7. Spilling Blood

Chapter 7

Spilling Blood

Ecker

B ishop and I stumbled upon the old blacksmith shop on a run. Tucked behind the decommissioned horse stables on the Estate, the forge was full of the junk when we found it. But I’ve spent the last few days clearing out broken lawn equipment, wood pallets, and various other garbage. I gathered firewood by stealing from the piles in the Estate’s many salons and dens that no one uses.

Now, the shop is back to its former glory with glowing coals in the forge fire, anvils dusted off, and a row of hammers and tongs neatly lined up and ready for use.

Hell, I even swept the damn thing—anything for my girl.

Who, right now, is standing outside the barn doors of the shop with a blindfold on.

“Is that smoke?” she asks, her nose wiggling as she tries to suss out our location. “Is something on fire? Is it supposed to be on fire?”

I chuckle. “If I answered your questions, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

As soon as I slide the doors open, chains begin jingling along with the sound of muffled grunts. While devilish excitement zings through me, Sinclair’s back goes rigid.

“Ecker . . . ,” she says warily as I skip across the floor to stand by her present in the middle of the shop.

I position myself next to it. “Okay, you can take the blindfold off now.” Chains clink more vigorously, and I am positively giddy as her hands go to remove it. 1

The fabric falls away and her icy-blue eyes draw wide as confusion passes over her features, slowly morphing into realization

“Is that . . . How . . . What is this?” she stutters in disbelief as she takes in the bound and gagged man hanging from the rafter, his arms stretched above his head and his feet just barely touching the floor.

The corner of my mouth curls. “You said that if I really wanted to, it wouldn’t be hard to find out who gave you that scar. Well . . .” I walk up to her and brush a lock of hair behind her ear, letting my hand trail down to ghost across the burn on her neck. Her lips part as she looks up at me through her lashes. “I wanted to. And now, he’s yours to do with whatever you want.”

She’s silent for a moment, her face blank. There’s a flicker of fierce determination in her eyes, and then a slight but sinister smile spreads on her lips. “And what if I want to kill him?”

I match her smirk and tug her by the hips into me before wrapping my hand around the nape of her neck for a bruising, breathless kiss.

A heady mix of lust and bloodthirst tingles at my senses. I scent the man’s blood from the minor injuries he got getting here. The way it mingles with her flood of arousal from our kiss is intoxicating. Something feral and unchained pulses through our bond.

I bite her lip, giving it a tug as I pull away. When I speak, my voice is husky and thick. “Then you better make it slow and painful.”

Sinclair

“Hi, Vincent.” 2

I can’t hide the sick joy in my voice at seeing my former trafficker hanging like a pig on a meat hook. He yells something from behind the dirty rag shoved in his mouth, and the garbled sound is music to my ears.

My blood rushes as I look around the old building and consider all my options. The forge fire is strong and hot. I eye the smoldering coals. It would be fitting. To burn him. Brand him.

I wonder how his screams would sound, how his burned skin would smell. Would he cry, beg for mercy? Piss himself? God, I hope so.

Horseshoes are stacked on a peg above a workbench. Next to them on the wall hangs a bridle, and my pulse jumps. I’ll treat him the way he treated me and too many others: like an animal.

I look down at my mangled finger and the ring stuck on it. I knew the moment I saw Vincent for the first time that he would take everything from me if he could. I broke my own finger so there was at least one thing he couldn’t take.

It’s funny how life works that way, the world constantly trying to break you down, to take and take until you have nothing left for them to steal.

It’s so rare that someone in my position ever has the chance to be the taker.

I won’t waste it. For myself and every other woman he broke down at the Doll House who never had a chance to stand on the other side.

I grab the bridle from the wall, feeling even more vindicated when I realize the metal bit has jagged edges like a dull serrated knife.

Ecker forces Vincent’s head back so he has to look at me. My alpha has a dopey, pleased smile on his face . . . like a cat presenting his human with a dead rat.

He notices the bridle in my hands and grins wickedly.

Before he pulls out Vincent’s gag, he warns, “Say one disrespectful word to or about my mate and I’ll cut your tongue out.” Vincent’s watery eyes widen with scared acknowledgment, and Ecker adds, “Which would be quite a shame because I strive to give my omega everything she wants and without a tongue, she wouldn’t be able to use that bit she looks so excited to try.”

