6. Dante

CHAPTER 6

DANTE

I can't just shove her aside and take the driver's seat for myself with the center console in the way. So I climb out of the car, open the door, and move her to lie in the back seat. I could throw her in the trunk, but there's no point, she simply looks asleep. Killing her right now doesn't appeal to me because of the illusion of innocence she holds, but it's one I definitely can't trust.

The bank manager watches me, shaking over the potential repercussions of what he's done. The Gemelli name carries a lot of power despite my father's pathetic weakness. He's more worried about what will happen to him at our hands than with the feds, which is wise of him.

I shiver as I realize I thought of myself as part of them once more. I haven't had a family for two years. Not since they let me burn to my assumed death and did nothing to avenge me, leaving me burned and broken to walk the earth alone, a monster.

I'm not wearing the mask anymore, but I'll put it back on before she wakes up. There's a strange freedom in letting people look at my mutilated face in the stark light of day. The bank manager turns as white as his button-up when I face him full on before climbing into the car.

My hands shake as I consider why I slipped up, what's causing me to feel a little too human, too raw? My eyes drift to the drugged, backstabbing bitch lying in the back seat. I try to stop looking at her, but it's an impossible task.

Images of last night fill my mind—her tight, hot cunt succumbing to me, her soft throat beneath my hands—and I can't even conjure a picture of her dead through it. Imagining her bleeding and cut to pieces once gave me so much comfort on nights I couldn't sleep, but I can't find those thoughts now. Where the fuck are my plans, my rage?

I'm not in control of myself as I reach into the back seat and pull up her T-shirt. She's not wearing anything sexy. The old Dante liked the band printed on the black cotton, but I can't recall a single note. Her sports bra barely holds her luscious tits. I've always preferred my girls to be a little thick, the kind who would eat dinner with me and actually order food on the first date. Weak images of a dead life she stole from me flash by.

Family, friends, a future. I pull her bra down, forcing her tits out of the top, and fill my distorted hand with her warm, soft flesh. Touching her is the strangest sensation, my mangled skin doesn't ache so bad when she's beneath me. I pinch her nipples hard, with absolutely no response. I never considered killing her but leaving her body whole, taking advantage of her body after the fact. Maybe that's what this is, a developing kink from a monster. But who would I do this to in her absence? I'm sick at the thought.

I pinch the skin around her nipples until her pale tits are covered in purple bruises. I fucking hate her and will kill her. I'm not softening to her. The monster inside me won't start hunting the innocent. I won't let it. When she's covered in marks, I'm finally satisfied, so I pull away from the bank. As I adjust her mirror, I realize the bank manager never stopped watching.

He might have to die for what he just saw. I'm starting to think I'm a possessive monster.

The drive to the carnival only takes twenty minutes. It will be hours before it opens at sunset. I've made myself familiar with the layout over the last few weeks, showing my face enough that I'm recognized.

The property believes I work for the carnival, and the carnival believes I'm a groundskeeper. The event is eighteen plus, intended to be frightening, and the exhibits have a tendency to be risqué. My little backstabber will fit in just fine.

The earliest employees arrive at noon, with the majority not arriving until three. I drive directly up to the Funhouse to reduce the distance I need to haul her. I've maintained a lot of strength by carrying the majority of things on my good side and training the remaining decent muscles to compensate for the ones that will never be whole again.

Although I can push myself, my body still aches when I carry heavy things. The hatchet and the physical nature of my crimes are designed to spit in the face of that weakness.

I slide her to the edge of the seat as I prepare to lift her over my shoulder, focusing on my hatred rather than how pretty she looks with her lips parted and her full, bruised tits. My hatred for her overwhelms me as I pull her unconscious body out of the back seat and heave her over my good shoulder.

I'm not interested in the warm way she absorbs my shoulder, seeming to wrap around me in all her delicious softness. I'm going to stomp the beauty out of her and leave her dead and useless. I wonder if it disgusts her that a monster makes her wet, makes her come, but she doesn't have a choice in anything anymore. Her life is mine.

