Chapter 11

After making sure she gets home, I wait in the shadows, watching as she enters her trailer. Once the door closes behind her, my jaw tenses, and I linger for a moment longer, my eyes fixed on the spot where she disappeared.

I finally turn away, heading back to my own trailer, reaching into my leather jacket pocket. I pull out a cigarette and light it, drawing in the calming, toxic fumes into my lungs.

While admiring the bright red stain of her blood on my hand, the sight makes my aching cock twitch against my tight jeans, my thoughts crazy as I think about how close I came to losing control. I had to leave, but I'm far from finished. After tonight, I know for certain my Dolly has hidden demons and fantasies as predicted. I now know what draws me to her and I crave her fucking darkness.

Although she may think she was the one in control because I allowed her the power in that moment, the opposite is true. Her fight to push me away, only fuels my delusion to want her more. Imagine the depths of sensations I could evoke if I were to have her beneath me, her little body weakening and responding to my every whim. The thought of inflicting both pleasure and pain upon her, exploring the boundaries of her limits, makes my fucking balls throb. I want to show her the lengths of my sick desires, guiding her through a journey of dark euphoria.

With each sadistic game we play, I want her to know how beautiful I think she is, drawing her deeper into our shared world of depravity that knows no fucking bounds.

When she asked me to cut her, surrendering completely to my wicked fantasies without me even forcing them upon her, and the way she exposed herself to me deepens my obsession with her. She surprised me by agreeing to let me see her completely naked and vulnerable. I expected a fight, but instead, she seemed to relish the feeling. Her eyes shone with desire as she obeyed my commands with little hesitation.

The way her skin flushed under my gaze, the slight tremor in her breath—it was clear: Noir craves degradation and being controlled. The memory of her trembling body and the way I felt her greedy pussy pulsing against our hands while she bucked her hips run wildly in my mind. The way her breathing came out ragged after she screamed, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, how fucking soaked her panties were and the sight of the blood dripping from her thighs invade my perverted thoughts.

Fuck. I'll stop at nothing to take everything from her. I want to break her. I want to make her as insane as I am.

As I make my way back to my trailer, the realization that this is far from over settles in. Yeah, I reluctantly agreed that I would leave her alone, but I fucking lied. I lied so fucking hard just to get what I want. Things are about to get a whole lot worse for, Noir. This connection, this hunger I have for her, it's driving me even more crazy than I already am, and I can't stop myself.

Now that I've had a taste of the darkness that stirs inside her, there's no going back, I want it all; I want to see it all. She has ignited something insatiable within me, and I won't fucking rest until I have her completely, until she is mine in every sense of the word, even if I have to take it.

While entering our trailer, I take in the familiar black walls and floor. Wrath's bedroom is downstairs, while Soul's and mine are upstairs. As I pass through the small kitchen area, I peel off my leather jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a chair. I continue towards Wrath's room at the back of the trailer, but I notice his door is slightly ajar. When I am within reach, I push it with my palm and I enter, only to stop as I take in the scene before me.

Wrath stands shirtless, only wearing black jeans, with a young woman suspended in front of him. Her wrists are shackled upward to chains fixed into the ceiling. Her pale, naked and unmoving body is hanging with her head lowered, her long dark hair obscuring her face. Small intricate words cover every inch of her skin, written in black script that I can't read from this distance. Wrath holds a pen in his hand, carefully adding to the markings on her figure.

Once he acknowledges my presence and turns to look at me over his shoulder, his red spiral contacts meet mine.

Jesus fucking Christ, what the actual fuck.

Feeling the usual mixture of disbelief and confusion when it comes to him, I've always known Wrath's madness knows no fucking bounds, and in this moment, he seems more unhinged than ever. He is probably the most psychotic person I have ever fucking met and that's saying something. Wrath has selective mutism, and he will only at times speak to me and Soul; anyone else gets complete silence from him. Well, from what I know.

As I watch him carefully from a distance, he blinks blankly at me, and I shake my head, "Is she fucking dead?" I ask, genuinely curious.

He doesn't speak, he just stares at me as if he is peering right through my existence and my teeth grind. "We spoke about this, Wrath. Why the fuck do you keep doing this shit?"

He lifts his shoulder, "They never do as they're told." He finally explains, completely unfazed by how horrifying he is.

I fight the urge to argue with him because I know I can't judge. After all, we're all messed up in our own disturbing ways, but sometimes, I think my brothers are even more unstable than I am or maybe that's just me being in denial of how far my own depravity goes. I try to keep them in check if I can, or they'd bring this whole place crashing down. Each of us has our own twisted story of how we ended up like this, how we ended up here, and none of them are pretty, but despite the darkness that binds us, we're still a fucking family. Our trauma bond runs deep, forging an unbreakable connection between us. I keep them closer than ever since Haze was killed and it sometimes keeps me awake at night thinking I could lose them too.

