Copyright © 2024 by Aurelia Knight

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

I offer this book in humble service of the Halloween orgasm.

CONTENTS

Content Warning

1.  Dante

2.  Tati

3.  Tati

4.  Dante

5.  Tati

6.  Dante

7.  Tati

8.  Tati

9.  Dante

10.  Tati

11.  Dante

12.  Tati

Epilogue

Also by Aurelia Knight

Acknowledgments

About the Author

CONTENT WARNING

Please proceed with caution!

This is a dark, revenge novella containing, violent, sexual, and graphic content that may be upsetting for some readers. This list contains some, not all, of the potentially triggering content.

Stalking, drugging, abduction, non/dub-con, knife play, suspension, somnophilia, primal play, ax murder, choking (to unconsciousness), exhibitionism, humiliation, degradation, and many more.

Please reach out on AureliaKnight.com for specific concerns.

CHAPTER 1

DANTE

THE DIRT from my jeans has ruined the fine settee I’ve taken up residence on inside Rosario’s mansion. I’m probably the first one who has ever sat on it or any of the other furniture. The entire lower floor resembles a showroom: untouched and dripping in wasted money.

The chandelier and gilt candle holders remind me of home: lavish, over-the-top Italian-American taste and paid for with blood money. But home isn’t a place for monsters like me. Rosario and his cohorts made sure of that.

I’m dead as far as anyone is concerned, and I have been for two years.

Small flames flicker from the candles on the edge of the mantle, and a fire burns low in the fireplace. Their proximity makes me sweat, but I can’t bring myself to get close enough to put them out. This weakness, too, is a gift from them.

A phantom burn lights my skin as they flicker like hungry, seeking animals. Memories of being trapped inside a fiery truck full of guns and explosives rip shivers through me. The smell of my skin melting off my body—the accident Rosario and his coconspirators rigged to take me out.

I’ve waited a long time to kill him.

My hatchet rests against my leg on my good side. That part of my face is still recognizable, and the muscles in my arm are still strong. The other side of my body, while able to function well enough, screams in constant pain. Nerves don’t fully heal, and the missing links in those pathways are more common than the connected ones.

The party Rosario and his new wife are attending is running longer than expected. It’s been hours waiting for the backstabbing son of a bitch to come home and meet his end. A hint of regret for the housekeeper who’s been tied up in her room for hours niggles at me. Involving the innocent is becoming too easy.

If not for my adrenaline and desperate need for revenge, I might have gotten bored of waiting for the paunchy sixty-year-old man who pretended to be like an uncle to kiss up to my father. Rather, my excitement builds to nearly unendurable heights when something finally changes.

Rocks crunch under the tires of the car moving up the drive.

He’s coming.

Someone half-dead and forever changed crawled away from that explosion, but not Dante Gemelli. The Mafia prince died long before I passed out or reached help. He was nothing but a ghost when I woke up alone, hundreds of miles away in an ICU. I still don’t know how I got there, but being forever scarred, trapped in agony, and resembling a monster wasn’t enough. The worst change was within me; a desperation to hurt others was born. That’s all thanks to them.

My grip stays loose on my hatchet, like I’m bored, like this isn’t everything to me. The door finally opens what feels like another hour later. Rosario and the eighteen-year-old girl he’s made his wife step inside. The faint light from the fireplace shows off her curves and small features. She’s stunning. Of course, he bought her for that purpose, but bought wives are rarely loyal ones.

A silly drunk smile curves her cheeks as she hangs up her purse, but then her eyes shift over to me sitting on the white satin.

“Oh my God!” She gasps, hand flying to her mouth as she makes out my shape in the shadows before Rosario even unbuttons his jacket. Her shriek alerts him to my presence, and I savor his flicker of outrage as he sees his space invaded.

“What the fuck? Rao! Where are you?”

His security guard is long gone. I would have killed Rao if I needed to, but he took one look at the mask and scars and let my reputation as an avenging ghost scare him off, making the sign of the cross as he went.

Rosario is rich but not important in the organization. He’s not offered protection, so he has to hire them from outside brokers. That desperation for more was why he was stupid enough to make his move against me. With me gone and my father without an heir, it was his best chance to grab real power from the head of the Gemelli’s.

But is it any surprise the dumb fuck still failed?

“Rosario,” his wife screeches as she tries to jump behind him, but he makes no grand attempt to protect her. Her shoulder sticks out despite him being four times her size.

“Go get help, Lia.” He pushes her back toward the door as he pulls a gun out of his waistband with a shaky hand.

“Lia,” I say calmly. “I’d like you to go upstairs, please.”

Rosario goes to flip on the lights, but I’ve cut the power. The fire illuminates our silhouettes, my mask, and the odd angle of my right arm.

“Who are you?” His voice shakes. Rosario is number eleven, and I’m sure he’s heard about the gruesome way all his friends have died. A satisfied smile pulls up my cheek on one side. The fact he hasn’t pulled that trigger means he’s as stupid as Rao. He believes I’m a ghost.

Why try to shoot what’s already dead?

“I think you know.” These words have passed my lips eleven times in the last two years, a part of my ritual that never disappoints. Every last one of them have understood what it meant when I came for them.

Lia whimpers. My ghost story is well known in certain circles, with my name spoken in whispers leading up to funerals and talks about who my ghost might be coming for next—all of them.

“Please don’t hurt us!” she cries in both their defense, but Rosario says nothing, the color draining from his weathered face. He’s aged hard in these last two years, and I can only hope it’s his fear and guilt weighing on him.

“Lia, I have no reason to hurt you. Please go upstairs, and we won’t have any problems.”

It’s a lie that I have no reason to hurt her. It would probably feel great. She reminds me of the last traitor who needs to die, with long blonde hair only a shade lighter than Tatiana’s and silvery-blue eyes like hers too. I shake my head; she’s not my little backstabber. She’s innocent.

For two years I’ve been obsessed with my list, my revenge, but most of all with the girl who flirted and chased me just to help kill me. My desire to end this, to see her hurt and bleeding, grows exponentially with every kill. The bitch is next, and that’s as close to comfort as I have.

“What about him?” Lia asks, snapping me back to the present and the task at hand. Her bravery, youth, and beauty don’t belong in this house caught between an old fucking man and a monster, and I’ve never enjoyed killing the innocent. My growing craving for it disturbs me.

“I think you should be more worried about what will happen to you if you don’t go upstairs.” I lift the hatchet. The blade holds a freshly sharpened edge, but blood stains the handle deeply.

She looks at it for one second, considering what disregarding my request will mean for her, then nods before clasping her hands together.

“Thank you, Dante. Thank you!”

Despite never meeting, she knows the stories well enough to call me by name. That’s good. Rosario worried over me and the fate I would bring him enough to confide in her. My ghost cost him sleep.

She attempts to run toward the stairs, but Rosario’s ring-covered hand strikes her across the cheek, knocking her to the ground. Her blonde hair splays out in front of her as she comes to a stop a few feet from the bottom step.

Rosario grunts in wordless outrage, stepping toward her like he might further prevent her escape. What kind of a man gets angry that his wife wants to save her own life? What a miserable fucking coward.

I’ve never loved anyone, and scarcely remember the feeling of having a family, but had I stood in a similar position with my mother or sister, the second they were gone would have been a great relief. Those feelings are foreign now, buried beneath my scars and a life of solitude and grotesque violence. Cleaving Rosario apart will be the best night I’ve had in a while.

“Touch her again, and I’ll kill you slower,” I taunt from my spot on the settee, cutting his approach short. This time she crawls away on all fours, not regaining her footing until she’s on the third step. There’s nothing more to say until she disappears, and I imagine Tatiana crawling away in a similar fashion.

“Was it worth it?” I ask, turning back to Rosario. What has he told himself about his choices over the past two years?

His plan hasn’t gone as he expected; he never took that power my absence might have allowed him, and now he’s about to pay for his crimes against me without ever having tasted true victory. It’s so sad I would laugh if those muscles and chords still worked.

He takes two steps back, edging toward the door.

“Don’t run, Rosario. It will only excite me.” My cock hangs between my legs, all but useless in the years I’ve spent seeking my revenge, but I’m a predator and this is the closest thing to physical satisfaction left for me.

He spins on his heel, rushing out of the house with his designer shoes slapping the paving stones of the walkway. I give him a second before I follow, knowing I’ll catch him much too fast if I don’t. Ending it too soon only means less fun for me.

“Dear God, help me!” Rosario’s scream rips the night apart, high-pitched in his terror. His arm moves in a familiar pattern—the sign of the cross.

I might be a demon but not the kind you can send back to hell with a prayer. Too bad he’s too superstitious and stupid to simply use that gun. Bleeding and dying are about the only human things I’m still capable of.

He runs across the property so slowly I think he’s fucking with me, but his panting reveals his effort. Every creature values its own life to some extent. Most things will run if you chase them, even allowing for how drunk and miserably out of shape he is.

He occasionally glances over his shoulder as he huffs, finding me behind him every time. Each flash of his fear fills me with joy, and when he runs just a little faster? Near comic perfection. He stumbles as my ax swings in a slow rhythm. His feet catch on some roots and rocks, and he belly flops against the ground.

The wet grass surrounding him acts like a slip-n-slide, launching him ten feet ahead as he skids painfully. He gets even less assistance from the muddy ground as he tries to push back to his feet and leaves one of his dress shoes stuck in the mud. The intermittent October storms have soaked the entire area. Fortunately for me, I wear boots, but I still give him the time he needs to get back on his feet and convince himself he might get away.

He’s forty feet ahead when he reaches the corn maze and ducks inside. Farmland surrounds his entire property: an apple orchard on the far end and pumpkins between. His gasp of relief echoes. He thinks he has a chance. His hope makes this so much more delicious, but this is where I really have my fun.

Finally picking up my pace, I turn into the maze, the promise of the hunt overwhelming my sense of theatrics. He’s easy to track, heavy footed and panting. He assumes he has an edge on me inside this maze, but I took a few turns through every inch of his property, acquainting myself as I planned my attack.

Letting him think he’s got the lead, I follow closely. He starts to believe he’s somewhere deep in that maze and far from me, but I’m never more than a turn behind. As he reaches the end, he slows and finally stops running, assuming I’m lost. Deep breaths fill his aching lungs. He might say they’re burning, but he doesn’t understand the definition of the word.

Counting to ten, I wait for the hungry beast inside me to take control of my body. Feeding that demon grows more difficult by the day, and I can’t spare any of this meal.

“Thank you, God,” Rosario says—What better sign could I ask for?

My hatchet swings.

Multiple stalks of corn fall in a row, ending with my blade sinking deep into his shoulder. The wet crunch predates his scream by a half second. I waited about that long to start screaming, too, when I burned.

The night comes alive as it increases in volume and timbre. My chest fills with dark satisfaction. The loneliness and isolation—my constant companions—move aside as his inevitable death approaches. His end, his suffering, they’re everything.

Stepping over the downed stalks, I come to stand above him. My hand slips into my jacket, finding the old pocket watch my grandfather gave me before he died. Flipping open the cover, I check the time. Eighteen minutes…. That’s how long I burned, and how long I like to make them bleed.

His expression twists as he cries. His position feels familiar, much like when I woke up alone in a hospital hundreds of miles from home. When I hoped to call my parents and someone delivered my obituary instead.

My hatchet collides with his outer thigh, splitting apart his flesh and revealing the bone beneath. His pathetic cries are the catchiest tune, and I lose myself as I fall into them.

My family already considered me dead while I was fighting for my life—just like Rosario. He’s dead no matter how he cries. He waits and hopes for anyone to help him—just like I waited months for my father to do anything about the death of his only son. My relief never came, and neither will Rosario’s. My father’s face appears between us, and I swing again, taking the whole leg this time. There was no vengeance for me.

Rosario begs for the life he signed away two years ago and screams for the pain to stop, not realizing the two requests can never align. If he lived, his life would be pain. He prays but doesn’t pull the trigger, entirely forgetting he has a gun. Our own minds can be our greatest weakness. His faith in God is proving a strong second.

Thick metallic blood permeates the air, fills my nose, and coats my tongue as Rosario seeps into the dirt beneath us.

“You never told me if it was worth it,” I remind him as I swing again, taking his arm clean off, but the force drives the blade into the dirt beneath him—shit.

Fat blubbering tears slip down his cheeks. His mouth opens and closes as he gulps, but he doesn’t answer. Tired of waiting, I wrench the blade back and forth to dislodge it from the ground.

“Was it fucking worth it, you old bitch?”

“No, no, no, may God forgive me,” he whimpers.