Vincent bobs his head in pathetically eager nods while the rag is removed from his mouth. Spit dribbles from the corners and he asks despondently, “What are you going to do to me?”

Despite my pounding heart and racing adrenaline, I feel nothing but peace and calm when I look into his evil eyes and offer a single promise. “Only what is fair.”

I wipe my sweaty brow with the back of my hand and exhale heavily, the hammer in my other hand hanging at the end of my limp and tired arm 3 . “I didn’t realize how much it would take to get a nail through a foot.”

Ecker massages my sore shoulder. “Aww, I told you I’d help ya, baby girl.”

I meet his eyes. “Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean I can’t do it.”

He smirks proudly and looks down at the nasty pool of blood by Vincent’s feet. “You’re one vicious woman, Sinclair Cerulean.”

My heart flutters at the sound of our names together.

Vincent whimpers through the jagged horse bit cutting into his tongue as his toes drag where they hang on the floor. I can’t imagine the pain from even that minuscule pressure. What, with horseshoes nailed into his soles and all. The tips of the nails protrude through the tops of his feet.

The adoring heat in Ecker’s gaze makes my thoughts cloudy. I’m sure most of it is from the aggression rut he’s been fighting since I picked up the hammer. I can feel it tug on our bond like a fish at the end of a hook.

There’s also something about Ecker’s twisted offering that makes my thighs slicken. Maybe it’s my omega nature preening at the ultimate show of protection.

He’s not just slaying my monsters. He’s handing me the sword to slay my own.

“Well, what’s next?” Ecker asks as if we’re on a shopping trip. What store do you want to hit next , honey?

I consider his question to the sound of crackling coals. My fingers go to my neck and feel the gnarled skin there. I wet my bottom lip then say decisively, “I promised to be fair.”

I return to the workbench and search through the things until I find a rusty dagger. Using a pair of tongs, I set the blade on the hot coals in the forge. I take it out once it’s as orange and blazing as the collar that gave me my scar.

When I face him, Vincent’s eyes are droopy. His face is tear and sweat streaked and blood spills down his chin from his cut-up tongue. I eye him up and down with derision. 4

“You really are a pathetic creature.”

“ Pleath . . . have . . . merthy . . . , ” he pleads weakly around the bit.

“Out of all the things you deserve, mercy isn’t one of them.” I huff a dry and cold laugh. “You’re not only pathetic but a fool if you thought otherwise.”

Then I drag the heated, flat edge of the blade from one side of his neck to the other.

His throaty screams are a symphony to the rush of blood in my ears. The gruesome scent of burning flesh a tidal wave of retribution.

He writhes on the dangling chains. The taste of vengeance coats my tongue. I thirst for more, for finality.

I hear myself speak as if an outside observer. “Now, you’ll never forget who owns you.”

I don’t realize I’ve slit his throat until I feel the hot spray of blood on my face. He jerks wildly and I blink, unmoving, as more splatters onto me. Everything around me feels quiet and hollow except for the sound of his gurgling last breaths.

For some reason, when I look down, I’m surprised to see the bloody knife in my own hand.

“Sin.” Ecker’s voice sounds like I’m underwater. “ Sinclair .”

His hand on my shoulder spins me around and rips me above the surface.

He places both hands on my upper arms as if ready to shake me from a trance. “Are you okay?” Concern drenches his tone.

The bloody knife falls from my hand. My chest swells with another deep breath, the last wave of calm before I throw my arms around his neck and my lips collide with his.

It’s a pyretic kiss, incinerating all reservations and igniting our bond.

I forget about breathing as I knit my fingers into his hair and tug him even closer. I don’t need air when I have him.

He growls against my mouth, and all the lust and aggression he’d been holding back rushes in. It makes me pull on his hair and bite down hard on his lip. I want to tear him apart. I want him to tear me apart. I want . . . I want . . . I just want .

I want so fiercely, it makes every cell come alive.

But I know it’s more than just the high of the rut and heat I’m riding. It’s knowing, experiencing, enacting justice for once in my life.

