Page 27 of Executing Malice (Jefferson Rejects #4)

DANTE

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I’m not angry.

That’s important.

It’s there. I can feel the hot grit of ash at the back of my throat, taste it on my tongue now lubricated with blood. There is always so much blood when I get this way.

I lick it off my lips and glance down at the tattered edges of my knuckles. The raw and battered state of my fists, and sigh.

I hate losing my temper.

It’s a trait I got from both of my parents. The flaw in my makeup. The abnormality in my brain chemical. It’s the thing that made Leila run. It’s what scared her enough to leave me.

Maybe there were other things that solidified that decision, but...

I unfurl the stiff joints and wish I felt enough pain to regret my decision.

“This is your fault,” I tell the still figure at my feet. “I ... I was doing so well. I had it under control.” I wipe the speckles of blood sprayed across my cheeks with the back of my hand. “You just had to touch what was mine. ”

He doesn’t respond.

He hasn’t made a sound in over an hour. Part of me is relieved. The crying and whimpering only serves to feed the monster. I can almost understand why Dad and Everett loved it so much. It’s satisfying hearing them beg.

Even though I hate it.

I hate this part of myself. I hate that I am capable of this kind of harm, and I don’t hate it at all.

He touched what was mine.

He smiled into her face and walked off with her like he had some kind of right.

Maybe I overreacted.

I’m beginning to think maybe I ... I should have thought it through more clearly. I started to. My brain focused for a heartbeat, but then he put his hand on her back while leading her through the doors of the bakery and...

What was I supposed to do? Let it go? Turn the other cheek? What man would simply sit back and allow that?

Sure, he didn’t know she belongs to me. That’s not his fault.

Honestly, none of this was his fault. He was collateral damage in a fucked up game.

If anyone is at fault, it’s Leila. She knew exactly what she was doing.

She’s pissed at me, so she used this shmuck to test my loyalty.

Test to see if I truly would burn the world down for her .

Now, I’m dressed in this nameless man’s blood because she put him in my path.

It’s fine.

Accidents happen.

Every recovery has its bumpy road. I just need to remember my breathing next time.

I push to my feet. The bedsprings jingles faintly with the absence of weight. I brush my palms down my cargos and glance down at the dark figure curled up in a ball across his bedroom floor.

This is why having locks on your doors is so important, I think. If he had locked his doors, I wouldn’t be here, and he wouldn’t need a cast for his arm or a new face. Lessons were taught and learned today.

“Don’t worry. I’ll talk to her. This won’t happen again,” I assure him.

He understandably doesn’t move. Though, I do have to be honest, I’m a little embarrassed for him.

Buddy didn’t even try to fight. He dropped to the floor before I even reached him.

And that’s the man Leila wants? How does she expect him to protect her?

He’d simply show his belly and let something terrible happen to her. I did her a favor.

Not that she’ll see it that way .

I exhale and roll back my shoulders. I reach for the titanium bat buddy kept in the closet I’d been waiting for him in, rub off the blood and return it where I found it. Then, I simply walk out the back door and into the night. Into the trees. Not a soul to spot me.

My feet move with wide, even strides over the winding path cutting through the neatly kept yard with its glass patio set and cute flower garden. I reach the back fence and slip through the latched door the same way I got in.

I take my time walking to Leila’s house. The fresh air and lengthy hike calms some of the fire that had been raging in my chest for most of the afternoon. I want to make sure it’s mostly out before I return to her. While I would never hurt her, I don’t want to lose control by accident, either.

The house is still and silent when I slip in through the back door.

Shadows pool across the hallway and dance with a faint halo of gold spilling from the living room doorway.

I keep an eye for movement as I unlace my boots and remove them.

Both get hooked on my fingers as I creep along the wooden corridor to peek inside.

Leila lies in an unconscious sprawl across a mound of blankets.

The first Halloween film plays on low across the screen.

The sight of it tugs on my heartstrings and I find myself watching the scene unfold the way Leila and I used to every Halloween.

I even bought a Michael Myer’s mask just for her and a rubber knife.

That night had awakened something in both of us that I never could shake.

We may have been young, but we had seen and done things that would horrify a grown adult.

This being one of them.

It had been raw and dirty, a filthy and depraved game she conjured and I delivered.

Jefferson knows a version of Leila I didn’t grow up with. This sweet bank teller facade is nothing to the little demon I know she is beneath it. Granted, she’s done a really good job hiding her true face, but watching Myers butcher his first kill, I know she’s under there still and this proves it.

Silent as a ghost, I set my boots down and pad to where she lies, face lost in her pillow, one leg kicked out and bent at the knee. My gaze flicks to the bottle of wine I laced earlier this afternoon. The empty glass sits next to her makeshift bed.

The cloverleaf as it’s being called on the streets won’t hurt her.