“There is no fucking God, you pathetic idiot!”

My shout draws a flash from a window in the house—someone opening a curtain to look. I’ve got an audience, but is it the housekeeper, his wife, or both?

“I’m not a ghost. I’m not dead. It’s simple—I am man-made revenge.” One more swing. Wet flesh parted, flashes of organs gleam under the moon, another sprinkle of encroaching rain. “Crafted by your own fucking hands.” Hands scattered at his sides rather than attached.

He never answers. The night is devoid of screams. No more cries, not even from the women watching in the distance. Finally, number two on my list is dead at my feet.

Heavy breaths stretch the still aching skin of my chest, and the fire that nearly took my life two years ago roars in my mind. Shots of adrenaline pump through my system, dulling the pain around the edges but urging me to fight. Heavy swings continue to fall as I cut him down into smaller, gooier bits. Recognition of who he once was is gone, and nothing satisfies me anymore, not the blood, not his death.

Nothing.

There’s fucking nothing.

Impotent rage fills me, possesses me, and I’m desperate to swing my hatchet into living flesh again. Rosario isn’t the answer anymore. He’s nothing but mush, and I want another living soul to cleave apart. My breath sticks as my throat and lungs close on phantom smoke. I consider going back into the house to have some fun with the wife who resembles Tatiana, but that’s not enough to take her life.

Being a monster doesn’t make me evil, so I don’t act on those urges.

My boots squelch against the tacky blood-mud slurry as I move in a circle around him like a carrion bird: desperate, hungry, aching. Those winged beasts will be here in the morning to pick him over, unless his wife calls for help. Hopefully she’s too afraid and his carcass feeds the animals until Rao summons up the nerve to return.

Finding the phone Rosario dropped as he ran—possibly calling for help—I dial a number I know by heart.

Each time I kill one of them, I call my father.

The phone rings and rings, then, finally, he answers.

“Hello? Rosario?” he asks with an annoyed tone. Rosario is a nobody who knows better than to call him this late.

Silence.

“Rosario? What the fuck do you want?”

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, a tremor in his voice this time. “Is it you?”

I nod, but he doesn’t see.

“Is he dead? How many more of my men are you planning to kill? You’re going to tell me who you are.”

I hang up the phone.

He can pretend he doesn’t know, but he does. My ghost still haunts this world, and he’ll suffer for what he did until he dies. Killing my father isn’t part of my plans, though. Life will be more of a hardship for him.

Now that Rosario is dead, I only have Tatiana left.

CHAPTER 2

TATI

DANTE BENDS TO KISS ME. I know it’s the last time, and my heart pounds so hard it thumps behind my eyes. His kiss is soft and gentle. I can’t help but fall into it. He’s never been pushy with me. If anything, it’s been the other way around. I pursued him.

Rosario, the low-level Italian mafioso, found me in the strip club. I’d only been dancing there a week, but I was broke enough to whore myself out for the first time, finally following in my mother’s footsteps. He gave me a different kind of job. One that’s likely worse for my soul.

The message telling me the money has been wired to my account burns in my pocket. I should check that’s it’s really there. I need it if I don’t want to end up back where I started—about to drop out of school and willing to fuck for money. But is what I’m doing worse? Will being a murderer tarnish my soul further in the end?

With his lips against mine, I’m sure the answer is yes.

Domalachego, the Bratva Pakan who will take the fall for this, sits in position a few miles down the road. He doesn’t know about this coup. He thinks he’s buying arms from the Italians, but if everything goes as planned, he’ll be the one to take the blame.

I’m out of money for school. My mom can’t pay her rent and will wind up back on the street with a needle in her arm. I enable her, but my dad is dead to me, and I can’t bear to be an orphan so soon. Every time I turn around, there are medical debts and bills. I’ll never get free. I’m out of good options and unsure how I got in this deep. Why does it have to be me or him?

He ends the kiss, and I feel much more conflicted than my thoughts sound, like there’s not a good reason in the world for betraying him. Bourbon-brown eyes glow in excitement from the kiss, then his brows furrow as he takes in my expression.

A soft hand lingers on my cheek. “Don’t be nervous. I thought dating a Bratva girl would mean you’re less skittish about these things.”

Another lie. I’m just the bastard daughter one of their higher-ups made with his preferred whore, but I don’t tell Dante that either.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Don’t lie, it doesn’t suit you.”

Doesn’t it? Everything is a lie.

One more kiss, then he hops inside the truck, starts it, and puts it into gear.

“I’ll see you later for the party, Tati.”

“I’ll see you later.”

He pulls away.

His kiss burns my lips as I send him straight to his death. Changing my mind as he reaches the end of the drive, I wave my hands and shout for him to come back. He doesn’t see me from his vantage point or hear my shouts over the rumbling of the truck. My regret came too late, and he takes the turn. My phone shakes in my hands as I call him, but it goes straight to voicemail.

Panic courses through my blood, like the worst thing in the world is coming and I need to stop it, but I’m its cause. What have I done?

The scenery changes, like time is slipping in chunks, and a concussive blast shakes the trees and the ground beneath my feet. Smoke billows into the air, and Dante’s screams of agony tear up the mountainside.

Dante’s burning flesh rolls on the breeze, choking me. The loading dock disappears, replaced by a wall of flames ten feet high. I’m not trapped in a memory anymore, but my own imagination. Dante screams beside me, but I can’t move, I’m buckled in, finally about to die exactly where I belong.

I wake up screaming, my mouth dry and my throat an inferno of pain. My door flies open, the hall light blinding me as my new roommate, Katie, steps inside holding a bat.

“Get the fuck out of here, creep job!” She brandishes the weapon, but I have no clue who she’s speaking to. The source of my nightmares is me.

“It’s just me, Katie. I’m fine. I’m sorry.” Swallowing the lump in my throat, I offer her a sheepish smile. It must have sounded like someone was murdering me, so I’m not surprised she’s upset, but the ghost haunting my dreams is just a dead man. Dante can’t hurt me. I’m the one who did the hurting.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Tatiana! I told you I’m jumpy after what happened with my last roommate!” Her hand flies to her heart as she tries to catch her breath and lowers the bat to the ground. Her silvery-blond hair sits piled on her head, mussed from sleep. I’m still not sure what happened with the last girl she lived with, or her best friend who left school before that, but she made it clear when I moved in that she won’t be losing a third person to any “bullshit.”

“It was just a nightmare. I’m really sorry.” I try to clear my throat, but it cracks painfully. “I should have warned you. This happens sometimes, especially when I’m stressed.” A big move, a new school, going for my masters, Halloween coming. It’s brought up a lot of regrets and memories.

“If this is a common thing, then, yeah, you should have.” She sighs. “It’s fine. I’ve got class in a few hours, so I’m going back to sleep. I guess I’ll get ear plugs or something,” she mutters the last part as she slams the door and walks away.

“I’m really sorry,” I call after her, but she probably can’t hear me, and I decide not to bother her any further.

The clock on the bedside table reads 4:30 a.m., OCT 30. A sorority on Greek Row is having a party tonight before the massive Halloween Crawl tomorrow, and Katie has been bugging me to go with her for weeks. This is her first party since whatever happened with her roommate on Valentine’s Day, but that might be canceled now. Screaming night terrors hardly say “stable wing woman”.

My head drops into my hands as I groan. It would be stupid and pointless to attempt more sleep with the images lurking in my subconscious, especially if I’m not trying to chase Katie away. Climbing out of bed, I flip on the light to clear out the last of the nightmare. Two years later, the images are as vivid as if it happened yesterday. The guilt, however, only grows in intensity as time passes.

I really liked Dante before luring him to his gruesome death, but a fondness for him ultimately didn’t matter; I took care of myself.

I sit down at the edge of my bed and strip my sweat-soaked clothes as my eyes adjust to the light. My past plays in higher definition than the room directly in front of me, and I shake my head hard to try to clear it. Did I really let him die for a bit of money? Yes, but at the time, I thought that equaled freedom and security.

I am using the money for my education. I’m not a whore or a dropout, just a sellout. My mother lived a few months longer than him, before she lost her battle with addiction. So, I used some of the money to bury her too. I guess I got what I wanted, right?

But I’m not free or safe. My crimes are their own cage, my fear of exposure a constant itch. How quickly would I lose everything I’ve worked and cheated for if people knew the truth? I’m not like my fucking Bratva father, lacking the conviction to enjoy my ill-gotten gains. My self-disgust is so expected, so complete, I’m almost bored as I grab a towel before heading to the shower.

I’m clean, wrapped in that towel, and sitting at my desk a half hour later. My hands shake as I boot my laptop and wonder once again why my life was worth more than his. The stakes felt so much higher when I had my mom to worry about too. Halloween was always her favorite holiday, and I would have used some of the money to buy her decorations, but now I’m alone, and Halloween is the anniversary of my greatest act of cruelty.

School, I remind myself, the one bit of good to come out of everything I’ve done. The education he died for will help people. With a series of assignments due this week, I’m checking emails from my professors and responding to a few TAs. I’m nearly done when I come across one that stops me in my tracks and has my blood running cold.

The subject line reads:

“Hey, Little Backstabber. It’s almost our two-year anniversary…”

I blink at the screen a couple of times before considering opening it. I’m still dreaming, that’s the only thing that makes sense. There’s no way a dead man wrote me an email. Unless…

The Gemellis are finally coming for me.

Fuck.

Of course the rumors have reached me, but I was never crazy enough to believe Dante was the one killing the men responsible. Mafia men die hard, and they had plenty of enemies. Who knows what else they did to warrant a horrible end. As far as I know, the Bouchards are making a solid effort for full control of the territory. That’s what I’ve comforted myself with, but this email glares, and I’m forced to confront something I’ve long feared.

What if I’m one of the names on that list?

My hand shakes as I click it open.

Betrayal is cold

Explosions are red

I’ll come down your throat before I cut off your head.

My heart stumbles as it attempts to gallop clean out of my chest, thinking it can save itself if I’m left behind. My mouth fills with saliva like I might vomit, and my eyes flood with tears. The kiss for a signature has my lips tingling at the memory of Dante’s mouth pressed to mine before he left me to meet his death.

This is a nightmare. This isn’t real, right? How can I calm myself down when I don’t believe I’m sleeping anymore? Not after talking to Katie and taking a shower. Plus, the nightmares are terribly predictable, and this is brand new.

Someone must have found out what I did. But who? The Gemellis are on the decline but still more than powerful enough to make me pay. I’m not entirely cut off from my father’s contacts, but I stay away from them, wanting no one suspicious of my suddenly altered lot in life.

A forensic accountant could see I received the money. I moved it through a few accounts, but it won’t take an expert long to figure out where that money came from. Someone has been looking for the men responsible, but I’ve never even seen a Gemelli Goon near campus. I’ve allowed myself to hope my part in all this has been forgotten.

Whoever this is has a poetic sense of justice. Dante’s not alive or coming for my head. He’s certainly not planning to fuck me before I die. However, fucking him once before finally leaving all this wretched guilt behind appeals to me in the sickest way.

I’ll survive whoever is coming for me, like I always do. If disappearing wouldn’t cost me everything, I’d leave this second, but I’m not ready to lose it all, even if there is a fucked-up part of me that wants to pay for what I’ve done.

The next few hours pass as I do my schoolwork, ignoring that it may be some of the last I turn in. As I dress for class, I pretend that email never came. Contingency plans run through my head even though I try to quiet them. I’ve been making them for years, praying I’d never have to use them.

Is someone watching me now? Did his family pretend to ignore his death just to hack all those people apart in a much more dramatic fashion? Will someone actually fuck my face before cutting off my head? And why is part of me relieved by finally paying for my sins? I don’t think I’m suicidal.

This guilt has been a heavy weight these last two years. Every dollar spent is a piece of my soul chipped away and traded for something material. What was my soul worth before I debased it so completely? Can I be saved by running now or am I beyond too late?

Question after question barrage me until I’m forced to give up and walk to class early. The chilly October air swirls around me, smelling like fresh leaves and far-off sunshine. I should be enjoying my favorite season, but eyes follow me the whole way. Every time I look over my shoulder, I catch a shadow, but no one’s actually there.

The heart of campus swarms with people. A group of freshmen bump me as I pass and don’t even realize it’s so dense in some places, but this sensation is different. Someone is following me, and I get my proof when I dart to the left and that shadow interrupts the light in the shape of a rather large man.

As I head to the cafe at the edge of campus to grab myself a latte and a pastry, I’m obsessing over the shadow. Could whoever’s following me really be as large as they appeared or was it an optical illusion? Dante was big like that.

