Page 4

Ripley

My entire body feels useless. The lingering effects of the multiple orgasms Blaze just coaxed from my body are making my head a little hazy and all of my limbs feel like there are lead weights attached to them.

I just had sex with Blaze Dubois — very, very dirty sex. Only minutes ago, I had sex with some kind of ghost and it was the best sex of my entire life. Not only that — I had sex with my favorite deceased musician.

How is this happening?

My chest is heaving with quick, shallow breaths. My skin is damp with a new layer of sweat. My chest hurts, but I can’t rub away the pain because my arms still don’t work.

In the distance, I’m vaguely away of Blaze sighing as he mumbles something that sounds like,

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Then he’s hovering above me in all his naked glory. I’d try to appreciate it more if my heart wasn’t actively trying to pound its way through my ribcage.

His dark eyes stare down at me, and I can see the annoyance in his expression. I don’t know what I did or why he’s mad at me, but I don’t want him looking at me the way he is right now.

I have to force myself to remember that he’s a murderer — that he has killed multiple people from our small town. I’m sure he had reasons for what he did, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a killer.

He leans down, and I flinch as his hand comes close to my face. This makes him smirk.

“Don’t worry, Little Sire. I’m not going to hurt you — right now.”

“Wh-what?”

His large, calloused hand cups my cheek, and it’s cool against my heated skin. Was his hand always this cold? Even when he has his fingers buried deep inside of me? I can’t seem to remember, but that doesn’t surprise me. From the moment he threw me to the ground, everything I did was carnal instinct. I was thriving only on my baser needs.

“You’re having a panic attack, Ripley.”

His voice is more comforting than it has been since I pulled him from whatever alternate dimension he was in. I’m almost positive that I imagined his gentle tone, because it’s gone mere seconds later.

“I really need you to get your shit together. We have an officer of the law to go visit.”

“Why would we…”

My words trail off, and I instantly know which officer he wants to go see and why.

“You want to go find Sheriff Donavan.”

It isn’t a question. I know that’s who he wants to go see, and his face does nothing to hide the fact that I’m right. His brow quirks as the smirk forming on his full lips grows wider. It’s a devious smile, one filled with malice and evil. In this moment, he looks every part the villain that the stories I’ve been told painted him to be.

Why do I find that insanely hot? There is something wrong with me. I’m broken. I need help. I need to be institutionalized for the sinful thoughts swirling in my head.

“You’re very smart, Ripley girl.”

I freeze. Is my mind playing tricks on me, or did he just call me…

His smile grows in size and wicked intent.

“You didn’t think I’d remember who you are?”

All I can manage is a slight nod of my head as my breaths become more erratic.

“Oh, I remember you, sweet girl. I knew the second the smoke cleared, and those blue fire eyes came into view.”

My breath catches in my throat at his admission. I’ve changed a lot in the decade since Blaze died. Even before he was killed, we hadn’t interacted often. Only a few times when my parents allowed me to go to one of my brother’s concerts.

Though, my eyes have always been my most distinguishing feature about me. They are vibrant layers of swirling blues.

His devilish smirk intensifies, and my core flutters again at the sight of it. How am I already turned on after two mind-blowing orgasms? This doesn’t make sense. What is this freaking man doing to me?

This can’t be me. Blaze must have come back from the afterlife with some kind of magical draw to him. It’s like a compulsion. That is the only thing that makes sense.

I’m not this woman. My past boyfriends have all been safe. Gamers and tech nerds. Not homicidal psychos with malicious smiles and bodies built for sin.

“We need to go.”

His words cut off my internal spiral. With that, he stands and adjusts his pants, putting his thick length away. I’m almost sad to see it go.

“Let’s go, Little Sire.”

“Why do I have to go with you?”

The question is out of my mouth before I have time to process words I just spoke aloud. That was supposed to be an inside question.

“Sweet girl, I’ve already told you.”

He leans down until I can see the wicked intent in his dark eyes. His hand slips into my hair, gripping so tightly onto the strands that tears spring to my eyes.He’s pulling me closer, so we are face to face.

