Page 13

Julian

The best part about a chase is the illusion of a head start.

Little Red Scarlett is a few feet ahead, sprinting between the trees to get us off her trail, but it won’t work. The smell of her fruity perfume is so strong that it hovers in the cool air like a palpable mist. Skylar and I aren’t in any rush, though. She’ll get what’s coming.

I have to admit, living out this fairytale fantasy is really getting me worked up. Like the wolves we’re meant to be, we stalk through the woods, sniffing out her scent until I catch a glimpse of red.

I put my hand out against Sky’s chest to stop him in place, then grab one of the knives from my pocket. Preparing for this little event wasn’t cheap; we had to dish out a few hundred dollars to buy extra knives that won’t be missed if they get left behind.

“Do you know what happens to all the bad little girls in the fairy tales?” I shout through the trees, ejecting the blade while I position my body, shoulders square to her. My wrist is locked tightly, knife handle fitted between my fingers when I raise it to my ear and aim strategically. “They get eaten by monsters.”

The knife soars through the air and sticks perfectly into the tree she’s hiding behind. Her scream echoes through the forest—right to my ears and down to my twitching dick. Scarlett never screamed for me at Eden, not like this…not without a gag muffling the pretty sound of it.

Let it ring, darling.

She darts from one tree to the next, disappearing further into the darkness while Skylar and I unleash a cascade of flying knives around her. If he’s thrown as many as I have, there are only a few left, and I don’t want to run out before we get to the good part.

Good on him for having the idea to check for a journal; I wouldn’t have even considered it, but I guess getting into people’s heads is a perk of his degree.

Finding a way into her apartment was difficult, but it gave me something to do on the night Skylar went to the club alone. I don’t remember what the original plan was, however, discovering her journal was the jackpot we needed.

The last 30 or so entries were mostly about her nights at Eden’s Deliverance, either recounting actual events from our time together or her thoughts about it in the days following.

I still lay in bed some nights and jerk off to the way she described the things I did to her and how it made her feel. I made sure to snap a photo of each entry so I can look back on them whenever I want to.

Finding out about her nightmares was the cherry on top of our delicious Scarlett sundae, but making the masks was the best part. My mind was racing the entire time, just picturing what it would be like to wear it and take advantage of her fears.

What spoiled things for me was when the journal entries stopped reporting on us and switched to The Pearl Prince instead—the shithead she’s been fucking after we toy with her. Reading about it is one thing, but watching her with him tonight was enough to make me see red, both literally and figuratively.

I’ll just say, the chronicles of Broody Brody and Cunnilingus Casanova were a much better read.

She can hide from us, but she can’t escape her own thoughts. Half of the recent pages in her journal were about me and Sky—not only how much she thinks about us when she’s alone at night or when she makes plans to visit the club, but also when she’s with him. She can’t deny the fact that she wants us, and her little boy toy isn’t doing enough to convince her otherwise.

The thing is, I’m done with the hiding. I’m through with her pretending she hates us while we’re around, only to fucking fantasize about us when she’s alone. She wants us, we want her, and we’re going to have her.

Without warning, I take off, sprinting after her through the woods. She can talk shit about us playing lacrosse all she wants, but she doesn’t seem to have any complaints about the physique it’s given me.

Reading that fucking journal only made me want her more. I’m starving for it—for her to look at me in person as pensively as she writes about me.

Skylar’s footsteps are on my heel, and she must hear us too, judging by the yelp that sounds a few feet ahead. I cut to the right and book it, aiming to get ahead of her, then duck behind a tree that’s directly in her path. When Scarlett breaches the side, I throw both arms around her waist and lift her off the ground, restraining her against my chest.

“No! Put me down, you psycho!” she screams, kicking her feet against my knees like a madwoman.

But I’m not letting her go. Not anymore.

“I don’t fucking think so.” Leaning into her ear, I whisper, “We know all your secrets now. We’re not going anywhere.”

The thrashing continues until Skylar grabs her ankles, locking them together as we lower her to the ground. When I pull a knife from my pocket and flick it open with emphasis, her entire body freezes. She’ll never admit it to us, but thanks to the journal, we know all about how much she wishes she had the courage to put on a Ruby mask.

Apparently, her nightmares started after one particular Eden session—the one where I pulled my knife on her after tying her up and making her suck my dick. It might just be my favorite night with Scarlett so far, especially now that I know it left such a mark on her soul .

Aside from the dreams, she’s confessed that the knife play excited her, however brief of a moment it was. I read pages upon pages of her thoughts on it—how it made her feel, and how she sometimes fantasizes about it when she makes herself come.

