Chapter Twenty

Diana

THOMAS WANTS TO give me one of his leather jackets, but it's far too big for me, so he settles for a hoodie and I put on a pair of hiking boots I bought the other day in town.

Thomas once again looks like he's ready to take the stage at a local rock concert in his all-black, skin tight ensemble. He sees me watching him and grins. "You had that look in your eyes the last time you saw me like this, little dove. Dare I think you rather like me this way? That the darkness left in me calls to its mate within you?"

All I can do is nod.

The doorbell rings and he cocks his head that way. "Are you ready?"

That's a loaded question. Am I? Can I do this? I wait for anxiety and fear and guilt to grip me, but all I feel is a sense of calm, so I nod again.

"I'm ready."

Lisa stands on the other side of the door. "I made the call. You have to meet with Hank first at the location I just texted you," she says. "Ugh, just talking to that creep makes me feel vile."

"Thank you for helping me," I say. "Helping us."

"No problem. I was in the unique position to do so. God be with you." She waves and walks away, and I take a breath before Thomas leads me to his car.

"It's nice being in here without being drugged." It's out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I want to slap myself.

Thomas doesn't seem to be offended as he backs out of the driveway. "I had faith you would take to the training. Had I only known it would take you divulging your trauma to do it…" He sighs.

We drive into town with his hand in mine over the console of the BMW, bypassing the nice area and going into what would be considered the "wrong side of the tracks" in the novels I like to read.

"I grew up here. Lisa and I," Thomas admits. "She always took care of me the best she could; stealing mostly. Then in high school, she started dating this guy, and he offered us another way to earn money. A lot of money."

"What happened to your parents?" I ask.

"Dead. Our grandparents were destitute and didn't care if we lived or died. A part of me wanted to live just to spite them." His eyes don't hold any animosity, just a hint of nostalgia. "Hank's my sister's age, but he already had his apprenticeship under the organization's last owner. Until Hank got rid of him and took his place. And he ensured we lived a good life. When we decided enough was enough and joined the church, he let us go with a promise that he'd still look out for us, if we did the same for him in case police ever came inquiring about his activities."

I want to ask a dozen questions, but I also don't want to interrupt.

"I always had a code: I never killed people just for the money. I killed the scum of the Earth, the people even Lucifer doesn't want. I became God's right hand here, meting out justice and salvation at the same time. That's why I felt it was right to eliminate Rick; to destroy someone who forced sin upon my dove."

"And why you feel it is right to do it again," I add.

He nods. "Your soul is still burdened. It is time to unburden it." He parks in an alley behind some derelict office buildings and when he gets out of the car, he flashes his cell phone light twice, as if signaling someone.

Sure enough, a man gets out of a pickup, walking towards us. When he gets under the light, he's so imposing my first instinct is to cling to Thomas.

The man smiles at me, but there is no joy in his eyes. They're as blank as that of the skull tattooed on his neck.

"Tommy."

"Hank." Thomas nods and then gives me a reassuring squeeze. "Diana, this is Hank, my friend and former boss. If there was one person outside of the church I'd trust not only with my life, but with yours, it would be him."

"It's nice to meet you," I say, trying to remember Thomas rescued me from Hell. He wouldn't put me in danger. "Sorry I—"

Hank holds a hand up. "Little girl, I can't imagine what this fuckwit up there put you through. Just a quick check on the dark web and the only reason I didn't go up there and end his miserable life already is because Tommy needs you to do this."

He looks over at Thomas and holds out two leather pouches of some sort. "His and hers daggers. That's a first for me."

Thomas takes them both, checks one, and hands me the other.

It's a no-frills piece of metal with a white handle. I can feel the cool steel under the thin kid leather gloves Thomas gave me. His matches, just a bit bigger to better fit his hand.

"I can keep people out for as long as you need, but the timer on the security feed being blocked will only last an hour," Hank continues. "Get your shit done quickly. I know you like to linger over your kills like a lion, but tonight is not the night for slow torture."

