Page 26 of Lethal
She looks shakily at me, a small smile quirking her lips. “The answer to your riddle isyou…you, Wren, and I want you to crawl so deep inside of me that we’ll never be apart.”
“Lift her brother. It’s time we claim our Doctor together.” I release her lips, and a smile breaks across my own, when she whimpers in complaint at the lost contact. Bash wraps his arms around her abdomen from behind, forcing her up off the floor, and holds her suspended, as I climb on the old desk and lie on my back, before he places her on top of me, jacket-covered chest pressed against mine, and her face next to my own. Her legs straddle me tightly as her warm, wet pussy slides over my cock, coating it. Pleasure-filled mewling sounds escape her, as she moves back and forth, the crown of my cock bumping her clit with every upward thrust.
Fuck, I’m almost positive I could cum again just like this, but I want to be buried deep inside of her, my brother’s cock next to mine. The two of us sharing her, the way it was always meant to be.
One of my hands rises to her throat, and I grab on tightly, forcing the air to stutter out in a beautiful, melodious sound. My other hand moves between us, compelling her body to rise enough for me to impale her tight hole. I slam inside of her, and she releases a scream, her back bowing inside the straitjacket. A loud crack fills the air, as Bash slaps her asscheek hard. “Did we say you could scream, little toy?”
“Please!” She begs, and tries to move her hips to ride me, but Bash grabs her asscheeks tightly, stilling her movements.
“What a naughty little slut you are. Look at how you’re taking my brother deep inside your soaked pussy. Does he feel good inside of you, little toy?” Bash leans forward and bites her jaw, and another scream exits her. Her eyes are closed tightly, and her head pushes back, giving him better access, and forcing my fingers to tighten around her throat, until her face flushes burgundy.
“I think she needs a little something more, what do you say, brother, something to make this all more intense?” Bash winks mischievously at me, and I chuckle.
“Oh yes, let’s put her on a ride she’s never going to forget, brother.” I thrust harder into her tight pussy, using my grasp on her throat to move her up and down on my hard length. Bash moves away from us, and I hear rustling, but I don’t pay him any mind. My cock slips in and out of her wet channel, the sounds of our bodies slapping together loud and pleasurable.
Bash moves back against her body, his hand rises toward her neck, and the syringe I stole from the nurse’s station, and had hidden in my pants, is now in his grasp. My dolly gets a glimpse of it out of the corner of her eye, and starts bucking wildly, trying to get away, but I’m not having it, as I dig my fingers into her soft flesh. “Nooooo, ple... ase!” She croaks, and it’s adorable that she thinks begging will stop us.
“Now, now, my pretty broken dolly, it will make you feel better. You need to take your medicine like agood girlfor us.”
Bash grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her head sideways, exposing the large vein in her neck. He presses the sharp needle to her skin and punctures it, and I almost cum inside of her from the rush of adrenaline, and the pleasure of watching her fear roll through her. “That’s a good doctor, you’ll be just fine now.” Bash kisses the side of her face, before he uses his palm to push her chest down hard against me. She attempts fruitlessly to fight against the antipsychotic and sedative combination inthe syringe. Her head rises, bows back on her neck, and slumps forward, a shocked look across her face, as her eyes glisten and tears slide out of the corners, and down her face. I release my hold on her neck, and brush away her tears, as her lips go slack. She attempts to speak, but all her words are gibberish.
Behind us, I can feel Bash moving, so I stop my thrusts as he pries her asscheeks apart, his fingers sliding inside of her tight hole against my cock, and stretching her open for his dick. “It’s going to be a tight fit, but I’m sure she’ll be able to take us. She was made for us, brother. All her holes have our names on them.”
“We should carve our names into her skin, Bash. That way, she’ll always remember who she belongs to,” I grunt as I feel her wetness dripping down my balls.
“That’s a great suggestion, brother.” Bash moves away for a moment, and then he’s back with the bloody shiv in his hands. “Ugh, pl... ple... ase,” she mumbles incoherently.
“Skin so soft, so pale and tight, let the blade make the letters right. Dig it deep and carve it slow, let the crimson rivers flow,”I sing below her, as Bash begins to carve our names into the flesh of her upper thighs. She releases a pitiful scream, and I swallow it in my mouth. She tries to fight the effects of the drugs, but they’re too powerful, and I get to witness the moment they truly roll her. Her mouth goes slack, her eyes staring sightlessly into mine. She’s so beautiful like this. A stunning, fragile dolly that we could do anything to, even take her life, and she wouldn’t even realize it.
“There, now she’s truly perfect,” Bash exclaims, dropping the shiv to the floor next to the desk with a clang. He yanks off his clothes, and rubs his hard cock into her bleeding thigh, lubricating himself. He moves behind her and positions his cock at her entrance, thrusting forward until he’s pressed againstmine in her tight, strangling sheath. “FUCK! She’s so tight and warm, brother,” he groans with pleasure.
“Ours,she’s ours now, Bash,“ I moan. We fuck her in tandem, both of us slamming into her with force, until the desk legs groan and screech, as we drag the old piece of furniture across the floor and closer to the dead man. Her body is completely boneless, taking everything we have to give her. Bash’s fingers grip her hair and propel her back to arch, and tears slide down her face as sounds of pleasure, and pain, leave her in unison. “Such beautiful music our girl makes, brother,” I groan, as electric sparks rise up my spine with my impending orgasm. “I’m close, Bash.”