The sensation of being watched fades as the door shuts behind me, and I exhale fully for the first time all morning. A little too much heat wafts over me, but I’m chilled to the bone and grateful for whoever keeps it so high this early in the season. The line is long enough to eat fifteen minutes, and I carefully watch everyone who comes and goes as I wait.

“Thank you,” I tell the barista as I take the items, then find a table in the back corner that offers a view of the whole cafe. I don’t eat or drink as I stare at the door, waiting for whoever it is to come inside. They never do, and I drop the coffee and croissant in the trash as I leave to head to class on time.

Is there a chance someone wants to extort me rather than kill me? Someone could be playing a cruel prank. Maybe his sister found out what I did and thought this would be a fun way to get back at me. The poem seems like a more delicate hand than most Mafia men I’ve known. That doesn’t track either. She’s the textbook definition of clueless and sheltered. Maybe his father finally wants some retribution for his only son.

None of these suggestions feel correct, nor do they give me any peace. That email felt personal with the intense sexual suggestion. Who did I insult in their organization? Who knows I used to strip or how far I was about to go before my escape?

“Are you paying attention, Miss Sokolov?” my professor asks, interrupting the deeply self-obsessed daydream I’ve been nursing for the better part of this hour. Much like the café, I’m sure I’m safe here. There’s no one in this class paying particular attention to me, no giant shadowed men.

“Of course,” I say before registering if there was another part to his question, and the entire class giggles. They all stare, but I can’t find the normal embarrassment beneath the fear. Is someone waiting outside the door?

“Then why have I called your name three times now?” he asks, raising a brow.

“I guess I’m like Bloody Mary or Candy Man,” I state as my eyes dart to the clock.

“Candy Man was five times, Miss Sokolov. Try better next time.”

This time, I turn pink when everyone laughs but ignore the way my professor stares. The hour ends, and I grab my book and bag in a hurry, flying out the door before he can stop me for whatever lecture he’s gearing up to. Leaving his class isn’t an improvement. The next one goes just as poorly, though the professor leaves me alone, and the rest of the day blurs with every hulking shadow reminding me of Dante and the Italians in his employ.

Dante is dead, I remind myself again and again.

My walk from campus to our building passes quickly since master’s students have priority placement, and the shadow never seems to catch up to me. The spacious brick has a modern feel compared to the smaller underclassmen dorms, and I deflate with relief when they come into view.

As I head through the sliding glass door of the lobby, I smile at the RA standing guard. We don’t have the same rules as the underclassmen, but we still have a little security and help if we need it.

“I’m not expecting any visitors,” I tell her as I take out my key to access the elevators. She gives me an odd look and shrugs. The doors open and I step inside, but just before they close, I’m sure I catch a flash of someone large watching the building from the sidewalk.

My ride ends quickly, and the hall is mercifully empty, but my hands shake so hard that I struggle to fit the key into my lock.

Before I manage it, the doors swing open in front of me, ripping the key out of my hands as I shriek. Katie matches my reaction, and our screams draw a few people into the hall before we realize we sound like idiots and are drawing unwanted attention.

She grabs me by the shoulder, pulls me inside, and slams the door shut behind us, visibly annoyed with my reaction and the scene. Her long blonde hair slips out of the chopstick bun she prefers at home, and her cheerleader sweats have her much more prepared to run from an attacker than me. She even looks like the more desirable target. Too bad I’m the awful person.

“One of us is going to get hurt if we’re both this jumpy,” she says as she heads to the table where she has her outfit and accessories for the night laid out.

As I go to hang my bag and coat, her gaze burns a hole into the side of my face.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

I ignore her and turn to grab something from the fridge. I’ve eaten nothing all day, and the worry is making me sick.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look a little green.”

“It’s Halloween tomorrow, and I’m a nervous person. Not much more complicated than that.” Fuck, I’d trade my remaining money for that to be true.

“I get that…”

“But?” I ask, prompting her to get to the point she’s been flirting with.

“I know you don’t want to go to this party, but hear me out.” She keeps her hands up and palms out like she’s approaching a cornered animal. “I think it would be good for both of us to get out of this—”

I close the door to the fridge, the bottles rattling inside, and say, “Okay.” Sitting alone in this dorm and questioning every movement outside my window doesn’t sound so appealing all of a sudden. I’m sure to be safer in a crowd.

“Okay?” Her blonde brows crumple, her suspicions diminishing the pleasure of her success. Her hands find her hips. “What do you mean ‘okay’?”

“Yes, I accept, let’s go,” I clarify with a little sarcasm.

Katie scowls at me, but I turn my back on her and head to my room to change. I’ve got an idea for a skirt to wear, but I’m not sure what to pair with it just yet. She follows a couple steps behind, waiting in the doorway as I head into my room. Her nervous energy worsens mine, but I ignore her as I throw open my closet. I start to pull things out and place them on the bed.

“Don’t you have to do your hair or something?”

Her hand moves to her hair. “I thought I’d have to work on you.”

“I had a stressful day, I just want to relax.” That’s not entirely a lie.

“A party is suddenly your idea of relaxing?”

I pull the skirt out and go back to digging for a matching top.

“More relaxing than sitting home alone, right?”

Her lips purse, but she doesn’t argue despite still not being convinced.

“Do you need to borrow something?” Katie asks.

My wardrobe is nearing its end, and I’ve not found the piece I’m looking for. Maybe I left it at my mom’s last summer before she died.

“Come on, Katie.” I roll my eyes as I kneel in front of my dresser. We can both see I’m thirty pounds heavier. “I can’t borrow your clothes.”

“I have things you can borrow,” she insists.

After finding the cute pair of orange-and-black striped, knee-high socks I was looking for, I’m starting to think I’ll be putting on a band T-shirt and a hoodie. Not the worst thing imaginable, but I’ll look out of place.

“I have something I think might work,” she says, but doesn’t wait for me to respond as she heads to her bedroom.

She comes back a couple of minutes later and tosses a tiny corset top at me,

“This isn’t going to fit.” I hold the black fabric bones and ribbon up between us.

“It’s a corset. The whole point is that they fit anyone. Just put it on!” She waves her hands at me. “Is an hour enough time?”

“More than, but—”

The door slams shut between us.

We finish getting ready, and I’m shocked to find the top does fit, in the strictest sense of the word, but it’s like my tits are on a shelf.

I step out of my room, and Katie’s jaw drops.

“Damn, I do not look like that in that corset.”

“Don’t flatter me.”

“I’m not. I wish I had your tits.”

We leave the apartment together and walk the short distance to the sorority hosting the party. My cleavage is half frozen by the time we arrive, but I have turned a few heads.

The day and that email have left me shredded by anxiety, and the lies I’ve built my entire life on are icing on the cake. I don’t know that I even have room for insecurities about my appearance also, until we’re surrounded by other party goers, and I realize just how much I stand out. All of these girls are thin and beautiful. No matter how hard you smush my tits together, I’ll never compare to them. I look stupid for trying.

We climb the steps and head inside the house, but the stares I fear never come. Orange and purple lights flash, bats hang from the ceilings, jack-o-lanterns spill dry ice steam from their mouths and eyes, and music blasts through the speakers. Dante and I were supposed to meet at a Halloween party later that night, at least that’s what I told him. I can’t think of this holiday without being overcome with memories of him.

We move through the dense pack of bodies to get the door to close behind us. Katie says, “Hi” to a few girls, and some even wave to me. I find a lot more male attention aimed at me than I’m accustomed to. A couple people glance at my chest and waist. Are they admiring or judging? Would I be judging if I were them? I’m too nervous to really enjoy this attention.

“Loosen up, Tati. Everything is going to be fine.”

I jump as she speaks in my ear. At first, I think Katie just sees how worked up I am, but she grabs my wrist a little too firmly, like she’s the one who needs the reassurance. Whatever happened with her last roommate started at a frat party. Her smile pinches around the corners and tears glisten her eyes.

I defrost immediately as a result of her needing me to be the strong one. People are watching me, but unlike earlier, it’s for the right reasons. I can do this if I’m doing it for someone else. Putting on a big smile, I remove my wrist from her grip and wrap my arm around her instead.

“Loosen up how?”

“Drinks?” She shrugs beneath my embrace and waves to the freshman hounding the bartender.

“Yeah, drinks! You said loosen up, right?”

She nods.

“Let’s get loose.”

CHAPTER 3

TATI

A FEW DRINKS or more later, the music pumps, and Katie and I sway to the hypnotrance beats that dominate Halloween music. We left tipsy a few shots ago and are finally loose enough to enjoy ourselves.

That feeling of being watched has shifted from something insidious to a delicious tension, and my inhibitions have flown right out the window. I used to like being the center of attention when I worked at the club, but I was drunk a lot of the time then too. Alcohol makes me forget that I should feel self-conscious about my imperfect body or the horrible things I’ve done. I’m almost free.

That poem seems silly rather than sinister with the giggles, lights, and alcohol altering my frame of mind. If this person wants their dick sucked so bad, why don’t they just ask? Nothing is that serious. Dante is dead, I’m going to hell, who gives a shit?

“Shots!” Katie announces.

Men have been watching me all night, and a few have asked me to dance, but none I felt were worth leaving Katie on her own. She’s turned down all her offers too, and I’m surprised we’re about neck and neck for interested parties. When the music dips, I thank her for the corset, and we laugh.

One guy has spent the last couple of songs watching us. He wears a half mask with the exposed side painted like a skull. Katie and I look good together, but even after all the men who’ve approached me tonight, I assume most of his attention is on her. She’s immaculately thin and beautiful, and I’m just less in every way. That doesn’t mean I’m not into him or not hoping to attract his interest.

Between the rocking of my hips, I stare at him. I grind my ass on Katie, and she giggles as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. He and I eventually make eye contact, and his eyes shift between black and bourbon in the changing overhead lights. When he smiles, I think the alcohol must really be affecting me, because I believe I’m seducing him.

I don’t truly think I’ve interested him until he pushes off the wall and heads toward us. His gaze flickers between Katie and me, as it has all night. The skull gives his angular face added intensity and appeal. I’m wet just looking at him.

He reaches us as one song ends and another begins, shocking me again as he offers me his hand and ignores Katie entirely. I’m not as brightly blonde as her, my blue eyes are more silver and dull, and I’m chubby. It’s obvious that I’m less than her in every way.

I jerk my hand away as my brain registers the cold and disturbing texture of his hand, then I put it back immediately. It must be a glove. I look down, the ruined mess of skin has to be a costume. He pulls me in closer, forcing me to stop staring at his hand, and presses his lips to my ear.

“Dance with me.” His voice is deep, and his tone lacks a question.

I nod, not bothering to verbally confirm or deny what clearly wasn’t a question. Katie quickly finds a new dance partner, giving me a half-drunk wave as she spins a few bodies away.

He pulls me into him as the music changes, and the sheer size of him overwhelms me. My greedy fingers trace his broad shoulders, and he shivers at my touch. Leaning into him, I take a deep breath. He smells delicious, like a hint of cologne and the wilderness, fresh and cool.

He’s the only person I’ve even considered dancing with tonight, so I’m suddenly sure I have excellent taste. His mask is downright hot, and the part that’s exposed is almost too handsome, but maybe that’s the skull makeup getting the better of my libido.

We move to the music without a pause in our physical chemistry or a missed beat. He dances against me, lightly grinding, and slowly but surely making me crazy. I haven’t seen his face, but god, I want to know what it feels like to get fucked by all that hip movement, and he knows it. Why else would he hold me in place like that? I’m seriously considering dragging him into the bathroom for a quickie, which is very unlike me.

It’s been two years since I had sex, and if I’m honest, I never enjoyed it before. That’s part of why turning to prostitution didn’t seem like the worst fate ever when money at the club wasn’t cutting it. I wouldn’t be ruining something I already loved. I’m not sure if it’s about how I was raised—seeing sex as a transaction and way to pay the bills—or the people I did it with.

I’ve long wondered how different sex with Dante might have been, but for once, I’m not obsessing over him, I’m imaging giving Mr. Masked Stranger a turn to do better than the boys who let me down.

The music changes, then he spins me and presses my back to his front, leaving no space between us. The hard planes of his body strain against my back. I’m already enjoying the possessive way he holds me when one hand slips around my throat.

He squeezes lightly, a flash of fear heating my blood, then shifting to excitement when he doesn’t hurt me. I can breathe okay, but the blood pulses to my brain a little slower as the people around us tune in to the show.

