Page 14 of Be My Sinner

I grab a fistful of hair and yank Michael’s head back. “You sure that one is your son? He’s a weak, fucking brat, Michael.”

Disgust, rage, and embarrassment cross Michael’s battered face in succession.Ah, he’s embarrassed by his crybaby son too.I wonder if I released him, would he beat his son for shaming him before his enemies? It seems like something a high-ranking member of the Order would do.

“Please release us. Lord, save us!” A sharp cry leaves the son’s lips as the sound of flesh hitting flesh rents the air. I watch as Sammy pulls back, his fist coated in blood, rolling his eyes as they meet mine.

“What? He’s getting on my fucking nerves with his whiny voice. Fuck, his mom didn’t even cry this much before you put a bullet in her head.” He shrugs his large shoulders and moves away from Samson. I think it’s hilarious that good old Michael here named his son after one of the toughest characters found in scripture, only for him to be pathetic, weak, and a sniveling fool.

Sammy’s right; good old Samson’s mom didn’t cry out; she fought tooth and nail to save her worthless husband and cowardly son. Usually, I don’t kill the women. The mothers and daughters are terrorized and confined to this world. I release them and tell them to run, or for the ones too beaten down to run, Sammy makes arrangements with our underground network to save and hide them from the Brotherhood. Most of them are grateful, and relieved to be released from the bonds of breeding servitude that the Brotherhood of the Sacrament places on women.

What does that tell you about the world that we find ourselves in? When a woman watches her husband and sons be terrorized and murdered in cold blood by two psychopathic serial killers, and they feel relief that their suffering has ended. Some of them even thank us.That’s some fucked up shit right there.

Mrs. Kingston was an exception. She enjoyed her title of Sacred Wife. She liked how the females below her were terrorized by the Order, and how she benefited from her husband’s position. Naw, that bitch had to die and go to meet the devil. I hope she enjoys her place rotting in hell.

“I’m going to slice him open, Michael, pull out his innards, and make him choke on them, all while you watch. Do you know why?” I lean forward, my warm breath sliding over Michael’s blood-streaked face as my blue eyes meet the rage in his brown eyes. “Because I can. Because your God is not coming, Michael. Because the Brotherhood cannot save you from my wrath, and I have no mercy.”

A wide smile crosses my face as I move away from him and towards his son. I can hear his struggles behind me, but it’s no use. The bindings tying him to the chair he’s confined in are too tight, and the knots are expertly done. He will never get out of that chair alive.

“Samson Kingston. God has no mercy for you. You have been judged by the devil and found wanting. You will die by my hand, the miserable and useless piece of shit, you are. Forgotten within moments of your last breath.”

I lean forward and pull the sharp blade from his side. A loud scream leaves his lips, vibrating off the wine cellar walls. Walls with rows of precious and expensive hoarded wine. While the majority of the populace lives on water and stale bread, these assholes drink wine nightly. Toasting to themselves and a corrupt institution that has destroyed so many.

“Men are like wine - some turn to vinegar, but the best improve with age.” An unhinged chuckle escapes my lips. “That was Pope John the Twenty-third’s theory. Did you know that? Don’t worry, Samson. We are about to ensure your vinegar doesn’t infect anyone else.”

“Please…” The gurgled sound leaves his lips, and more blood chokes up his throat. I slash out viciously with the blade, catching him in the middle of his stomach and slicing him open like a ripe piece of fruit. My arm strikes again, another large cut opening up before I plunge the blade deep and cut him open, his intestines spilling out like ugly worms coated in blood. His breath hitches, his chest-beating furiously underneath the emblem of the Brotherhood.

I reach forward and grab a fistful of intestines, yanking and forcing them up his chest and into his mouth. Forcing them down his screaming throat until blessed, fucking silence from his mouth is heard. “Finally!”

