10. Tati

CHAPTER 10

TATI

After he comes, Dante releases my hair and lets me drop unceremoniously to the floor. My tits ache and my lungs burn as the air is knocked out of me, but being supported by the ground is a deep relief to every muscle in my body after hanging and then half kneeling. I can't help but whimper as he slowly cuts away the rope, occasionally nicking my skin.

"That was nice, Little Backstabber. I appreciated it, but I think it's time for you to run for your life."

I can't run nor can I believe he's so fucking cruel. My limbs are numb, so I stretch, but I'm not sure any part of me responds.

"I said get the fuck up, Tatiana."

"Please, Dante. I can't. If you're going to kill me, just do it.

"I should have known you're not willing to do anything. You're not even trying."

How fucking dare he? I've been trying for as long as I can remember, and I've had no one but a drug-addicted mom to look out for me. Most of the time, I was the one taking care of her. All I've ever done is try and fail, until I betrayed him and took that payout. That's when my life got easy, but hating myself was a lot harder than I imagined it would be.

I try to move my limbs again, and this time they barely twitch. A tingling from regaining circulation starts in the tips of my fingers and toes. He steps over top of me, placing his ax on the ground in front of my head. I watch in terror as the blade spins.

"You're telling me you're just going to lay there while you die? You wouldn't even lay there when you were broke and you could have fucked my money out of me."

My hands spasm, and I try to push them against the ground to hoist myself up but make very little progress.

"Pitiful."

I shove harder, and my chest leaves the ground, but he stomps on my back, forcing me down. Tears splatter the concrete as I struggle to push myself up again, but he doesn't remove his boot.

"Jesus Christ, this shit is dark this year."

Do I have to die for them to see that this is real? Maybe it's a fitting punishment given the lies I've lived with.

He lifts his boot.

"Run or die."

Some vestiges of my self-preservation remain, and I finally manage to get on my knees, then my feet. Eventually I'm standing, then close to running on numb and wobbly legs.

"You can run, but I'll still come, Little Backstabber."

A chill drips down my spine, and my pussy floods. Part of me is obsessed with Dante and his pleasure, and the other wishes I would calm the fuck down and worry about living for once.

His ax scrapes something metallic, making a screeching sound as he follows me. I run into people, too frantic to find it within myself to care. They comment and shriek when my blood and naked skin touches them. I'd be repulsed too.

Every part of my body aches so badly if it wasn't my life on the line, I would fall to the ground and give up. But I'm like any other creature who walks this earth, desperate to keep my time on it going. I know this building well, but I suspect he does too, as the sound of his ax is never far away. What little edge I had quickly proves useless.

I dart to the left, nearly tripping over the smoke machine as I avoid the roped paths as much as possible, but he's right there, dragging that ax behind him. The crowd grows more dense, and I take a sharp turn into the hall of mirrors, running past a thousand distorted versions of myself. A hulking shadow lurks behind every one. When the mirrors show both sides of his face gaining on me, my scream is so loud I'm surprised the glass doesn't break.

Entering the last room, I swear his breath tickles my neck as I leave the warped versions of us behind. I break through another crowd of people. Clowns, dolls, and mannequins are all arranged like they belong in an old sewing shop. They usually come with a jump scare, but this year, an old tailor sits among them. I don't have time to figure out how they've revolutionized the attraction. I need to get the fuck out of here.

His ax can't be more than a foot behind me at anytime, yet I still live long enough to make it into the freezing October air. It's especially painful against the rope burn and my naked skin. The neon lights of the carnival overwhelm me. The smell of fried dough and candy apples wafts, and people stare as I run past.

"Help me!" I scream, stopping a group of girls. "Please, he has an ax!"

They all laugh, and one of them snaps a picture of me.

"Oh cool!" she gushes before I push past them and keep running.

Tears stream down my cheeks, and Dante is too close for me to spend any more time talking. Bodies press tightly all around me as people talk, laugh, and mill. I don't see Katie among them, and while she would help me, I'm grateful she's not caught in the crossfire.

My legs scream as I keep pushing, every inch of me hurts, and while the adrenaline allows me to work through it, I know it will be brutal once I stop.

The rows of vendors are filled with cute and creepy clothes, accessories, and goodies. It's usually one of my favorite parts of the event, but this year, it signals that I'm near the woods and the end of civilization. What will he do once we're alone in the woods?

I consider circling back, but he's more likely to hack me apart in front of Katie, and I don't want to always be hurting people like he said. I keep moving, gaining speed as my muscles loosen and stretch out. The abuse they've taken will catch up with me. Hints of it threaten now.

My feet don't hurt more than any other part of my body, until I leave the pavement. The woods sit only twenty feet from the event space. I consider running another direction, but when I look behind me, he's only feet away.

"Fuck," I shout as I kick it into high gear. I have no chance of outrunning him, but I can't just let myself die.

He laughs again as his ax drags across the ground. We both pick up speed. Bits of rock and the forest floor cut my feet. He wears boots and I'm barefoot, another reason this escape attempt is pointless.

The ax swings through the air, sending a breeze across my neck as he just misses taking off my head. I shriek at the top of my lungs, and he swings again. The blade cuts my hair, spiking my adrenaline, and each breath becomes painful.

On the next swing, the blade grazes my shoulder, slicing me. Blood drips down my back, and I hope it's not worse than it seems when the adrenaline wears off.

I need to live, I'll do anything. In my desperation to get away, my foot catches a root, and I go flying. As I bounce across the ground, the pain is indescribable, and I'm grateful when I finally come to a stop on my back.