He tips my jaw up farther, displaying me to the crowd and exposing my neck to more of his grip. My tits are about to fall out of the top of my corset as my eyes roll back in ecstasy. I should be embarrassed, but I’m drunk and his hand flexing around my throat taps into so many of my hidden kinks. My head grows even fuzzier with the alcohol, adrenaline, and lack of oxygen, and I’m dripping wet.

People dance all around us, paying attention to us but also each other. A frenetic energy passes through the crowd, like we’re closer to the spirit realm than this one. Maybe there is some mysticism in the air as Halloween draws closer, a shrinking of the bridge between worlds. Or maybe I’m about to pass out.

I do, falling against his chest before coming back to myself high as a kite. Lights pop in my vision, and the sounds return on a roaring wave and an explosion of pleasure. I should care that this stranger choked me unconscious, but all I care about is how profoundly good I feel as my body moves to the music and I merge with the scenery.

The bodies pack tighter, and people stare as his hand stays firm, and he doesn’t let me turn back around. His free hand finds the hem of my skirt and lifts it until he’s touching my panties. The snap of realization makes me struggle. I’m not so high off the loss of oxygen, and not quite as drunk as I was a few minutes ago.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing? Stop!” I shout, but no one hears me. People stand all around us, inches from me, but they don’t notice my distress, my screams. My voice is thin from the choking, the lights are moving too fast to be able tell the tears on my cheeks are real. They could be Halloween glitter for all anyone knows.

He pushes my panties aside and dips a gloved hand into my cunt. The easy entry and utter lack of resistance deepens my humiliation. He parts my legs, putting me on display for anyone who wants to look, and strokes my clit long and slow with a thickly textured finger.

“Stop,” I scream again, but a moan distorts the sound.

One of the men dancing next to us misinterprets the situation and strokes my exposed clit. The man holding me against my will stomps on his foot, stopping his touch.

“Shit, what the fuck, man?” he shouts before limping away.

I cry in earnest, confused how I got myself into this situation. Humiliated and turned on when he switches from stroking my swollen clit to sliding a finger deep inside me. He chokes me again as he finds my G-spot. My vision blurs at the edges until I pass out again. Moments later, I wake with my cunt twitching on his fingers.

Cold lips press to my ear and a deep voice rumbles, “A liar, a cheat, a whore. No wonder you’re soaking wet for a man who despises you.”

“What?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer, and his fingers don’t lighten their pressure.

I’m too drunk to make sense of this, and I’m silent for a full ten seconds as his words sink in. It can’t be. He’s dead.

“Dante,” I squeak, the feeling of being violated yielding in intensity to the overwhelming terror of my life suddenly ending.

“You remember me. I wasn’t sure I’d made enough of an impression.”

He doesn’t sound like I remember. How can it be him if he doesn’t even sound the same?

“It can’t be you.” I never woke up this morning.

My delusion fades fast as he stretches me with his thick fingers.

“Why not? Because you killed me? Turns out you’re not very good at that either.”

I can’t speak. What happened to his vocal cords inside that truck to make him sound more monster than man? Is he a ghost, after all?

“You didn’t miss me, Little Backstabber?”

“Would you believe me if I said I did?”

I try to turn, to get a good look at his face, to prove to myself it’s really him, but he doesn’t let me move an inch, just squeezes tighter and fingers me rougher.

“Oh, no, you don’t get to see what you’ve done. You’re just going to come on what’s left of my hand in front of all these people. You did all this to avoid stripping, becoming a whore, well, that’s exactly what you are.”

His finger pumps in and out of me as he forces my body to keep swaying. He’s partially succeeded, I do and don’t feel like a whore. I never actually sold my pussy, just came close.

“Dante, please.” My voice comes out thin. I’m unsure if he can hear or not as he quickly works another finger into me. Humiliation burns my cheeks and pussy, terror turns my blood to acid, and I cry as he forces that third thick digit inside. I’m too tight to take it without some extreme effort, but he’s willing to break me apart from the inside out. It’s almost worse that I still find a hint of pleasure.

“Please, what, Little Backstabber? Ruin your cunt before I cut you to pieces? I plan on it.”

That third finger nearly splits me in half, and I scream much louder as he shoves in all three down to his palm, covering most of my pussy with his giant hand. I realize now he’s not wearing gloves, and my juices are slipping down the scars I caused. That’s what he meant… I would come on the hand I ruined.

I’m going to be sick. No—I’m going to fucking come if he keeps stroking my G-spot like that.

“Why make me come if you’re going to kill me?”

At first, I don’t think he hears, but he gets close to my ear again to answer.

“Why convince me to date you just to get me into that truck? I’m going to ruin you worse than you did me, Little Backstabber.”

The people around us have caught on to what’s happening, and much to my horror, they seem to be enjoying the show. Dante’s hand glistening with my approaching orgasm sure makes it look like I’m enjoying this.

“Tell me you’re sorry, Little Backstabber,” he says as he turns his fingers slightly, stretching me to breaking and giving my G-spot the most absurd massage.

“I’m sorry,” I say, gasping, and truer words have never been spoken.

“Fuck,” he grunts, and the animalistic lack of control to his voice makes me twitch around his fingers. “You lie so pretty. You’re going to beg for your life pretty too.”

And I come around his fingers like the whore I am, splashing all over his scarred palm.

A liar, a cheat, a whore, wet for the man who despises me.

“Beg for your life.”

“Please, Dante.”

I’m still shaking from my orgasm when he rips his fingers unceremoniously out of me and leaves me standing on unsure legs. I’d call him cruel if I wasn’t the monster in this scenario. As I turn to him, he’s gone, only the witnesses to my shame tittering about the orgasm they watched me have. I’m humiliated, but not as much as I fear what he might do next.

While I’m scrambling for my dignity, a young-looking guy approaches me.

“He wanted me to give this to you!” he shouts as he hands me a piece of paper while being careful not to touch me. I peel it open and read the words beneath the color-shifting lights.

Little Backstabber,

I’ll be waiting where you least expect me.

You’ll scream and beg, but I won’t help you.

You’ll pay for everything you’ve done before you leave this world in pieces.

The paper shakes like a leaf as I read, but that last line offers a strange sort of comfort. Maybe Dante doesn’t realize how deeply I regret what I did to him, how very much I wish I could atone.

CHAPTER 4

DANTE

I PLANNED to leave her alone for the night to let her stew over what I did to her—to cry and lick her wounds—make what’s coming next for her worse. Instead, I’m climbing the fire escape outside her dorm to get another look at her.

That monster inside of me that’s been craving more blood is suspiciously quiet tonight. If anything, it just wants to be near her. Her little hands on my chest left behind phantom sensations. I’m not sure what to call it, but it’s not pain, which is all I have felt in two years.

Her big modern windows make it exceptionally easy to watch as she tosses and turns. She’s doing her best to sleep, and I’d give about anything to know what she thought about what I did to her tonight. For the first time in almost a year, my intended target has my full attention, and I’m not even slightly tempted to involve innocent bystanders.

Maybe I should kill her now, but my fingers are still sticky from her wet little cunt, and I want more of that.

I wanted to humiliate her and devalue her in a similar way to what she did to me, use her like a whore to show her that just like Rosario, she risked everything for nothing. She liked it so much I’m not sure why she was so worried about selling herself.

Showing her cunt to the room was intended to punish her. My enjoyment wasn’t really a factor, given I haven’t been lusting after her these last two years. I fucking hate the bitch and wanted payback. Destroying her before killing her is the only way to fix me. How was I supposed to know she’d be that pink and pretty inside? That her swollen little clit would feel so good under my fingers…

How fucking delicious it was and how dangerously horny her orgasm left me took me by surprise. I haven’t gotten hard in years, and my cock throbs like a prepubescent teen seeing tits for the first time.

Killing her is still the plan, the nearly deranged way I want her won’t alter that. I should do it now and get it over with, but my murders have never felt like a chore, and I don’t want to create a bad habit. I don’t want to lose out on the opportunity to feel that cunt squeeze me a few more times before she dies.

Maybe I’m a jealous monster when it comes to my prey. Maybe she owes me her cunt as well as her life. Either way, no one else will ever touch her again.

My dick twitches as I relive how tightly she squeezed my fingers as she came. It hasn’t worked since she burned me, with the exception of occasional morning wood, but the pain is so intense it softens before I open my eyes.

Frankly, I didn’t care. What does a monster need a dick for? It didn’t factor into my revenge fantasies since I never considered fucking the men I killed before her.

If I had known she was a squirter, I might have tried a different approach. I’ve always been a sucker for that, and a palmful of her cum only complicated matters. Now all I can think about is violating her, the violent way I plan to take her, and deciding how and when I will do it. Can I walk away from her tonight without getting my dick wet?

She rolls over and opens the drawer on her bedside table. I can’t see what she’s doing in the darkness, but the rustling of fabric, a wet suction that reminds me of our time on the dance floor, and a soft buzzing perk up my ears.

“Fuck, Dante, I’m sorry,” she groans as she works something between her legs. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything. Your fingers feel so good.”

The dirty little bitch is lying in her bed, fucking herself to thoughts of me.

A smile curls my lips, distorting the flesh around the right side of my mouth. I don’t hold the expression for more than a second before my mouth drops open in disturbed shock. That wasn’t malignant pleasure, it was a flash of… happiness. I like this little bitch fucking herself to me.

There’s no fucking way I can survive that. I need to end this now.

I push open her window, and she’s so distracted with her efforts she doesn’t hear me. I slip through the night quietly, standing above her as her lips part and twitch, and the tip of her nose wriggles when something feels good. Without the distance separating us, I watch as she shoves the thicker end of the double-sided purple toy deep inside her. She whines like she wants more and it’s not as good for her as my fingers were. Dirty little whore.

My hand slaps over her mouth, and her eyes fly open while my palm muffles her scream. My other hand wraps around her throat, silencing her and preventing her roommate from hearing. Digging my fingers into her neck, I wait the thirty or so seconds she takes to pass out, all the while reveling in the fear that flashes in those nearly gray eyes before they dull and slip closed.

She won’t be out long, and I don’t want to waste any time. I whip out my hard, leaking dick and flip her onto her stomach. Her cunt’s already wet as I pull the toy out and replace it with my cock, sliding deep inside of her.

I haven’t felt pussy in two years, and it’s better than I remember. Each ridge of her G-spot grips me, and the squeeze of her walls is so tight, hot, and wet I nearly come inside her on the third thrust. It won’t happen though. My pleasure is irrelevant to her torture.

She comes back to herself on a long moan. My cock must feel good inside her for the way she gasps and whines. The exposed side of her face shows her pretty blue eyes starting to open, but she can’t turn far enough to see more than a glimpse of my face. I slap her cheek once, and her whining is cut off by my hand gripping her throat again. Her mouth opens and closes, her body bucks against me, then her eyes roll back and slip closed.

She groans, low and deep, hardening my cock even further as I fuck ruthlessly into her. I don’t let go until she passes out and she’s soft and pliable around my dick again. Fuck, it’s so good.

Her body slackens, and rather than losing an inch of her cunt, my fingers dig into her thick hips to hold her in place. My balls slap her wet lips, and the warmth of her cunt feels so fucking good inside her I moan. Telling myself she doesn’t hear my pleasure, I keep fucking. I don’t want her to think she ever gave me anything but suffering.

Pulling a knife out of my pocket, I flip the blade open and press it to the side of her neck. It pierces her skin as I thrust. Fucking kill her now and let her bleed to death on my cock. I can come with no complicated emotions if she’s dead. My ego can’t take it the other way around.

I can do this. I want to. I press the tip a little harder, drawing another bead of blood, but I don’t kill her. She wakes up while I wait too long to make a move, shrieking as the cold metal pierces her neck. She lets out a shrill cry, seeming to understand exactly what type of danger she’s in.

“Dante, I’m sorry,” she gasps. Her cunt clamps around me, and I wonder what about her lies turns her on so much. Or maybe it’s the threat of death getting her going. What else turns her on? How many men has she fucked in the intervening years to find out, and how many will I have to kill after I’m done with her just because they touched what was mine?

I’m bigger than the average man in every way, so she’s crushed beneath me. Her little cunt struggles to take all of my cock, but I don’t relent until she’s forced to swallow me whole. Slamming into her, I ignore the natural resistance of her walls, relishing her struggles.

“You’re not as sorry as you’re going to be, Little Backstabber.”

“Please just do it fast,” she begs, and I’m not sure what part she’s referring to.

