Chapter Thirty-Three

The bed beside me sinks down for a moment before an arm wraps around my waist, pulling me away from Dom and into a warm body. I feel a gentle inhale against my head before a soft voice is whispered into my ear.

“Good morning, angel.”

I can’t help but smile.

“Good morning, Zayden,” I murmur sleepily.

“I have a present for you,” he says before pressing a kiss to my neck.

“We’re sleeping,” Dom rasps. “Get the fuck out of my room.”

“Sorry, brother. My angel and I have a whole day planned. See you later,” he says before slipping his arms underneath me, lifting me into the air and out of the room.

I cling to him quickly, giggling as Dom shouts at us.

“Where the fuck are you taking me?” I laugh as Zayden walks into the spare room, setting me on the bed before grabbing some of the clean clothes I’ve folded and put in the dresser in here.

Now that Dominic and I are better, I feel like I spend more nights than not in his room, but nights like the night before last, where I obviously needed my space, this room works. Is it bad how easily I’m adapting to this life of captivity? Probably.

Zayden sets out a black T-shirt, a pair of black leggings, and some black socks.

“Get dressed, angel!” he says almost giddily.

I raise an eyebrow. “All black? Are you trying to turn me into you or something?”

He looks down at his black shirt, black leather jacket, and black jeans before giving me a wicked smirk.

“It’s a good look, yeah?”

I roll my lips together but choose not to respond. He definitely doesn’t need an ego boost, and I’m sure as hell not gonna give him one.

Grabbing the clothes, I quickly move to the bathroom. Zayden takes a step to follow after me until I level him with a look that has him raising his hands in innocence and taking a step back. It doesn’t take me long to brush my teeth, run a brush through my hair, and get dressed.

When I step out of the bathroom, Zayden is practically bouncing on his toes. He looks less like the thirty-two-year-old psycho stalker and more like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Are you gonna tell me why the hell you woke me up at the crack of dawn?” I question with a yawn.

“I told you. I have a surprise for you.”

With that, he strides out the door, and I follow after him. He hooks a left down the hallway and continues until he stops in front of the broom closet. Looking over his shoulder at me, he catches my furrowed brows before he winks and pops open a hidden compartment on the right side of the door. A biometric scanner whirs out, and Zayden presses his thumb against it before the wall of the closet clicks, swinging open to reveal a room.

What the fuck?

Zayden pushes it the rest of the way open, holding his hand out for me to take as he pulls me in. There are no lights in here, and I can’t really see anything as Zayden shuts the door behind us, plunging us into total darkness.

“You ready for your surprise?” he asks.

“Okay, out with it, you’re starting to creep me out.” I laugh lightly, though the sensible side of me is slightly unnerved.

“Close your eyes,” Zayden says.

I do as he says, and I can see the lights turn on from behind my eyelids. I smile in anticipation before he speaks.

“Alright, angel. Surprise!” he practically exclaims.

I open my eyes, my smile falling instantly as my eyes round in shock. There is a chair in the middle of the room and a large, tied-up man attached to it. His mouth is duct taped, his face bloody with a large red bow on top of his head, but I’d recognize those green eyes anywhere.

“What the fuck?” I whisper on a choppy breath.

“It’s your present!” Zayden smiles, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as he does. “It’s our seven-month anniversary, and I had no idea what to get you. It was kinda stressing me out, to be honest. But between the other night and yesterday, it just clicked for me.”

My breathing is shallow, my body chilled straight to the bone as I’m locked in eye contact with my abuser. My tormentor. The devil himself. My foster dad.

“Why would you bring him here? Why would you do this to me?” I ask, my voice breaking as my eyes begin to fill with unshed tears.

Zayden’s smile falls, and he cups my face, brushing away a stray tear.

“To kill him, angel. To take back everything he took from you. I thought after yesterday, you’d want that. Should I have just killed him in Chicago?” he asks softly, like he’s asking if he bought the wrong ice cream.

“You went and got him in Chicago? Last night?” I ask.

He nods, his eyes flicking quickly over my face.

“I don’t know what he did to you, and I don’t need to know. What I do know is that he hurt you, and for that he deserves a painful death.”

Jim whimpers behind the duct tape, stealing my attention from Zayden. At first, I felt this paralyzing fear, a fear I knew I’d feel if I ever saw him again. But the more I look at him, the more I see how truly vulnerable he is. His feet are tied together, his arms fastened behind his back, and his putrid mouth sealed shut. He’s not in control, not even close, and that forces something to buzz inside me. Something strong and powerful. Something…different.