When I remain silent, not knowing what the fuck to say, he turns back around, continuing to write on her and I watch for a few seconds longer before finally backing away and leaving him to his insanity.

Entering the kitchen, I spot Soul stepping into the trailer, his green whirling lenses catching mine, and he halts. I slump back into a chair at the table, my head thrown back, and close my eyes. I hear the scrape of the chair opposite me and lift my head to see him sitting down. He pulls down his black and neon green half-mask, revealing his painted nose and lips, his eyes never leaving mine. As he draws back his hood, he ruffles his fingers through the top of his wavy blonde hair before resting his elbows on the table.

"What the fuck has he done this time?" he asks, knowing it's Wrath who has triggered me.

I let out a long breath, feeling the weight of the night bearing down on me. "The usual shit."

He falls back in his chair, eying me suspiciously. "Where the fuck did you go?"

I stay silent, staring at him and after a moment, a big grin spreads over his lips. "It was her you sensed, wasn't it?"

I sigh and face away, my jaw tense as I answer. "She was in the fucking death rooms, and almost got herself killed."

He raises an eyebrow, his grin fading. "Anything else?" he asks, seeking for information.

I mimic his eyebrow arch before responding bluntly. "What do you want, you sicko? All the fucking details?"

He throws his head back with a loud, evil chuckle, and I remain expressionless, observing him. Soul is what you would call the party in all of us. He's full of energy and a fucking menace, but no one should be fooled by his name. It doesn't mean he has a soul; he is in fact soulless. He may act like he has life in him, but he's just as dead on the inside as the rest of us. He just knows how to hide it with this crazy, fucking character.

When he finally stops laughing, he brings his head forward, a smirk still plastered on his face as he raises his chin. "So, she gave you her pussy?"

I shake my head once before responding, "I'm waiting for Dark Night."

His smile widens, a sinister glint in his green eyes. "I don't fucking blame you, Hell. That hot little thing deserves to be torn the fuck up for looking that good."

My teeth grind together as he leans in, his voice dropping lower. "Are you sure you don't want to share? I mean, we might fucking kill her in the process, but, bro, it'll be worth it, right?"

"Leave her the fuck alone, Soul. She's mine." I growl.

His lips twitch with a smile before he falls back in his seat again. "Fuck, what's this, Hell? Love? Are you finally feeling something in that pitch-black fucking soul of yours?"

I glare at him with intensity in my eyes. "You know better than that. Shut the fuck up."

He throws his hands up in sarcastic surrender before standing from his seat. I watch his every move as he heads for the refrigerator, grabbing a couple of cold beers. He cracks them open with his teeth before placing one on the table in front of me, then takes a seat once again. I stare down at it for a beat, holding it in my hand and turning it slowly, but not drinking.

Noir's blood catches my attention again until Soul speaks. "She has some guy with her, doesn't she?" I raise my eyes to his, still turning the cold bottle in my hand, remaining silent so he continues. "Billy told me today that he's an ex-heroin addict. Well, he saw marks on his skin."

My mind begins to spin, realizing that I must not have noticed when they were in the shower together since I was too focused on her.

"Have you seen him yourself yet?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.

Soul gives a shrug of his shoulder. "Sort of. I noticed him working at the carnival tonight. He sticks out like a sore thumb. He doesn't fucking belong here."

He takes another swig of his beer, tilting his head back. "Is he gay? "I question.

His eyes immediately flash to mine as soon as the words escape me before he slams his bottle down on the table. I inhale deeply, sitting back, waiting for the anger I am about to feel.

"What the fuck, Hell?" He snaps.

I remain expressionless before responding casually. "Well, is he?"

His jaw tenses and his eyes flash with fury. "How the fuck am I supposed to know?"

I try not to roll my eyes as I look aside, knowing I should have kept my mouth shut. Soul is bisexual, yet he is completely in denial about the guy part. I don't give a fuck what he does and neither does Wrath, so I don't get why he acts like this every time we mention it.

"What, you think I have some sort of magic sense of smell that tells me when a man is into fucking cock?" He bites in an agitated tone before releasing a scoff.

I try not to be amused by his choice of words as he flattens his hands on the table, getting ready to stand. "Why do you care anyway?" His tone has changed, interest replacing anger.

I glance up at him as I answer, "That motherfuck can't get hard for her."

He shrugs his broad shoulders before snatching his beer off the table. "Well, then he's definitely gay because she is some fine ass pussy, or it could be all those drugs in his system. That shit can do all kinds of things to a man's dick."

