Tales of Darkness & Sin - Pepper Winters Page 0,75
anywhere.
Pulling out, I watch with smug satisfaction as cum runs out of her red, abused pussy, soaking the floor below her ass.
“Let’s get you dressed,” I murmur. “You’re going to help me torture that fuckface for answers.” I smear my fingers through my cum coating her thighs. “Consider it a reward for beautifully taking my big dick.”
She bites on her bottom lip, her green eyes unsure at first, but then she nods.
I’ll make a bad girl out of her yet.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Melody
Saint’s basement isn’t a typical basement. It’s a torture chamber. As soon as we step over the threshold and one of his men, Roscoe, shuts the door behind me, I flinch. I expected to walk in and find a man strapped to a chair amongst other odds and ends, but not this. Sure, he is strapped to a chair, but along the walls are tools meant to inflict torture. The setup has been so carefully thought out in terms of space and mess.
If I’m being honest, I’m not quite sure how it makes me feel. The fact that he has a torture chamber, or the fact that he brought me down here to obviously spook me. He wants me afraid. He needs me afraid.
As I stare at the man bound and hog-tied to the chair, I know I should feel some ounce of remorse. I should feel sorry for him, or at the very least be disgusted with Saint. As I stand here, this intimidating man at my side, I realize I’m not.
I’ve spent most of my life feeling weak and insignificant, but beside Saint, I feel anything but weak. I suddenly feel empowered. Strong. Especially when the man in the chair glances up at me with pleading eyes. He reeks of the stench of fear.
And I feel absolutely no remorse.
The wound of my neck tingles with awareness as I stare down at him. My hands flutter to my bandaged neck and I work a thick swallow, remembering the way the blade sliced into my skin, the way it felt when my warm blood trickled down my neck. The metallic tang hanging heavy in the air.
When his knife was pressed to my throat, I thought I was going to die. It felt like I was watching my entire life flash before me, and I had nothing to show for my eighteen years. I’ve had no real-life experiences, I’ve been deprived of love, but most of all, it occurred to me that the day I was taken from the carnival was the first day I truly started living.
I’ve felt more in my time here with Saint than I have my entire life that I was trapped in that house.
I absently smooth my palm over the material of my dress. The same dress I wore the night he took me. After having been denied clothes for so long, it almost feels strange having to wear it. I’d been shocked when he handed the laundered garment and told me to put it on before we came downstairs to the basement. It’s just another testament to how I’m no longer the me I once was. In the time I’ve been here, I’ve morphed into someone else.
Two weeks in his hold and I already feel a drastic change within myself. When I first met Saint, I was afraid of him, and when I found myself here, stuck in his clutches because of my father, I was even more afraid.
Afraid of his depravity.
Afraid of his violence.
Afraid that I wouldn’t be strong enough to survive.
I was wrong. I am strong enough, because now, when I look at Saint, I don’t feel that same cold rush of fear. It almost feels as though we’re vibrating on the same frequency. My feelings for Saint have moved past conflicted and into the realm of an eye-opening dark need. If he wanted to hurt me, he could, and if he wanted me dead, he’d have done that already, too.
His ruthlessness intrigues me now, instead of frightening me. I find myself wanting to know more about him, what makes up the monster in the dark suit before me—who I’m beginning to realize isn’t really a monster at all. He once mentioned that monsters thrived in the dark, and I’m sure that’s true, but he’s not my monster anymore. He doesn’t frighten me like I know he should. I find myself wanting to do bad things when I’m with him. Any morals I had prior go out of the window. The line between