Page 10 of Sons of Hellfire (Hellfire Society #1)

ten

Ali

I just couldn’ t mind my own fucking business.

No, I had to have a bleeding heart in a sicko’s fucking twisted game of killing.

Did I feel bad about killing the clown earlier?

A smidge, but he was the one who attacked me.

What was I supposed to do, let him kill me?

Nope, I don’t think so. Then the big scary fucker with the faceless mask just watched.

Watched as I was getting assaulted by some freaky-as-fuck clown and said nothing. Can we say creep? CREEP.

Honestly, I probably should have killed the guy, but after the clown fuck, I didn’t know how to feel.

Have I killed someone before? Yes. But that’s what you get for grabbing a chick who is just minding her own business, walking home.

I reacted. Anyone would do the same if they were in my shoes.

I didn’t feel bad, but I wasn’t exactly ready.

When the faceless creep made no move to attack, I figured it was some fragile peace treaty and took the chance to walk away and regroup.

Then, not even ten minutes later, I stumble upon a group of masked assholes ganging up on a single guy with a muzzle.

I don’t know why, but I just felt like I couldn’t let them hurt him.

At least make it fair with a one-on-one or even a two-on-one, but a four-on-one?

Come on. We’re all human beings, not mindless beasts.

When some kinky, costume-looking guy jumped on the muzzled man, I surged forward.

Reaching forward, I gripped the scantily clad man by the head and yanked.

He released his grip on the muzzle guy and fell to the dirt ground.

He grunted out at the impact before trying to jump up.

After the creepy fucker and clown encounter, I decided I couldn’t afford to hesitate, so without thinking too hard, I jumped on the guy.

He reached up to grab at me, an ugly sneer on his lips, but I started pounding into his flesh.

It’s him or me. It’s him or me. It’s him or me.

I tell myself over and over, knowing he could be like me, kidnapped and now just trying to survive, but I’m trying to survive too, and it’s me or him.

I will choose myself every time. Blood splatters my skin, the liquid hot as it paints my body a vivid red.

Deep down, not deep enough, I almost get a spark of excitement.

For now, I’m gonna tell myself it’s the adrenaline.

Yeah. That’s it. My body’s chemical response to this entire situation and not the small spark of joy I’m getting from ending someone’s life. No, that would be crazy.

But then why am I smiling as I continue to punch this person over and over?

At this point, I don’t think he is recognizable.

Oops. Maybe killing is like getting high…

you feel really good doing it before you crash and feel shitty afterwards.

Could that be why serial killers kill? They want that high. Food for thought later.

A cry of pain has me snapping my head behind me.

I watch as the muzzle guy stands there and watches the ghost face guy hold at his chest. I frown as the guy rips off his mask, blood pouring from his mouth.

Huh, wonder how he did that? Muzzle guy isn’t holding a knife or anything, but I do spot one on the ground.

Slowly, I climb off the now, I think, dead guy; keeping my movements slow, I decide to slip away.

I did my good deed for the day. Now I need to find somewhere to hide out until daybreak.

Mr. Muzzle guy suddenly moves, causing me to freeze, but instead of coming after me, he is in front of Frankenstein.

Despite knowing it’s my opportunity to escape, my focus is drawn back to a knife’s glint on the ground, shining like a spotlight in the moonlight.

I would be better off with a weapon but need to move fast. Just because I helped this guy doesn’t mean he will want to repay the favor by just letting me walk away.

Making the decision to go for the weapon and take my chances, I move.

Just as I reach the blade and I’m about to dart away into the shadows, Frankenstein drops to the ground a few feet away.

The thump of his body echoing off the decrepit buildings surrounding us. Shit.

What are the odds I could still make it? Doubtful. Fuck my life. Well, it’s me or him.

Me. Or. Him.

I choose me.

I move, fast as lightning, and bring up the blade right as Mr. Muzzle slowly turns in my direction.

The blade sits right at the hollow of his throat as we take each other in, calculating our odds.

Mr. Muzzle is fucking hot. His bright green eyes light up as he takes me in.

