defile her every hole until she craves our treatment as much as she already craves the gush of twelve men’s cum spilling down her dirty legs while she limps home at dawn tomorrow morning, her cunt a bleeding wreck and her soul as depraved as the rest of us?”

I shake my head harder, bucking under him.

A low chuckle escapes him, the sound a mixture of menace and mirth that sends a chill quaking through my whole body. Why didn’t I leave when that note told me I didn’t belong here?

Why didn’t I run?

“Come on, little lamb,” Heath says, hopping off the bed, jerking the cord so I’m forced to sit. “The wolves are waiting.”

He picks up the last item he brought—an oversized, terrifying sheep’s head from a Halloween costume. He winds my hair up and shoves it under, then yanks the huge mask down over my head, giving it a spiteful extra jerk on the back to make sure it’s on firmly. I glare at him out of the translucent eyes of the mask, but he can’t even see my face anymore. He takes one look at me, throws his head back, and howls with laughter, slapping a hand on his toned abs as the belly laugh rolls out of him.

Dear Lord, why does he have to look so good while being so bad?

Heath snatches up the cord and gives it a yank, starting for the door and dragging me with him. I follow, glancing up and down the hall, wondering if I can call for help. If I spit out the beads and scream, would it be loud enough for anyone to wake? Probably not, muffled behind the huge mask.

Then we reach the stairs, and I’m distracted by trying not to fall and break my bones on the stone steps. I realize the problem with the nightgown then. It’s not forgiving material like the Jesus Loves Me nightshirt I wear, which is basically a t-shirt that reaches mid-thigh. This is a woven fabric with no give, cutting my stride to only a foot or so, since it binds my calves close together. I can’t use my hands for balance, either, and Heath doesn’t go slow and make it easy for me.

I cry out behind the beads as I stumble and pitch forward, ready to bust my face into a bleeding mess and knock out a few teeth in the process.

But Heath’s arm shoots out lightning-quick, and he steadies me before continuing, a little more slowly this time. At last, we reach the bottom of the stairs, and he hurries us out into the damp, still night.

I’m horrified when I see at least half a dozen other girls in white costumes of varying descriptions, each topped with the same creepy, oversized sheep head. A couple of them are walking together, murmuring excitedly. Others drift toward the chapel, spectral ghosts shrouded by the whisps of fog that hover over the dewy grass.

You will go, as a lamb to the slaughter…

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