Thomas sarcastically pouts. (How do you pout sarcastically? Good question; if you saw him, you'd understand.) "Fine, spoilsport." He turns to me, his free hand now on my shoulder. "Diana. I need to be sure you're ready for this. All of it."

I take a shuddering breath. "I am. I need this over. I need my old self to die so I can live this new life with you."

"Let's go then." He takes my free hand and Hank leads us to an employee entrance.

"I checked; fucker is alone, thinking he's waiting for Lisa. Once you're done, the cleanup crew goes in and we will have all his shit confiscated too," Hank says as he unlocks the door. "Ladies and pastors first."

I find myself smiling a little. Maybe in this new world, I really don't have to be scared of everyone and their motives.

Thomas goes ahead of me, whispering, "Stay close."

We ascend a rickety wooden staircase to the second floor office. Only one door has light coming from behind the frosted glass window on it, and I know he's behind there. I know I have to face him, really face him. I chose this; Father Oliver gave me a choice on how to set the rest of my soul free and I agreed.

But even as the blood pulses through my veins with excitement and anticipation, fear lingers too.

You have to be strong, Diana, my conscience whispers. Remember how sweet the principal's blood tasted, knowing you spilled it.

"Remember, you're not only avenging yourself," Thomas whispers, interrupting my internal monologue. "You're saving countless other people, too."

"I know. I'm … as excited as I am scared."

"Good. Now, let's finish this." He bangs on the door. "Exterminator! We have an emergency cockroach problem."

"Fucking Hell, you didn't have to give me a damn heart attack," Mike yells from inside.

Nausea rolls in my gut and my throat burns with acid. Lungs don't want to work. But I have to be brave. Strong. I have to get my revenge.

He made me into this. Now he has to die with the consequences.

The door unlocks and seeing him — smelling him — this close up makes me feel sicker than ever, but I fight it back. Still ugly. Still fat. Still a monster wearing human skin.

Not for long.

He sees Thomas first, and Thomas lands the first punch before I can even blink, sending Mike flying back into the office, on his ass. He grapples for his chair, but it rolls away, and he flops to the raggedy wood floor.

Funny. He's rich as Hell selling women and children, yet he lives like a pig.

"What the fuck is this?" he yells, trying to get up.

Do you remember those old toys, Weeble Wobbles? They were like eggs almost and you could hit them as hard as a tiny hand can and they'd never stay down, just roll about on their rotund bottoms.

That's Mike right now.

"Hell called. They want their demon back," Thomas says, stepping aside and shutting the door behind me, leaving me in full view of the man who nearly killed me.

His eyes widen and suddenly he's able to scramble into a half-standing position.

"No. No. You're dead. There's no way you survived—" he stammers, cutting himself off.

"Survived what? The gangrape you got paid to hold, where my seventeen-year-old body was nearly torn apart from the inside on the last day I'd be a minor? Is that what you meant to say, you monster?" I challenge, stepping closer. "You thought you'd dump my body in an alley and let me die there like trash while you lived your life scot-free?"

"You're not real!" he insists, shaking his head. "I took too much… It has to be…"

I step closer, kicking at him so he falls to the floor again while I unsheath the dagger. "I'm real. You know, at first, I wondered why God saw fit to save me, when I'd rather have died. But I understand now. God gave me a way to expel all of that darkness you and all those people raped into me. He sent me to Thomas, he sent me to the one person who would give me the clarity I needed to cleanse the world of vile, evil filth like you."

He tries to backpedal, but he's too slow.

I'd like to say I intend on ending this with one blow to his nonexistent neck, but that's not true. I want this to go slow. Just a little. Enough so I know that he has died screaming and begging for mercy.

He never gave me any.

And he won't be shown any.

My blade slices into his gut, about five inches deep. It's smooth like butter; I barely have to exert much force. The acrid, coppery scent of blood permeates the air, as does urine.

He's pissed himself in fright.

"What's the matter? Isn't this where you liked me? Between your legs? Or was that only when I was a child? Why are you scared now?"

Blood soaks the floor; I'm definitely stepping in it, but it's so much fun to watch the terror in his eyes this close, I don't want to move away.