“Almost there, brother,” Bash groans as he speeds up his momentum, the sounds of slapping skin fierce and clamorous in the small room. All our combined aromas fill the air, depraved, carnal perfume, death mixed with sex and madness. “Fuck, now, Wren! Come with me, brother, fill her up.”
My cock throbs against my brother’s, and her sweet, tempting body tightens around both of us. My orgasm washes over me, a turbulent ocean wave taking me under with it. I hear Bash’s cry of pleasure, and the doctor’s deep gasp, as her body reaches its own peak. She slumps forward, eyes closed, completely gone. I meet my brother’s gaze over her shoulder, and his face is stony with determination. Murder and obsession are clearly visible deep inside those gray-blue stormy irises that we share. “We can never let her go, Wren.”
“I know, and that means we have to protect her from the other monsters in this place, Bash. We have to protect her from the worst of them all.Halstead.”
Ican feel the sun’s bright, and cruel, rays on my closed eyelids, a dull orange light that beckons me back to the world of the living. I force one of my eyes open, and the room immediately spins, as a pained groan exits my lips, and fills the silent space. I blearily look around with trepidation, and realize that the space is familiar, which helps to calm some of my immediate anxiety. My neck is at a painful, odd angle, and my body is scrunched up on the small loveseat in my office. I force both my eyelids open, and attempt to lift my head, while the sunlight taunts melike a knife through the slats of my office blinds, as if trying to flay the truth out of me, inch by inch. Every golden beam is a verdict, every dust mote an accusation. All of them condemn me as a sinner and a monster.Killer,they whisper, and I know they speak the truth.
I blink against the sharp glare, as I force my aching body to sit up, but it doesn’t make anything go away. As some of the haze begins to clear, I realize I can’t remember how I got back here. The night dissolved into too many hands, too much depravity, and so much blood. An image of the syringe coming at my neck, clutched in Bash’s hand, and Wren’s joy-filled face, slips past my defenses. The sound of my own voice begging them fills my ears.“Nooooo, ple... ase!”The drug they injected me with still lingers at the edges of my thoughts, like a deadly, heavy fog, and causes my limbs to feel weighty and awkward. My last memory is of them, and that room filled with horror, misdeeds, and temptation.You’re just like them now, tarnished beyond redemption,my mind seethes with accusation.
My eyes slowly lower to my body, taking in the blood that is still on my hands, and dark underneath my fingernails. My coat is ruined, torn, and stained with a dried, brown substance along its surface, resembling rust.No, not rust, the orderly, his blood.My stomach revolts against the images that attempt to replay inside my mind, and I throw myself off the sofa and force my body to crawl to my waste basket, where I purge nothing but bile up, and sweat trickles down my neck. When I’m done dry-heaving, I slump against the wall, my shaking hands pushing back my matted hair from my clammy face, and then revulsion fills me as I realize I’m tainting more of myself with every touch.
I sit on the floor, slumped forward, wrists limp over my knees, like a marionette cut from her strings. The straitjacket is gone now, but I still feel its phantom pressure on my arms, ribs, and across my chest, as if I’m still bound, as if I’m stilltheirs. Myskin burns and stings on my upper thighs, and I pull back the ragged coat, slowly and deliberately, because some part of me doesn’t want to look at my inflamed skin. Their names stare back at me, one on each thigh, deep, ragged, and morbid brands of ownership. The sight of them doesn’t make me sick, not the way it should. I should feel violated, terrified even, and yet instead, I feel tethered.Marked. Chosen.
What is wrong with me?The clinical doctor part of me is screaming that I should get up and run from this place, that this is all Stockholm Syndrome, and I’m bonding with my abusive captors. None of this is real; it’s just some sick illusion, to trap me in one of their manipulating games, the ones they played with their previous victims. My heart pounds viciously in my chest, and all I can hear is the sound of my blood whooshing in my ears. I must report what I’ve done, so they can’t use it against me. I should scream loudly that I’m the victim, and that they forced me to participate, and held me as a prisoner in that room. I ought to disappear from Wellard, walk out its wrought iron gates, and never return, and let the cards fall where they may.You’ll be running all your life, but you can’t run from what you’ll see in the mirror. She won’t let you go so easily.
I can’t stop thinking about Wren’s unhinged laughter, and the pleasure he took from me. Bash’s voice whispers in my ear, reaffirming that I belong to him,to them.The memory of the feel of the shiv’s weight in my hand, and the way it felt when I plunged it into that man’s neck, has my core tightening, and prickles of heat spreading along my skin. Their shared madness should repulse me. It should devastate me that they’re infecting me like parasites. I’ve studied this, I’ve treated it, and I know the signs of spiraling, of losing self-control, and giving in to baser needs, and now, I see them in myself.
I told them my secret, not the kind you whisper in confession. Not the sort you write in a journal and hide, for fearof your childish sins being revealed. The type that rewires your destinyonce it’s spoken aloud. I killed a man.No, I am now responsible for killing two.Maybe not both with my hands, but I hunted one of them. I hounded him until I broke him, and then I smiled when the noose did what no court ever would.
A memory of a meeting with Halstead weeks ago rips into my mind. He was sitting there, staring at me with his condescending countenance, his too-perfect tie, and bright white jacket on.
“Miss. Vaughan, do you believe that sinners can ever be forgiven? Heinous sins like murder?” At first, I didn’t know what to make of his question. Was he asking from personal experience? Does he have sins that he needs forgiven? As I weighed my answer, I felt the weight of my own sins on my shoulders, and heart, and I knew right then that there would never be any forgiveness for the sins I have committed.
“No, Doctor Halstead, I believe some sins tarnish you too deeply to ever be forgiven.”
