Page 33 of Unholy Vows

Malachai

T he sound of Layla’s screams sent me sprinting down the hall of the disused office space with inhuman speed. My pulse spiked, and adrenaline coursed through my veins.

I knew this sensation: I’d felt it once before, as a child, when I fell into the local pool before I could swim.

Fear.

If I had more time, I would stop and soak it in. The fact that I was feeling anything was enough to give me pause.

But Layla needed me.

When I reached the only closed door in the building, I lifted my boot and slammed it against the wood. It splintered in a violent explosion, coming clean off its hinges and crashing into the wall.

My eyes scanned the room before they fell on her. She was bound to a chair, the front of her dress torn wide, and crimson stained her perfect skin.

She’d been hurt.

He’d hurt her.

The wound on her chest flooded the room with the heavy scent of blood. It was metallic, dizzying, and it sent rage coursing through my bloodstream, the likes of which I had never experienced before.

He’d dared to touch what didn’t belong to him.

MY FUCKING GIRL!

The Boston Phantom turned stunned eyes on me. The scalpel in his hand trembled as he took in the scene — Layla tied to the chair, bleeding but still breathing. Me standing in the doorway, the embodiment of unrestrained fury.

He glanced toward the exit. I saw the flicker of cold calculation flashing in his gaze as he weighed his chances of escape.

But it was too late for that.

I was already moving.

The room narrowed until he was all I could see. Everything else, the grimy walls, the blood-stained floor, the smell of iron and fear, all faded away.

A primal, animalistic snarl ripped from my throat. The sound dripped with wrath and retribution.

He lunged for the door, but I was faster.

My shoulder crashed into his chest with a bone-breaking force, slamming him into the wall so hard the drywall cracked. The scalpel scattered from his hand, useless, as my fingers locked around his throat and squeezed .

The Phantom choked, clawing at my wrist, but I hardly felt it.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” I said, the words guttural and thick with menace.

He kicked out, catching me in the thigh with his foot. Pain shot up my leg, but I only saw red.

The knife in my grip fucking vibrated with my fury as my fingers tightened around his throat. His gaze met mine — his eyes wide, his mouth slack with terror. For a split second, we just stared at each other.

Then, I plunged my knife into his flesh.

The impact was sickening.

My blade met resistance — soft at first, then dense. The steel sank deep, cutting through muscle and slicing past ribs.

The Phantom screamed. A pathetic, garbled sound. It only spurred me on. I ripped the knife free and drove it in again.

Once.

Twice.

His hands flailed, scratching, hitting, pushing, but I didn’t relent.

I barely felt the warmth of his blood as it gushed over my hand. When I twisted the blade, shoving it deeper, all resistance fell away.

The Phantom gasped in pain, but it wasn’t enough.

I wanted to rip him apart.

My hand moved without conscious thought as I drove him back. Each stab was like a heartbeat, and each heartbeat was a death sentence.

He stumbled to the floor and tried to crawl away. His hands were slick with his own blood, leaving streaks across the ground like a wounded animal.

I grabbed his ankle, dragging him back to me. Flipping him over, I straddled his chest, raining down blow after blow.

Knife. Fist. Elbow.

Anything that would cause more pain.

The Phantom’s face caved under the assault. His blood sprayed in every direction, hot and sticky. It coated my arms, my neck, my face, but I didn’t stop until his body was unrecognizable, reduced to nothing but blood and pulp, broken bones, and shattered flesh.

Then he started to beg.

Not with words. He was no longer capable of speaking.

With small whimpers, wet gurgles, and the instinctual cries of prey, realizing the predator would not be merciful.

I gripped my knife with both hands and drove it into the space just below his collarbone. When the joint gave way, the Phantom convulsed. His body twitched beneath me, no longer fighting, simply reacting. His limbs jerked and his chest hitched as blood bubbled up his throat.

And then the room fell silent.

My breathing was ragged, and my whole body trembled.

Not from fear, but from the need to keep going.

My mind screamed at me, feral and frantic, telling me not to stop, that it wasn’t over yet.

My hands were numb and slick with gore, and everywhere I looked, crimson coated the floor, the walls, even the ceiling.

I forced myself to inhale, but my heart still thundered like it wanted out.