“What are you going to do to him?” I ask Zayden, keeping my eyes on Jim for several seconds before turning my focus back to the unhinged man in front of me.

“The question is, what are you going to do to him, angel? He’s your present, to do with what you will. I hand-selected some of my favorite toys over here,” he says, gesturing toward a small metal table filled with various weapons.

I take a few steps toward the table, running my fingers over them as I do. Needle-nose pliers, a meat tenderizer, a bone saw, a scalpel, some kind of metal hook, and more knives than you’d ever know what to do with.

“Of course, we have plenty of guns if you’d rather something less messy, or I can handle it all if you just want him gone. You say the word, and it’s done.”

I swallow before inhaling slowly. My morality should be at war right now, with my conscience telling me how horrific this is. I shouldn’t even be tempted. The fact of the matter is I’m not just tempted, I’m exhilarated.

“What’s the most painful one to use?” I ask.

Zayden cackles with glee before he rushes over to me.

“So if it were me,” he says, pointing at himself, “I’d start by breaking every bone in his body before you even get to the cutting, but that could take a while, and I don’t know how long you want to?—”

“He abused me for seven years, I have as long as it takes,” I say hollowly.

“Seven years?” Zayden asks stiffly.

I nod, not making eye contact with him. His hand grips the large meat tenderizer, gripping it in his palm before swinging around, connecting the metal tool against Jim’s left cheekbone. He screams in pain as Zayden continues his assault, hitting his kneecaps with such ferocity that the crunch that sounds is downright sickening. The next move he makes is Jim’s clavicle. His body bucks at that, forcing the chair to the ground.

Zayden turns to face me easily, tossing the tenderizer onto the table before he blows a piece of hair out of his face.

“Sorry, angel. I got him started.”

A sick part of me forces a smile to spread across my face, an actual smile. Is it weird to swoon because a man kidnapped and beat your abuser? I don’t think so.

“Zayden, do you have any more cigars?”

He nods, patting his chest before pulling one out and a lighter. He offers them to me, and I take them both, lighting the cigar.

“Please sit him up,” I ask.

Zayden nods his head dutifully, lifting him and the chair up, all with ease. I continue lighting the cigar until the end is completely red hot.

“Do you need a cutter, angel?” Zayden offers, nodding to the cigar.

“Soon.”

I don’t intend on smoking this, though.

“Do you know why I only have tattoos on one arm, Zayden? Nowhere else on my whole body?”

He shakes his head, his eyes filled with fascination.

“To cover up these,” I say before plunging the lit cigar into Jim’s bare arm.

Since he’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a white wife beater, there is so much skin to choose from, and I plan on burning every inch possible.

His muffled screams are still extremely audible behind the tape, and a sick part of me enjoys the sound. I pull it away from his skin, re-lighting the end for the maximum amount of burn before I do it again and again. I litter his skin with so many burn holes that I practically black out, only the smell of burning flesh and tobacco mingling in the air.

Zayden, at some point, comes up to me, his fingers skimming over my tattooed arm as I continue my work. His fingertips delicately begin tracing over the slightly raised areas. They healed well since I was so young, but they’re still there if you look hard enough, thanks to him.

I watch as Zayden’s chest begins to heave and his eyes darken, anger seemingly having a vice grip on him as he looks up to me.

“I want you to have this, but I need to kill him. He hurt you, he needs to die.”

I smile sadly, shaking my head at my deranged protector.

“I wish all he did was hurt me with a cigar.”

Zayden’s eyes narrow at that as I hold out my hand for him.

“Cigar cutter, please?” I ask.

He digs around in his pockets before producing one for me, his gaze heavily on me as I move to stand behind Jim, gripping his sausage fingers in my hand.

“These fingers.” I laugh coldly. “They touched me and ripped me. Poked and prodded. They were the things that started it all.”

The sticky blackness of my trauma begins seeping inside me, the safely guarded box it was trapped in has been busted open, and there is nowhere for it to go but everywhere. I’ve been trying to prevent this feeling for years, something I thought I had overcome once and for all. Oh, how wrong I was. Zayden’s right, though. I need this to heal, to move on, and maybe to cause a little hurt in my wake.

I try to straighten out his fingers, but he curls them into a ball, squeezing and fighting against the restraints Zayden put in place. I try to peel them away from his fist, but he’s too strong. I huff in frustration before I see Zayden raise his hand like an eager child in class.

I furrow my brows at him and nod.

