Page 115 of Sinister Legacy
His head shakes no, and his muffled words start to irk me. Disgusted, I look away from the screen when he fingers me in the snow.
Miles sniggers behind the camera.
I hate that sound.
I hate that they’re humiliating me while I’m drugged up and unable to defend myself.
My attention gets drawn back to the phone, and the anger and revulsion inside me reach a boiling point. No one else gets to play with my darkness except for King. No one else gets to chase me and catch me and fuck me. Yet Chris’s fingers have been inside me, coaxing moans from my lips.
I feel sick.
The video ends abruptly, and I pocket the phone. I stare at nothing, unsure how long I stand there amidst the flickering pumpkins. Darkness creeps in between the skinny trees. The branches resemble demonic, gnarled limbs above our heads.
Knife clutched in my hand, I tighten my fingers around the handle and look down at my thumb as it slides along the blade. The blood from earlier has long since dried.
Inhaling a deep breath, I welcome the darkness into my starving lungs and let a smile spread across my lips. It’s different from any other smile. It lacks warmth and oozes sinister intentions.
Crouching down beside him, I tap his cheek with the flat end of the knife to gain his attention. Whatever he sees in my eyes must be evil because he physically recoils, pressing himself against the tree. I shift the handle in my hand and dig the blade’s sharp point into his cheekbone.
Chris instantly stills.
I like that.
I like that he fears me.
“You want to know what happened to Liam? Is that why you dragged me out here and tried to rape me?” I tut, applying more pressure until a beautiful, scarlet bead of blood forms on his cheek. “You’re out of your depth, Chris. These are not children’s games. They’re games with deadly consequences. Look at your friend.”
On cue, his eyes flick past me to Miles, slumped in a pool of his own blood against the tree.
Reaching up with my free hand, I pull the mask back down. The movement draws his gaze back to me, and his eyes widen when he stares at the grotesque devil’s mask.
I can’t help the taunting smile that spreads over my lips. There’s something so deliciously alluring about taking on the killer’s identity. Or maybe it’s an excuse to let the real monster inside of me resurface from the shadowy depths of my soul.
“People who place their chess piece on this board die, Chris. I figured out right from the start that we can’t win. Not you. Not me. Not anyone.” I push the knife further in, meeting soft flesh and pained screams.
Chris pisses himself, soaking through his jeans at the front.
Lowering the knife, I cock my head and listen to him sob. The sweet melody of anguished fear.
The power of inhaling it and tasting it.
“Liam is dead. I buried him alive,” I gesture around us with the knife, “somewhere in these woods.”
I had King’s help, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Leaning in close, I breathe him in—the scent of tobacco and citrus. Underneath the sharp tones lies something far sweeter.
Bloodlust courses through me. I want to watch his coppery life force pour from his veins. To cut him and make him bleed.
But first…
I grab his hand, push it flat on the snowy ground, and ram the knife into it, nailing him in place.
His hoarse scream is so loud that I have to press my hands over my ears, but I love how it threatens to burst my eardrums.
“That’s what you get for touching what isn’t yours.”
Chris is sobbing now, his entire body trembling almost violently. I watch him for a moment, intrigued by his fear, his pale hand impaled by the knife and the blood flowing freely around the embedded blade.