“I wasn’t planning on rushing.” I gather her hands in mine and hold them above her head as I press the blade into the back of her neck, splitting the skin and hardening further as she cries in earnest. Fucking her slow, I drag the blade down her back, splitting her skin open from her nape to the dimples just above her ass, enjoying the spread of her blood as she struggles.

“Do you want to die with my cock in your pussy or your ass.”

I’m expecting her to cry or beg, not actually answer.

“Do you like my pussy or my ass more?”

I nearly come.

“Don’t fucking play with me, Tatiana.”

“If this makes it up to you, I’ll die with you in whatever hole you want.”

I’m so thrown by her response I’m not sure what to do. Between her begging for my forgiveness while she fucked herself, and this, I’m realizing she’s a more formidable adversary than I thought. She’s almost able to make me believe her bullshit. What an amazing liar.

Using the blood spilling down her back, I slicken her tight asshole but don’t bother to stretch it before working the head of my cock in. She cries as I do, pretty tears clinging to her lashes. Her asshole is soaked in blood as my dick takes a small measure of what I’m owed. I’m sure it’s not the first cock she’s had in here; she’s taking it too well for that.

“Time to die, Little Backstabber.” Her heart pounds so hard it thumps through her ass and into my cock. Lining the blade up with her throat, I remember I planned to cut off her head. I guess I still can. Cutting her into as many pieces as I want later will be my gift to myself.

Then the filthy bitch whines, and the ring of muscle in her ass clamps around me so tight it’s nearly painful. She shakes and cries as she orgasms with my cock deep in her ass, and I decide she can die tomorrow night, on the anniversary of my accident. The knife drops beside us, and I spill my first orgasm in two years directly into her blood-soaked ass. Fuck, for a minute, I don’t feel an ounce of pain.

This is bad.

An impossible moment of quiet passes before she starts sobbing, and her whole body shakes with me still inside her. I feel the same.

“You didn’t kill me, why didn’t you kill me?” She’s disappointed, and I’m too stunned to make sense of her reaction. “It was going to be over, I would have paid for what I did.” She lets out another pathetic sniffle and a heaving breath.

“I have no fucking clue.”

Why didn’t I kill her?

I rip my cock out of her ass and leave the fake, lying bitch to her own devices before her pathetic tears soften me the way her juicy little cunt hardened my cock.

CHAPTER 5

TATI

THE NEXT MORNING, I realize it’s time to get the fuck out of dodge. I’ve played with my life and my pussy enough, and it’s time to act like my survival is a priority. That’s what I did when I chose my future over Dante two years ago, right? Time to live and die by the choices I’ve made even though I regret them.

It hurts to think I’ll miss out on finishing my education, but you have to do what you must. I move around my room, shoving my clothes into my bags as quickly as possible while trying to keep it from looking suspicious. If Katie thinks someone ransacked my room, she’ll call the authorities.

She told me the day I moved in if I ran off to Europe or some shit she’d come looking for me. Something about her ex-roommate suddenly stopping texting her after a while of being in France. I want to avoid further traumatizing her, but not at the cost of my life.

Guilt crushes me. She’s been kind since the day we moved in, and I hate to be another reason she mistrusts humanity. Sadly, for both of us, her hurt feelings are a lot less scary than Dante’s knife.

Dante could be watching me now. I can’t waste any more time when God knows how much more of my skin he’ll slice if I let him. My back aches, and I haven’t even washed away the blood or cum, but I don’t have time.

I should have run with my money two years ago and left the country, not assumed he was dead and continued on with my life. I don’t know where he went after he fucked me last night. He might be too close for me to sneak away, but I will still try.

Coming harder than I ever have in my life with him did something to my brain, but somewhere during my twelve-hour sleep, my sense of self-preservation overrode my guilt. I am getting the fuck out of here, and I’ll have to deal with hating myself on the road.

Scanning the room, I make sure I missed nothing important while also searching for some divine reason not to abandon everything I’ve worked so hard for. Everything I sold my soul for is dead or staying right here, and I can’t afford to be sad about it. Not if I want to live.

I have everything I need in a couple of duffles and zip the second closed as I head toward the front door. Because I’m one of the unluckiest people alive, possibly cursed by my own bad behavior, Katie catches me.

She opens the door, sweat slicked and dressed for her run. Stepping inside, she looks me up and down with a suspiciousness that’s become natural for us. Why can’t anything be easy?

“Happy Halloween,” she says, but it’s more of an accusation as she stares at my bag.

“Yeah, happy Halloween.” I try to step around her. “I’m running late.” I nudge toward the door, hinting for her to let me pass.

“Running late to where? That bags awfully packed.”

I wasn’t planning to run into her, so I hadn’t thought about a story. “Class, and laundry,” I lie.

“Sure, you’re just suddenly doing all your laundry at once when I know you did a load a few days ago, and you’re bringing it with you to class...”

“No, dropping it before class and picking it up after. The other way sounds silly.”

“Right. Silly. And you’re late for which class?”

“English Literature.”

She shakes her head and looks at me like she’s considering stopping me, but eventually, she steps aside. “Are we still going to the carnival tonight?”

“I’m not sure I’m feeling up to it. I’m really tired. I have a lot of folding to do when I get back.”

“You don’t look tired, you look like you’re ready to bolt.”

I make a mental note to lie better. “I’m definitely going to be tired after class and all this. Come on, Katie. If I feel up to it, we’ll go to the carnival.”

I hedge around her, but she puts an arm out to stop my exit.

“You sure you won’t tell me what happened at the party with that guy?” My face burns as I dread what people are saying about it.

Shaking my head, I duck beneath her arm. “Nope, nothing to tell.”

“I’m going to check in with you later, Tati, you’re not escaping on me.”

As I head down the hall, guilt burns in my stomach. Oh well, I’m used to it by now. I’m a bad person, and Halloween seems like the perfect time to accept that I’m the villain.

I take the elevator down, then cross the foyer, constantly looking over my shoulder for Dante but finding no one. I climb in my car and drive in the opposite direction of where I need to go. Traffic near campus is too dense to tell if anyone is tailing me, so I take the scenic route out of the city, driving in complicated circles for a solid hour to ensure I’m not being followed.

My bank is an hour in the opposite direction by the time I’m sure I’m alone. The ride there is the longest one I’ve ever taken, with every car I pass giving me an ominous feeling.

I arrive at the bank with no one tailing me and put the car in park. Pulling out my account information and my ID with shaky hands I check the ledger. With 685,000 of the 750,000 left in my account, closing it is unlikely, as they won’t have that much cash on hand, but I’ll take whatever I can get.

It’s cold, wet, and dreary today. The orange and yellow leaves stick to the slick pavement, filling me with worry I’ll slip and fall out here rather than escape Dante.

A gust of wind pushes me through the sliding automatic door, and I head to the information desk.

“I need to sit down with someone,” I say to the woman seated there.

“I’ll check you in, Mrs. Sokolov.” But she narrows her eyes as she double-checks something on her screen.

My brow furrows at being called Mrs. Sokolov, but there’s no point in correcting her. I take my seat, trying my hardest to look normal, like I’m not on the run and picking up the dirty money I got paid for helping to orchestrate a failed murder. With dry, exhausted eyes, I stare too hard at each person who comes in the bank. Twenty minutes pass before a middle-aged woman brings me back to her desk.

“I want to withdraw as much money as possible,” I tell her as I take a seat.

“I see.”

I hand her my information. Her suspicious look is similar to the one the lady at the desk gave me, and she seems just as interested in her computer screen.

“Okay. Let’s see what we can do.”

She starts typing, and I force a deep breathe. You’re almost out of here.

A few minutes pass, and her expression pinches, cramping my stomach with anxiety. This shouldn’t be taking so long. I need to get out of here before he finds me.

“Mrs. Sokolov, can you please hold?”

“Uh, okay, I guess.” This is the second time I’ve been called Mrs. instead of Miss, and I want to correct her, but she’s already got the phone pressed to her ear, waiting with a polite expression.

“Mr. Sokolov? Yes, you asked us to call if there were any major changes in regards to your account.”

Mr. Sokolov? What the fuck? I have my mother’s name. There is no mister besides my long-dead grandfather.

“Yes, she’s here.” She listens another second. “Of course, sir.”

After pressing a few buttons on the phone, a deep, smoke-scarred voice comes through the speaker.

“Tatiana, what are you doing? I’ve been so worried about you, sweetheart.”

“It’s none of your business,” I spit. What the hell did he do that they’re calling him?

“You just ran off this morning. I expected to find you in bed, and you were gone.”

“Stop this right now, Dante. This isn’t funny anymore.”

“It was never funny. My wife is confused. Two years ago today we were in an accident, and while I suffered the physical injuries, Tatiana has never recovered. Halloween is an awful trigger for her. Thank you for calling me so quickly. As you can probably tell, we’re in a crisis situation.”

She nods like she believes every word he’s saying. “Of course, Mr. Sokolov. I’m so glad I could help.”

“I need to take out my money,” I state, desperate to regain some power in this situation. “This is a breach of privacy. It’s my account, I need my money.”

“I’m afraid you can’t,” she says as she inspects her nails. “The account doesn’t have any money left, Mrs. Sokolov. It hasn’t for a few months.”

I’ve not come for a big chunk of money in a while, but months? What the hell did he do, and how long has he been watching me?

“That’s not possible.” The words are barely audible, and my heart pounds straight out of my chest.

“Tatiana, please, you have to remember us going together to empty the account, both of our signatures are dated on the paperwork.”

“You’re a filthy fucking liar,” I snap.

The woman “helping” me gasps lightly at my outburst but immediately begins typing.

“Would you like me to print the record of transactions? I can show you, Mrs. Sokolov.” She’s all business, tight bun on the top of her head, manicured fingers clicking as she speaks, and leaking nervous energy, like I’m as crazy as he says and could be a danger to her.

“Please,” I say, managing to not shout at her to not call me Mrs. anything.

She presses a few buttons, and sheets of paper spill out of the printer. She passes me the top few, and I take them with shaking hands.

Despite what I said, I see it with my own eyes. Both signatures are dated, and every dime in my account has been wire transferred out. I don’t recognize the name or numbers, but there is a transaction note that reads:

Was it worth it, Little Backstabber?

“This is a mistake. I need to speak to the manager.” I’m going to be sick; my plans to run are lying in shambles. How far can I get on three-quarters of a tank of gas? I don’t mind sleeping in my car.

“You’re embarrassing yourself, Tatiana, and me. I’m coming to get you.”

“No!” I shout, too quickly and loudly.

“I’m on my way, please keep her there.”

“You can’t keep me here against my will.”

She holds up her hands. “It’s okay, Mrs. Sokolov. That’s not what I’m doing. I’m just going to help you.”

She tries to grab my hand, and I pull my fist back and launch it into her face. Her nose crunches beneath the force, and she shrieks as blood spills onto her white button-up shirt. It’s been a long time since I’ve punched someone, so my knuckles scream.

“What the hell?” She sobs as she grabs her nose. Turning as quick as I can, I spin on my heel and run. The automatic door clips my shoulder on the way out. Tremors rack my body as my back and hand scream, but seconds later, I’m at the car.

Knowing he’s on his way, I don’t search for my stalker. They were going to hold me on his command, and the fact he possesses that power shakes me to my core. What else can Dante do that I never gave him credit for, never feared him quite enough?

I fumble to unlock the door, jump inside, slam it shut behind me, flip the locks, and press the button to start the engine. I’m checking behind me to pull out when a dark shadow rises from the back seat. Before I can even scream, a sharp pinch stings my neck, then everything around me goes black.

CHAPTER 6

DANTE

I CAN’T JUST SHOVE her aside and take the driver’s seat for myself with the center console in the way. So I climb out of the car, open the door, and move her to lie in the back seat. I could throw her in the trunk, but there’s no point, she simply looks asleep. Killing her right now doesn’t appeal to me because of the illusion of innocence she holds, but it’s one I definitely can’t trust.

The bank manager watches me, shaking over the potential repercussions of what he’s done. The Gemelli name carries a lot of power despite my father’s pathetic weakness. He’s more worried about what will happen to him at our hands than with the feds, which is wise of him.

I shiver as I realize I thought of myself as part of them once more. I haven’t had a family for two years. Not since they let me burn to my assumed death and did nothing to avenge me, leaving me burned and broken to walk the earth alone, a monster.

I’m not wearing the mask anymore, but I’ll put it back on before she wakes up. There’s a strange freedom in letting people look at my mutilated face in the stark light of day. The bank manager turns as white as his button-up when I face him full on before climbing into the car.

