Page 14 of Remorseless Sinner

Sherriff McGinty scratched his chin, the rough sound like sandpaper in the quiet of the Honeywood Main Street.

People were coming out of their homes, looking out curiously, but warily.

I knew I was making a mess of my beloved Honeywood, but I was too frustrated to care.

“You want me to arrest you? Just don’t do it again.”

“It’s fine,” Mr. Martinez echoed. “No harm done, honey. We know you’re just angry.”

I reached into a nearby car parked on the street, of course unlocked because why would you look a door around here? There was no crime except what my dangerous husband brought in.

Then I riffled through the purse there and began to stuff $20s and $50s in my pockets.

“Look! Look! I’m a criminal! This is a felony!”

I pounced on Mr. Martinez in a fury.

“Arrest me! Put the cuffs on me.”

He backed up so fast his friendly face was white with fear, stumbling over a chair in his haste to get away from me.

“Why won’t you arrest me?” I demanded, to anyone who would listen.

As they stayed silent, frozen, the town spun around me.

I stepped wrong off the sidewalk and stumbled, and Sheriff McGinty was there, Mr. Martinez on the other side.

“Be careful!” the Sheriff said, and for the first time I heard real fear in his voice.

I wrenched away from them and whirled around.

We all stood staring at each other for a moment, and I felt my world suddenly turn on its axis and spin madly around me.

No

He couldn’t have

Not here, not this

Not this one precious thing

“My husband did this, didn’t he?” I shrieked hysterically.

I clutched my belly, the confirmed truth of his wicked obsession residing deep inside. No one could see the evidence, but I knew it was there. His wicked, lustful obsession.

They all said nothing.

“I’m going to slap you,” I said, turning to the Sheriff.

I raised my hand to him, making sure he could see the approach, my arm stretched back.

And he stood there and let my hand land on his face with a hard, sharp slap. Did nothing to stop me.

Holy hell

Holy hellfire and damnation

How blind had I been? Had I even wanted to see?

Had I just thought this beautiful, perfect small town was a stroke of luck, a coincidence?

Had anything in my life been a coincidence?

Or had it all been managed and controlled by my jealous, possessive stepbrother?

“What’s your real name?” I snarled, turning on the kindly, twinkly-eyed sheriff I knew now must be a fucking fraud.

“It’s Sheriff McGinty, of course.”

“No, I mean your real name.”

I picked up a big, jagged chunk of glass and spun it contemplatively in my hands.

“Answer me or I’ll cut myself.”

I felt the collective intake of the town, a giant, communal gasp.

And with a sickening twist in my gut, I knew .

Knew it deep in my bones.

He began to bluff, but I put the tip right at my wrist.

“Your real name.”

“A-Aidan O’Malley.”

“And what is your occupation?”

“Sheriff.”

“ What is your occupation ?” I snapped, drawing the sharp tip of the shard shallowly down my arm, splitting open my arm with a cut to the wrist.

"A-actor.”

There it was.

William was there now in his soft suits with his soft face, his hands reached out in supplication, but staying a good distance away from me.

So he too could play his part.

Without pissing my fucking psychotic husband off.

I was supposed to be a good girl.

I was supposed to be gentle, mild, and forgiving.

But I grabbed the baton from his belt, and Sheriff McGinty made not one move to stop me. Then I smashed the car’s windows, a satisfying feral blast of tiny shards.

All the noise I had made had attracted attention, and I saw heads popping out all down Main Street. The coffee shop, bakery, the diner, the library, mechanics, even the model train shop.

All of it part of my idyllic, charming small town.

All of it fake.

Even Mr. and Mrs. Potter, now looking at me with wary attention.

Nothing was real.

The next thing I took the baton to was that white picket fence around City Hall, absolutely hacked it to smithereens.

The townspeople all made soothing noises or looked nervously at each other, all the people I thought were my friends.

They weren’t at all.

They must be nothing more than paid actors.

“Be careful, be careful!” they chimed in unison.

“Please,” William said, and his blue eyes were wide, his breath coming with little panicky gasps. “We didn’t make those cuts. You’ve got to tell him we took the best care of you. Tell him we tried to stop you.”

“Rough me up!” I demanded. “I’m violent. Maybe I’m a dangerous murderer, you know!”

“No, no,” he gasped, stumbling back so hard he fell down.

Then he crawled over and gripped my legs.

“Please, remember us to him! Didn’t you have three wonderful years here?”

I shook him off.

His weakness repulsed me.

There was a slick sheen of sweat on my chest and I was panting.

I had just brought that baton down on the fake Sheriff’s headlights when I heard a rumble of gravel in the distance and turned to see Saul’s Jeep.

Shit

Gripping the baton tightly in my fist, I turned and ran.

I ran blindly, madly, not trying to keep to the path. Not watching where I was going. Not being cautious.

Because I knew I didn’t matter.

I knew my big, angry husband would come find me no matter where I went.

