Page 142 of Massacre Monday

“There’sno oneI’d rather be bound to than you. Pen, you saved my life. I didn’t even want to exist until you came along.” He pauses long enough to smile and brush a drop from my cheek. “I will always protect you. More importantly, I want you to be free with me. You once said that wherever I go, you’ll go. But really,I’ll follow you. Wherever you want to go in life, I’ll take you there. I’ll hold your hand and show you the way. If you marry me, Pen, I’ll take care of us.”

He backs up to take one knee and pulls a ring box from his pocket. It’snothis mother’s ring, the one I thought. It looks intricate and unique. The stone is amethyst and sparkles in the moonlight.

“Will you marry me and become notjustmy appointed, but my partner-in-crime and my wife, Penelope Lynn Cardell?”

My hand hits my chest as the wind is knocked from my lungs. “Your tattoo…”

His hands shake as he holds up the box for me, waiting. “Yeah.”

“Itdoesn’tsay P.I.C. It is P.L.C., isn’t it?”

“Yes, my love.”

Sobs wrack through my body as I nod and sniffle.

“Is that a yes?” His expression appears hopeful as I attempt to contain my outburst.

“Yes!”

He slides the ring over my finger, and I giggle at how beautiful it is. When he jumps up, he pulls me into his arms.

“It’s purple!” I say, making him chuckle.

“And black.”

“But there’s also purple.”

With a line of glistening emotion rimming his eyes, he smiles. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

epilogue

The burning scentof candle wax gets caught in my throat. As well as the smell of something darker. Something raw. Like death in a place of new life.

Pen’s fingers tighten around my bicep as we step out of the darkness, slipping through the heavy wooden doors of the cathedral and into the sanctuary from the musty atrium.

The doors close behind us with a mechanical thud, blocking out the natural light. The smell of burned herbs mixes with something acrid, maybe blood. Above us, the high arches catch the echoes of our steps and multiply them, so every heel strike feels like a judgment. This isn’t a sanctuary. It’s a mouth, swallowing us whole. And its throat? It’s cast with eerie, twisting shadows that crawl down the aisle toward the altar.

Where seven black hooded robes surround Chase Warrick and Elina Burberry.

We pause at the end of the red carpet, awaiting our turn for the Culling. With a bribe, I was awarded the last scheduled time for the day, knowing that I don’t plan to stay for long after we exchange our vows. High-ranking members fill the pews andturn to peer up at us from behind their masks. Everyone is indistinguishable, but I’m sure the president is here somewhere. Fortunately, our fathers are skipping out today.

Elina kneels in the center of the circular stage, her white silk ceremonial robe torn, and even from this distance, I can see her muscles tremble as she gets used. Her blonde hair hangs in tangled waves over her shoulders, mascara streaked down her cheeks. She services each cloaked figure in turn, bobbing her head over each of their dicks with crying sobs escaping her mouth between gasps for air.

Despite everything, I feel sorry for her. And infuriated that Chase has done nothing to help her.

Her newly appointed Viscount stands behind her, dressed in his gold ceremonial robe, the mask that covered his face pushed back onto his head. As per his usual, he’s laughing at his own unfunny joke. And obviously amused by his wife’s current position.

“You really thought you were above this, didn’t you?” Chase’s voice is smooth, but his eyes burn with something cruel. He strokes Elina’s hair like she’s a pet, fingers threading through the knots. “Thought your pretty little title made you untouchable?”

Elina sways, lips parting, but no sound comes out as she glances up at him. Maybe he found out what a cheater she is. Perhaps she’s already moved on to someone else. Whatever it is, Chase seems to be amused by her demise.

The men in robes move around her, like wolves circling a dying animal. As one finishes in her mouth, he waves his arms in a ritualistic pattern, as if hoping this was an acceptable sacrifice to his god.

One of the elders takes it upon himself to kneel behind her, hands gripping her hips as he tilts her forward to take her. It’s not typical. Usually, it’s just a blowjob. She squeals as he shoveshimself inside, as her mouth is once again filled with another cock.