Page 117 of Horror and Chill
I gasp, the sound tearing from my throat, and his mouth catches it, kissing me rough, lips bruising mine, teeth scraping until the line between pain and pleasure blurs.
“Look at you,” he groans into my mouth. “Taking me, in the house they built to break you.”
The words slam into me harder than his body does. I want to deny it, to spit something smart back, but all I can do is moan as he rocks into me with a merciless rhythm. My fingers claw into the back of his shirt, yanking at fabric, desperate to hold on.
Every thrust drives me higher, tearing through the fear, through the memories, until all that’s left is heat and the wild relief of not caring anymore. He bites my shoulder, low and hard, just above my collarbone. The sting makes me cry out, but it only makes him smile against my skin. His hand spreads across my ass, squeezing, controlling every inch of me.
“You’re ours now, Little Horror,” he growls, each word punctuated with the snap of his hips. “Not theirs. Never again.”
My body arches against him, shuddering, and my release rips through me, messy and consuming. I bite down on his neck to keep from screaming, tasting sweat and skin and salt.
He doesn’t slow. If anything, the rhythm grows more frantic. Three more merciless pumps and his whole body goes rigid, breath catching against my throat. He lets out a sound that is half-growl, half-exhale. He collapses us both against the wall, keeping me pinned there as we both gasp for air. His cock twitches inside me, and I feel him coating my insides with his cum.
I pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are still wild, pupils blown wide, sweat sliding down his temple. He smirks like he knows exactly what he’s done to me and exactly what I’ve let him take.
And I don’t look away. I don’t want to. His body still shudders against mine when he finally lowers me. My feet hit the carpet and I stumble a little, my legs jelly, my head swimming.
He kisses me rough again, almost like he can’t stop himself, and mutters hot against my lips, “Don’t you dare clean up until we leave. I want them—even as ghosts—to know you’re full of me and dripping on their floor.”
The words make my stomach flip, heat curling low, shame and thrill twisting together until I can’t tell which is stronger. My chest heaves, and I lean against the wall for balance.
Movement in the corner of my eye makes me flinch, but it’s only Evander and Garron, stepping out from the shadows of the hallway. They’ve been there. Watching. Or at least listening. And by the look in their eyes, they know exactly what just happened.
Evander winks at me, that crooked grin tugging his mouth. “We’re ready.”
Before I can speak, Garron bends and plucks something from the carpet. My thong. My face burns hot as he dangles it from hisfingers before shoving it into his pocket. “For a rainy day, Little Horror.”
I roll my eyes at him, but it’s weak. They’re already moving on to the next part of the night like nothing happened, like my body isn’t still buzzing with the way Corwin used me.
Corwin crouches, pulling out his knife to saw through the ropes binding Michael and Debra to their chairs. Their bodies slump, lifeless, but not free. Not yet.
Evander kneels beside them, pulling a red can from the bag. The chemical reek of accelerant fills the room as he splashes it over Debra’s stiff body and then Michael’s. It soaks their clothes, their skin, drips down to the carpet. My throat tightens at the smell, but I don’t look away.
“End it clean,” Garron mutters.
Evander strikes a lighter, the little flame dancing bright in the stale air. He doesn’t hesitate. He tears a page from Michael’s Bible and sets it alight. The paper curls and blackens, fire eating its edges. He drops it onto Debra’s body.
She goes up first. Her dress ignites with a whoosh, flames racing fast across the fabric. The fire crawls down to the floor, greedy, and follows the wet trail of accelerant to Michael. His body catches, his face lit grotesque in the blaze.
Heat washes over us as the curtains start to darken and blacken at the edges. The vent high on the wall groans to life, the AC kicking on as the system senses the spike in temperature. Air blasts down, sending the fabric swaying. Flames lick higher, feeding on the sudden draft. Smoke gathers fast, thick and acrid.
Garron snatches up the bag. “Time to move.”
We slip out the back door. My pulse is still hammering, not from the run but from everything—sex and fire and vengeance burning hotter than the flames behind us.
We pile into the vehicle, doors shutting in quick succession. Corwin guns the engine, and we speed down the street. I twistin my seat, watching through the rear window as the first-floor windows glow bright orange, flames licking up toward the second story.
The house burns fast, swallowing everything. Their faces. Their sins. Their bodies.
I sit back, breathless, heart racing like I’ve run a marathon. My reflection in the glass looks strange. Not afraid. Not broken. Just alive. And maybe for the first time, dangerous.
The road is black in front of us, and the glow of the fire shrinks in the rearview until it looks like nothing more than a star. I can still smell it, though. Burned fabric. Burned wood. Burned flesh.
I lean my head against the cool glass.
That’s all that’s left of Michael and Debra. Ash. Ghosts in a house that isn’t standing anymore. They’re gone, and I am still here.
My chest tightens, but then it eases in a way I never thought possible. It feels like someone reached inside me and unlocked a chain I’d been dragging since childhood.
