Page 112 of Ivy's Venom

“Name?” Mom turns to look at me. I don’t have a fucking name, should I have a name? “Neither of us have names, Dean. We are Black Slaughter.”

He stands abruptly and I notice Mom tenses, her stance changing slightly. His eyes look wildly between us and he darts for the side of the desk I’m on, clearly making a run for it. Mom pushes me to the desk as she intercepts Dean with a quick punch to his ear and then a hard kick to his kneecap. He drops to the floor with a shout and I watch in astonishment as Mom punches him hard on the cheek. His skin splits and the blood swells around the wound.

“That wasn’t smart, Dean.” She begins to undo his tie. “Black Slaughter, get the chair.”

I bring one of the chairs by his desk to her side and once again I’m shocked as she tosses him into it. Dean is not a small man, he’s not as big as my dad, but he’s not small either. Mom is fucking Hercules.

He begins to struggle and she punches him another two times in the mouth, his lip splitting open.

“Keep testing me,” she snarls, “I fucking love this shit.”

Nope, definitely not my mom.

She takes his tie and wraps it around his neck as his head lolls from the blows. He’s on the brink of passing out and I can’t believe I’m feeling disappointed. I want him to struggle more so Mom will continue to punish him.

Mom is now standing behind him and the chair, tightening the tie, forcing his head up. His eyes widen and his fingers dig at the silk material, blood red in colour. Didn’t he want to see if it would match my blood?

I walk forward slowly and I can see Mom’s black painted eyebrow raise in question, but she doesn’t stop me. I swipe my fingers over his cheek, gathering the blood and then hold it against the tie.

“It really does match the colour of blood.”

The colour drains from his face and he begins to struggle again, until Mom’s fist hits the side of his head. His head snaps to the left and then he slowly lifts it up again.

“Ivy?” He questions.

I don't answer him because there’s no point. I know he knows who I am. Instead, I watch Mom knot the tie to the back of the chair and then she’s back in front of him. If he struggles too much, the fabric of the tie will dig deeper into his throat and he’ll choke. Then, Mom begins to undo his belt, pulling it from the loops, and once again stands behind him, putting me back in his view.

“I can’t believe you set this up.” He says to me.“Did you kill Serrano to?”

“No,” Mom replies, “I did make sure he received a warning.” She laughs, “I guess the coward ran.”

The more I hear his words and that smarmy voice, the angrier I get. That feeling builds more in the pit of my stomach and works its way upward. Mom wraps the belt around his left arm and tightens it to the back of the chair.

“Your belt.” She points to the one around my waist.

I undo it and hand it over, my eyes never leaving Dean’s face. His eyes are pleading with me and I can’t muster up a bit of remorse. I remember begging him to stop and pleading with him not to hurt me, he never listened.

Mom straps his other arm to the chair and then she’s methodically cutting away his dress shirt with her knife, revealing his chest that’s dusted with black and gray hairs. Dean is handsome in a sinister looking way. His hair is jet black and he is graying at his temples, his eyes are a dark brown, and his skin is pale like wax paper. He takes care of his physique because he’s not fat, but he’s not built either.

She bares his chest and then presses the tip of the blade to his skin, the indent cushioning around the edge.

“Look,” he begins to plead again. “I will leave the country and never come back again.”

“But you’ll still be a child raping piece of shit.” Mom says. “You won’t be able to control yourself.”

“Give me the knife.” My voice is sure and strong, but my arm shakes when I extend it.

I have so much energy coursing through me and I can’t seem to keep it contained. I want to make Dean bleed and see how close in colour his blood really is to that tie. I want him to cry and beg me to stop, and then I want to do it all again.

Mom hands it over without complaint and begins to stroke the hair on top of Dean’s head.

“She didn’t want to hurt you coming in here.” She mutters to him, “I think the sight of you and how weak you look is pushing her to do it.”

“Don’t do it, Ivy.” Tears roll down his cheeks, mixing with his blood. “You’re not a murderer.”

“Don’t say my name!” I scream as I grip the knife in my hand.

I walk forward and he kicks out his foot, trying to hit my legs. The movement shocks me and I stab the blade down into his thigh. The scream he makes is exhilarating and the blood soaking into his pants is mesmerizing.

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