My hands shake as I consider why I slipped up, what’s causing me to feel a little too human, too raw? My eyes drift to the drugged, backstabbing bitch lying in the back seat. I try to stop looking at her, but it’s an impossible task.

Images of last night fill my mind—her tight, hot cunt succumbing to me, her soft throat beneath my hands—and I can’t even conjure a picture of her dead through it. Imagining her bleeding and cut to pieces once gave me so much comfort on nights I couldn’t sleep, but I can’t find those thoughts now. Where the fuck are my plans, my rage?

I’m not in control of myself as I reach into the back seat and pull up her T-shirt. She’s not wearing anything sexy. The old Dante liked the band printed on the black cotton, but I can’t recall a single note. Her sports bra barely holds her luscious tits. I’ve always preferred my girls to be a little thick, the kind who would eat dinner with me and actually order food on the first date. Weak images of a dead life she stole from me flash by.

Family, friends, a future. I pull her bra down, forcing her tits out of the top, and fill my distorted hand with her warm, soft flesh. Touching her is the strangest sensation, my mangled skin doesn’t ache so bad when she’s beneath me. I pinch her nipples hard, with absolutely no response. I never considered killing her but leaving her body whole, taking advantage of her body after the fact. Maybe that’s what this is, a developing kink from a monster. But who would I do this to in her absence? I’m sick at the thought.

I pinch the skin around her nipples until her pale tits are covered in purple bruises. I fucking hate her and will kill her. I’m not softening to her. The monster inside me won’t start hunting the innocent. I won’t let it. When she’s covered in marks, I’m finally satisfied, so I pull away from the bank. As I adjust her mirror, I realize the bank manager never stopped watching.

He might have to die for what he just saw. I’m starting to think I’m a possessive monster.

The drive to the carnival only takes twenty minutes. It will be hours before it opens at sunset. I’ve made myself familiar with the layout over the last few weeks, showing my face enough that I’m recognized.

The property believes I work for the carnival, and the carnival believes I’m a groundskeeper. The event is eighteen plus, intended to be frightening, and the exhibits have a tendency to be risqué. My little backstabber will fit in just fine.

The earliest employees arrive at noon, with the majority not arriving until three. I drive directly up to the Funhouse to reduce the distance I need to haul her. I’ve maintained a lot of strength by carrying the majority of things on my good side and training the remaining decent muscles to compensate for the ones that will never be whole again.

Although I can push myself, my body still aches when I carry heavy things. The hatchet and the physical nature of my crimes are designed to spit in the face of that weakness.

I slide her to the edge of the seat as I prepare to lift her over my shoulder, focusing on my hatred rather than how pretty she looks with her lips parted and her full, bruised tits. My hatred for her overwhelms me as I pull her unconscious body out of the back seat and heave her over my good shoulder.

I’m not interested in the warm way she absorbs my shoulder, seeming to wrap around me in all her delicious softness. I’m going to stomp the beauty out of her and leave her dead and useless. I wonder if it disgusts her that a monster makes her wet, makes her come, but she doesn’t have a choice in anything anymore. Her life is mine.

I kick open the side door, carrying her up a flight of stairs. The Funhouse is a multiroomed event with several entrances and exists for each display. Entry is timed, but people often get mixed up in here. With the intense pain coursing through my body, I’m breathing heavy, but her smell and the feel of her skin are just so fucking good it doesn’t bother me as much as usual.

I walk through three rooms lit with daylight and lacking their normal Halloween horror. Each has three doors and a series of ropes to point people in the right direction. Mercifully, I come to my goal before my strength wanes.

The central room has six entrances, with bright lights that turn the middle into a stage and roped paths that circle its entirety. When the carnival opens, a real gutted pig with human-shaped bones mixed into its entrails will hang from the ceiling. The lights and dry ice smoke will give it a rave-style setting.

There are no open carcasses just yet; if they left the display, it would fester and stink. Last night’s meat is gone, the floor hosed down. Only a bare metallic hook hangs from the ceiling. The usual setup is symbolic of greed, so Tatiana will make a proper replacement. She could have willingly sucked and fucked more money out of me than she got for her betrayal.

Dumb Little Backstabber.

Unable to help myself, I grope her ass and every other part of her as I set her on the cement ground. Red stains seep into the concrete from the previous nights. This exhibit will have a different centerpiece tonight—my backstabbing little whore.

I take my time getting her naked before tying her in an elaborate shibari pattern, appreciating how delectable she looks with all her soft curves cut by the rope. The sight of my marred hands on her turns me on too. She wouldn’t want this, but she can’t stop it. What pretty princess wants to get fucked by a monster?

I spread her wide open, secure her legs the way I want them—with one leg bent and one leg straight. Next, I attach the rope to the rig and take a few steps back before hoisting her into the air. Her feet leave the ground and I can’t help appreciating the pathetic helplessness of her situation as she swings. Taking from her satisfies something deep inside me.

Tonight’s plans involve an audience, the peak of her humiliation, then her inevitable death, but right now, I want to enjoy myself with no one knowing.

I pull my cock out, then give it a few strokes with the good hand, hardly able to believe she affects me this way, that touching her skin dulls the pain rather than making it worse. My fingers spread her cunt and play with her clit. She doesn’t respond, too deep in the drugs to feel how I’ll use her. A few fingers slip inside her. She’s not wet enough to fuck yet, but that changes quickly as I press on her G-spot.

She’s dripping down her thighs by the time I line the thick head of my cock back up with her pussy. Fucking her last night was good, but this is better—my hand isn’t aching from repeatedly choking her, and I don’t have to feel conflicted about pleasuring her if she can’t remember or feel her orgasms.

I haven’t fucked for fun in so long I have no clue how to pleasure a woman anymore, and I don’t care. I ram into her as hard as I can. All her delicious parts jiggle as she sways. My fingers dig into her plush hips. As I pump harder, I have to concentrate on not coming. Suddenly, I wish she was conscious so I could hear her scream for me.

Reaching around, I play with her clit as I fuck her deep and hard, enjoying the way her ass cheeks part against my thighs, and I can feel every inch of her. My lips touch her neck, and I stuff my nose in her hair.

“You like being fucked by a monster while you’re drugged, you dirty little bitch?”

She must, because her cunt goes crazy milking me, the only response letting me know I can affect her at all, and something about evading her backstabbing little brain for a turn with her pretty, willing cunt has me insane. I force my way inside her until my cum splatters against her tight walls.

I might worry about pregnancy if I wasn’t going to fucking kill her. As if a monster like me could have a family. I wipe the sweat off my brow and tell myself I’m done rolling around with the filth.

But it’s a fucking lie, and no less than a minute later, I’m back inside her, smelling her hair, tasting her skin, and wondering why the fuck everything hurts less with her cunt around me. If I could keep her like this forever, I think I would.

CHAPTER 7

TATI

MY EYES SLOWLY UNSTICK THEMSELVES, but my mouth is so dry my lips don’t have a chance of parting. I’m not sure if I’m dreaming, but my head feels far away. Lights flash Halloween shades of orange, purple, and black. Are they pretty, or do they make my head hurt worse?

It takes me a minute to put together that I’m staring at the flashing lights of the Funhouse at the carnival where Katie wanted to meet. The lights throw heat all around me, and sweat drips down my skin. Shit, am I naked?

I try to move, get away from all this heat, cover my exposed body, but I swing and flail instead. Am I tied up? Long strips of hot pain cover me and wrap my limbs. The burns worsen as I struggle against the binds. Who would do this? Adrenaline and terror spike my blood.

Another frantic minute later, I remember Dante, then the bank, and finally the car. The pinch at my neck still stings. What did he do? How long have I been unconscious? Why did he bring me here? But there’s only one spot in the Funhouse that looks like this, with lights surrounding a platform. My heart drops as an idea of what he’s planning forms. The setting is similar in so many ways to the club where I agreed to sell him out.

My vision blurs. Whatever he drugged me with was strong. I hang from the ceiling, suspended above the ground. If I stretch, one big toe will scrape the concrete. My arms are folded and tucked behind my back, farther than my joints can accommodate, and they’re screaming from being stuck in this position for only Dante knows how long.

My cunt is spread wide open, and I realize the burning is from rope. Thick, rough, intricately tied, and almost beautiful looking if not for the facts: he drugged me and I didn’t ask to be here.

Knowing what usually happens in this room, as I come to this Funhouse every year, I’m glad I’m hung with ropes and not a hook through my meat like they do to the pigs. I can’t breathe as I understand the implication of hanging me here. He plans to gut me. Fuck, that seems like a painful way to die. A quick series of sharp breaths tighten the ropes around my lungs.

I whine without meaning to, then quickly shut my mouth, not sure if I’m alone or surrounded by people. What time is it? Is my hearing affected? I’m panicking about what attention I might bring myself in this state. Dante has already used my body twice without my consent, and letting him have his revenge without complaint seems like the least I can do, but I don’t feel the same about every pervert who comes to the carnival.

My pussy seems wet and stretched, alluding to the fact I was fucked while unconscious. The texture of Dante’s cum is distinct from my arousal. I hope it was him, anyway. I couldn’t stomach some other guy doing the same to me. It’s naïve to think he might prevent that after everything I’ve done, but I don’t want him to share me.

It’s not that I have feelings for Dante, I’m not that stupid, knowing how disgusted he would likely be by my affection, but my guilt and longing for him to be alive have merged into something powerful. His life has taken on a nearly religious connotation, like he was raised from the dead to torture, fuck, and absolve me.

I was secretly thrilled when he broke that guy’s foot after he flashed my pussy at the party. That sentiment is foolish though, given he’s got me tied up naked for the world to see and will spill my guts for them. I swallow hard. It doesn’t matter to him that my soul feels bound to his. It shouldn’t matter.

“Dante, I’m sorry,” I whimper the words from the bottom of my heart.

I say it because I mean it, but also because I’m tired of waiting. I’m about to face my death, and find I want to be close to him. For some sick reason, we’re as attuned to one another as I feel, and my regret summons him to my back.

“Not yet, Little Backstabber, but you’re going to be by the time I’m done with you.” His body soothes me as it blocks the heat of the lights and offers my back some modesty. His presence is such a deep relief it’s hard to explain. His life is the shreds of hope I’d given up on. His lips touch my ear as he speaks, his voice unsettlingly intimate. “I have so many plans for you.”

Chills run up my spine, along with fear and arousal.

“I really don’t mind if you want to fuck me. It’s the least I can do after everything.” I want him to fuck me, with how close he is and how good he feels. Him fucking me feels like winning. “You don’t need to keep knocking me unconscious. I might be more fun awake.”

People rustle, talk, move, and a line of spectators form outside at least one of the doors. Their wordless excitement is its own presence next to my anxiety. At the height of the evening, people will come and go through every entry.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Little Backstabber, I fucked you because you’re a warm, wet hole.” That stings but doesn’t feel true. There are plenty of warm wet holes out there that never set him on fire.

“I must have been confused. Felt like it might be more to me.”

After an intense moment of silence, his hand moves, then something cuts into my thigh. My scream rips through the room. A wave of laughter and whoops of excitement echo from outside. The shock is almost as intense as the pain as he slices me further.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare say shit like that. There’s nothing but revenge between us,” he grits, his denial so full of pain I feel it too.

“There’s at least one other thing. You like my cunt, Dante. That’s why you can’t stop yourself, isn’t it? It’s okay. I want to fuck you too.”

Another cut, but I barely whimper this time. I’m too overwhelmed by sensations. There’s too much pain.

“I’m going to enjoy killing you in front of them, Little Backstabber. You’re going to die regretting that pitiful fake apology most of all.”

“Stop it, listen to me, please.” The fittings creak and my body helplessly sways. I’m not lying. This absolves nothing if he won’t believe me.

There are seconds before I’m exposed to them all, and it’s not my dignity I’m rallying for. I need him to understand I’m so fucking sorry before I die. I wish I could change what I did.

“Listening to you destroyed my life the first time. Why would I do it again?” The ache in his voice is bone deep. I did destroy his life. I sent him to a failed death, a life of pain. I knew exactly what was waiting for him.

The door opens and people file in. I barely breathe as I try to ignore them and plead my case to him. Even if I wanted to, I can’t see their faces with the spotlights on me. The paths lead in all directions, but I assume very few will choose the path where his body covers mine.

“This time I don’t want anything from you. There’s nothing for me to gain here. I’ve already sold my soul for money. I know I’m going to die. What would be the point of lying now?” I tell myself the people are not here. There’s no murmuring and gasps of shock as they fill the room and see me hanging. It’s Dante and I alone in my imagination.

“Maybe you think you can save your life.”

