Page 16

Fourteen

She’s back. I knew she’d be.

Disappointment rattles me as I stare at her plump ass—that she somehow managed to secure in those tight pants—jiggling with each step she takes past me. Not that the view isn’t delicious. At least she didn’t run away this time, so we’re off to a good start.

Fuck, I’ve waited so fucking long to be able to have her at my disposal and I can touch her. Tease her. Sink my fucking hands so deep inside her that she’ll pray to a god she doesn’t believe in—that neither of us do—all because she’s so terrified of what I’ve become because of her betrayal. She opened my eyes to what life could be without the confines of religion being shoved down my throat. If anything, I should thank her for unleashing my inner demon, for letting him roam free and allow me to be who I’ve always wanted. A lost, wandering soul content with his brokenness, not in the market to have it patched up for some sky Daddy’s ego.

Though this isn’t how I envisioned our reunion going. Yeah, I figured she’d be pissed I stole her necklace, but it worked. I got her attention. However, this act of indifference she has is insulting. Despite me being able to smell the arousal leaking onto—from what my eyes can manage with the visible panty lines centered on her bottom in between two of the roundest ass cheeks I’ve ever seen outside of a fucking porno—her thong.

Has she not missed me like I have missed her?

Did our night at the haunt, when she was practically suffocating me with her pussy like a feral fucking whore, mean nothing to her?

Or when she fucking rode my dick in the hospital?

Did it all mean… nothing?

Seething, I slam the door. Part of me wants to tell her to lose the act. I know what she did. I watched it all. It’s all on tape. What she did yesterday before I paid her a visit and now what she did tonight, killing Fred, the security guard. I can’t believe she did that to him without what looked like a second thought or an ounce of remorse.

My fists clench into a ball still lingering on the doorknob, but all my gaze can focus on is the blood. Fred’s blood, now on my hands, competing with the ink that paints my flesh.

The crimson becoming a catalyst to that night at Heathen’s Cross. Buckets of it. Being poured on us both.

Fuck.

Why…

How…

How the fuck can blood suit her like that and make my dick so fucking hard like it is right now?

How…

How…

Ho—

My internal rumblings cut off from her voice, cutting into the air. Even with my inner spiraling, there was such peace in the air before she came here and infected it once again with her presence.

I pivot my stance and my vision is consumed once more by her. With no other choice, I drink her like the poison she is as my steps trail hers. Except her toxicity isn’t the kind that kills. Not right away, at least. It takes its sweet fucking time, infusing its deadly potion slowly into the bloodstream with diabolical precision… just like her.

“I like what you’ve done with the place.”

She isn’t lying. She’s probably wet over the fact that this place— our home —has gone to shit. Ever since Dad became too sick to maintain it and the burden fell on me, I decided I no longer give a fuck about keeping up appearances. I let the earth do what it does best to things no longer worthy of tender loving care…rot.

Where white molding used to define the tall ceiling, it now is a spider's playground. The floral wallpaper glued to the walls is now a backdrop to the abundant and thick cobwebs that drape over them. So many, in fact, that it gives the illusion that I went to the Halloween shop—like the one we went to years ago—and put them up on purpose, but I didn’t. They are as real as my hatred for her and as tangible as the blood rushing to my cock as I watch her take in the wreckage I’ve lived in, waiting for her to return to me.

“Thanks,” I deadpan. Impatience doing a number on my body, already growing bored of this drawn-out act.

“Is he home?” she asks, referring to my dad. Her question, full of disgust.

“Fuck you, Araceli,” I spit and finally her attention is where I want it…back on me.

“Excuse me?” She snaps her words as her neck follows suit. Bobbing her head causing her split-colored hair to sway, and the past does what it does best, haunts me with muses from the past.

“Look, hermano, it’s me and you. The saint and the sinner.”

Except I’m not the saint anymore. No one here is.

“You don’t give a fuck about him. So cut the small talk.” I remind her.

A smile tugs at her lips. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she asks with fucking glee, a level of excitement that should scare me, and it would if she were capable of scaring me anymore. That privilege died the moment she made me realize she’s no better than my father .

She’s a manipulator, just like him. Only difference is the words she twists are her own, not written for her to recite, and she has the audacity to call her lies art.

“He has to be.” Her voice trails off, as if she’s trying to put pieces of the puzzle she isn’t fully equipped to put together in place. “He would’ve never let you keep the place like this. It looks abandoned .” She pauses, and the inflection in her voice on the word abandoned is impossible to ignore. She sounds, dare I say, aroused?

There she is. Brother’s gruesome little whore.

