Page 11 of Unholy Vows

Malachai

S o, my Little Sinner had some bite.

She wasn’t just some docile thing waiting to be taken. There was a fire in her veins. A wildness beneath her skin. And fuck if that didn’t make her even more enticing.

From the moment I had left her in the woods — wrecked, ruined, and trembling — I’d become hooked.

After logging into the camera feed from her apartment, I’d watched her all night, tossing and turning as sleep remained elusive.

Satisfaction had sparked within me, knowing I had crawled beneath her skin and made a home there. I’d burrowed into the fragile space of her psyche, where fear and desire tangled. She couldn’t shake me off, as hard as she tried. I was inside her now, writhing and pulsing.

I didn’t need to touch her to own her. She was already mine.

The moment she stepped outside her apartment, I shadowed her, lurking just beyond the edge of her awareness.

When she raised her head and her pretty brown eyes locked onto me standing at the end of the aisle, she froze, her terror holding her in place.

Her breathing hitched, and her pulse trembled beneath her skin.

Knowing how much I rattled her made me downright fucking delirious.

She was my drug of choice, and I was addicted.

I could have stopped there.

Let her believe I had melted into the crowd and disappeared.

But I craved more.

I wanted to watch as her paranoia took root. I needed to see her eyes widen with terror when she realized I’d never left.

The moment she found the devil mask, neatly placed on her bed, something inside her snapped. When she peered out her window and saw me standing across the street, head tilted, waiting for her reaction, I’d expected her fear to resurface.

I had wanted to see it coil around her ribs and slither into her thoughts.

I wanted her to question her entire fucking existence.

Was I real, or was I just another nightmare she could not wake from?

But my Little Sinner surprised me.

Her features twisted into a vicious snarl, and she looked like she was ready to tear me apart.

She could claw and snap all she liked. I couldn’t wait for her to sink her teeth into my flesh.

Hell, I welcomed it.

I longed to feel the sharp sting of her resistance. To be reminded that I was claiming something untamed.

Her fight would only fuel my need for more.

Every struggle, every bite, every scrape of her nails against my skin was a punishment I’d gladly embrace.

I wanted her desperation because the moment she surrendered to me, that would be the moment she sealed her fate.

That single thought occupied my mind the entire way to the shipping yard. Layla’s defiance had turned my cock to steel, and it had taken every ounce of my willpower to leave instead of breaking into her apartment and pinning her to the floor while I fucked her senseless.

The way she glared at me, the contempt in her eyes, her lip curled in disgust — it was the most potent aphrodisiac.

It was a fire I wanted to stoke until she was consumed by it… Consumed by me.

If it hadn’t been for my dear friend Roger, I would have surrendered to my baser needs.

I glanced at the man, bound and gagged, as he sat on the only piece of furniture inside the shipping container. A crude metal chair that I’d bolted to the floor. It was the kind of chair that was extremely uncomfortable, and it would leave grooves in your skin if you remained in it for too long.

Unfortunately for Roger, he had occupied it for the last twelve hours. He’d likely lost feeling in his legs by now, but that was the least of his worries.

Roger’s gaze darted to me. His breathing was shallow and erratic. His entire body trembled, and his shirt was damp with cold sweat.

He reeked of fear.

“Roger, Roger, Roger,” I sighed, crouching before him and pulling the gag from his mouth.

He sucked in a lungful of air as spit trailed down his chin. It was pitiful, really, the way he gasped for breath like a fish ripped from water.

I tilted my head, watching him with detached amusement. “What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“P-please,” he whined. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

I tsked. “Now, why don’t I believe you, Roger?”

His lower lip quivered, and tears welled in his eyes. A single drop rolled down his fat cheek, disturbing the grime that stained his skin.

I took my time removing my gloves, peeling them off one finger at a time before dropping them to the floor.

The act was deliberate.

Calculated.

A silent promise of the patience I would wield with what was to come.

Roger swallowed roughly. His eyes darted between my hands and the gleaming array of tools laid out beside me.

“Let’s make things simple, alright, Roger?”

He nodded frantically, eager to be free of my torment.

Naive fool.

“For every truth you share with me, I will refrain from removing the flesh from your bones.”

His entire body tensed, and his fingers curled into the arms of the chair.

“I’m begging you,” he wailed. “There’s nothing else I can tell you.”

I sighed, disappointed. Roger was likely telling me the truth. The man had a weak constitution, and I doubted he had it in him to withstand any form of torture.

Still, it didn’t hurt to make sure.

My fingers traced a lazy pattern along his wrist, pressing lightly over the veins.

“If you won’t help me, Roger, we’ll have to get creative.”

Roger whimpered as I reached into the pocket of my jacket and retrieved a pair of pliers. I turned them over in my hand, studying them. “Do you know what happens when you apply enough pressure to a fingernail, Roger?”

He shook his head violently, and his voice cracked as he said, “Please, I —”

He cut himself off, but I remained silent, giving him the opportunity to continue.

