Page 12 of Of Heathens & Havoc

I drop my gaze from him, swallowing hard. The words on the page blur together in the dimly lit room, but I can make out what I’m signing up for if I put my name on this.

You will go, as a lamb to the slaughter, to the Hellhounds on HAVOC night. You will submit yourself to their desires, no matter how perverse, so that they may exorcise their demons upon you, transferring their sins in whatever ways they see fit, so that they may be without sin…

I raise my eyes back to Heath’s, my voice trembling when I speak, barely above a whisper. “I can’t agree to this.”

Heath grins, hitting the button on the remote. I wince as my breathy confession continues booming through the room.“It felt good…”

“Turn it off,” I cry.

“I think we can all agree that this is the best way to pay for your sins,” Heath says, switching it off.

“I did the right thing,” I say weakly.

“Unless you want the whole world to know. Let’s see, who should we send this recording to? Your parents, of course. Bet they’d like to know they made the right choice by sending you away. Your aunt, naturally. The administration here. You’ll definitely be kicked out. That would make Saint happy. But I think we need more, don’t you? Oh, maybe the judge who sentenced us would like to know that you actually enjoyed our little teenage foreplay, and that your testimony wasbullshit.”

“That’s not the only reason you were convicted.”

He slams his fists down on the arms of the chair and leans forward, the ink on his skin trembling as his muscles flex. “’A history of sexual deviance,’” he hisses at me, his hot breath licking my trembling lips. “That’s what he said at the sentencing.”

His unhinged smile grows wider, and he leans across the space toward me. Before I can stop him, he leans in, burying his face in my neck. His hot, wet tongue rakes up my neck from my collarbone to my ear, sending a wave of heat rushing through my body. His teeth sink into my skin, and I cry out, struggling to free myself. Pinning me to the chair, he straddles me and thrusts a hand between my thighs. “You have no idea how deviant I can be, little lamb,” he croons, rubbing my hot flesh through my nightshirt with quick, sure strokes. “But I think you’re a little deviant too. We don’t want anyone else to know that, do we?”

“No,” I gasp, shoving at his chest.

He doesn’t budge, only rubs harder. “You don’t want them to know how wet sweet little Mercy’s sweet little cunt gets when a sexual deviant like me fucks it raw, do you?”

“Please,” I cry, tears spilling from my eyes.

He sits back, unzipping his pants. Suddenly, it’s there, standing up straight and long between us, thick and veined in a way I don’t remember. A silver ring gleams in the bottom of the tip, harsh as a blade against the velvet skin. The whole thing looks so raw and animal, so visceral that my breath catches in my throat and something hot and primal throbs between my thighs so hard I cry out.

Heath’s eyes light with predatory malice at the sound, and he grabs my chin, forcing my head back. He swipes his whole hand across my cheek, mopping up my tears on his fingers and palm. Then he drops his hand, slicking it over the thick, bulbous head of his cock.

My stomach trembles with fear and anticipation, and the memory of him thrusting against my bare skin invades my mind, sending wetness pooling between my thighs and shame blooming in my cheeks.

“I’m going to fuck these tears back into you,” he says, jerking his cock while he speaks, his eyes feral. “I’m going ram my cock into you so deep you truly see god for the first time, little rabbit. I’ll make you scream like you’ve never screamed in your life, and every scream will make me fuck you harder. But I won’t stop, just like you didn’t stop when we told you we were innocent. I learned from you, learned how to be merciless from a girl named Mercy. And just like you, I’ll have none. I’ll fuck you like the dirty cumslut you are. Just like you fucked me.”

“I didn’t,” I cry.

“You did,” he says, grabbing my chin again, his fingers cutting into my cheeks and his eyes boring into mine. “And you’re going to sign up for HAVOC night and give me a chance tofuck you back, or the whole world will know that your desperate little pussy was so wet it was weeping for me to fuck it that day.” He slides his hand to my throat while he leans in, tracing his nose along my jawline. His other hand dips between my thighs again, working me slowly this time. “Just like it’s weeping for me to finger it right now.”

I burn with shame at his words, how obscene they are—and how true. I’ve soaked through my panties and my nightshirt, and he can feel it. I can’t hide it. Just like I can’t hide my confession, the most shameful secret I’ve ever told. And he has it. He has it all on tape, and he’s going to share it with everyone. Not just my parents, but my school. It won’t be a whispered confession to a priest. It will be on the news, the girl who testified about what the boy did to her was lying. Everyone will think I’m a liar, a sinner, a slut—just like he does.

The whole world will know, not just this one boy. When I try to get a job and employers search my name, they’ll find out. Any school I apply to after being expelled from Thorncrown will know. My future husband will know.

“Please,” I beg, tears swimming in my eyes again. “I’m—I’m a virgin. I’m not a slut.”

“Oh, I bet you are,” he croons, thumbing the drenched fabric between us, the only thing between his fingers and my weak, sinful flesh. “And if you’re not, we’ll have even more fun making you into one.”

Suddenly, he stands, and I swallow a cry of anguish that he stopped. As he slowly tucks himself back into his jeans, I can’t help but stare at the pierced tip and veined shaft in front of my face before he zips the fabric over it. I gulp, my cheeks flaming, and tear my gaze away. Heath stands smirking down at me, like he knows exactly how much it intrigues and arouses me. Just like the words on the page in front of me do. Words aboutstarting from this place and running through tunnels, being caught and used in whatever capacity the Hellhounds demand.

I gulp as I read, my eyes widening when I reach the last paragraph.

The object of the game is to win the coveted title of Sacrifice. Any player can tap out at any time, but the one who proves most extraordinary will be awarded the prized position. As this year’s Sacrifice, she will be ritually offered up to sate the 12 Hellhounds’ appetites throughout the year, or until the flesh no longer satisfies their cravings.

“It’s a game?” I ask, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

“That’s right,” Heath says, planting his hands on his hips and standing over me, so his zipper is within reach, the most terrible temptation. “A game of chase.”

“What if you can’t catch me?”

---