It’s a muscle relaxant that doubles as a sleeping aid.

The drug was created for people with insomnia due to joint pain, but sicko perverts started buying them to use as a substitute for roofies.

I got my baggie from some prick I locked in on, online a year ago.

There were rumors going around he was drugging women in clubs.

The next time he went out, I was waiting for him.

Knocked his teeth down his throat before liberating his stash .

I tossed most of them but kept one pouch of the powder that I emptied in Leila’s wine earlier this afternoon, after her little stunt because some habits never die and Leila likes her Myers and junk food when she’s had a rough day.

I wouldn’t have had to if she hadn’t tried to push me away.

I wouldn’t have had to if she hadn’t tried to hurt me by falling into another man’s arms. If today hadn’t happened, she would have been awake for her next gift.

I would have made her enjoy it. I even would have let her pick it out.

But she hurt me. Again. What am I supposed to do?

Leaving her where she’s sleeping peacefully, I head into the bathroom to wash up before returning to my crawlspace to begin the preparation. I grab my tools. Wash my hands again. I return to her only when I am fully prepared to finish the task.

Careful not to hurt her, I gingerly turn her over onto her back. My fingers brush up the hem of her T-shirt and hook into the elastic band of her shorts. With great care, I drag them down her legs.

The warm gold of the lamplight, the cold dance of motion from the screen paint over the flawless lines of her body.

It’s been so long since I’ve had her like this.

A whole day. Might as well be years. Months of torment.

I almost forget my purpose as I study the sweet, slick folds I’m aching to taste.

I even further my own torture by rolling up her top, bunching it over her tits so she’s perfectly displayed for me.

Focus. You’re not here for this, my brain reminds me as I slide my palms up both thighs in the direction of her warm cunt.

My brain is right. I need to get this job done.

I spent three years preparing myself for this moment.

Three years of training and practicing. Getting myself good enough to give her this gift.

Like everything else, it’s meant to prove my undying devotion.

It’s not flowers that will die and rot. It’s not chocolates that will get consumed and forgotten.

My gifts are eternal. They are devoted symbols of just how far I am willing to go to prove my love to her.

She hasn’t seen it yet. It hasn’t become clear, but once she sees it, once she recognizes that I am giving her everything she wants, she’ll be so happy.

She’ll thank me. She’ll forgive me for refusing to show her my face.

She’ll understand once the week is over.

It will all make sense. She just needs to be patient with me a little longer.

I practically tremble with anticipation for that day.

for the moment she realizes who I am. Who we are.

I’m practically giddy with excitement as I start the preparation.

I get her and the area prepped. I’m quick and diligent in my process.

I keep my hand steady as I work. As I ink my mark into the sweet, soft tissue of her inner thigh.

Not too big, although I am half tempted to cover her entire leg so no one ever misses it.

It’s just enough that it’s visible when her legs are spread wide, her hole open and exposed.

It’s a clear reminder of who owns her. Who she belongs to.

When I’m done, when I have properly cleaned her up and wrapped her first tattoo, I lick her.

I grip her knees wide and sweep my tongue over her opening and up between her lips.

I flick the nub speared through with my bar until my sweet madness begins to shift in her sleep.

Her hips writhe beneath me. Her head falls back with her delicious moan.

Her back arches, offering me her generous mounds.

The light catches on the steel bars, drawing my hands to them.

Even in her slumber, Leila digs her heels into the blankets and lifts herself to me. She rises and falls with every pass I make.

She sobs with the first pinch of her nipples. The first tug. Her fingers fist into the blankets beneath her, doing nothing to stop me as I get her to where I want her.

Right on the edge. Toes over. So close we can both taste it. I get her to the cusp and only when she tenses, thighs trembling, muscles coiled do I pull back. I push to my knees, hands at my fastens. I free my cock and kneel over her.

Without taking my eyes off her beautiful, flushed face, I cork her. I plug her unprotected hole with my magic cross while thumbing her slippery clit with the pad of my left thumb.

I make her cum.

She has no choice .

I want her body to welcome my seed in. I want her to milk me. The flex and suckle of her channel feels like heaven around my head. I can’t wait to feel her cum with every piercing pounding inside her. But I take this for now. I let her squeeze and massage while I fill her.

I stay in place even after she’s gone still.

I want every drop to find their home, if they haven’t already.

I only just started filling her the other night after her nightmare, but I would be surprised if she isn’t already pregnant.

The birth control she’s been diligently taking every morning haven’t been her pills in over three weeks.

It’s amazing how sugar pills look the same.

I wanted that shit out of her system when I started breeding her.

Satisfied I’ve given her enough time, I pull out. My cock is stuffed back into my pants before I pull the blankets around her and gather her up into my arms. I hold her close as Myers continues his murderous rampage.