Page 47 of In You

Where Does It Hurt?

Caleb

Trembling with anger, I rise from the chair and walk over to my tools.

I go silent as I peruse them, thinking hard on what's going to make me feel better.

Because what I'm getting ready to do to him is born purely from this selfish need to make myself feel better.

A simple bullet between the eyes won't do.

No, Trevor's about to pay the price for both Calvin and Joseph's sin. Point blank.

Because he had his cock in what's mine.

Torturing her…fucking her mind up…and for that, I'm going to be the judge, the juror, and the executioner come hell or high water.

Every muscle in my body is tight with strain as the anticipation to hurt this man takes over my common sense, elevating me from a being that's evolved, to something more baser, and primal.

"Since you want to fuck around with helpless kids so much, I'm going to give you a taste of your own medicine."

Snagging up my specialized nail gun, I turn to him and then set it down on a small stool nearby then kick my chair to the side, making him jump.

There's sweat dripping down his face, and he shakes his head vigorously as I plant my boot directly between his legs and push, toppling him over backwards so the back of his chair is against the floor.

"No! Please!"

He can plead all he wants to but it falls on deaf ears. We both know it. But just like my instincts are taking over, so are his.

I rip down his pants and briefs, cutting one leg free so I can pull his body back enough to expose the white flesh of his ass to the room.

My stomach rolls, but I'm getting revenge for my baby.

"What are you doing?" he yells, looking up at me with genuine fear in his eyes that makes the blood in my veins positively sing.

"Killing Cunty's daddy," I say in a resigned tone.

He clenches his teeth and strains with all his might against the ropes.

"Let's see how you think it feels, having someone fuck you without your permission. Being scared out of your mind. With no power and knowing nobody is going to come help you. You're dying here today, Trevor. And it's going to be my absolute pleasure escorting your diseased ass to meet your maker."

Fueled by some sort of manic anger, I put the nail gun in between his asscheeks and press mercilessly, jamming it in.

He roars out in pain. "No! Ahh! It hurts!"

This sick fuck's chest heaves as he screams, his ass clenches, and he jerks hard trying to get away from me. He thrashes against the ropes binding him to the chair, his head knocking against the floor as he struggles.

Shit and desperation fills the air, and it's still not enough for me.

Can you believe it?

"Where does it hurt, Trevor? Huh?" I bite out. Irritated, I turn and put my boot on his head, relishing the pained scream as I dig his face harder into the ground, pumping the nail gun in and out fast, rough and hard. "Here?"

Blood appears on his ass, trailing over the skin and flowing down, but I don't care.

I give him my all. Letting him have a taste of his own medicine.

He yells and flails for long minutes, but I don't let up.

After his skin is raw, and his voice is hoarse and scratchy, I remove my foot from his face and then kneel down to one knee, looking him in the eye as I shove the gun as far up his ass as I can without my hand going in with it.

"Or here?" I rasp.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I feel every muscle go tight in my face as I pull the trigger.

He jerks, yelping with shock and then his eyes widen with disbelief. He coughs a nasty sound, and a string of blood escapes out the corner of his mouth and trickles down the side of his face. A throaty rattle leaves his chest, and his eyes flicker as the breath hitches in his throat.

I keep my eyes locked with his, and then tilt my head.

"Guess you don't like it when someone fires one off inside of you, huh?" I readjust the angle of the gun and press the trigger again, watching him jerk. I get closer to his face, my jaw clenching as I pull the trigger again. "I wonder if this is how your son felt in that picture?"

Blood snorts through his nose, bubbling up on his lips.

As he trembles, his eyes flicker aimlessly, unseeing.

A muscle ticks repeatedly in his face, contorting his features.

I ignore the squelch as I yank the nail gun out of his ass and then hold it to his temple.

Smears of shit and blood along the red plastic resigns this particular tool to the stove because I'll never use it again after this.

"Please," he whispers weakly.

"Someone like you doesn't deserve a quick death," I say, firing off the nail gun in the side of his head. He twitches, his eyes fluttering.

I press the nail gun in another spot, firing shot after shot into his head until I see the light leave his eyes completely.

I rise up off the floor and toss it into the fire, spending the next hour chopping up and disposing of his body so he'll never be found again. Just another sick predator deleted from the earth.

God is good.

A week later I tilt my head against the back of the couch chuckling. "Stop it," I tease quietly, throwing Tamyra a mischievous grin.

It's a beautiful winter night in front of the fireplace.

My feet are propped up on the corner of the living room table, more relaxed than I've ever been watching Tamyra contently sitting cross legged on a cushion in front of the low wooden table, putting together a puzzle.

Every now and then when she catches me not looking she reaches over to run a nail down my foot, tickling me.

The fire crackles, muted against the low background noise of the television. A mystery thriller plays on its fourth episode, a show I'd been trying for the last year to get into, but apparently I'd just needed to have a reason to want to stay in the house. And she was that reason for me.

I haven't even taken a client since Tamryn's been here, and I must admit it's been peaceful.

The noise I call demonic chatter that always lingers in the back of my mind has dulled considerably, affording me a glimpse of relief. Of a look into a different kind of life that doesn't involve me slaughtering others. I don't know if the beast inside me would be happy, though.

"You're really getting it together, baby," I say, taking a sip of my drink and lightly clapping when she gets the last piece of the perimeter in.

On the television an ad for tampons pops up, and I frown, suddenly getting a hot shiver up my spine.

My throat goes dry, and my palms tingle as the hair on the back on my neck and arms stand on end.

My eyes slide to her, watching her smile as she finds another piece to start building it out in the corner.

I get up and go into the guest bathroom. The one she uses the most.

Trying to be as quiet as I can, I open every drawer, tear through the linen closet, then go into her room and rifle through all the drawers.

Panicking, I stand in the middle of the room, feeling my heart begin to go into overdrive as my anxiety and disbelief spikes at how irresponsible I've been. At how I didn't catch this.

I hadn't bought a tampon, or pad since she's been here and I didn't even realize.

Walking back into the living room, my heart switches back and forth between racing at an alarming rate, to skipping every few heartbeats.

Sinking back down on the cushion, I pick up my glass and toss the rest of my drink back, resting my gaze on her beautiful face as she twists her lips together, trying to put two pieces together that don't quite fit right.

They're but a millimeter off from being a perfect match.

I stare, because it feels so much like what's happening between us.

But I don't see that particular puzzle piece falling into place for me.

No. She keeps trying as I stare, and stare some more.