Trey - Shandi Boyes Page 0,27
down the Dvořáks, and the only place I go when I’m feeling lost.
K is making me feel lost. The dark bleakness in her eyes, the frailness of her skin, and the pained expression on her face that never quits has me wanting to go on a killing spree. Considering our heist today notched my tally up to thirty-three deaths this year alone, the craving shouldn’t be as strong as it is, but fuck me, the urge is fierce, even more so when my entrance to my room has me stumbling onto a butt-naked and frozen-stiff woman.
K is lying in the middle of my bed. Her nightgown is dumped on the floor. Because she doesn’t have enough meat on her bones to cover up the shadows I could see long before she removed her grubby sleepwear, she’s fully exposed.
Her tits, although smaller than I guess they’d be if she weren’t starved, are perky and sit high on her chest, her lips are naturally plump, and her seductive-smelling cunt is barely concealed by a thin layer of blonde hair.
For how bruised, nicked, and malnourished she is, she shouldn’t look enticing, but she does. She looks ravishing enough to eat, and my cock isn’t ashamed to admit it. He sits heavy against the zipper in my jeans, throbbing with both need and desire.
As I close the distance between the bathroom and my bed, I tell my cock to calm the fuck down. It’s twitching like K is a whore waiting to be consumed. Even if I wanted to pretend that’s the case, I can’t. The whores are too scared to come into my room without permission, so no amount of pleading from my cock could have me pretending I don’t know what this is really about.
Although her eyes are open and her chest is rising and falling as she sucks in shallow breaths, K isn’t here. She’s completely fucking gone, swallowed by the blackness of her miserably bleak existence.
I know better than anyone that sometimes the only way you can escape the torment is by fully emerging yourself in it. More times than not, the darkness in your head is worse than anything you’ll face in the real world, but when you’re beyond broken, you’ve got no choice but to let it overwhelm you occasionally.
While tugging the bedding out from beneath K’s immobile frame, the reason I was so desperate for her to shower smacks back into me. It isn’t her smell. For someone who lived in the equivalent of a dungeon, her scent is intoxicating. It’s the dry blood on her back and the marks that look like she was whipped.
“What the fuck did he do to you, K?” I murmur to myself while carefully rolling her over.
An itch to kill steamrolls into me when I see the full extent of her injuries. She wasn’t whipped once. She was struck multiple times. The slashes across her back are so red and blistering, I’m confident they’re brand new, like they were done mere minutes before she was freed from hell.
The torment tearing me up inside grows so perverse, within seconds, I’m trapped in the darkness in my head right along with K…
The breaths I suck in to cool the fire roaring through me does little to reduce the shakes wreaking havoc with my body. My hand holding a gun is shuddering so much, even with my target selected, I may end up killing the wrong person. I spun the wheel, her fate has been chosen, but no matter how hard I fight, I can’t inch back the trigger.
It was one fuck, I remind myself again. It meant nothing. A hessian bag is pulled over her head. She won’t even know it was you.
But I will know it was me. I’ll remember how our night in the butler’s pantry was the only time my pulse has fluttered in my ears. How her heat wrapped around my cock was the best it had felt. And her scent, my fucking God, her scent when she came undone will never leave me. It wasn’t pure, it wasn’t even sweet, but it was the most addictive scent I’ve ever sucked in.
If I kill her and live off the memories, my father won’t pay for my crimes. If I don’t, they’ll both die. Those are the terms Achim spelled out when he caught me off-guard. I was still relishing her scent, still caught up on how her skin heated under my touch, I didn’t realize I was walking into