Now that she’s still, I kneel by her side and pull the cape away from her shoulder a bit before plunging the knife through the fabric and into the ground. Skylar follows suit, crawling up her body to stick one of his own blades through the fabric at her right shoulder. She’d either have to slip down through the hood or untie the collar to escape, but that won’t be happening.

“Get her hands,” I order, not even bothering to look at him. He positions himself behind her head so we each have a point of control.

“No! Please-please stop,” she begs, trying to rip at the strings that tie the cape around her neck, but Sky’s already wrestling her arms above her head.

He flattens her hands to the ground and plants a knee on each palm, using his own hands to keep her elbows pinned. It must hurt, because she lets out this little whine that shoots straight to my dick.

She’s not looking at me, but when I straddle her waist, pull out a new knife, and press the blade into the center of her chest, her eyes shoot down to watch.

The soft, fluffy cloth of her undershirt cuts like butter, falling away to reveal her perfect tits. Well…perfect except for these fucking hickeys marring her skin. I tap each one with the point of my blade, taking note of the way her breath seizes every time the metal makes contact.

“Why are you doing this to us, Ruby?” I quote, reciting the same words the attacker from her nightmare used. There’s no way she doesn’t know by now that we’ve read the journal, but when her eyes widen, I smirk maliciously. “Yeah, we read it all. The dreams, your fantasies…” I bring the knife up to her cheek and lightly run the blunt end of the blade down her face. “I know how turned on you get from my knife, don’t deny it.”

“Please. ”

I hover the blade over one of the hickeys—specifically the one on her left tit. Her voice squeaks when I press the tip into the mark, watching the flesh indent without breaking skin. “I know you think about me when you’re with your fucktoy. Is that what happened tonight? You were thinking of me, and when you saw me in the doorway, it made you come. Didn’t it?”

“No. You disgust me,” she says through clenched teeth, clearly trying to hide the pain of Skylar’s weight. She’s so close to crying, but she wouldn’t be our girl if she wasn’t resilient as fuck.

The knife digs harder into her skin until a small bit of red liquid bubbles around the tip. “Don’t lie to me, Ruby. You’ve already done that once. How many more chances do you think I’m going to give you?” I look down at her, but her eyes are focused on the blood. She’s entranced, face completely washed over with stupefaction. “Tell me.”

She looks up then, but the awe is gone.

“You wanna know what made me come?” She asks with a nasty grin, only continuing after I give her a slow nod. “I came when I saw you, because the thought of how fucked in the head you’d get over seeing me with another man brought me so much pleasure, I couldn’t hold it in.” With the final word, her head jolts forward and a glob of spit smacks against the plastic of my mask.

It takes a second to compose myself, every nerve in my body flaming with white-hot anger, but when I hand the knife to Skylar, she knows she fucked up.

“Is that so?” I smush her breasts together in my hands, squeezing and massaging them roughly with my fingertips. “Then maybe you can think of him while I replace every single one of these marks with something better.”

I was purposefully vague, and the shock on her face makes the ambiguity worth it. She thinks I mean to cut her beautiful skin, to make her bleed from all of these pretty bruises. But I won’t…at least not on the outside.

I start with the blotch on her left tit—the one that’s bleeding—licking up the crimson blood before wrapping my lips around the spot and sucking as hard as I can. Her legs thrash wildly at the shock of my brutal assault, but when they freeze, a quick glance upward reveals why. Skylar has the blade of my knife pressed against her throat, and the tears I’ve been waiting for finally make an appearance.

I might not have gone that far, but then again, he and I work differently.

Releasing her skin with a loud plop , I sit up to admire my work. “Are you crying, darling? We’ve only just started.”

“Fuck you.”

My hand shoots up to grab her face, pinching her cheeks assertively until her lips pry open a little. “I would say don’t threaten me with a good time, but you sort of already did before you took it back. Or did you forget the little promise you made about coming to the Red Room? Open up.” Skylar backs off and there’s an awful attempt to shake her head, but I use my grip on her face to pull up an inch before slamming her skull back to the ground. “Open your fucking mouth.”

Fighting through the discomfort with a defiant glare—her eyes cutting as shallowly as my blade did her flesh—she opens her mouth and spitefully hangs her tongue out over her bottom lip.

“See? You still know how to be my good girl.” I let some saliva pool on my tongue, then lean down and spit it into her mouth. When I tap the pads of my fingers against her cheek, she swallows obediently. “Are you going to let me finish now?” She nods but the tears fall faster, so I wipe them away with my thumb before returning to my mission.

Scarlett McKenna is a bitch, but every encounter seems to break her down more and more. Soon, we’ll have her exactly the way we intend to. Then, she’ll officially be our bitch.

The fact that she already thinks about us while she’s getting fucked by some other dude is a start, but we need to break her enough that she can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her.

We need to leave a stronger impression.