“Can I help you, angel?”

“That would be great, why did you raise your hand, though?” I ask as he walks around Jim.

“I didn’t want to interrupt your fun.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. God, he’s fucked up, isn’t he? Like really fucked up. Why am I liking him more and more by the minute, though?

Zayden grips Jim’s left wrist tightly with one hand, forcing his fingers out with the other. I give him a grateful smile, and he winks at me. A wink that, for some fucked-up reason, sends my stomach flipping. This shouldn’t be a cute moment. I shouldn’t be getting all flirty and giddy as my stalker helps me torture my abuser. Apparently Zayden and I are just built differently, though, because it most certainly is.

I slide Jim’s first finger through the cutter, wasting no time before I apply pressure and the digit slices clean off. He screams an agonizing sound of pain as I work one by one through each finger. The ring finger bled more than the others, which I thought was ironic seeing as his wedding band was still attached to it. His wife knew, she always knew, she just pretended not to, and so I don’t feel an ounce of guilt for making her a widow by the end of the day.

Once we finish with the other hand, he’s sobbing and moaning as blood is pouring out of his hands and creating two round puddles beneath them. The concrete floor has a type of epoxy coating that seems like it will be easy to clean up when we are done with him, so that’s convenient.

“What next?” I ask Zayden.

He sweeps his hands out and smiles.

“This is your rodeo, sweetheart. I’m just enjoying the view.”

I smirk at that, walking over to Zayden’s tools of torture before grabbing one of the knives and bending down in front of Jim once more.

“The Achilles hurts really bad, right?” I ask Zayden.

He makes a sour face and nods.

“Like nothing you’ve ever felt.”

“Perfect,” I say before taking the knife and slicing horizontally across both his Achilles tendons. Blood shoots out of the back of his ankles as he bucks and jerks against his bindings, forcing him to the floor once more.

Slit by slit, I tear him apart. Zayden even steps in for a bit and pulls out each of his teeth with the pliers. He says it makes disposal that much more seamless, and hey, he’s the expert. We also figure why not cut off his toes, it’s not like he’ll need them where he’s going.

Zayden grabbed some rusty barbed wire from a cabinet and coiled it around Jim’s shoulders, pulling it tighter and tighter until he had no choice but to stay as still as possible or risk bleeding out faster.

Jim’s eyes are surprisingly wide and panicked for the state he’s in. I would have thought he’d pass out from blood loss by now, but I guess it pays to be a fat piece of shit. They’re fixed on me currently and are practically begging me to let him go, to stop all of this. Zayden doesn’t seem to like that much.

A low growl emanates from his chest as he grabs a knife and plunges it into his right eye without hesitation, twisting and pulling it clean out, still staked on the knife as he tosses it to the ground and grabs another.

“You will never set eyes on her again!” Zayden snarls before giving the other eye the same treatment.

Jim’s screams are bloodcurdling as he struggles against the barbed wire, his once-white wife beater is now almost completely crimson. My hands are stained with his blood, as are Zayden’s, with blood splattered across his chest from the eyes, but I’ve never been so completely unbothered in my life.

“Take the tape off,” I tell Zayden, who does as I say without a second of hesitation.

Jim begins babbling profusely, his head whipping in either direction, as he tries to make sense of where we are due to his newly blinded state. Blood is still pouring from his empty eye sockets, and it’s truly a grotesque sight as he begs, “Please! Please! Blake, don’t kill me. Please. I loved you so much. I still do. I think about you all the time. I’m sorry. I love you!” he wails, his words coming out distorted due to the lack of teeth.

Zayden sends a punch to his gut that sends him wheezing as I grab the scalpel.

“Tongue,” I command shortly.

Zayden delivers another punch to Jim’s jaw, and with the sickening crunch that sounds next, I know for sure it’s broken. I suppose that was the intent because, in the next moment, Zayden easily pushes the rest of his jaw open, allowing his hand inside his mouth before his fingers grip his blood-soaked tongue.

I don’t waste any time slicing through the thick muscle as I speak.

“You stole my voice before I even knew what it meant to have one, so why should you deserve to speak?”

The cut is clean and quick, which surprises me. I thought it would be harder than that. He moans and groans in pain as his mouth makes a gargled sound. He’s losing too much blood, and I know it won’t be long now. Zayden gives me a nod like he agrees that these are his last few moments, so I decide to make the best of them.

