Page 7 of Wounded Wing

“P-please don’t,” he begs.

I clench my hand around his cock, squeezing it until I can feel his pulse thumping through the entire shaft. His legs buckle beneath him as he tries to escape my punishing grip. He garbles pathetically before I feel his cock jerk, his cum dripping over my fingers.

A subtle pop gives way in his throat, followed by his body dropping with dead weight.

I release his neck and his now flaccid flesh, stepping back as his limp body falls face first to the floor with his ass up. My hand wraps around my engorged cock, stroking it until I groan out my release, painting his cheeks white. Black spots spark behind my eyes as my hardened length jerks from the aftershocks of my release.

Slumping down in one of the spinning office chairs next to Pierre’s corpse, I pull my phone from my pocket and callmon papillonback.

The call rings twice before she answers. Refusing her the opportunity to speak, I let my soon-to-be broken butterfly know that she has made apoordecision.

Chapter five

My feet slap againstthe cool marble tile as I pace the penthouse, waiting for Atticus to arrive. The elevator door dings, sliding open to reveal Satan himself. I scour his face and hands for remnants of blood, knowing damn well he took care of Pierre before gracing me with his presence. I’ve lost count of the number of bodies he claims to have disposed of during his fits of anger or jealousy. Many years ago, I’d have claimed it was romantic knowing that I had a husband who has killed for me. Can’t say that I feel the same now, knowing just how depraved he can be.

With slow, measured steps, he approaches me wearing a Cheshire grin. His pupils are blown out into wide, pitch-black orbs. Dark strands of hair stick to his forehead, evidence of some sort of recent strenuous activity. His previously perfectly pressed suit is now visibly creased and wrinkled. Sweat, sex, and another vaguely familiar, sickly scent rolls off of him in waves. To say he looked possessed would be an understatement.

“Mon papillon, it’s time for you to take responsibility for your actions,” he sings tauntingly. His voice wraps around my neck, acting as the noose that will hang me without a second thought.

Choking on the breath caught in my throat, he removes his silver cufflinks with ease, seemingly unbothered by my reaction. His forearms strain against the sleeves of his black button-down, calling to me like a siren at sea. How is it possible to find a monster so damn appealing?

I place one foot in front of the other, faltering within a step of his polished, obsidian shoes as I fix myself to appear submissive and obedient.

Just like he taught me.

I hear it before I have a chance to see it coming. A sudden whoosh of air before the resounding crack of skin hitting skin. My head snaps to the side, sending my world toppling over. The stinging pain registers as it radiates pulsing heat from my ear to my cheek. A watery haze obstructs my view as I fight to hide how badly it hurts. Clenching my hands into fists, my nails bite crescents into my palms, distracting me from the pain in my face. The only act of defiance I can muster is to meet his sharp, hypnotizing eyes.

Lowering himself to squat in front of me, his eerily cool, calloused hand tenderly cups my face, stroking my injured cheek with his thumb; reminiscent of the day we got married. The contrast of his actions would be hilarious if the situation wasn’t so fucking terrifying. A familiar foreboding sense resurfaces, the one that has been screaming at me since the moment I signed my soul away.

“Your attempts at submission are as sweet as it was the day I welcomed you as my wife, Mae.” He whispers my name like a solemn prayer that causes my stomach to riot in confusion. I hate how convincing he sounds even after raising a hand to me.

“Go to hell, Atticus,” I hiss.

“Now, why would you go on to say such a hurtful thing like that,cher?” he mockingly pouts.

Jolting in surprise, I feel a burning pinch on my upper arm followed by a rush of waves throughout my muscles. Time seems to slow down as I watch Atticus pocket an orange-capped syringe.

Did this motherfucker just drug me?

“W-what di-d you do?” I slur, unable to voice my thoughts clearly.

“You didn’t think that little love tap was your punishment, did you?” he snickers.

“Lo-ve tap?”

My head sways as he abruptly pulls away. He stands back to his full height, brushing the invisible dirt away from his knees.

“Enjoy your nap while you can, wife. It’s time you learn what happens to disobedient creatures in my kingdom,” he warns.

Our sterile, white-marble flooring blurs around me as my body gives way to whatever the hell Atticus just plunged into mybloodstream. The last thing I hear before darkness claims me is Mrs. Fremont’s cries, begging for Danny.

Fuck.

Heavy, pounding thumps against my consciousness, alerting me that I’m free to wake from my nightmares.

Enjoyable nap, my ass.

Groaning loudly, I attempt to stretch my arms out only to be met with resistance. My arms feel heavier than usual and my mouth is unusually dry. Gathering what little strength I can find, my eyes crack open. Darkness with a hint of the club’s familiar third floor neon-blue low light greets me. Chills break out over my noticeably exposed skin as my head slowly clears.

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