Page 33 of The Ecstasy of Sin

More tears threaten to fall with the reminder of all that I’ve lost—essentially everything but my life—but I hold them at bay.

My mind is foggy and my limbs are heavy. It feels like a stress migraine is threatening to worm its way through my brain. I wince as I lay back into the cot, pulling the blanket up over my head and curling in on myself.

Everything aches. My back, my lungs, and my bruised throat. It hurts every time I swallow.

Even my soul feels broken. I’ve lost so much already, and it never ends. It’s one terrible day after another, and my heart can’t take it much longer.

Tonight, I’m turning everything off and letting the quiet oblivion of sleep take me. Tomorrow, I’ll figure things out. I’ve got nothing left for anything else today.

I’m out in minutes, the exhaustion too much, with the memory of Dominic willing to risk everything to save my life wrapping around me like armor.

CHAPTER 10

Dominic

Socialmediaisastalker’s best friend.

If Wren hadn’t shared a new post to her Instagram account, tagging the Trinity Hill Public Library, I wouldn’t have been able to find her today.

Imagine my excitement when I refreshed her feed for the hundredth time that morning to see a new picture of her latest library loan, a romance book, set on the stage of a scuffed wooden table next to disposable cup full of steamy tea. Her caption was simple: "Meeting a new book boyfriend tonight."

Even the thought of a fictional man having her attention makes my skin crawl.

I grabbed my jacket and hopped on my motorcycle before I even had time to contemplate how this day would play out. All I knew is I found her, and I needed to make sure I never lost her again.

My blood thrums as I shadow her through the bustle of downtown Toronto, slipping between pedestrians and ducking behind crowds each time her curious gaze sweeps the street.

At one point, I get too close, my hand reaching out to grab a strand of her long brown hair as the wind catches it. It slips through my fingers, and my body aches with her proximity. Theobsession burns hotter, and I’m on fire with the need to have more of her. To have all of her.

This obsession is a new strain of sickness that has taken root in my very soul, tethering me to her. Like a moth to the flame, the madness drives me to spiral right into her radiant light. She is warmth and softness, everything I’m not—and there is nothing I want more than to corrupt the light of her with the darkness of me.

Just as I start to fall back, some dumb motherfucker slams into her, jostling her to the side. For the briefest of moments, she catches my gaze, and like the skilled predator that I am, I slip into the crowd before her eyes can cling to mine.

The red-hot bite of rage fills me as I turn away from my girl, falling into step behind the man that walked into her. He’s muttering to himself—slurred, incoherent shit I couldn’t care less about. He caused Wren pain. That’s going to cost him.

The second we pass by an alleyway, I grab the back of his jacket and force him into the narrow corridor wedged between two towering buildings. He stumbles ahead of me, flailing as I shove him deeper into the shadows.

He turns to yell at me, profanity already on his lips, only to be met with my fist as it rockets across his face. The impact is so hard, something cracks, and the skin of my knuckles split open

The sickening sound echoes between the walls, his pained moan like music to my ears. I draw my dagger from the sheath at my lower back and slam the pommel into his nose, just to hear the wet crunch of cartilage breaking. Another note in the symphony of his agony.

Pleasure surges through me as he collapses to his knees, his hands flying up to clutch his bleeding face as blood sprays across the filthy pavement. He cries out, a plea for mercy on his lips, as if that will fucking save him now.

I lift my foot and kick him square in the chest with my heavy black boot, knocking him into the unforgiving concrete at his back. His head crashes into the wall, and something pops, as blood sprays across the graffiti-covered wall behind him.

If we were anywhere but the middle of the fucking city, I’d slit his fucking throat and carve his head from his body, to leave for Wren as a gift. It’s too fucking bad that I can’t, because the thought of ending him right here has my cock straining against my zipper.

He’s unconscious now, slumped over like discarded trash. Blood blooms behind his head, and his hair turns dark and thick with blood.

The aching need to cause more damage overwhelms me, so I take a step closer to him and wrap my hand around his throat.

"You should have found someone else to take your shitty mood out on. Now you'll die, because she belongs to me, and no one else gets to touch her." I know he can't hear me, but it doesn't matter.

I grip his neck and pull him forward, then I bash his skull against the cement—over and over again. Euphoria zips through me, and I welcome the rush.

He starts to convulse, which is when I release him and step away. Foam and vomit spew from between his lips, and his chest heaves as his body dies.

I take a moment to savor the beautiful brutality I’ve laid out in this filthy fucking alleyway, grounding myself in the pleasure of his suffering, before spitting at his feet with a scowl on my face.