I half expect him to kiss me, but he doesn’t. Instead, Blaze drags his tongue up the side of my cheek, licking up the tears streaming down my face. His responding growl at the taste is filthy, and I’m ready for him to fuck me again.

Blaze pulls away from me too quickly, releasing my hair, and leaving me aching for him. He finds his discarded shirt on the ground nearby and puts it on. When his dark eyes meet mine again, there is no residual lust remaining in his dark irises. All that’s left is pure hatred.

The hairs on my body stand on end as he stares down at me. I don’t need his next words to know what he has planned for us tonight. It’s written all over his stupidly handsome face, even through the remnants of the black and white skeleton paint he was wearing the night he died.

He laughs when he sees the fear in my eyes.

“Come on, Little Sire. Let’s go kill the fucking pig.”

“Where are we going?”

I huff out as I try to keep up with Blaze.

We are currently walking through the woods, behind the old Cronshaw property. It was creepy enough trying to walk by the house. I’ve heard so many stories about the house and the people who once lived in it over the years.

The stories depict them as a satanic cult and claim they would commit sacrifices in the woods behind the property. Due to the accusations made by authorities after Blaze’s death, I am piecing together why he doesn’t share my fears about being here.

“Blaze,”

I hiss out as the fifth consecutive branch hits me in the face.

“What are we doing out here?”

I trip over a raised root just as Blaze halts his steps, and I fall into him, barely catching myself on his arm before I go down. When I stand and go to speak, his hand clasps over my mouth.

With his other hand, he points through the break in the treeline. There I see three cars belonging to the Sheriff’s department parked in the middle of the clearing. They are surrounding a large bonfire and three men in long, black cloaks and hoods.

What the actual fun?

“Little Sire, I need you to listen to me.”

He turns me to face him as he releases his hold on my mouth.

“I want you to run out there crying.”

“Why?”

I whisper, staring back at the men as the sound of them chanting fills the otherwise silent wooded area. They are no longer standing around the fire. Now, they are circling the giant flames with their hands held out by their sides.

The smell of the burning wood surrounds me as I take in what is happening as they begin to chant. I can’t make out the words they are saying, and that’s when I realize they aren’t speaking english.

“Da nobis donum tuum, Tenebrae,”

they shout toward the sky in unison.

I whip around to face Blaze, his eyes already trained on me, intently searching my face.

“Is that Latin?”

“Does it matter?”

This insufferable ghost has the nerve to shrug at my question. He wants me to go into a field of Satanic worshippers, and he is fucking shrugging at my questions.

“What do you me-”

Blaze’s hand crashes into my mouth as he pulls me against him, silencing my words. I struggle against him, but it’s pointless.

“Look at them,”

he whispers against the shell of my ear. The hand covering my mouth is removed as he uses it to point toward the men.

“Focus on Donavan. I will deal with the others. Do you understand?”

I turn around and open my mouth to question him again, but my words are cut off by the intensity in his gaze. Even in the dimly lit wooded area around us, I can see his need for my answer clearly written on his stupidly handsome face.

I nod.

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good.”

With that single word, he holds out his hand to me. Resting in his large palm, is a black knife. The blade is long and serrated, but it doesn’t shine in the moonlight peaking through the leaves above.

It’s a dull, matte black. It looks lethal.

As soon as the blade is in my hand, Blaze backs away from me. He leans on a nearby tree before crossing his arms over his chest, waiting for me to start whatever he has planned.

On instinct, I take off running through the treeline, into the open field before me. The tears come naturally as they have since this man walked out of the smoky pits of hell.

“Help me,”

I call out to the dark figures at the center of the open, grassy area.

“Please, help me.”

The three cloaked men turn to face me in unison. In an instant, they’re tearing the hooded capes from their bodies, revealing their tan and beige Sheriff’s Department uniforms.

Blaze was right. All along, he knew we would find them out here, performing whatever ritual I just interrupted.

“Ripley?”

Sheriff Donavan questions as my eyes lock on him. When recognition fully kicks in, he bolts in my direction.

For dramatic effect — and the fact that it’s so dark beyond the light of the fire — I trip and fall to the ground feet from the officers. Seconds after I hit the ground, the sheriff is at my side, wiping my sweaty hair from my forehead.

