I take my time, carving into his skin. I have a thing for branding people with their sins. Which is exactly why I use my blade to carve the word pedo into the skin on his chest, basking in his screams as his blood flows like a waterfall, coating my own skin as I go.
Headlights break through the darkness, and I see the hope in his eyes. Like someone is coming to rescue him. Butterflies take flight in my stomach, because watching that light go out in his eyes is going to be too much fun.
I continue drawing screams from his lips as his blood begins to pool at our feet. I haven’t really got started with punishing him as much as I’d like to, but also, killing him isn’t a part of my plan. If I lose myself to the bloodlust, to the anger of what he tried with V, then that’s exactly what’s going to happen.
The light in his eyes grows as his gaze continues to dart to the front door. Like he’s waiting for someone to save him.
I almost laugh, but manage to refrain.
Seconds later, when his front door bursts open, my desire to watch the hope in his eyes die is fulfilled. I watch as relief briefly washes over him as his would-be rescuer steps through the doorway, his eyes lighting up like his prayers to a deaf God have been answered. Then his brain processes the behemoth of a man that is Eric.
“Jesus, kid, I thought you were going to hold back until I got here.”
I bark out a laugh, watching as panic floods Michael Peters and he tries to fight against his bindings. “This is me going easy,” I tell him with a shrug, and he shakes his head.
“I guess it’s no less than he deserves.” Eric’s grin is almost as sadistic as mine when he laughs. “So this fuck likes to shove his dick at little girls and make them choke on it?” He looks Michael up and down and laughs again. “Well, choke on it might be a stretch.”
I snicker as the pathetic lump of skin that is my teacher freaks the fuck out in the chair.
“I’ll show you how to choke on a dick.” Eric smiles. “Maybe then you’ll be more hesitant in the future. You got your camera, kid?”
I don’t even bristle at being called kid—it’s just part of who Eric is. I pull my phone from my pocket and wave it at him.
“Oh, good,” he says as he unzips his jeans. I step back, giving him the space he needs to deal with Mr. Peters. I hadn’t quite planned this bit, but who am I to stop him meting out his own form of justice. After what happened to his daughter, after she took her own life because of it, Eric has always held a special place for pedo rapists. Wannabes or not. It’s almost hilarious that he’s one of the Knights, considering the other… proclivities of some of the other Knights, my father included. But I guess that’s just life. A total double standard of a mind fuck.
“Ready to choke on a real dick?” Eric asks Mr. Peters, who starts crying in earnest. I disassociate myself from it, just turning on the video function on my phone. Our own insurance that Mr. Peters won’t say a word to anyone. Not that it would do him any good. Unfortunately for him, the police in this town are as corrupt as they come.
It’s only when Eric comes over Mr. Peters’ face, laughing at him and calling him a scumbag, that I shut the camera off. “You’re good to leave, kid. I’ll make sure that he knows the game.”
I nod, pocketing my phone and grabbing my kit. I’ll clean my blades once I get home. Mr. Peters sits quietly in the chair he’s tied to, the cum mixing with the blood as it runs down his chest.
“I’ll see you in class after the holiday,” I say, saluting the room before heading back to my bike.
Maybe next time he’ll think twice about fucking with people at my school.
* * *
I wake up Thanksgiving morning, groaning as I roll over. The music blasting through the house makes me want to crack heads. I had the delightful conversation with my mother yesterday about missing dinner today—which went about as well as expected—but after sharing the details of my little detour on the way home last night, Dad was too proud to say no.
I’m not sure who’s more twisted: him or me. Either way, there’s no denying I am definitely a product of my father.
I jump in the shower and let my mind wander to the last time I saw V. I swear every time I think about her, I end up with a raging fucking hard-on. I palm my dick, because I might as well start the day off right. I picture those firm-as-fuck tits of hers, the way she gasps when I squeeze her throat just a little too tight, the way her pulse races under my touch, the way her skin bruises in my grasp.
Everything about her makes me like a fucking prepubescent boy and I come way too fast for my own liking. Fuck it, maybe I can convince her to fuck me again later.
I finish up my shower and throw on sweats and a t-shirt before heading downstairs to see what sort of masochism my mom has dreamt up for the day. I might not be sticking around, but that doesn’t mean this house won’t be the usual fanfare of dinner followed by the worst kinds of debauchery.
“There he is,” my mom coos as I enter the kitchen. From the outside she looks like your typical, overbearing PTA mom-ager type. Don’t let that fool you though. She’d gut you like a fish and giggle about it if you knocked over one of her vases.
I learned that the hard way, and I have the scars to prove it. Not that you can see many of them anymore; they hide beneath my ink the same way she hides behind her mask.
“What time are you heading out? Do you want breakfast?” she practically sings. I’m going to guess she was with one of her toys last night. That’s the only time she’s this cheery.
“I’m good, I’m heading out in a few, just came down to say hello before I leave.”
“Okay, sweetheart.” She grins at me, and that’s when I notice the speckles of blood on her throat. Yep, she was with one of her toys last night. She blows me a kiss and I head back upstairs, practically jogging in anticipation of escape.
While I might be basically immune to my parents’ brand of dysfunction these days, that doesn’t mean I want to be here any more than I need to be. There’s a reason my father is one of the top members of the sect of the Knights in The Cove. He’s ruthless and has almost no limits. You do not fuck with Edward Riley. While he’s happy with me right now, his moods are mercurial as fuck and I do not want to be here when the switch flips.