Samson’s body twitches once, then twice, and then a shudder races through him as the light goes out of his eyes. Behind me, I can hear the screams from Michael; music is what they sound like to me. High pitched, lovely in decibel, and filled with pain. A shudder of hot and intense pleasure races through me at the sound. The way he now begs for mercy and fights against his restraints. I could fall asleep to that sound.

I turn around and move towards Michael. A dark and depraved smile curves my lips as his son’s blood trails down the skin of my arms, and coats my chest and neck. As much as I would love to remain here, relishing the blood I have spilled and the sounds Michael is making, we have already been here for hours. The risk to Sammy and me grows with each passing moment.I can’t have this ending so soon; not enough blood stains on my soul yet.He stares up at me in horror and fear, that look making my skin tingle.

“Michael Kingston, your God has deserted you. Your order cannot save you, and death wants its due. There will be no heaven for you or any of your brethren. I will see you in hell.” I plunge the blade, still slick with his son’s blood, into his right eye, then pull out with a pop and slam into his left before slicing his throat open and watching as the blood pours from the wound, covering me in its warm spray. Droplets rush down my cheek, jaw, and neck, coating me in the blood of yet another enemy.

Joy. The feeling running over my skin and down my bones is joy. Joy at one more life being ended. Joy at another member of the Brotherhood taking his last breath. A smile graces my lips, and I taste copper on my tongue.Death always tastes delicious.

Sammy moves forward and hands me a brush, which I press against the gaping wound in Michael’s throat to write my message on the wall. My warning to the others that I am coming for them next.

“Poetic, Dinah. I do believe that you are getting better with the messages. They are likely to think it’s one of their own with regrets.” Sammy smiles at me as his fingers trail over the blood coating my skin. I can see heat in the depths of his eyes. He would love nothing more than to fuck me covered in their blood. “We need to get cleaned up and out of here, my little Nightstar; we have dallied too long already, and it’s a long drive home.”

Home. Home is wherever we are together. There is no one place for either of us. We are outcasts, things left to rot somewhere safe. I once believed in home and lost everything that I valued.

I’m stronger and wiser now. I no longer believe in the fairy tales told in books. With one last glance at the bloody mess and another founding father’s name crossed off my list, I grab a couple of bottles of wine off the rack on the wall and leave the cellar behind.

I shall toast to the Kingston family tonight as I enjoy the spoils of war.

Chapter 8

The Sinner

Dinah

Iskipdownthelong, brightly lit hallway with a mischievous grin breaking across my face. The sunshine is pouring in through all the large windows, making everything seem tinged in bright white and yellow light. I was so happy when I found the pretty blue ribbons that Momma left on the top of my bed. Blue, the same shade as my eyes, with a dark hint of gray. Eyes that match my momma’s. Daddy says they make us the prettiest two ladies he has ever seen. I’d tied the ribbons quickly in my hair, making sure that the bows were tied correctly, like Momma taught me. One rabbit ear, then another, and a tight loop.

I want to be beautiful like my mom. Everyone we know says my momma is the prettiest woman they have ever seen. They say she looks like a princess from a long-ago time with her long, dark hair and beautiful blue eyes. She is blessed by God to look like one of his angels. I want to be exactly like her so I, too, can be blessed by him. Nothing in our world matters unless God approves it. You are only worthy if he says so. I desperately want to be worthy.

I’m so excited to show my pretty ribbons to Daddy and Gabriel. I love it when Daddy calls me his ‘sweet angel’ and Gabriel tells me how cute I am. Even though he can be annoying sometimes and his friends are rude, I love spending time with my older brother. He is my best friend, next to my momma.

I look for Momma in the kitchen to thank her, but she isn’t there, and I can’t find her in the rose garden either. Our maid Josie wouldn’t answer me when I asked her if she saw my mom, and the cook told me to go wait for her in my bedroom with a sad look on her face. Why did they both look so scared and sad? Were they sad because they didn’t get pretty ribbons? Was Daddy having a bad day and yelling again?

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