And it was only a few terrifying moments before I heard him behind me.

“Get the fuck over here and let me bandage your arm up,” he ordered angrily.

“I’m fine, fine.”

“Get the fuck over here.”

I turned and walked back and instantly his hands were on me, cleaning my arm with an antiseptic that stung and stunk, and then wrapping the whole length of it up with gauze.

“I’m fine,” I repeated. “Just fucking fine.”

He carefully brushed the back of a rough knuckle down my cheek, then looked me all over.

My body heated at his hard-eyed perusal.

I didn’t know he could be so gentle.

“Why the—why the fuck did you do this for me?” I asked, wiping my cheeks.

“Mama, I want you to have everything you desire. And I know you love cute as fuck little mountain towns. You used to talk about living in the mountains senior year.”

“What if what I wan t is to escape you?” I demanded breathlessly, my eyes fixed on his broad midsection, not daring to look up.

“You don’t really want that,” Saul said.

“I want someone nice and sweet,” I retorted without thinking. “Like William.”

It was dangerous work baiting my jealous, violent husband but I felt reckless, wild, furious at William and everyone else for betraying me, acting like it was all real.

But he only chuckled.

“No you don’t,” he laughed. “Your little cunt wouldn’t do shit for a weakling like him. You’d be dry as a fucking cactus. Now pick me a switch.”

“Excuse me?” I yelped.

“You heard me. Pick out a switch. You ran away from me and hurt yourself on purpose. That’s not allowed. You must be punished.”

“I will not!” I said, stomping my feet.

“I can’t believe for a moment I almost—”

“Almost what?” Saul asked, pouncing. “Say it and I won’t punish you.”

I tightened my lips, swallowed my words.

“Say it,” he hissed, looming over me, and I shuddered at the feel of those big rough hands.

Brutal and hard, it was impossible that I could feel anything for him.

“No!”

“Then go find a switch.”

But every one I found was wrong.

“Not big enough.”

“Not hard enough.”

“That one’s not going to hurt enough.”

I sobbed in fury, the tears running down my cheeks.

Then finally I stood miserably in front of him.

“Are you ever going to let me go?” I asked, gripping the branch so hard it dug into my skin.

“ Never. The second I met you, you were the only one for me.”

“Now get across my knee.”

It was the ultimate humiliation to be forced to lie across his massive thighs.

“Pants down, Gracie.”

With trembling hands, I complied, feeling the wind whistle across my bare ass.

“Panties down, too.”

The branch felt thin and springy, making a swishing sound as he tested it experimentally.

“Remember, Mama, all you need to do is admit it. Admit you love me.”

My stomach flip-flopped over itself as I hung off his legs.

There was no good reason why good sweet Gracie O’Brien would have been fascinated by her no-good unhinged psychotic stepbrother.

Therefore it was not true.

I did not love him.

I squealed in shock and pain as the branch came down hard on my ass, my husband dragging his hands down my curves as he scraped the raw spot.

His hand was big and the callouses on his palms were rough.

What had he been doing to get the money to buy me as his wife? I wondered.

He smacked my ass again, and I bit my lip not to cry out, breathing shallowly.

But he didn’t give me any recovery time, his hand coming back in double-time to whip me twice, two sharp, angry blows on my cheeks.

My face burned in humiliation as I was forced to endure his punishment.

“This is enjoyable for me,” Saul said. “You are looking so pretty like this, Gracie. Maybe you can have a little disobedience now and again. As a treat.”

“I thought you loved me,” I said resentfully, my face smashed into his thigh.

“I do,” he said. “But you are not permitted to run away from me. Or take your ring off.”

I felt his fingers at the raw inflamed skin of my thighs as he probed between my thighs, felt the shameful wickedness there.

“I know you,” he said again, his voice low and hypnotic. “Why do you deny it? Let me give you pleasure.”

And I wasn’t ready to say anything, so I said the only other thing I could.

“I’m pregnant.”

Abruptly, he pulled me upright and settled me on his lap, crooning wicked words at me.

“ What a clever little Mama. I love you so much.”

How could he love me like this ? How could he love me this much ?

It was overwhelming.

He rolled my shirt up, pulled my bra down and licked around my nipple, my body instantly pulsing with desire as he set his cock at my entrance.

I was wet and sore, achy and throbbing, but my body was tensed in anticipation, and my head fell back as his cock split my cunt lips and he began to press in, holding me so tight my hips blossomed a bruise under his domineering grip.

My nipples stung, breasts ached, the ache and swell growing and growing, making me moan in pain, and then there was a glorious tug as my milk let down into his waiting mouth, and he pulled me all the way down until my sore ass hit his waiting thighs, but I was already grinding, groaning at the size, the weight of him, loving the pressure building in my belly, and for the first time that inner voice saying this is wanton and whorish didn’t hurt me, I only ground harder and more slutty on my husband’s cock.