“I don’t know who he is. I only met him once at the underground club. He wore a baseball cap low over his eyes, and he barely spoke to me. I doubt I’d even recognize him again if we were to cross paths.”

The underground club he mentioned was where men of a certain caliber indulged in illicit acts that would turn most stomachs.

Roger was no exception. If anything, his penchant for children made him one of the worst.

At my dissatisfied expression, he continued in a rush, “He was looking for someone. He didn’t mention a name, only that he had been searching for them for a long time. That’s all he told me. It’s all I know.”

“Good boy,” I murmured, patting his cheek.

I stood, circling him slowly. The heavy thud of my boots echoed in the confined space, and with each step, Roger descended further into his spiraling panic. His shoulders tensed, and he hunched forward as if he could make himself smaller, less of a target.

Ironic, really.

The acrid smell of his fear offended my nostrils as it mingled with the metallic scent of old blood and the stale air inside the container. Roger had been foolish enough to boast about his encounter with The Boston Phantom. A decision I was sure he was now regretting.

I exhaled a slow breath.

Roger was a liar, but he was also spineless. If he were holding back, it wouldn’t take much more to break him.

“But you can do better than that.”

“I’ve told you everything,” he cried as tears spilled down his cheeks.

I moved toward my tools laid out on my tray. I’d barely reached for them, and the man was already beside himself.

Pathetic. Weak. A fucking waste of my time.

“I don’t know anything else, I swear!”

“You talked at the club like you two were best friends.”

Roger threw his head back and wailed. He thrashed against his bindings; the rope tearing through his flesh as fresh blood pooled at the site. When he realized how futile his efforts were, he gave up his fight and slumped forward in his chair.

I stared down at him. At the broken man before me. Perhaps I should feel pity or disdain for the guy I had reduced to a trembling mess.

But all I felt was mild irritation.

I’d been chasing The Boston Phantom for months with no progress. He was a shadow, protected by the darkness as he hunted. He was also meticulous. Precise. He left no trace of himself behind for the police or anyone else to find.

He was turning out to be my biggest challenge yet, and I was fucking salivating at the thought of finally cornering him.

Roger swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement.

“I was just trying to gain a name for myself,” Roger confessed. “Make myself seem more important, you know. Someone The Boston Phantom himself confided in.”

A dark, humorless chuckle escaped me.

“Ah, yes. What’s a better claim to fame than knowing The Boston Phantom? A man who hides in the dark and hunts prey weaker than himself,” I taunted. “That’s nothing to aspire to, Roger. He’s a coward. Of course, with the type of company you keep, I can understand why you’d think the opposite.”

Tears and snot ran down Roger’s face.

“Please, just let me go,” he sobbed. “There’s nothing else I can tell you. I’ve told you everything, I swear! I swear on my life!”

I studied my tools before selecting a scalpel. Roger’s eyes darted to mine, his pupils blown wide with panic that left him frozen in place. He shook his head frantically as he cried harder.

I grabbed his jaw and crouched before him. My fingers dug into the tender flesh beneath his chin, and Roger flinched.

A slow, cruel smile curved my lips.

“What makes you think your life holds any value to me, Roger?” I asked, as I spun the sharp implement in my hand.

I raised the blade and pressed it against his cheek. A thin line of blood rose to the surface, and Roger’s cries turned to muffled whimpers. I watched as the crimson liquid rolled down his face, carving a path through his ruined skin before soaking the collar of his already destroyed shirt.

Roger’s sobs quieted, and his chest heaved as he tried to compose himself.

“What more do you want from me?” he whispered.

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

I craned a brow, and Roger licked his lips.

“And if I can’t give you what you want?”

I smiled then. That perfect, practiced expression. The one that had fooled so many. The wide, megawatt smile that left my female parishioners swooning and the men emptying their wallets into the collection plate.

“There’s still one more thing you can do for me, Roger.”

Suspicion danced in his blue irises, but there was something else there, too.

Something much more powerful.

Hope.

Roger shifted uncomfortably in his chair before he cleared his throat.

“What’s that?”

“Die.”

Before Roger could grasp my words, I was moving. The scalpel flew across his neck in one fluid motion. The sharp blade parted his flesh effortlessly, and a crimson spray erupted from the wound. His blood painted my jacket, and I took a step back to avoid being hit by the arterial fountain.

Roger’s eyes widened in a mixture of shock and terror as his reflexes kicked in, and he gasped. A wet, ragged noise filled the silence as his blood cascaded down his windpipe. The gurgling sound grated against my senses as I waited for him to hurry up and die.

Roger clawed at the steel arms of the chair as his fight drained away with each pulse of blood. The light in his eyes dimmed, and then his struggles gradually faded until he stilled.

I rolled my shoulders, and the tension I’d been carrying there melted away.

“About fucking time.”

I wiped my palm over my face and blew out a breath as I surveyed the mess in front of me.

It was going to be a long fucking night.