Gathering her wits about her, she continues. “What finally got him? Karma?” she asks sarcastically. She knows that he doesn’t believe in karma. Sky Daddy would never allow such a concept to exist. It’ll ruin his story.

I’m about to burst her bubble with the sad fact that Dad is still alive, but the sadistic part of me that she is just starting to meet wants to play with her some more. Tease her some more. What’s one more lie after we’ve been plagued with endless ones?

Fuck it.

“Heart attack.”

She laughs. Maniacal and sultry… and it travels right to my fucking cock.

Lifting her hand to the wall to her right, she finally pauses to play with the cobwebs scattered on the walls. “Was that before or after he saw the way you desecrated his house?” Araceli turns her head, the white-blonde side of her hair facing me.

“Before,” I say in a growl.

You’d know that if you didn’t fucking leave. If you didn’t fucking abandon me.

“Right,” her voice drags, sounding unconvinced.

Unable to stand the distance between us any longer. I demolish it. Charging at her, I don’t stop until I’m towering over her, with her body pinned to the wall, and those delicate fucking wrists of hers that I could easily squeeze and snap in fucking half up and over her head, locked in my possessive grip .

“Harlan,” she breathes.

I transfer her wrists to one hand, now taking my free one to her lips. First running an outstretched finger to her lips, silencing her, or trying to. Ignoring me and the power she and I both know I have over her, she fights me, moving her lips to speak instead of obeying my one-time warning to shut the fuck up.

My finger leaves her lips, but only for a second. Just enough time that it can meet the rest of my fingers as I wind up and smack her cheek before pinching my hand at her face, pressing her cheek into my hand.

A moan slips her mouth and her chest heaves violently. Up and down in rapid succession. Her quickening pulse ricocheting beneath my touch is a gift, granting me the invisible checkmate I was seeking.

I win. You lose, little sister.

“You look nervous,” I point out, which is something that I’m not used to making her feel, and something she most certainly is not used to feeling because of me. Her gaze is as polarizing and hypnotic as she is, but I can’t give in and lose the persona I’ve worked so hard to maintain…just for her.

Curious how she’s going to spin the truth this time. I let her go. She takes a step forward but doesn’t run…like she should.

“You look really nervous.”

“I’m fine,” she clips as she shakes her head, mumbling something to herself. “This was a mistake.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” I pout sadistically. “You can’t mean that coming to see me after I stole from you is a mistake? No, no. That can’t be it. You’re growing wetter by the second since you’ve infected my airwaves. I can smell that needy cunt from here. So that can’t be it. It has to be something else.” I begin to circle her. Picking up speed with each orbit I make around her body, hoping to make her dizzy. Throw her off even more. “Hmm, now what can it be that has that moral compass you buried so long ago rise to the surface of your equally broken conscience?”

She doesn’t answer. Caught between a tidal wave of fear and arousal, she looks down at the floor.

I stop circling her, stomping my foot onto the ground. Demanding her attention, but still the stubborn bitch keeps her eyes off me. Insulting me with her lack of attention.

I lunge at her again, snatching her chin into my grip, and she loses her footing a bit.

There it is again. Her shaking her fucking head.

“You’re fucking crazy, Harlan,” she spits. Literally. A splash of warm and scattered saliva sprinkles onto my face.

My grip sears into her face harder.

“Stop talking about yourself that way, Araceli.” I taunt, but she doesn’t budge, remaining incensed and stubborn.

“Go ahead. Make it tighter.” She brings her hands to mine, her gaze unwavering as it bores into mine. “Matter of fact, slap me again, church boy.” Again, my hold tightens, and it’s a wonder I haven’t broken her skin. Though somehow, even with her cheeks hollowed from my touch, her stubbornness prevails and the ability for her to speak penetrates the air. “Go ahead, you fucking—”

Abruptly, I let go of her.

She catches her breath.

“That’s what I fucking thought.”

“Did you, now? Is that what you think? That, because I took my hands off you, you’re suddenly exempt from my wrath?”

She cackles, and it’s the equivalent to nails on a chalkboard.

“Wrath? Really? Fuck, you’ve been listening to too many of your daddy’s sermons. You aren’t capable of wrath.”

Frustration fills my veins, raising them to my skin's surface. But for some reason, the anger I feel—towards her refusal to be honest for once in her fucked up life—has me laughing. Cackling actually. Loud and eerie. Uncontrollably, so.

“What’s so funny?” The scoff at the end of her question is as infuriating as it is cute.

“You.” I increase my steps towards her and by default she moves hers back, this time propelling her deeper into the house and down the hallway.