Then she whimpered, and it almost stopped completely.

I rushed to her side, cut through the rope binding her, and pulled her into my lap as I took her place on the chair. She collapsed against my chest, and sobs racked her body as she clung to me for dear life.

“Shh, baby, I’m here. I’m here.”

My blood-stained palms rubbed up and down her back as I rocked her.

“I’d kill him again,” I growled. “If I could, I’d bring him back and fucking kill him again and again for ever touching you.”

Her trembling fingers curled against my ruined shirt.

“You don’t understand.”

My hands gripped the sides of her face as I tilted her head up to look at me.

“What don’t I understand?”

She shook her head as more tears fell from her eyes.

“Tell me.”

Her wide eyes studied me as she pinched her lip between her teeth.

“He was the man from college.”

My body stiffened with rage. I knew all about Layla’s sexual assault. I’d left no stone unturned when I’d infiltrated her life, and that included her confidential medical files.

“He said he killed all those women because they reminded him of me.”

Layla angled her face to the side, unable to look at me.

“The one who got away.”

That fucking bastard deserved to die a hundred times over. He’d gotten off too easily.

I gripped her chin with my thumb and forefinger, gently turning her head until our gazes locked.

“You’re mine.” The words were a claim, a vow, a promise. “You belong to me, and only me. Remember that.”

I lifted Layla from my lap and carried her in my arms over to the broken leather couch, where I set her down. Then I lowered myself to the ground and soaked my palms in the Phantom's blood.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Protecting what’s mine.”

Lifting my hands, I painted Layla’s body with the crimson liquid. A shocked gasp escaped her, and she peered up at me, uncertain.

I gripped her chin once more, lowering my mouth to hers.

“I’m going to fuck you in his blood, Little Sinner.”

Fear twisted her features, but the unmistakable flare of desire soon followed.

“Then every time you think of him from this day forward, you will remember that he is dead, and you survived. My touch will erase his. And when I’m done fucking you so hard you can’t walk straight, it won’t be fear his memory triggers, it will be fucking need .

He no longer has a claim on you. I own you: body, mind, and soul. You. Are. Mine.”

Her eyes glanced in his direction, and I snarled.

“Say it,” I demanded as I pushed the hem of her dress to her waist.

Her gaze snapped back to me, and she inhaled a sharp breath.

“I’m yours.”

A rumble of approval worked its way up my throat, and I wasted no time unbuckling my belt and shedding my pants. Layla trembled in my hold, but it was no longer fear feeding her.

A sadistic smirk tipped my lips as my eyes narrowed in on the wet spot staining her panties.

My Little Sinner was soaked.

She didn’t flee from my depravity; she fucking basked in it!

Tearing her underwear aside, I lined myself up with her entrance and snapped my hips forward, sinking myself deep inside her. A groan spilled from my lips at the feeling of her tight cunt clenching my cock.

Layla whimpered as her body struggled to stretch around my girth, but I didn’t give her time to adjust. I pulled back, only to slam forward again, burying myself to the hilt.

“Fuck,” I hissed through clenched teeth as pleasure zapped up my spine. “You feel so fucking good, Little Sinner.”

My vision darkened as I stared down at her.

“You feel like mine.”

“More.”

“I won’t coddle you, Layla,” I warned. “I’m going to destroy my pussy.”

Her eyes narrowed as she glared at me, daring me to do my worst.

Fuck! Thank you, God, for the gift of this deranged little psycho!

I swear I heard him snort, as if to say, “Like I had anything to do with it!”

Whether she was sent from God or the fallen son, I didn’t care. All that mattered was that she was here, and she was mine!

I leaned closer and gripped the torn edges of her dress. In one smooth motion, I ripped it from her frame, exposing her body and her perfect breasts.

My tongue lapped at the blood trickling down her sternum, and I was relieved to see that the cut was only minor. I pressed my lips to the tarnished flesh and kissed it reverently.

My hands roamed over her before settling on her hips. I dug my fingers into the flesh of her ass and lifted. The new angle allowed me to drive my cock deeper, hitting that magical spot that made her see God.

“Malachai,” she said with a breathy moan.

The sound of my name falling from her lips turned me feral.