I nod down at Jim’s underwear, refusing to touch him anymore in my life, and though Zayden looks inconvenienced by this, he does it happily for me. Zayden’s large hand grips Jim’s limp cock, holding it out at the perfect angle for me.

The scalpel slices through even easier than the tongue. Blood sprays against both of our faces, and though I cringe at the initial impact, I’m not all that bothered when I see that it’s done. Zayden is now holding the severed remnants of Jim’s worthless dick when I nod toward Jim’s mouth, my intent clear.

Zayden seems to nod in approval before he shoves it into his mouth, pushing it so far back that it blocks his airway. Jim fights against it, though his movements are weak and his effort futile. Slowly, his muffled screams stop, his muscles cease their straining, and Zayden shoves the chair to the floor, echoing in the room with a solid thunk.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is our breathing and the faint sound of Jim’s blood dripping on the floor. The puddle is enormous, taking up a third of the room as it continues to spread.

My eyes are still on Jim, unable to look away, unable to erase what I have just done. I did it. He’s gone. Forever. And he went in one of the worst, more excruciating ways I could imagine. He can’t hurt me anymore, not even in my dreams, not after today. I’m free. I’m free.

Zayden is watching me carefully, like he thinks I’m about to break at any moment. I don’t feel like breaking, though. What happened here wasn’t tragic, it was joyous and celebratory and I’ve never been on a high quite like this in my life.

I close the distance between Zayden and me, our bodies clashing together instantly. My mouth is on his as his hands are on my lower back, hauling me into him until every inch of each other is touching.

His hands peel my leggings and panties down my legs while I’m grabbing the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head before tossing it to the side. He does the same to me, unclasping my bra with one hand before throwing it to the floor. I practically tear off his jeans in the next moment, dropping to my knees and taking his cock into my mouth.

Zayden lets out a throaty groan as I suck him deep down my throat, his blood-soaked hand brushing across my face and into my hair. I look up at him, hoping I’m conveying everything I’m feeling, everything I don’t even understand myself.

How grateful I am that he gave me this, that he freed me. That he sat by silently and allowed the ugliest parts of me out, and he welcomed it with open arms. There is so much wrong about Zayden, but there is a lot that’s right about him, right for me.

He pulls away from me, practically tackling me to the ground as he begins eating my pussy. I let out a scream as his tongue viciously attacks my clit, flicking, sucking, and nipping at it with his teeth. He devours me like he’s never tasted anything better in his life, and the way he grinds his cock against the floor as he does tells me he’s just as ready to lose it as I am.

“Fuck me,” I pant. “Please, Zayden. Fuck me.”

His arms snake underneath my back, palms supporting me as he makes a quick move, flipping onto his back and taking me with him until I’m sitting on his face. His eyes roll into the back of his head as he continues feasting on me before he murmurs against my thighs.

“Ride me, angel. Take what you want. I’m all yours to do with as you please.”

I don’t hesitate, raising my hips off his face as I wiggle down his body. I slide onto his cock easily and let out a pleasured moan once I’m fully seated on him. As I rise up and sink down on him, I feel a wetness coating my legs.

When I glance down, I see the puddle of Jim’s blood slowly beginning to surround us. For a moment, I’m disgusted. That is, until Zayden glances over, a dark lust-filled look consuming his eyes before he looks back at me.

“Look at that. Look what you did, angel. You’re so perfect, so incredible.”

His praise feels strange, and yet, it’s like a rush of dopamine to my brain. I continue thrusting, grinding my clit against Zayden’s pelvis as more and more blood begins to surround us. I won’t lie, there is something erotic about it. In a super-damaged, PTSD way, but I’m turned on all the same.

I feel Zayden’s cock begin to pulse, and he groans as he smacks the back of my ass so hard I yelp in reaction.

“I’m gonna come, angel. I can’t help myself when you’re riding my cock like a blood-soaked goddess. You’re every dream I’ve ever had wrapped in one,” he moans.

“You’re sick, you know that?” I pant, grinning as I fuck him faster, my own orgasm just out of reach.

His piercing eyes come up to mine, his grip tightening on my hips as he speaks.

“So are you.”

That hard truth mixed with the quick, deep thrust against my G-spot is my undoing. White light blinds me as my mouth drops open and a scream erupts from me. My body shakes as my pussy pulsates. I feel Zayden’s cum fill me up as I practically clamp down on him, pure euphoria tearing through my body, leaving nothing to hold me up.

I collapse on top of Zayden, my breathing heavy, as my eyes begin to flutter closed.

I did it. I did it. I’m free. I’m free.