Page 37 of Damaged & Deadly

Yeah, sure it was.I roll my eyes at his pathetic bullshit as I follow Dante deeper into the alley. We keep going until we’re far enough from the back door that anyone who comes out would have to squint to even know we were here.

“I didn’t do nothing!” he wails, desperately struggling against Dante’s firm hold.

“Yeah, ‘cause we stopped you,” I snarl angrily as Dante shoves him hard against the wall.

“N-no. She wanted it!”

I tilt my head to one side as I slowly roam my eyes over his bloody face and panicked gaze. Despite his fear, he still doesn’t realize this is the end of the line for him. Dragging that girl into this alley and thinking he could just take what he wanted was his ultimate mistake.

I feel the cold detachment of the Reaper wash over me as I settle comfortably into her familiar empty numbness. “Sure didn’t look that way.” Even my voice is cool and disconnected. Dante picks up on the difference, whipping his gaze toward me. His eyes drop, taking me in, and I wonder what he sees. Can he tell that I’m no longer Sawyer, that everything that makes memeis locked up tight in the back of my mind?

A psychologist would probably say I have a dissociative identity disorder or some shit. They’d tell me that I created the Reaper to deal with my past trauma, to protect Sawyer from this world's cruelty. I say it's because I seriously hate conceited, narcissistic assholes.

“This is bullshit!” he yells, a hint of hysteria in his tone. “The bitch fucking wanted it.” His fearful gaze darts between me and Dante before he mistakes Dante’s silence for possible understanding. “Please, man. You know how it is. Women, eh? Always changin’ their fucking minds.” He’s babbling, trying desperately to get a response from Dante, but his face remains frozen, his brown eyes blank as he stares unblinkingly at the soon-to-be-dead shitstain.

Truly terrified now, the man’s attention snaps back to me when I step forward, his gaze immediately zoning in on the blade I now grasp tightly in my hand. “What the fuck?! You’re crazy!” His wide eyes bounce between Dante and me, seeing the clear intent on our faces. “You’re both fucking insane.”

“At least we aren’t rapists,” I bite out, stepping up to him. He struggles but Dante pins his arms above his head with one hand, his other holding his trembling body against the brick wall.

“I didn’t touch her,” the asshole cries as I lift the tip of my blade, running it lightly down the side of his face.

“No,” I say softly, agreeing with him, “but I’d bet tonight wasn’t your first time.” My voice is soft, coaxing, entirely at odds with the sharp knife I have pressed against his skin. “How many other women have you harassed, hmmm? Assaulted? Traumatized?” With every question, I dig the tip in deeper until a steady stream of blood is pouring from the slice in his cheek, mixing with the tears leaking from his eyes.

With practiced ease, I shift and drive the blade into his abdomen. Air whooshes past his lips as his eyes widen to the size of saucers. Too stunned to speak, he can only gape at the point where my knife sticks out of him. The blade isn’t particularly long, so it won’t kill him or anything.

The second I start slicing it through his skin, he screams bloody murder, and Dante has to slap a hand over his mouth. The acrid scent of piss hits my nostrils and I glare at him in disgust. “Fucking pathetic,” I grumble as I get back to the job at hand, making quick work of carving my tag in his skin. The guy is too shocked to do anything other than stand there, his whole body trembling. Dante’s white-knuckled grip on his wrists and face are the only things holding the asshole upright.

When I’m done, I fist the neck of his cotton t-shirt and saw through it until it’s hanging off him, giving me an unobstructed view of my handiwork. With a jerk of my head, Dante releases him, and his body slides down the wall until he collapses in a heap on the ground, too stunned to hold himself up. Nothing I have done so far is life-threatening. If he gets himself patched up, he’d only be left with a large scar as a reminder of this night. However, forgiveness is not in my nature, so unfortunately for him, that will not be happening.