“I’m not stupid, Dante. I know you can’t let this go, but I am fucking sorry. You can take my life, but you can’t take that.”

“Oh shit, this one’s performance art,” a male voice comments, breaking the illusion I had worked so hard to build. I can’t see the people for anything but silhouettes with the angle of the lights.

“That’s hot,” another says.

“You don’t have to believe me or forgive me, but I’ve been sorry for a long time. I’ve regretted what I did to you the moment you rolled away.” It’s probably sick, but part of me is deeply gratified that I’ll get to pay for my sins, that I have an audience to the bearing of my soul. I’ll pay for some of what I’ve done before I die.

Dante’s body is flush against my back, and I feel and hear his gasping breaths as he processes my words. It’s like the people around us don’t exist for him.

“Oh my God? Is that the girl from English lit?” a female voice asks. “This is gross.” The voice isn’t one I recognize, but I glow red in my humiliation.

“Maybe you should watch your fucking mouth,” Dante growls at her. “You’re not half as pretty as this backstabbing whore.”

CHAPTER 8

TATI

“YOU THINK I’M PRETTY?” A compliment from Dante is something I never expected to receive again. The thrill of it sinks deeps into my bones and changes me chemically. I can’t believe he’s alive and this is real. The embarrassment morphs into a different type of heat after he stands up for me. Who the hell ever has?

His hard cock presses into my back, and somehow, him wanting me means we’re both salvageable.

“I think you’re so pretty that I texted your friend to come see you in all your glory.” Dante leans in farther, speaking just to me as he drags the blade up at an opposite angle. I scream louder, but laughter and chatter fill the room as another wave of people enter and the first group files toward the doors.

“Please leave her out of this,” I beg, swinging again as I struggle. He grabs me and holds me still, leaving only the hook creeking.

“She’s on her way here to see what a backstabbing little whore you are with your pretty cunt out.” I can’t help the pleasure flashing through me from him calling my cunt pretty, it’s stronger than the pain and my fear for Katie. The second compliment he’s given me, and I will savor every one.

“Are you going to scream pretty like that for your audience, Tatiana? We both know how you love to perform.”

Three and four? I don’t care, it sounds like I’m pleasing him, and that’s all I want.

“I don’t care about my audience. I told you I want to make this up to you. How do you want me to scream?”

He reaches around, gripping my face and squeezing my jaw.

“It will be made up to me once I ruin you. I want you to scream like you’re going to die.”

I open my mouth and give him exactly what he asked for, shaking the room with the intensity of my terror, my self-hatred, and how much I deserve to die even if I don’t want to.

“Oh my God!”

“Holy shit!” People jump and gasp, not expecting my outburst. Without being able to see their faces, they don’t feel real.

“Katie should be here any minute. She was so relieved you didn’t skip town. The only reason you didn’t is because I stopped you. See how you’re always hurting people?”

“Yes.”

I really fucking do, but he ignores that entirely.

“Fuck,” I groan as his lips caress the spot where my neck and shoulder meet. His gentleness wrecks me so much more than his violence. I don’t deserve the orgasms he’s given me either, but at least they come with pain. The kisses are pure torture. “You can’t kiss me like that.”

“I can do whatever I want to you. Don’t you get that?”

“That’s not the problem.”

“Don’t want to be kissed by a monster? That’s just too fucking bad.”

“You’re not a monster. Stop it.” It hurts my heart that he thinks of himself that way because of what I’ve done. “I’m the monster, don’t you get that?”

His teeth clamp over the spot he kissed. My skin breaks beneath them so much more painfully than it did the knife, and I’m suddenly grateful for the cuts. He pulls away slowly, tugging the broken flesh.

“She really wants to know what happened with that guy at the party that got you so upset. She thinks he’s to blame, but I guess your roommate doesn’t know you’re a murderous little bitch.”

“Fuck,” I squeal, emboldened by the pain. “I’m sorry, but you’re alive if you haven’t noticed. Your teeth marks are in my fucking neck. I’m not a murderer, just a backstabber, dramatic fucking Italians!”

I brace myself to die, but instead, he laughs. The sound draws us both up short. It’s full of gravel as if rusty from disuse, and I wonder if he’s laughed once since the attack.

“This isn’t living, Tatiana.”

I’ve spent years regretting my actions, thinking I killed him, but what I’ve done is so much worse. He’s lived in pain and isolation. He’s become a monster in his own assessment, and I pushed him to it. He’s the ghost of my past here to fuck me raw in front of an audience. Am I already dead? Is this hell, where I pay for my crimes.

“Creepy,” one of the passing men comments.

That snaps his control and his free hand flies to my throat, squeezing until I’m disoriented and my lungs scream.

His fingers dig in deeper, choking me harder this time, aiming to harm me versus giving me that pleasurable buzz. It’s better than being gutted, which can take hours.

Maybe he knows that if he lets me live I’ll never give up on trying to make this right. That I’ll do anything to bring him back to the real world.

This is the end.

Lights pop in my vision, and I’m going to die with him saying, “This isn’t living” caught in my ears. Maybe that’s what I deserve.

“Tati?” Katie’s voice echoes down the hall from the opposite side of the main entrance. If she’s in one of the other rooms, she must have passed me without noticing. I pray she stops looking and heads to the exit.

Fuck, fuck. I jerk under Dante’s hold. I don’t want my friend to watch me die. She’s fucked up enough from her best friend and previous roommate disappearing. He’s right that I’m always hurting people, but I can change.

“You can try to call for help, Tati, but then your friend will see your cunt and how wet it gets for a monster.”

Scrambling to think through the intense lack of oxygen turning my stomach and making my hands numb, I can’t open my mouth for help. I don’t deserve it.

He loosens his grip, allowing me to breathe again, but it takes a minute before I’m able to speak.

“You’re not a monster, and you’re the only one who can help me now. I get that. Please leave her out of this. Don’t make innocent people pay for my crimes.”

That knife digs back into my skin, and I cry long and low. Hot blood drips across my thigh, down my calf, and pools beneath my foot. The blade leaves my skin, but the pain lingers, and his hand tightens around my throat once again.

A group of people pass, and I can just discern one of them pointing. My eyes drop to the outline of their shoes as they pass instead. Is this the horrifying Halloween they expected? Am I a disappointment to them too?

“You should know all about making innocent people pay for your crimes.”

“You were in the Mafia, Dante. I wouldn’t call you innocent.”

He slaps my ass hard, gripping my hip with his unscarred hand and stopping me from swaying.

“Is that how you sleep at night?”

“Just because you weren’t innocent doesn’t mean you deserved it, but you were not innocent.”

My legs are spread in such a way that I’m accessible to him from every angle. He doesn’t even need to spread me open as he uses the scarred hand to finger my pussy deep. It’s rough and debasing, not intended for my pleasure, but I can’t control the way I quake around him.

“Talk about not fucking innocent.”

I moan as a response.

“Why are you always wet for me, Little Backstabber? Are you that much of a whore?” He’s trying to insult me, but there’s hunger in his voice. He wants this.

“Yeah, that’s it,” I agree too quickly.

“You’re not that fucking stupid,” he answers with a hint of doubt. “Your cunt’s just trying to keep you alive. Polish my cock well enough and I’ll let you live?”

“Exactly,” I grit through my teeth as he presses torturously on my G-spot. I’m not obsessed with him and desperate for his forgiveness.

“Fuck, I can smell her,” a guy from the next group comments as they get closer.

Dante growls, the vibrations of his aggression and frustration rumbling through his chest and into me.

The man puts his hands up and keeps walking.

“Are you jealous?” I ask. If I’m going to die anyway, I might as well ask the questions I want answers to.

“Of what?”

That guy smelling my pussy?

“Nothing, I guess.”

“Tatiana, where are you?” Katie shouts with real concern, her voice coming from the other side of the room this time. She must be looking for me in the crowd and missing me in the center of the room.

“I texted her that you’re waiting here for her. I’m surprised she hasn’t found you yet.”

A long stroke of his knife splits what’s left of my thigh, and I cry in earnest for this one. His fingers don’t leave my pussy, though, and the pressure helps fight the worst of the pain.

“Tatiana!” The shout comes from farther away this time.

“Awe, she left,” he coos. “Don’t worry. I’ll make her come back soon.”

Another short slice.

“All done! Look, Little Backstabber, look down if you feel so bad. Tell me what you think of your pretty skin now.”

His fingers continue their delicious torture, and I don’t give in, I can’t take it yet. I’m not ready to face it.

“Let me see your face,” I counter. I need to look at him to understand what happened to the kind person I destroyed for my own gain. I need to see how he’s lived these last two years.

“So eager to see your handiwork?” A forceful thrust. “Is that what gets you off?”

He’s what gets me off. If I lived, I’m not sure I could come to anything else again.

“I should know what I’m paying for, shouldn’t I?”

He laughs again, but this time it’s a sinister sound. It flips my stomach worse than the pain, the suspension, or the hand around my neck.

“I think I agree with you, Little Backstabber. I never thought I would say that.”

“We used to agree on a lot,” I say, but he ignores me.

“What’s a crime paid for without knowing the extent of its cruelty? I’ve never shown any of my victims what they did to me before, but I suppose the nature of your betrayal was so much more personal, wasn’t it?”

I think it’s a rhetorical question until he shoves me to answer.

“It was much more personal.”

“You should see what you’ve done.”

Part of me is perversely interested; I shouldn’t want to look so badly, knowing it’s all my fault. He feels it all: my guilt, my concern, my sick interest.

“Try to come after you see this,” he says as he steps around me. He’s immense, broad, with tousled dark hair, and still beautiful on one side. The scars are faint, distorting the shape of his mouth, but it doesn’t seem that bad.

Then he pulls off the mask, revealing the extent of the damage I’ve done.

He nearly looks skeletal on the bad side. What’s left of his skin is still red and pink even after all this time. There’s a thinness to it, and I imagine existing with it is painful. There’s a distinct boniness beneath it, a lack of soft flesh and muscle, a complete destruction of his once beautiful face.

No wonder he thinks he’s a monster.

“Is that what makes you so wet, you dirty little bitch? Knowing you ruined me and I’m sticking my fingers in your cunt instead of my knife in your neck?”

He puts his fingers back inside me, but we’re facing each other this time, and there’s no escaping him, not physically or emotionally.

Dante thinks he’s turned me off, but he doesn’t understand how badly I want to make this up to him. He could never understand how little those scars mean to me, how beautiful I still find him, and the way my heart aches to set this right. If I wasn’t tied, I would touch him and tell him how worthy he still is.

His fingers plunge in and out of me, and I’m not sure what he wanted, but I can tell by the anger warping the one side of his face he’s disappointed. The other side doesn’t change much. I’m desperate to touch it, aching to kiss the pieces of skin, the spots where there’s almost nothing left. There aren’t words for how deeply I’m sorry.

Much to both of our dismay, I’m sure I can come like this. He’s fingering me in a way that would be hard to fight in worse circumstances, and the display of his scars had the exact opposite effect of what he was hoping for. I want to prove to him that things can be okay again, and if that takes me dying, so be it. If that means I have to love him, I will.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he demands.

“You don’t want me to answer.” There’s this feeling in my soul that I can bring him back. Intensity passes between us, and it only makes my aching limbs tingle more. If I live, I worry I’ll have permanent nerve damage, but I don’t dare complain. I doubt I’ll be lucky enough to experience the effects of it, and I doubt he would care.

“You think I’m a monster? Like what you did to me?” He’s trying to taunt me, but it lacks his previous conviction.

“You know it’s not that.”

The good side of his face crumples further. Possibly worried he’s actually starting to believe me, understanding I acknowledge what I did was wrong and I hold deep and true regret. What would happen if he forgave me?

“I don’t know anything since I trusted you.” He works another finger deep inside me, and I don’t know if he wants to punish me or make me come, but I guess he’s getting both. I’m so close.

His words sting almost as badly as seeing his scars, and a tear forms in my eyes. I’m the reason he’s alone.

“Don’t you dare pity me. I’ll kill you right now if you pity me, you little fucking bitch.”

“I don’t pity you. I pity myself because I know now I could never make this up to you.”

“You could at least try. What have you given me but bullshit apologies?”

“I’ll suck your cock until you’re done with my mouth. I’ll let you use me in every way. You can play with my body whether I’m awake or not. You can take and take until all that’s left is for you to kill me. And then you can take my life too.”

We stare into each other’s eyes for a full minute.

“Look at your leg and then tell me you’ll give me whatever I want, Little Backstabber.”