I pounded into her wet heat as I dipped my head and took one peaked nipple into my mouth and then the other.

My tongue swirled over the bud before my teeth clamped down and tugged.

Layla’s back arched off the couch, and she ground her hips against mine, meeting me thrust for thrust.

“Malachai, please.”

I smiled against her breast, letting her nipple slip free as I kissed my way up her neck until I reached the shell of her ear.

“Beg me to make you come.”

“Please,” she repeated. “Please make me come.”

Her begging made me even more unhinged, desperate to mark her in any way I could: with my blood, my teeth, my come.

I bit my tongue until copper flooded my mouth. Then I crashed my lips against hers, driving my tongue inside her mouth and devouring her with punishing strokes. I forced her to taste my blood, and only when the need for air became impossible to ignore, did I tear myself away.

Layla gasped as she filled her starving lungs, and I kissed my way down the column of her throat until I reached the juncture between her shoulder and her neck.

My fingers trailed down her body, brushing against her breasts and over her stomach, making her shiver. When I reached the apex of her thighs, I slid my hand between us and rubbed her clit in time with my thrusts.

Low, tortured moans filled the room, and I lowered my mouth to her throat. I could feel her racing towards her climax. Her inner walls tightened around my cock, forcing me to suck in a sharp breath.

“Come for me, Little Sinner,” I demanded, my voice strained as I fought against my own release, needing her to fall first.

When she was right on the edge, I sank my teeth into the tender flesh of her throat, and she screamed as her orgasm took her.

I chased after her, my hips bucking wildly as I fucked her into the ruined couch.

Pleasure surged low in my body before my balls tightened, and I emptied myself inside her.

Euphoria claimed me, and I pressed every inch of myself against Layla as we both caught our breath.

Her dark brown eyes gazed up at me with longing, and she cupped my cheeks with her palms.

“I love you,” she confessed. “I know you might never feel the same… can’t,” she corrected, “and this may just be my trauma response talking, but I want you to know.”

I watched as her resolve strengthened. “I love you,” she repeated.

My gaze darted between her eyes as I assessed her.

“I might not understand love, Little Sinner, but I know this: I can’t live without you.

Not because I don’t want to, but because I’m incapable of it.

When you’re not near, I feel an incessant need to hunt you down.

It starts as an itch I can’t scratch. Then it spreads, growing stronger until I want to claw myself apart just to find relief.

The only thing that soothes the ache is you.

From that first moment in the woods, it was like I imprinted on you. And there’s no going back.”

A small smile curved her lips.

“Like a baby duck?”

My brows furrowed in confusion, and she burst out laughing.

“Never mind.”

“I don’t know if that’s love, Little Sinner, but every piece of me, every jagged edge, it’s yours, and I don’t want it back.”

Layla’s eyes filled with tears, and she surged forward, kissing me feverishly. When she broke the kiss, she rested her forehead against mine.

“That’s better than love.”

“I’m glad you find my response amenable because I wasn’t letting you go if you didn’t.”

Layla laughed again.

“I’m serious.”

“I’m aware,” she said as she wrapped her arms around my neck. “Take me away from here.”

I pulled my pants back into place and lifted Layla into my arms, carrying her towards the door.

“Wait. How did you know where to find me?”

“The tracking implant,” I shrugged.

“The what?”

“I broke into your apartment one night and inserted a tracking implant into your shoulder.”

She twisted in my hold until she was facing me.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

Layla jumped out of my arms and tried to pull her torn dress around her naked body. I reached around the back of my neck and pulled my shirt over my head, offering it to her. She growled in my direction but accepted the shirt.

Once she’d covered herself, she planted her hands on her hips and glared at me.

“When we get to my apartment, we’re going to have a very serious discussion about boundaries, Malachai.”

“Is now a bad time to tell you about hacking your phone and computer?”

Her mouth opened and closed like she was about to speak, but no words escaped her. Then she turned on her heel and stormed out the door.

“Come on, baby,” I called after her. “If I’d known you would take it so badly, I wouldn’t have said anything!”

She raised her hand and flipped me off, never once breaking her stride or looking back at me.

A wide grin spread across my face, and I jogged after her.

Fuck! Maybe I did love her.