He’s mumbling incoherently under his breath as he stares uncomprehendingly at the blood coating his stomach and hands like he can’t remember how it got there. Crouching down in front of him, I fist his hair in my hand, yanking his head back until he’s looking me right in the eye. I can tell he doesn’t really see me, but that’s alright. Fisting the knife in my hand, I give him a dark smirk. “Say hi to the Devil for me.” With a flick of my wrist, I slice cleanly through his neck, sending blood spraying from his carotid artery. Warm liquid hits my face and neck as he gurgles and wheezes until the life seeps out of his eyes, and he falls still.

I squat there in the dark alley, watching him with a cold indifference until broad arms wrap around me, yanking me to my feet. I’m thrown against the wall, my whole body tensing as heat seeps into my back before Dante speaks. “I’ve never been so turned on in my life,” he rasps in a low, guttural voice that penetrates my emotionless cage.

He grinds his hard erection between my ass cheeks, showing me exactly how turned on he is. A moan tears from my lips as I push back against him, feeling as though I might die if I don’t feel him deep inside me right fucking now. His hands race over my body, his touch frenzied and hungry.

Spinning me around, he rips the button from my shorts in his haste to get them off before shoving them down my legs. It’s then that he feels the handle of my other blade poking out of the top of my boot, and arching a brow, he slowly slides it out of its sheath. There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes as he twirls it in his hand before trailing the tip lightly along my collarbone. I shiver, but it’s not out of fear. No, it’s pure, unbridled lust that has me practically coming undone.

Slowly, he drags the blade lower until it reaches the top of my crop top. Mirroring how I tore through the rapist’s shirt, Dante easily slices through the thin fabric, baring me to him. Licking his lips, he continues his descent, only detouring to trace my nipples with the cool blade, causing them to harden.

When he reaches the lining of my panties, he dips the tip beneath them before tugging until they pull away. Another shiver wracks my body, my arousal coating my inner thighs. I’ve never been so erotically charged in my life as I hang on to his every move, curious to know what he’s going to do next.

With the flick of his wrist, he flips the dagger until he’s holding the base of the handle pressed against my pelvis. The aluminum is warm from his touch as he drags it between my folds. A gasp leaves my lips, and he tears his focus away from where the blade disappears between my thighs to stare into my eyes.

I fall into his russet brown depths as static fills the air, the intrinsic connection that ties us together making itself known. My eyes widen as he pushes the handle into my pussy, and my hands fly up to rest on his shoulders, my fingers digging into his jacket as I throw my head back. A wanton moan rips from my lips as he slowly pumps the handle in and out of me, sending me racing up that slope toward utopia.

I hover on the precipice for what feels like a lifetime, desperately seeking relief but unable to reach it. I cry in frustration, knowing exactly what it is I need. “You,” I pant. “I need you.”

He’s already ripping open his belt and pulling out his cock. Tossing the dagger aside, he hitches my leg over his hip and slams into me. Rough and hard, we fuck as though we’re trying to embed ourselves underneath the other’s skin. No matter how hard I drive my nails into him, how deep I suck his cock, I can’t get close enough to him. It’s not enough. I need more. I gyrate my hips, grinding my clit against his pelvis while he sucks a nipple into his mouth, biting, so the sting of pain shoots straight to my core.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I pant on repeat as tingles erupt all over my body and my breathing turns ragged seconds before I lose all sense of control and scream to the heavens. Dante thrusts once, twice, before following me over the edge with a groan.

Sweaty and breathless, we cling to one another, bathing in the afterglow of violence and mind-blowing sex. “We should make this a regular thing,” Dante pants.

“Which part? The date, the murder, or the sex?”

He smirks, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him do so. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen his lip twitch before he squashes it, but this time he doesn’t hold back from me, and it does stupid things to my heart. “All of the above.”

I laugh. “You mean you’re not put off after all of this?” I wave my hand around the dingy back alleyway and the dead body leaning against the wall beside us.

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