Her feistiness withers before my eyes, as does the delusional assumption she had that made her think she has one up on me, vanishes.

“You know what, just forget it. Forget I was ever even here.” She shakes her head, trying to move past me.

Oh, no you fucking don’t. Not this time.

I mirror her movements. Stomping every which way, she attempts to sneak past me. Frustrated, she lets out a growl before locking her gaze on my face. My tongue clicks before extending my newly split tongue out past my lips, and just like the little whore she is, she stops in her tracks, entranced by it.

“Harlan,” she gasps. “You’re so… so…”

Say it.

“… different,” she breathes.

I close the space between us more. “Yep,” I hiss.

“Fuck,” she lets out, exasperated, from her anger and need, toying with her. Her hand sears itself to her forehead as she slaps it. “This isn’t happening,” she mutters, now shaking her head back and forth.

“What’s the matter? Am I scaring you?” I laugh, stomping closer to her.

Her hands fall to her harness, probably about to reach for the knife she thinks I didn’t clock the second she walked on the porch.

“Cat got your tongue? What? Is my little sister too much of a whore for the fear that she can’t think straight? Are you too consumed by the need to spread your fucking legs for me, and let me finish what I teased you with in the bathroom of your house last night? While you were unconscious, no less. Fucking druggie whore.”

She growls, loud this time. Stomping her feet. So fucking flustered that she abandons the mission she was just on to grab her knife.

What a forgetful little thing.

How pathetic, yet fortunate for me.

“Harlan, I swear to—”

I click my tongue, interrupting her. A phony, overdone shiver runs down my spine. “Don’t say,” my voice lowers as my finger points to the ceiling, “Him.” I shake my head violently. “He doesn’t live here anymore. Not in my heart or this house. Calling on Him won’t save you now,” I taunt.

Her eyes narrow to slits, shocked by the words coming out of my mouth. “Fine, you fucking psycho.”

Fuck. The degradation is just too delicious coming from her mouth.

Go on, sis. Tell me how psycho I’ve become so I can act on it and prove you wrong.

“I swear. If you don’t move out of my way, I’m going to—” She reaches for her back pocket, but my next words interrupt her.

“Stab me like Fred?”

Her brows furrow. “Who the fuck is Fred?”

I laugh. “Of course, you only remember the names of characters you kill off, not people.” I stop, letting her marinate on my vague words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she deflects.

“Fred is the security guard you killed,” I remind her.

Shock lines her irises. There it is. The truth is written all over her face, but as her lips part, she does what she does best…lie.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeats, sounding like she’s trying to convince herself. “I told you the blood was—”

She stops as I bring my hand that touched the very real blood on her body to my mouth. Sucking in the iron tang that covered it, humming around my finger.

“Fuck,” she breathes. Shocked and aroused by the scene before it.

I moan as I suck in the blood before popping my finger out of my mouth .

“It’s a bit bitter. At least way more bitter than I would imagine your blood tasting. Well, no, that’s a lie. Let me rephrase. It tastes more bitter than how I remember your blood tasting, but then again, that was so long ago when you,” I pause, clearing my throat to raise my volume, “fucked me with your blood spewing all over me while I slept, you fucking crazy whore!” I shout.

“Oh, my fuck! When will you get over it? I didn’t do anything to you that you didn’t like or want, you self-righteous prick! When will you get over it?!”

“Never,” I deadpan. The nonchalance of my response shocks her, just as my ability to calmly dive back into what I was saying before about our dearly departed friend, and one of her readers, no less—Fred.

“Lie all you want to me, but I got it all on camera.” My steps quicken. Hers mirroring mine.

“Yeah, okay, whatever. Fuck this and fuck you!” Araceli’s split colored hair waves as she stomps to the left, then right, and I block her every time.

“Well, if you stick around, that is what I’d like to do. Fuck you.”

Reaching for the knife in her harness, a wave of confidence falls over her shoulders. “Of course, that’s what will make you happy. My pussy wetting that stale dick of yours.”

She presses on the button and the blade retracts, but I’m too fast for her. I swat at the blade, cutting myself in the process before it falls.

“Give me my fucking knife!” She shouts as she plunges to the ground to retrieve it, but I follow after her.

God damn it. Here I was thinking the view I had of her ass was hot from before? That was nothing compared to the view I have of her on all fours, thinking she’s going to get her knife back and get away from me.

I claw at her ankles, yanking her towards me, but she fights it. Back and forth, we fight each other for dominance .

“You’re not leaving. Accept it. You can’t leave unless you want me to leak the tape.”

With both hands on her ankles, I drag her further from the knife.