Upon opening my eyes, he's standing over me. It's hard to make out his full expression in the dark and having just hit my head on the ground, but his whole body shakes.

He drops down, a knee on either side of my hips, and swings the ax over my head. This is it. He's going to bring it down on me like a judge's gavel, and I will die.

My desperation leads me to do the absolute last thing I can think of, and I place my hands against his chest.

He stops at my touch, and gasps like I'm hurting him. It doesn't matter if I am, at least he's not splitting my head down the middle.

I slide my shaking fingers up his neck, clinging to him, hoping there's something human in him left to appeal to. I'm not strong enough on my own to stop his advances, he has to be willing to stop. The ax hangs above me, and I plead with my gaze for him to not to cleave me apart. I can't tell if I'm convincing him, as both sides are stoic and beautiful in their own way.

My fingers move to his face. My abs scream with the effort, but I need to touch all of him now that he's near me. He's not a goddamn monster. He's Dante. He never should have wound up this way.

"Don't fucking touch me!" he shouts as he drops the ax behind my head. It hits the ground with a thud, and I squeak in relief.

He grabs my wrists and slams them into the dirt by the ax. He's an inch from my face, angry frantic breaths puffing against me as the moonlight dances across his ruined cheek.

"Why, Dante? What's going to happen? What are you going to do that you haven't already done?" I push myself closer to him, refusing to give up an inch of contact, hungry for more of it.

His body shakes against me as if he's in physical pain.

"I'll fucking kill you." His threat lacks bite.

I tug my wrists, but he won't free them, so I arch to press the length of my body against his.

"Then who will you have left to take your revenge out on? What will you be without me?"

His mouth opens like he's got a ready argument, but it never comes, and his good eye blinks in astonishment. The other one moves at a slower pace, never closing entirely.

"Come on, Dante. What the hell are you going to do once I'm dead and there's no revenge left for you?"

He just stares at me, but his grip on my wrists loosens. I slip them free and wrap my hands around his neck like he's done to me so many times, but I don't squeeze. It's nothing more than an intimate gesture.

"What are you going to do when you have nothing left?" I wriggle my hips against him.

"I have nothing left. You made sure of that."

"You do have something." I push my crotch against him, and he's hard for me. "Killing, fucking, revenge, it might not be a lot, but it's more than nothing."

I squeeze his neck slightly, pulling him closer and forcing him to meet my gaze. His eyes are like bourbon and so easy to get lost in.

"This is all that matters."

"What's going to happen after you kill me, then?" I push him. "You're going to stop killing, act normal, and get a job? Are you anything but revenge anymore?"

"Are you trying to hurt me? Haven't you done enough of that already?"

He inches closer to me, and I can't help myself—I kiss him. It's soft and trepidatious, and he doesn't kiss me back but also doesn't push me away. One more kiss and I slide my tongue against his mouth. Then I pull back just enough to answer him.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm trying to get you to see that I will give you my life, and you can take that however you want. Maybe you don't have to be so fucking alone."

I kiss him again, and he responds by tipping his head just enough to deepen the kiss but still doesn't engage with me. My hands slip over his shoulders and stop on his pecs. Power courses through me as he shudders under my touch.

" Am I hurting you?" Despite what he thinks, I'm not trying to cause him pain for my selfish gains or otherwise. I want to fix what I've done. I want to kiss him deep enough to fuse our souls and let him have whatever he needs from mine to feel okay again.

"No," he grits through his teeth, and my hands find the hem of his shirt, pushing it up until I feel the dual nature of his abs. One side is fundamentally stronger, but neither side is unworthy.

He shivers beneath my touch, and although we've done a lot of sexual things, he jumps as I dig my fingers into his pants and take hold of his cock. I stroke him with one hand and use the other to caress his face, his hair, and the sunken plane of his cheek. He moans beneath my touch, and even though he's on top of me, still plotting my death, I've never felt more alive.

"What do you mean you'll give me your life even if I let you live?" I kiss him again, emboldened by his lack of violence and the fact he gets a little more into them each time. I lick his lips just once. Kissing him is the most exciting experience I've ever had, a thousand times more intimate than the sex.

I take his face in both my hands, trying to make him see how badly I want him and how dire the truth of our situation is.

"I'm yours, Dante. I understand there's no escaping that, but aren't you afraid of what happens when you need another hit? You don't think you might hurt innocent people with no one left to take it out on? What if you just hurt me instead."

"I wouldn't." He's quick to argue, but stark fear shines in his gaze. He's considered this before.

"You're addicted to the blood, your revenge. You need it."

He's slower to answer, comprehending the truth of my words, and I take advantage, coaxing him into a full-on sliding of tongues.

"I wouldn't hurt innocent people," he whispers against my mouth.

"Wouldn't you, though, Dante? You might not mean to, but I can feel the anger still burning inside you. It's not going to die out with me."

He bites my lip hard, drawing blood, and I whine against his lips. His cock gets even harder, needily jerking.

"Don't talk about burning, you have no idea what it's like to burn."

He licks my blood, tasting the injury he caused. His breathing picks up. I upset him so much worse than with anything else I've said.

"Shh, shh, I'm sorry. You're right, I'll never say it again."

His eyes beseech me, and I die a thousand deaths as he kisses me this time. His gentleness wrecks me much worse than his violence.

"And what would become of you? If I decided not to kill you and you gave me your life?"

It feels like he might want me, and that alone is enough to make all this worth it.

"That would be up to you, wouldn't it?"

He smiles a perfect half smile.

"You have an idea. It's obvious."

"I plan on loving you as much as you'll let me and taking all the punishment you feel you need to give."