Even with the muzzle covering his mouth, I can see him grinning.

I narrow my eyes at him. He has short, dark hair shaved on the side and a silver mohawk up the middle.

He’s wearing a ripped-up white tank and dark gray sweatpants.

Why the grey sweatpants? Ugh. Some loosely tied black combat boots adorn his feet, and as I glance my eyes back up his body, I notice the monster bulge pressing against the cotton fabric of his pants. Fuckkkk… he’s huge.

“You’re even more beautiful awake than you are unconscious.” Mr. Muzzle purrs, and my eyes jump back up to his. I frown, confused by his words.

“Do I know you?” I ask. This time I really look at him. Maybe he was one of the guys who kidnapped me? But even as I think that, I know it’s not true.

“I’m your husband.” He says all matter-of-factly. I also notice the man hasn’t flinched once at the fact my knife is at his throat.

I snort at his words. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t married.” I lift my left hand and wiggle my ring finger. “See, no ring.” I add.

He just hums before glancing behind me and nodding a little.

“How did it feel?” I frown. I know he can see it because my stupid bunny mask only covers my eyes and forehead.

“Killing the kinky fucker? I bet you enjoyed it,” he adds.

I shrug in response; he doesn’t need to know I’m soaked from this entire scene playing out.

Is something wrong with me? Probably. Okay, most definitely.

“You did, didn’t you? If I were to reach my hand into your shorts, I bet you would be soaked.

Wouldn’t you?” He steps forward, pressing his throat further into the blade.

A small droplet of blood forms, and something in me snaps. I take my own step back .

“What is your name?” I demand. My blade is still at his throat, but no longer drawing the red liquid.

“Riot.” Slowly, so I can see what he’s doing, he raises his arms, hands coming up to land on my waist. I don’t move. “The moment I saw you, I knew you were mine.” He says, fingers rubbing against my bare skin. I still don’t move.

Why aren’t I moving?

Slowly, his fingers catch on the edge of my jean shorts and, with practiced moves I don’t want to think about, snap open the button. He glides his hands against my flesh, lower and lower, until his fingers are brushing my sensitive clit. Fuck.

Why am I letting this happen? Am I that sex-starved? When was the last time I got some? I can almost hear the crickets chirping away at my thoughts. Damn, it’s been a while. But why now? Why is my brain and body choosing now to scratch a damn itch?

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t realize Riot had moved.

His free hand grabs my hand with the knife, and then we are shuffling back.

My back slamming against an old barn wall.

He decides at that moment to shove three fingers inside me, and I couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped if I wanted to.

The stretch followed by the pinch of pain is delicious.

I toss my head back, thumping on the wall.

He skims his masked cover nose up my throat, and I breathe him in.

Copper and something heady, it makes my head spin.

“See, I knew it. You’re soaked. Is it for me?

Are you soaked for me, Ali?” My entire body stiffens.

How does he know my name? Before I can ask, he is pulling out and slamming back in.

Do I really care that he knows my name? That’s a later me problem.

If there’s a chance I might die in the next few days, then maybe I should take advantage of this moment.

Fuck it. It’s the little joys in life.

With that in mind, I drop the knife, reach forward, and tug down Riot’s sweatpants.

Monster cock was the correct description.

He is massive. And pierced. Damn kryptonite.

Taking a wild guess, I reach forward and grip his cock in a tight hold.

Riot groans as a shudder runs through his body.

I grin in satisfaction. “Fuckkkk, baby. See, made for me.” He thrusts his hips, his cock jerking in my hand.

“I would love to take my time to thoroughly fuck you into next week, but we don’t have much time.

So I need you to hang on, baby.” The next thing I know, it’s his turn to rip down my jeans and spin me around.

My front gets pushed into the old wooden panels, and a thrill runs up my spine as Riot lines himself up.

This all feels so erotic, so forbidden, and yet so right.

With our last breath, Riot slams into me.

We both moan at the feeling, the sound filling the night.

He only allows us to enjoy the moment for half a second before he starts to thrust. The cold metal of his piercing that lines the bottom of his cock rubs against my insides.