“Ripley, what happened?”

One of his hands cups my cheek while the other scans over the exposed skin, presumably looking for injuries. His eyes frantically search my face.

“Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

I almost believe the concern on his face. That is until I see the way he examines the field around us. It would make sense to assume he’s looking for the person who hurt me, but there’s something sinister in his eyes that makes me believe otherwise.

Sheriff Donavan isn’t looking to arrest my assailant. He’s making sure no one is with me.

I shove away from him, crawling backward on the ground to get some space between us, when one of the deputies screams in the distance. “Fuck!”

I turn just in time to see a deputy I don’t recognize being pushed into the tall flames. His ear-piercing cries ring through as the man flails amongst the firewood and embers in the middle of the makeshift fire pit.

In a flash, Donavan is on his feet, gun drawn, and pointed directly at the man with the mischievous smile across from us.

Blaze stands on the other side of the dancing flames, his hand holding a knife — a knife that he has pressed firmly against the neck of Deputy Hall. The light from the fire dances in his eyes as he stares off with the man who killed him, and in this moment, Blaze Dubois looks like evil personified.

Donavan moves to take a step toward his officer and the madman holding onto him, but it’s too late. Blaze attempts to drag the blade across his skin, but Hall bucks back, breaking his hold.

The man runs away from him, frantically, and is heading toward me. Before he can reach me, his eyes roll back in his head, and he falls to the ground beside me. I’m pretty sure he passed out from all the excitement, but I can’t risk it.

I look over to the standoff between the pig and the ghost, confirming no one is paying attention to me. Not overthinking my decision, I raise the blade in my hand and quickly drive it down into the side of the unconscious man’s throat.

Blood pours from the wound, coating the blade and his clothes in the dark liquid. I stare down at him waiting for the guilt to set in, but it doesn’t.

That’s an issue I’ll have to deal with later, because movement from behind me pulls me away from my latest victim.

The sheriff moves toward Blaze, but I’m faster than him. Without thinking, I’m on my feet and throwing all my weight into knocking the gun from his hand. It clammers to the ground, the sound of metal on stone confirms its descent.

When he looks at me and sees the bloody weapon in my hand, his gaze quickly focuses on the lifeless body behind me. When they return to mine, there is a new hatred there. It’s unlike the one I saw him give Blaze.

This looks like betrayal.

I haven’t betrayed him — not yet at least.

He takes a single step toward me, and it’s already one step too close for comfort. Only one of us is going to walk away from this, and I will be damned if it’s not me.

As soon as the knife in my hand slices through Donavan’s arm, I feel something inside me change. I’m no longer the Ripley Collins I was a few hours ago. Now, I’m a double murderer. Soon to be a serial killer if the officer over by the cop car succumbs to the gash from my knife.

I did stab him in the side of his throat, so it’s very likely that he won’t survive that.

I keep asking myself the same question over and over again in my head. Is Blaze worth everything I’ve risked losing to help him?

If you had asked me yesterday if I’d kill for Blade, my answer would have been yes, immediately. I was obsessed. I’m still obsessed, but this is different. I thought I loved this misunderstood rock god.

Naive? Yes, but isn’t that how so many other people are when it comes to their idols? From his music to his insanely hot face and lean tattooed body, he’s perfect. Add in his music and his smoky singing, and you have the man of most women’s fantasies.

Either way, it’s too late to turn back now. I lift my gaze and meet the Sheriff’s terrified eyes. Just as he says, “Ripley,”

I draw the knife back, and plunge it into his chest. The accompanying scraping and squelching sounds should deter me from doing it again, but it doesn’t.

I pull the knife back, ignoring the grotesque sound it makes as it leaves his body, and drive it into his chest over and over again. I lose count after the third or fourth time I pierce his flesh with the weapon in my hand.

At some point during the attack, Donavan fell to the ground, and I ended up straddling his stomach as I continued my onslaught. It’s all a bit hazy.

When I look down at the man beneath me, all I see is dark red blood, pouring from between his quivering lips, pooling on his chest, and splattered all over his beige uniform.

He’s a mess.

I’m a mess.

I just murdered the freaking sheriff.