“Please. No amount of ink or body modifications you’ve made can give you that level of balls. You don’t have it in you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” I yank her so hard that her body skids against the floor with ease. I continue to pull her where I want her. Pinned to the ground so she can remember where her place is in the new pecking order I’ve established for our family… beneath me. Where she belongs.

“Do you know what it was like after you left? No? Well I’ll tell you.” Spit falls unintentionally to her mouth and disgust mars her face. Infuriating me more. “He was ruthless. The sermons were nonstop. So were the punishments. He blamed me for what you did that night. He took it out on me until he finally got what he deserved.”

“Harlan,” she pants my name, “you’re scaring me.”

I lower my lips to hers, teasing her trembling mouth. “I don’t care.”

“You’re hurting me.” But the inflection in her voice says anything but pain. She sounds excited. Needy. Like this is a game she is about to win by getting me just how she’s craved.

“Good,” I seethe, taking her hands in one of mine, bringing them above her head while the other wraps around the slender column of her throat. She gasps, fighting for air… for the ability to move, but I grant her neither. “What’s the matter, all that snarky, stubborn, sass suddenly gone? How fucking sad.” I squeeze tighter. Spitting again, but this time it’s intentional.

Keeping my hand on her throat, I creep my index and middle fingers up to her mouth.

“When I tell you to suck, I want you to suck on them.”

Confusion lines her brow and she pinches her lips closed.

She hums a ‘no’, but I don’t listen, breaking the barrier of her lips, anyway. Who the fuck is she kidding? Her tongue is swirling around them, probably wishing it were my cock as she takes me deeper into my mouth.

“Who's a good little whore?” I taunt her, letting go of her wrists, I fish my free hand to my pocket, grabbing the syringe. I don’t bother hiding it and she doesn’t bother pretending that she doesn’t see it.

Still, I brace myself, expecting her to flinch and fight, but she does neither. She wants it. I shouldn’t be surprised. Whatever she took before driving to see me is likely wearing off by this point, and reality is probably too strong for her. She would rather be numbed, and lucky for her, I have what it takes to do just that.

She rolls her head, exposing her neck to me, and my fingers fall from her mouth.

“Do it,” she begs. “Just punish me and get it over with.”

I flick the syringe, but her skin beckons me to taste first. Lowering my lips to her neck, extending the split muscle of my tongue, I tease her with just the tip. Licking a soft trail up and down her now pebbled skin.

“Welcome home, little sister.” I murmur, bringing the needle to her neck, exchanging my tongue with its tip, and tease her with that instead.

She scoffs. “This isn’t home, it's Hell,” she grits as I lower my lips near hers. She’s staring at me with nothing but hatred spewing from her every pore, yet it doesn’t stop her from puckering her lips. The misplaced expectation that she’s going to get a kiss from me. Laughable.

I extend my tongue, the torn flesh playing with her septum piercing, before I yank it. Hard.

“Same thing,” I hiss.

Her stubbornness prevails as her jaw clenches, making the veins in her neck lift and throw me off. But I won’t let her win, not this time. Determined, I break the barrier of her skin with the loaded syringe and inject her with it.

As I retract the needle from her neck, her lids fall shut, and for a moment, I am in disbelief that I’ve fallen this far from the person I once was.

It’s not too late, I can just behave myself and wait until she wakes up, and take her back home. But, if I do that, and spare her from the wrath she thinks I’m not capable of, who wins? Who loses?

Blood rushes violently to my cock the more I stare at her still body. She’s breathing. Unfortunately. Still my mind drifts to a dark place that it’s found solace in over the years, wondering, fantasizing about how beautiful she would look if she were dead.

Fuck, I could come just at the thought of how peaceful my life would become if she didn’t live anymore.

It’d be so easy, too.

She’s already passed out. She wouldn’t feel a thing.

But that’s the problem. I don’t want her to get off easy.

I want her to suffer for what she’s done.

I want to remind her that I am who I am now because of her.

Shit, I should thank her… and thank her I fucking will.

This is all her fault. She shouldn’t have come back here.

Not tonight.

Not last night and all the nights before. All of which she’ll deny, but time stamped videos don’t lie.

She’s the one who foolishly fell into my trap. So fucking easily. All I had to do was dangle the bait in front of her and she came crawling—cunt dripping and all—like the needy fucking whore she is. All so she can kneel at big brother’s cock. If only it were that easy. Tonight, she’s my victim. Tonight, she’s my prey. Tonight, she will have no choice but to succumb to my undying need to punish her.

When she wakes, I’ll give her a crash course on what happens when the church boy sells his soul to the devil.