Killing Vincent was so much more than tit for tat. It wasn’t just revenge or to reclaim power, control. It was healing something I’d long thought permanently broken.

I hiss as Ecker fists my hair and tugs my head back. My heavy breaths saw in and out as I look up at him, burning. My stomach drops as I watch his tongue flick out and lick blood from his lip. I don’t know if it’s his blood or Vincent’s. Either way, it makes me hungry in the most primal way.

“If I thought you couldn’t be more beautiful before, it’s only because I hadn’t seen you soaked in blood and vengeance.”

The soul-deep desire in his gaze is incendiary. I feel like I could burst into flames.

My stomach knots with desire, yearning, something I might even consider love if I stopped to think about it.

Unapologetically greedy, I demand of him, “ Ruin me .”

My next breath is knocked out of me as my back hits the hard floor, Ecker’s lithe hips wedged between my thighs, my skirt flipped up.

He possesses my mouth as he rocks his pelvis against mine. I push into him and mewl for more. The wet blood underneath me only makes it feel more raw. Dirty and base.

I want to lose myself in the mess of it all, the chaos of him, and the fire between us.

My hands gracelessly tug at his belt and waistband, and he bites on my earlobe, the sharp shock of pain striking me deep in my core.

“Take it out,” he mutters roughly into my ear. “So I can properly wreck you.”

My hands rush to push down his pants and wrap around his silken skin. My mouth waters at the feel of him so thick and hard for me. His fingers roughly shove my panties aside and plunge inside of me, making me arch my back and scream.

“So fucking wet, Sinclair.” He groans hungrily. “I’m not surprised. Of course, a little torture would leave a bloodthirsty thing like you dripping.”

I continue to stroke his length as he pumps two fingers in and out of my pussy. My mouth falls open when he curls them inside me. I instinctively buck into the pleasure. We meet each other’s golden stares with heavy pants. He drops his head to kiss my slackened jaw and withdraws his fingers. I position his tip at my entrance.

“You’re the perfect match for us. You know that? No other omega here would beg to get fucked in the pool of a dead man’s blood,” he says as he slams inside me. His words are like the sharp snap of a rubber band.

My hand finds the handle of the knife on the floor and tightens around it. I press the tip to his neck, right under his jaw. A bead of crimson wells where his pulse thrums. “Do not speak of other omegas when your cock is inside me.”

He chuckles devilishly. “Got a taste of blood and already want more?”

His eyes flicker with flames, and he wrenches the knife out of my hand in a split second, flinging it behind him. Next thing I know, his palms are wrapped tightly around my throat. His elbows lock as he pistons into me. His fingers squeeze and my head rushes.

“Now that you know what it’s like to take a life, how does it feel knowing I hold yours in my hands?”

It’s a struggle to breathe, let alone speak, but I immediately know the answer. “ Powerful .”

Because as strong as he is, as easily as he could overtake me and end my life in the blink of an eye, I know he won’t. And that’s why I hold the power.

He releases his grip and cradles the back of my head as he presses his forehead against mine and thrusts ruthlessly into me. He grits his teeth and mutters, “You’re stronger than any of us, Sinclair.”

His words melt over me as I gulp for air. My heart pounds. His body, his strength are everything I need and more. The pleasure isn’t a smooth rising tide, but a rocky, crashing wave. Every punch of his hips adds to the storm.

“Ecker . . .” I moan and cup his face. “Fuck, fuck —fuck! ”

His voice is gruff and hot. “That’s it, Omega. Give it to me. Break for me.”

I throw my head back and his palms flatten on the floor. His teeth bite into his lower lip as he fights to keep the rhythm while my pussy clenches.

The tendons of his neck flex and his forehead scrunches. He’s so painfully beautiful.

It strikes me deep in the chest as my climax crests.

“Keep milking me . . . Keep. Fucking —fuckk .” He groans coarsely. His hips snap forward as he buries himself deep inside me and comes with a sputtering curse and full body shiver.

1. Play “Little Girl Gone” by CHINCHILLA through ornamental breaks until next song suggestion

2. Continue playing “Little Girl Gone” by CHINCHILLA

3. Continue playing “Little Girl Gone” by CHINCHILLA

4. “I Am the Fire” by Ghost Monroe