I give a small nod since it makes sense. He leans in, his voice quieting, "The real question is, why the fuck haven't you killed him yet if you're so hung up on this chick?"

I think about it for a second and silently question my motives, but I stay silent, and he scans my eyes before standing upright once more.

"Leave it to me. I'll find out what the little cunt is into." He winks with a big grin before walking away, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Soul will figure it out, he has his hands in all kinds of dodgy pots, he is smart as fuck and his hacking skills are top tier.

I know why I haven't killed Limp Dick; there's no fun in that. I want her to surrender to my every sick desire while she's still entertaining him. I like the thought of her going home to him knowing she's thinking about me, but facts are facts, Noir is mine regardless, and I won't let anyone mess with my plans for her. Sooner or later, he will only get in my fucking way and then after I've finished playing my games, I'll gladly kill him in front of her to show just how much she belongs to me.

After some time of staring at my beer but not drinking it, I stand up and head for my room.

Once I get upstairs, I stroll down the hallway towards my bedroom at the far end. I push open the solid black door and step inside. Glancing around, I take in the sight of my round bed, centred in the middle of the room. Black sheets and pillows are strewn messily across it. Black fabric drapes down either side like a canopy, concealing the chains and shackles hidden beneath them. The room is entirely black—walls and floor—with a mirrored ceiling and a single red bulb centred above the bed. The only window in here is also blacked out as well. I fucking relish in darkness.

I kick the door closed behind me and stride to the bed, taking a seat on the end of the springy mattress. Leaning forward, I rest my forearms on my knees and gaze down at my hands, staring at the blood staining them, seeping into my pours. I can't get the images of her out of my fucking mind. She is living inside of me.

Lifting my head, I notice a piece of fabric on the floor not too far from me. I reach over and grab it before scrubbing her blood off my hand absentmindedly until an idea enters my mind. I look back at my bedside table and stand, heading towards it. When close enough, I open the drawer and retrieve my sewing kit. Taking a seat back on the bed, I begin to stitch the fabric, my hands moving with a knowing precision and each stitch brings me closer to her, becoming a ritual as I imagine her. The look of fright on her face when she first sees me, only to surrender to what we both want so quickly, makes me feel things. Things I haven't felt before. I'm addicted to the fucking feeling.

Since being at Oddity Carnival when my mom died, I've always taken what I want in life even if it means hurting people in the process. I am a hired torturous killer. People come to me for the most brutal ways I can murder. When we joined The Shadow's society, we made a vow. Sold our fucking souls to the devil if you will, with little in return but trauma and hollow hearts. I'm the monster I've been designed to be, yet I feel Dolly is someone who seems to yearn for something from me despite her seeing the evilness that dwells inside of me and it does something to my crazed mind.

She lets me watch her, touch her, and take control of her. She could easily say no and make a big deal out of it. It probably wouldn't stop me, but just knowing she isn't willing to say it because she likes my twisted bullshit is even more thrilling than simply just taking it from her. Dolly is different. After some time stitching my masterpiece, I think about how she's mine in ways she doesn't fully understand yet, and I'm determined to show her the depths of my obsession.

Once I'm finished, I hold up the soft object, inspecting my work. It's a small gift, but it carries a weight of significance. A reminder of what she is to me—my perfect little toy. I place it carefully on my bedside table, a symbol of my deranged affection, ready to give to her when the time is right. I lie back on my bed, one leg hanging off and my arm resting behind my head as I stare forward.

My thoughts start to swirl with filth, and I flick the button undone on my pants, dragging the zipper down. I pull my growing, heavy cock free seeking relief before wrapping the chain from my jeans around my hand. The metal is cool and rough, adding a harsh edge to my grip.

I get a firm hold on my dick, jerking myself off slowly at first and the chain adds extra friction, scraping against my skin in a way that heightens my senses. My eyes drift close as I visualize her chained up, helpless and mine to destroy. I picture fucking her violently, her cries mixing with the sound of rattling chains. The image takes the edge off this built-up sexual frustration and the chain collides with my piercings as I become rougher, my hand moving faster. My breathing picks up, becoming ragged and shallow as my cock expands. When I finally explode, my hot cum leaks down my hand as I squeeze my pulsing dick harder, milking myself for every drop. I breathe heavily, my chest rising and falling as I slowly open my eyes again, staring blankly at the ceiling.

With a soft clink of the chain, I release my grip, my hand sticky with cum, but I make no attempt to clean it up, instead, I reach over, lifting the soft toy with my wet hand and place it on my stomach, leaving my scent on it. My eyes close, thinking about the next time I cum, it will only be because I am skull fucking her.