"Please—" Mike gasps.

That's what I want to hear.

"What was it you told me when I begged you to stop raping me when I was thirteen? Oh yeah, if you are good and be quiet, it'll all be over soon. "

He raises his hand, maybe to swipe at me, and I slash with the dagger, hitting his palm, and he screams.

Thomas' heavy boot comes down on the appendage, and I hear the bones break as he digs his heel down. "You will never get to touch my wife again, demon."

Oh, that's hot. That's very hot. Being actively protected, something I never thought I deserved since I never had it, it activates something inside me.

I'm not alone anymore.

"You isolated me."

Slash to the stomach.

"You raped me."

Another.

"You let everyone pay to hurt me!"

I kneel down to nearly straddle him, so I can reach higher on his chest, stabbing near his heart.

Blood soaks my hoodie and jeans now. It foams at his mouth, but I'm not quite done.

"Mom just wanted a job! She wanted to take care of me! And you destroyed her! But you couldn't get me. No matter how hard you tried, you didn't destroy me !"

Finally, I cut his throat from end to end, the blade going so fast it winds up embedded into the scuffed linoleum floor. The arterial spray hits my face and hair and I wipe it away, staggering backwards as a sob tears from me. Somehow, I remember to take the dagger with me; I can't leave it here.

But I'm not sad, despite the sobs.

Not even close.

I'm free .

Thomas grabs me from behind, steadying me, holding me tightly to him.

"Shh shh shh," he whispers, moving my bloody hair away from my face. "You did so good, my dove. So good." He kisses my temple. "It's over now. You won."

I turn and face him, the blood on my clothes getting onto his, making the leather look slick. "Thank you," I whisper. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

He wipes blood from my face, leans down, and kisses me. I cling to him, needing this closeness. What did I ever do without this my whole life?

His body is hard against mine, and as adrenaline runs through my veins, all I can think about is the final act to perform to leave my old life behind and bind my soul to my new husband's.

To willingly give myself to someone in a way I never did before.

The blade is still in my hands, now heavier than it had been moments ago. The part of the old me that remains whispers, You could kill him now and run. Be truly free.

I glance down at it, clutched in my hand between us, and Thomas' eyes follow.

He smirks and takes my wrist in his strong hand, bringing my blade to his throat. He discarded his gloves at some point, so his calloused palm is rough against my skin. "Go on. Do it, Diana. If you really wish to kill me, I won't stop you. If that's the fate God sent you to me to fulfill, you won't hesitate." His hand loosens its grip, and for a moment I picture him bleeding out on the floor, dead by my hand, and I close my eyes to savor that for just a moment before I move.

The knife knicks his skin before I put my hand down and kiss over the wound I made, tasting his blood on my lips.

Thomas groans and wrenches me away from him, kissing me again, practically plundering my mouth with his tongue. It's all I can do to keep up, but I need more.

I need him. I need him in a way I never imagined myself needing or wanting a man. Not after my life.

I unzip his jacket and feel his warm skin through his black t-shirt while he shrugs it off.

"Do we have time—"

"We have as much time as we need," he interrupts, kissing me again before he lifts the blood-soaked hoodie off of me. His hands are warm on my waist under my shirt, and because he touched my clothes and hair, they're sticky with blood and leave trails against my skin.

My shirt follows my hoodie, and the way he looks at me makes me feel like more than an object. He makes me feel desired in a way I never knew was possible.

I've never done this before as I lift his shirt off him; never ever actively participated in sex. Now I need to. I want to.

Thomas has a slim but powerful body, his chest and arms full of tightly corded muscle I'd noticed even while he was clothed, a slim waist; there is a bit of blond hair on his chest and then a trail leading downwards into his jeans.

My hands leave bloody streaks as I gingerly touch his warm, almost golden skin.

He moves them from his body and cups my chin in his hand. "I need to hear it from you, little dove. Give yourself to me."

I meet his green eyes, nearly gray in this murky light, and say the one thing I never thought I would in this situation.

"Please."