The feeling is euphoric. “God, I was made for you. I fit so perfectly. Don’t I, little Beasty?

” I nod rapidly, not really hearing his words, but agreeing wholeheartedly.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He adds as his pace picks up.

I feel like I’m going to explode as he fucks me into the wall. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He says. Reaching forward between my legs, he finds my clit and pinches. The wave of the orgasm I’ve been cresting falls, and I go sailing over the edge. My entire body lights up with tingles.

I’ve never felt this during or after sex. Have I been doing it wrong?

Moments later, Riot is tumbling over the edge right after me. My core is flooding with hot liquid. I should be concerned we didn’t use protection, but I’m just not. Later Ali can figure this one out. Sorry, not sorry.

Riot slowly pulls out, and I quickly bend, pulling up my jeans.

This is not a time I want to be caught with my pants down.

Hoping he doesn’t notice, I also grab the knife I dropped, pressing it against the back of my arm and keeping it hidden.

Slowly I turn to find Riot, putting away his still wet dick.

I almost pout when I can no longer see it. Almost.

“Alright, Beastie, let’s go find my brothers.

I’m sure they are looking for me already.

” He nods his head in the direction of the shadows, but his words keep running around in my mind.

His brothers. Does he think I’m going to fuck his brothers too?

I mean, I’ve never been with more than one guy at a time.

I’ve thought about it a time or two. Porn stars look very satisfied with more than one, but this is the real world.

Well, it was until I was kidnapped and forced to play in somebody’s sick cat-and-mouse game.

That thought clears my sex-riddled brain.

Yeah, I’m not going anywhere with him. I give Riot a quick once-over, almost feeling bad for what I’m about to do.

Almost. With a quick and practiced move, I spin the knife so it’s back in my hand.

As he turns away to lead, I call out. “Sorry, I had a really good time. Sex was aaaamazing, but I’m better on my own.

” His head snaps to me, eyes coming up to meet mine at my words, but it’s too late; my blade is already swinging.

I aim for his tree trunk-looking thighs, and I hold back some, enough to break skin but not do too much damage.

I make the hard choice of leaving the knife behind, and once I make impact, I spin on my heel and take off.

“You can run, little Beastie, but you can’t hide.” I just hit the far shadows when he adds. “I’ll be coming for you, wife.” I smirk at his words as I dodge between builds.

What a strange nickname for a stranger you just met, fucked, and then stabbed you.

Men are weird.

W hat is wrong with me? I just fucked a stranger in a serious game of life or death. Best sex of my life, but still. Then I stab him in the leg and run off like the scared little bunny I’m dressed as. Ugh. Something is seriously wrong with me. None of this is okay.

After getting what I’m hoping is far enough away, I finally slow my pace.

I take in my new surroundings, listening for anyone else that could jump out from the shadows.

When all I hear is the wind blowing, I finally take my first real breath.

Leaning up against an old dead tree, I think about my next move.

The right thing to do would be to find somewhere that I could either reinforce or a hidey hole that can fit my small form.

With this being an old town, I doubt anywhere has a place that could hold up to someone trying to get in.

So, hidey hole it is. I start my search, focusing on the building that might have gaps underneath its structure.

It takes me about another ten minutes, but I find a small building that looks old enough that a stiff wind could blow it over.

That might keep out anyone big, thinking the floor might not hold their weight, plus what big-ass dude is going to try to climb underneath this place?

Using my mind-over-matter trick, I tell myself there aren’t any spiders or creepy crawly things trying to hide out with me.

Then I’m climbing in. It’s dark. Like pitch black, but the dark never scared me.

I move until I hit the far wall, knowing that if anyone did look in my space, they wouldn’t see anything but darkness.

Getting comfortable in the dirt, I wince as a couple of pebbles jab into my back.

I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait, but I read something about it taking three days to die of dehydration.

At best, I could survive the next few days of blood baths.

Worst case, I’ll have to venture out and kill someone again.

Damn it. Why did I leave the fucking knife?