Page 138 of Jewel of the Assassin

I shrug sweetly. “Who wouldn’t?”

Anton is a demon. And he doesn’t deserve to live. But when this is all said and done, he’ll be a demon’s bitch.

As the electrifying anthem plays, Roman presses the jar of cockroaches against Anton’s anus, then lights a match. My eyes fill with the firelight as the hiss of heat meets the glass. The roaches shift, restless. They burrow into the only place that offers them escape. Roman and I don’t look at him. We hold each other in our gaze, taking back ourselves in these moments.

Anton’s torment becomes our release.

Then? Time melts.

Anton’s agonyhas stretched into hours like a steady hymn of suffering.

We have danced to that hymn—along with the KPop DemonHunters soundtrack. Roman chose “How It’s Done”. And then, we debated which songs were the best until we gave up.

The others have nodded off, occasionally waking up to the sound of Anton’s screams. Mikhail has fallen asleep on Zina’s shoulder while Levka is sleeping soundly on Fleur’s lap.

I let Roman do his thing, trusting in his superior skills to cut his brother, writing our names into each mark. He’s fulfilled his vow. The slices cover nearly every part of Anton’s body, more cuts than skin. Roman rubbed salt into every wound, enhancing the agony.

By dawn? In between the excruciating pain of the fire ants and cockroaches, Anton is clinging to his final threads of life, his blood soaking the altar like a sacrifice for the sins he will carry to hell—the darkness we now command.

He draws his last breath. We stare him down, our silence like the last trump to usher in the apocalypse.

And then?

Music hits like a lightning strike! Strings and trumpets. A sudden and unison choir of layered voices ringing in the “Hallelujah!” chorus in a triumphant, exultant energy.

Roman and I glance back, where everyone has jerked up their heads. And Zina, sits at attention, with Shalun on her shoulder and the glowing tablet in her hand.

We both shake our heads with a laugh. Of course, Zina would usher in the most glorious song of all.

Roman deadpans with me before turning to address them, “Thank you for paying homage as witnesses to our acts of justice and retribution. You are dismissed.”

“Wait!” I say, touching his arm.

Everyone pauses, eyes on me. Blushing and biting my lower lip, I turn to Mikhail, fold my hands in front of me, and ask, “Father Mikhail. I know we may be married in spirit. But would you do us the honor of marrying us now? An official ceremony?”

I feel Roman’s eyes on me, his energy like a ravenous beast atmy declaration, one ready to lunge for me and fuck me against the nearest surface.

After a moment’s pause, Mikhail echoes, “It would be an honor.”

Fleur is my Maid of Honor. Zina is my honored Matron. Levka serves as Roman’s Best Man, followed by Sasha as a Groomsman. Roksana has claimed a silent but supreme position next to Mikhail.

We may be crusted in blood from head to toe. We may be high off fumes of endorphins and adrenaline, waiting all night for our hard-driven coupling as Roman says, but we take each other’s hands, our love and lust bright enough to ignite the whole chapel with all its bodies. They serve as our dead witnesses, their voices silent here but screaming as they writhe from the bowels of hell.

Father Mikhail speaks the words over us, and Roman slides the recovered ring onto my finger. We light a unity candle upon the altar. And even share a drink of wine with Anton’s corpse serving as our warm cupholder.

And finally? We say our vows.

“Muzh-golová,” I proclaim them with all the love and pride of my heart and soul.The husband is the head.

“Zhená-dushá,” echoes Roman.The wife is the soul.

Roman dives for the kiss, and the others file out, not looking back, as he begins to tear at my dress, crusted everywhere with dried blood. I tear at his clothes with just as much passion. It doesn’t take long before we are naked.

I give Roman another blowjob, exhilarated by how he’s still hard after, how I’ve made him that way, how we’ve both waited all night for this.

The first thing he does is spin me around, so I’m facing Anton’s body. And then, my husband, my true husband, drives himself deep into me from behind. My nails dig into Anton’s bloody skin. I let myself feel it, the blood, the flesh, the pounding of Roman’s cock in my pussy, ramming me hard, splitting meopen.

He reaches for me, kneading my breasts and luring my body into an arch so he may fill me deeper. I moan and fuck him back as much as I can while he twists and tweaks my erect nipples. My cunt creams itself.