As if my single plea unlocked something within him, he pulls me close in a searing kiss as he unhooks my new bra — now ruined with blood — and tosses it away.

He kisses down my throat, my chest, to my breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth. So gentle, despite the fervor of his movements. I close my eyes and savor this feeling before he starts undoing my jeans.

Men had done this to me, but not like this. Not to give me any pleasure. If Thomas keeps this up, I may orgasm just from the stimulation. Is that possible?

"I've waited so long to have you, my little dove. Just like this: desperate, wanton, submissive — and all by your choice to give yourself to me."

Thomas stops and picks me up, stepping over the corpse of my abuser, his boots splashing in the pooled blood, as he sets me on the desk, sending papers and a laptop scattering across the floor somewhere behind me.

"Lift up a bit."

I do and he removes my jeans and underwear, on which I can see a clear wet spot and find myself blushing.

"Look at my little sinner; covered in blood and naked, yet red as a tomato," Thomas teases. "Brace yourself and let me taste how sweet you are."

I do, unable to look away as he kneels before me and parts my legs with his hands, baring me to him. When his tongue touches me I can't hold back a whine. His chuckle sends vibrations through my whole body.

He licks me more, then delves his tongue inside, his nose brushing my clit with every stroke.

I know he didn't give permission, but while I brace myself with one hand, I grip his soft blond curls with the other as he brings me closer and closer to Heaven.

When he moves his lips to suck my clit again, I crash over the edge, bright bursts of starlight behind my eyes as I cry out, the only sound in this deathly still office.

He moves away and kisses me. I taste myself on his lips.

Does he want me to reciprocate? I move to kneel but he doesn't let me.

Eyes dark with desire, he says, "You will only kneel for two people, the Lord and your husband. But not here. I want to take my time while you worship me."

He leans me back, the blood on our bodies beginning to dry while Mike's corpse cools on the floor at our feet. Sightless eyes stare up, and I hope he's watching from Hell. I hope he sees what a real man is and can do to me.

Thomas unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans, pushing them and what looks like black boxers down enough to free his erection, which is already turning a dark red with blood from arousal.

There's no fear, no worry, no uncertainty. Just a pure desire to have him do as he said: erase all other men so I know only his touch.

"Lay back," he commands. "And just feel what it's supposed to be like when you are truly claimed with the Lord's blessing."

I close my eyes as he rubs the head down my wetness, involuntarily wincing as I feel him at my entrance; part of me still expects it to hurt unpleasantly and I assume that won't change overnight.

The sound I let out when he is fully seated inside of me sounds needy and wanton even to my ears, and it makes Thomas chuckle.

"You can take the whore off the streets, but you can't take away what makes her a whore for a real man."

He begins to move, his body in a perfect position to reach deep inside of me, and I'm not shy, making noises I'd only faked before. I never knew it could feel like this; be like this.

Thomas changes position and lays his body on top of mine, possessing me from the inside out. His breath is hot against my cheek as he begins speaking in tongues; unintelligible to me but somehow I know it's sacred and holy and just between us and God.

I'm getting closer and closer, and the closer we both seem to get, the faster he speaks, hands grasping mine over my head, pinning me down.

His voice reaches a deep cadence that sounds like music, hips snapping rhythmically as he claims me as his bride, as part of his church, as part of him . Like Eve being born from part of Adam, Thomas makes me of his blood, of his body, of his soul.

That thought sends me over the edge and I scream as an intense orgasm rolls through me, sending tears falling from my eyes.

Thomas kisses the tears away in between his holy proclamations, thrusting through my orgasm and right into another one. My body feels aflame from the inside out and all I can do is feel, exist, as he takes me and finishes deep inside, filling me. Claiming me. Owning me.

His words die down into deep moans that make goosebumps rise on my skin as he comes, and gingerly he raises himself up so he's suspended above me, freeing my hands so I can wrap my arms around his waist.

Deep green eyes stare down, pupils dilated, face flushed and covered in sweat and blood. He's beautiful.

"I told you, Diana, you would beg for me to take you. And now, my sweet dove, you own my soul as much as I own yours. Forever."

THE END