I kick open the side door, carrying her up a flight of stairs. The Funhouse is a multiroomed event with several entrances and exists for each display. Entry is timed, but people often get mixed up in here. With the intense pain coursing through my body, I'm breathing heavy, but her smell and the feel of her skin are just so fucking good it doesn't bother me as much as usual.

I walk through three rooms lit with daylight and lacking their normal Halloween horror. Each has three doors and a series of ropes to point people in the right direction. Mercifully, I come to my goal before my strength wanes.

The central room has six entrances, with bright lights that turn the middle into a stage and roped paths that circle its entirety. When the carnival opens, a real gutted pig with human-shaped bones mixed into its entrails will hang from the ceiling. The lights and dry ice smoke will give it a rave-style setting.

There are no open carcasses just yet; if they left the display, it would fester and stink. Last night's meat is gone, the floor hosed down. Only a bare metallic hook hangs from the ceiling. The usual setup is symbolic of greed, so Tatiana will make a proper replacement. She could have willingly sucked and fucked more money out of me than she got for her betrayal.

Dumb Little Backstabber.

Unable to help myself, I grope her ass and every other part of her as I set her on the cement ground. Red stains seep into the concrete from the previous nights. This exhibit will have a different centerpiece tonight—my backstabbing little whore.

I take my time getting her naked before tying her in an elaborate shibari pattern, appreciating how delectable she looks with all her soft curves cut by the rope. The sight of my marred hands on her turns me on too. She wouldn't want this, but she can't stop it. What pretty princess wants to get fucked by a monster?

I spread her wide open, secure her legs the way I want them—with one leg bent and one leg straight. Next, I attach the rope to the rig and take a few steps back before hoisting her into the air. Her feet leave the ground and I can't help appreciating the pathetic helplessness of her situation as she swings. Taking from her satisfies something deep inside me.

Tonight's plans involve an audience, the peak of her humiliation, then her inevitable death, but right now, I want to enjoy myself with no one knowing.

I pull my cock out, then give it a few strokes with the good hand, hardly able to believe she affects me this way, that touching her skin dulls the pain rather than making it worse. My fingers spread her cunt and play with her clit. She doesn't respond, too deep in the drugs to feel how I'll use her. A few fingers slip inside her. She's not wet enough to fuck yet, but that changes quickly as I press on her G-spot.

She's dripping down her thighs by the time I line the thick head of my cock back up with her pussy. Fucking her last night was good, but this is better—my hand isn't aching from repeatedly choking her, and I don't have to feel conflicted about pleasuring her if she can't remember or feel her orgasms.

I haven't fucked for fun in so long I have no clue how to pleasure a woman anymore, and I don't care. I ram into her as hard as I can. All her delicious parts jiggle as she sways. My fingers dig into her plush hips. As I pump harder, I have to concentrate on not coming. Suddenly, I wish she was conscious so I could hear her scream for me.

Reaching around, I play with her clit as I fuck her deep and hard, enjoying the way her ass cheeks part against my thighs, and I can feel every inch of her. My lips touch her neck, and I stuff my nose in her hair.

"You like being fucked by a monster while you're drugged, you dirty little bitch?"

She must, because her cunt goes crazy milking me, the only response letting me know I can affect her at all, and something about evading her backstabbing little brain for a turn with her pretty, willing cunt has me insane. I force my way inside her until my cum splatters against her tight walls.

I might worry about pregnancy if I wasn't going to fucking kill her. As if a monster like me could have a family. I wipe the sweat off my brow and tell myself I'm done rolling around with the filth.

But it's a fucking lie, and no less than a minute later, I'm back inside her, smelling her hair, tasting her skin, and wondering why the fuck everything hurts less with her cunt around me. If I could keep her like this forever, I think I would.