Page 63 of Pen Pal

Blood poured on the floor from Mark’s pelvis, spreading along the floor in a large puddle. It soaked Enzo’s knees as he sliced through Mark’s sweatshirt, prying it apart until his chest was bare.

Then Enzo removed his belt, tying it above Mark’s hips, slowing his bleeding, prolonging his agony with the makeshift tourniquet. “You don’t get to die yet,” Enzo snapped, his voice deep and deranged.

His machete clattered on the floor as Enzo removed a knife from his pocket, and I recognized it from my butcher block as my skinning knife. I used it multiple times to skin fish and chicken, and the whole knife set was a gift from Sylvia.

Enzo gripped Mark by his chest hair and began slicing, Mark screaming as my pen pal cut him methodically with surgical precision.

He’d done this before, I realized, as sweat beaded on his forehead, his mustache almost hidden behind his curled lip. Enzo’s jaw ticked in concentration as he worked, meticulously and determined, severing each layer as Mark writhed beneath him.

He was skinning Mark alive.

I slowly rose to my feet, a numb zombie, as I stared at Mark as the life slowly drained from him. His wide eyes were fixed on mine, his breath shallowand quick, and his nostrils flared as he fought for each breath.

Time slowed to a crawl. I wasn’t sure how long Enzo hacked through his skin, but it seemed like forever. Mark’s voice went hoarse before his mouth stayed open in a permanent, silent scream. He could only twitch as life leaked from him.

I found myself kneeling next to Enzo, watching him as he put down the knife and retook his machete.

Enzo stabbed Mark, who whimpered weakly. My pen pal sawed at Mark’s rib until it cracked, then Enzo withdrew the blade. He stuck his hand inside, fishing around as blood seeped from the wound. He grabbed the skinning knife, plunging it between Mark’s ribs with his hand, sawing at something inside as squelching sounds filled the room.

Then he wrenched something free of Mark’s chest, and it was his still-beating heart.

Mark’s eyes widened in horror, and Enzo smirked down at him. “As black as your soul,” he taunted, then turned his eyes to me.

“I vow to you, Amara, that I will make your enemies suffer, and I’ll eat the heart of any man who touches you again,” he promised, lifting the heart to his mouth. He sank his teeth into it, his eyes neverleaving mine as he tore a piece off, chewing it as blood sleuthed all over him, Mark, and the floor.

Mark’s pupils blew, and he went slack as the spark of life left his eyes. His heart stopped beating in my lover’s hands, and Enzo felt it stop, his lips spread into a feral, cruel grin.

I was in a trance, hypnotized by the scene unfolding before me.

No one had defended me like that. Not one person stood up for me, not against bullies, threats, or Mark. Not even the police did much to help. No one cared enough to check on me or to make sure that I was alright.

Until Enzo.

My pen pal turned to the wall, sliding his hand through Mark’s blood as he wrote a deliberate, chilling message. Each letter stained the paint, the excess liquid leaking down the wall. Then Enzo’s hand smeared the wall as he dragged it away, revealing his message.

Will you be mine?

The breath caught in my throat as I read the words painted in my ex-husband’s blood. It was a declaration, proof of his undying devotion, and it touched me to my soul. He was offering himself to me, pledging his loyalty in a way no one else evercould. He would keep me safe and only hurt me in ways I would beg him.

Warmth spread throughout my chest, my body coming alive at the recognition of the feeling oflove. I thought I had it with Mark, but it was nothing compared to this. This feeling was consuming, overwhelming, and eternal. Enzo had ruined me for anyone else, and I knew that I didn’t want anyone but him.

I looked at my pen pal, and he swallowed a piece of Mark’s heart, watching me intently. Daring me to reject him now, after everything he’d done for me, seeing if he was too much for me, too dangerous, too unhinged.

Maybe he was.

I met his intense stare with a gaze of my own.

“Yes,” I whispered.

24

Enzo

Ilaunched myself at my little pen pal, my black heart soaring as I let Mark’s still, cooling heart fall back on his chest, and I gripped Amara’s face as my mouth crashed to hers. I forced her mouth open with my tongue, and she moaned into my mouth.

Not a soul came close to understanding me, let alone saw the darkest parts of my soul andwantedme. Sure, the mafia used my brutality to send rivals a message. They loved how savage and ruthless I was, but only because they stood to gain something. I was merely a tool in their arsenal.

But with Amara? I wasmore.I didn’t have to hide any part of myself with her. She accepted all of me. All of my darkness, hatred, and fury; she saw it all, and she still said that magic word.

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