115.
David’s POV.
I did something crazy tonight. I didn’t only accept a dark side of me but I showed it. Not just to anyone but to Vera.
Before I left the ballroom, I played a crazy stunt.
In my haste, I rushed to one of the guards there, guns tucked firmly in their grip, and snatched them.
Yeah, two fucking revolvers I’d use to unleash hell on Peter.
I wasn’t wrong when I thought the fucker would be Peter, because the moment I got there and saw the bastard that calls himself Vera’s father, I unraveled all restraint binding me.
Fuck, he was lucky. So fucking lucky he got away. A dark smile coats my lips but I bask in the little pain I inflicted on him.
Yes, I shot Peter even as he tried to get away.
And you know what? I fucking loved the growl of pain that escaped his lips as he faded into darkness.
Now, though, the worry comes back with a force that threatens to knock me off of my feet as I hold Vera, muttering soothing words to her as I lead her to the car.
“Are you sure he didn’t touch you?” I ask, my heart twisting in anger, my fingers gripping the gun tightly as I pin them over Vera’s arm.
“No, daddy. He didn’t…” She says, her voice losing its tune that’s always naughty or happy.
I hold her as she passes the dead body on the floor. I’m guessing they’re Peter’s men.
But why did he kill them?
As if hearing my thoughts, Vera says. “These guys tried to rape me, daddy. Said they were paid.” She says, tremulous. “But that man…he saved me.”
The way she said the last word made it feel like she was trying to convince herself the man wanted to save her.
Fuck! Only if she knew. She’ll definitely cuss Peter and skitter away from him.
Reaching my parked car, I flutter the door open and Vera hops in. I round the car to the driver’s side and squeeze in.
As we drive away, the nocturnal birds keep on twittering, a sign for the bloody days ahead…
*
*
*
Claire’s POV.
The corners of my lips are curled up in a contemptuous smirk as I drink in the pathetic sight that is the hoodlum I hired to rape and finish Vera.
I mean, my other plans didn’t work, right?
So I went for a complete butcher.
Fuck, I had imagined how these filthy men would use their pricks to dirty that porcelain skin of hers, batter that pussy and make her useless.
I had imagined David being fucking disgusted by the sight of that. But that’s not the case.
Not when the fools I paid five hundred dollars to wipe out a pathetic girl from existence in the most embarrassing way failed to do it.
“Hmmm…” The guy moans in pain, raking his fingers over the wound on his leg. He looks at me for help but I offer none.
No, I’m only brimming with anger!
The overhead dim light offers me the chance to see his fucking face and I scoot closer.
My hands perched on both armrests, bringing my face a fraction of an inch close to his and I bite out. “So, you came all the way here to tell me you failed? Failed to simply have sex with a random girl to the point of death?”
His eyes, filled with pangs of pain, burn into mine.
“Ain’t you gonna say sorry first? Help staunch this shitty flow?” He prattles out, gesturing to his injured leg.
I don’t mind, I absently ride on with my words. “You claim your expertise is rape! Where had your dick gone when you saw her!?”
The guy’s face twists in what I assume is humiliation. I guess he hates it when someone tells him his cock is nothing.
Most men do, anyway.
“Say that shit and I’m…” He says, voice dangerously low but I’m not fazed.
I continue, “You and your click are fucking useless!”
In retaliation to my words, he spits on my face. Instantly, I see red. Bounding into his space, I slap him hard, his face dash to the other side.
Bones poke out from the side of his face as he raises his head to bore his eyes into mine.
“You dare hit me, bitch?”
As he says that, I watch him stagger to his feet.
The aura now surrounding him makes my body quiver. I backpedal, gazing at him to know his next move.
As if he forgot he has a wound on the leg, he prances into my space and grips my neck in a vise-like grip.
“You fucking insult me when my pals are dead!!! Because of you!” He thunders and a wail escapes my lips.
Slowly, he fastens his hand tighter on my throat and raises me up, my back scraping against the wall.
“Stop it!” I wail, trying to push him off but he doesn’t let up.
“Why would I? When I can show you just how useful my cock can be inside you, huh?” He says.
In the next twinkling moment, he pushes me hard over the floor. I descend with a yelp, pains sending stars through my vision.
Blinking fast, I pop my eyes open to watch him unzip his pants while edging close to me.
“Stay the fuck back!” I bite out, trying to crawl away as fear becomes my second skin.
“No, bitch. I fucking want to prove a point!” He props his Johnson out, looking thin, not even a size that can fit my hole.
As he draws closer, kneeling before me, I throw my eyes around, wanting something I can hit him with.
“Stay away. Don’t fucking lay your filthy hands on me.” I bark, thrashing my thighs as he grabs me, trapping me with his legs.
My black dress hitches up at the movement and I whimper.
His bloodshot eyes pin mine as he says. “My buddies died cuz of you. Now you’re gonna pay!”
At that, he rips my panties, and hikes my legs up, even as I wail, bringing my core to his face.
Without a fucking warning, that dirty tongue of his slides across my slit.
Fuck! I feel nauseous instantly. I sink my hand into his hair, tugging at the strands to push him off of me but his grip is strong, bruising my skin!
“Fuck off! Get off!” I prattle without making a complete sentence.
Jeez, I’ve never been violated before…
The last tug I give to his hair makes me groan and he presses me harshly into the floor. Then he settles between my legs, inching his manhood close.
My breath becomes rag as I search wantonly for something to save myself.
Just as he thrusts himself inside me, my hand grips the gun in his pocket.
Without a second thought, I unclick the safety and shoot!
“Hmmm…” He wails, going limp on top of me.
Blood floods over my body, sliding up to my face.
Nausea…that’s all I feel as I jump to my feet, looking at the mess I made. I…fucking…killed someone again.
Oh no…going this way isn’t working.
I…I end up making more mess.
What if the police find out it’s me?
I rush toward him and close my bare hand with his shirt, thrusting the gun into his hands to make sure it bears her fingerprints.
I want it to look like suicide. And I make sure it goes that way.
As I’m about to run away, I resolve one thing in my mind.
I’m trying other means, this time. I’m using my father…
To be continued…