Since he met the condition I gave him, I see no reason not to oblige. I look down and blood drips from my wounds. My stomach flips, and it takes a full minute to understand what I see. He’s cut a heart into my leg, and in the middle, is the letter D.

CHAPTER 9

DANTE

HER PRETTY MOUTH drops open as she looks at the tribute to me that I cut into her skin, but the devastation I counted on never follows. I would almost describe her gaze as pleased.

“It’s pretty,” she murmurs, but that only means she’s a better actress than I thought.

Who would be pleased to be marked by a monster?

I slap the wounds with an open palm, and she sobs, open-mouthed. Tears cover her pretty cheeks. Simply for my entertainment, I push her so her body sways. Still, she holds firm to her lies.

“I’ll do anything to make it up to you, but I can’t take swinging like this anymore. Please cut me down. I’m going to be sick.”

That would add nicely to her humiliation. I push her again, and her tits and ass look incredible wrapped in rope, delicious as they sway past me.

“What if I wanted you to stay there to make it up to me? What if hanging there forever was how I wanted you to atone?”

That scares her, eyes widening and lips parting on a pant, but she swallows her initial reaction. “Fine. Whatever you want, Dante.”

She looks down, staring at the cuts I’ve put on her, still not reacting the way I want.

“You’re not going to beg?”

“Beg for what?”

“Your life?”

“It’s yours now.”

“You’re giving it to me, or I’m taking it?”

“I said anything, Dante, and I suppose this isn’t much in the grand scheme of things.” She turns slightly green from the motion sickness, and sympathy swamps me.

I’m being unduly influenced by that false innocence I saw on her face while she was unconscious. By how good she felt when I fucked her repeatedly without her consent. The illusion of sincerity on her perfect face terrifies me.

I take the knife I used to carve my initial into her leg and unceremoniously saw the rope holding her up. She slams to the ground with only one foot free and unable to balance her. The other is bent at the knee and pressed against her calf in a useless position.

She flounders in front of me, her ass on display, and her cheek pressed into the cold floor. I smile at the sight. I’d like that to be where the sensation stops, but then the strangest hint of something like regret runs through me. It can’t be that though because I would never feel bad for my little backstabber.

I pull my cock out of my pants and give it a couple of strokes, the fact we have an audience is almost meaningless to me. It’s like she’s the only person to exist. I’ve felt that way since the moment I killed Rosario, leaving only her to die.

My hope that their presence makes this worse for her goes up in flames as she stares at me. She seems like she might be as distracted as I am. It would be a shame for all these theatrics to be a wasted effort. The least I can do is fuck her face in front of them.

I grab her by her hair, yanking her body up, not caring how she bends and twists and whines. Her body is a mottled combination of red and white, with blood and rope burn—stunning. She arches as far as she can with the rope binding her, bending to my will.

When I force her head to my groin, I expect more resistance, but she’s a whore through and through. She opens her mouth wide, expecting me to slide down her throat, but instead, I spit right on her tongue.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna fucking hurl,” some girl says from the audience, and she’s lucky I don’t see her face.

I’m surprised by the protective flare of rage even if it’s not the first time I’ve felt it tonight. I want Tatiana humiliated, but all of a sudden it feels like the wrong type of humiliation. I don’t want people looking at her who call her disgusting.

“Would you like to be next?” It’s not a genuine offer, I don’t want to fuck her, but I might enjoy hacking her to pieces.

The girl screams and runs away, and much to my surprise, Tatiana pouts. She closes her mouth with my spit still on her tongue, not even attempting to remove it, and I hate to admit how much I enjoy that.

“Are you jealous?” I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me, and shoot her absurd question back at her.

“Please put your cock in my mouth.”

“Were you jealous thinking about another girl in your position right now?”

I squeeze harder and give her a shake. Her lip raises in a little snarl.

“You’ve already hurt and humiliated me. What else do you need? Just give me your cock, Dante.”

“Only if you tell the truth, Little Backstabber. Why are you upset? This is the first time tonight you’ve pouted.”

I trace the pearly head over her lips, enjoying the way they shine with my pre-cum like it’s gloss. No good ever comes out of this pretty, lying mouth, but fuck, can it make you feel good.

“The idea of another woman with you makes me fucking crazy.”

She sticks out her tongue even farther to taste my head. The soft swipe jerks a small bead of cum out of my cock, and I can’t help my soft groan.

I don’t tell her that she’s the first woman who’s gotten my dick hard in two years or explain to her that when she’s near me the constant pain dulls and feels further away, perhaps a devil on my shoulder rather than touching every part of me. I don’t care about people in the room or the scene I’ve intentionally set up to humiliate her. All I care about is the feeling of her tongue on my dick.

We must’ve both gone insane, because there’s no reason for this hatred, animosity, and betrayal to form into something more. There’s no reason for her to feel so good around me. I fucking hate her.

I do hate her.

But maybe I need her too. I haven’t felt alive in two years, and I need to play with her a little bit longer before I kill her and I’m dead again. She can’t get away with what she’s done just because she’s the only thing left that makes me feel whole. My feelings aren’t more important than justice. She has to pay, but in the back of my mind sits the fear of what I’ll become when I have no revenge left.

“All I know is you’re mine until you die. No one but me will ever touch you. That means I’m yours too.”

“But I’m still going to die?” She closes her eyes, waiting for my response.

“Of course. There’s no changing that now.” My hand remains tangled in her hair, but I don’t have it in me to yank it anymore.

The slightest tightening crinkles the corner of her eyes and the edges of her mouth as delicate tear runs down her cheek, but she swallows, stowing her pain.

“Okay, I understand.” She nods repeatedly, and something about the action makes her seem like a small helpless child, but that’s even more dangerous than assuming innocence of her. “Then let me suck your cock, and you decide when I die.”

“This shit is depressing,” someone comments.

I agree.

“Fuck her face!” another whoops. My initial instinct is to kill him, but sometimes you have to give the audience what they want.

Pushing my cock against her hot, wet tongue, I slide quickly to the back of her throat. I have no desire to take anything slow. She owes me hard, fast—however and whatever I want. Her mouth slurps around my cock, like she wants this. Like my cock down her throat turns her on.

She closes her lips tight around me, and the suction draws my balls up to my body. I don’t remember head feeling this good, but there have been so few things in the intervening years that I’ve enjoyed. The sensation of pleasure is just more acute now, it’s not that her tongue and lips are perfect.

She grunts as she leans forward, pulling my cock as deeply down her throat as possible. Once there, she swallows around my head, nearly drawing my cum out of me in one move.

She requires little coaxing and uses what leverage she has over her tied body to work and suck my cock like her life depends on it. I use her hair to hold her in place.

I could fuck her throat, but she’s trying to make this up to me. It makes how hard she tries to suck my cock all the sweeter. I close my eyes and gently nudge my hips to get even farther down her throat as she tries her best to swallow me to my base. Is she actually sorry?

“Take a deep breath,” I say, and push, working past her resistance.

I shove my other hand into her hair, the good and the bad, and for once, they don’t feel all that different with those silky, soft strands between them. When I pull it, she moans.

“You like sucking monster dick?”

“Not a monster,” she mumbles around me.

“Then what the fuck am I?” It’s starting to bother me that she keeps saying shit like that.

I pull her off my cock so she can answer.

“You’re just a man, Dante. Scarred and fucked up but human.”

I shove my cock back down her throat to prove she’s wrong, rougher this time, pulling her hair by the roots as tight as possible and making it hurt more than I need to.

“What do you call this, then?”

She doesn’t answer, she can’t. She just tears up and gags around my length battering the back of her throat.

When she moans, the vibrations move up my shaft and into my balls. My self-hatred flares, but the sound of her being pleased with my taste is too good to resist. My cum shoots straight down her throat, and I continue pumping my hips until every drop of my orgasm is spent and she’s gagging and drooling in a stream down her pitiful chin.

I look up, my orgasm still pounding in my veins, and find someone standing a little bit too close, watching a little too hard. When she takes another step forward, switching herself out of the shadows and into the spotlight, her mouth drops open.

It’s clear Katie recognizes me from the party. Maybe she recognizes Tatiana too, but I can’t be certain as she’s facing her back. She scrambles for something to say, but eventually closes her mouth and walks away. Smart girl.

I don’t say anything to Tatiana, letting this bit of shame stew to deliver later. This will hurt her worse than all the people watching, and I can’t wait to break her.

CHAPTER 10

TATI

AFTER HE COMES, Dante releases my hair and lets me drop unceremoniously to the floor. My tits ache and my lungs burn as the air is knocked out of me, but being supported by the ground is a deep relief to every muscle in my body after hanging and then half kneeling. I can’t help but whimper as he slowly cuts away the rope, occasionally nicking my skin.

“That was nice, Little Backstabber. I appreciated it, but I think it’s time for you to run for your life.”

I can’t run nor can I believe he’s so fucking cruel. My limbs are numb, so I stretch, but I’m not sure any part of me responds.

“I said get the fuck up, Tatiana.”

“Please, Dante. I can’t. If you’re going to kill me, just do it.

“I should have known you’re not willing to do anything. You’re not even trying.”

How fucking dare he? I’ve been trying for as long as I can remember, and I’ve had no one but a drug-addicted mom to look out for me. Most of the time, I was the one taking care of her. All I’ve ever done is try and fail, until I betrayed him and took that payout. That’s when my life got easy, but hating myself was a lot harder than I imagined it would be.

I try to move my limbs again, and this time they barely twitch. A tingling from regaining circulation starts in the tips of my fingers and toes. He steps over top of me, placing his ax on the ground in front of my head. I watch in terror as the blade spins.

“You’re telling me you’re just going to lay there while you die? You wouldn’t even lay there when you were broke and you could have fucked my money out of me.”

My hands spasm, and I try to push them against the ground to hoist myself up but make very little progress.

“Pitiful.”

I shove harder, and my chest leaves the ground, but he stomps on my back, forcing me down. Tears splatter the concrete as I struggle to push myself up again, but he doesn’t remove his boot.

“Jesus Christ, this shit is dark this year.”

Do I have to die for them to see that this is real? Maybe it’s a fitting punishment given the lies I’ve lived with.

He lifts his boot.

“Run or die.”

Some vestiges of my self-preservation remain, and I finally manage to get on my knees, then my feet. Eventually I’m standing, then close to running on numb and wobbly legs.

“You can run, but I’ll still come, Little Backstabber.”

A chill drips down my spine, and my pussy floods. Part of me is obsessed with Dante and his pleasure, and the other wishes I would calm the fuck down and worry about living for once.

His ax scrapes something metallic, making a screeching sound as he follows me. I run into people, too frantic to find it within myself to care. They comment and shriek when my blood and naked skin touches them. I’d be repulsed too.

Every part of my body aches so badly if it wasn’t my life on the line, I would fall to the ground and give up. But I’m like any other creature who walks this earth, desperate to keep my time on it going. I know this building well, but I suspect he does too, as the sound of his ax is never far away. What little edge I had quickly proves useless.

I dart to the left, nearly tripping over the smoke machine as I avoid the roped paths as much as possible, but he’s right there, dragging that ax behind him. The crowd grows more dense, and I take a sharp turn into the hall of mirrors, running past a thousand distorted versions of myself. A hulking shadow lurks behind every one. When the mirrors show both sides of his face gaining on me, my scream is so loud I’m surprised the glass doesn’t break.

Entering the last room, I swear his breath tickles my neck as I leave the warped versions of us behind. I break through another crowd of people. Clowns, dolls, and mannequins are all arranged like they belong in an old sewing shop. They usually come with a jump scare, but this year, an old tailor sits among them. I don’t have time to figure out how they’ve revolutionized the attraction. I need to get the fuck out of here.

His ax can’t be more than a foot behind me at anytime, yet I still live long enough to make it into the freezing October air. It’s especially painful against the rope burn and my naked skin. The neon lights of the carnival overwhelm me. The smell of fried dough and candy apples wafts, and people stare as I run past.

“Help me!” I scream, stopping a group of girls. “Please, he has an ax!”

They all laugh, and one of them snaps a picture of me.

“Oh cool!” she gushes before I push past them and keep running.

Tears stream down my cheeks, and Dante is too close for me to spend any more time talking. Bodies press tightly all around me as people talk, laugh, and mill. I don’t see Katie among them, and while she would help me, I’m grateful she’s not caught in the crossfire.

My legs scream as I keep pushing, every inch of me hurts, and while the adrenaline allows me to work through it, I know it will be brutal once I stop.

The rows of vendors are filled with cute and creepy clothes, accessories, and goodies. It’s usually one of my favorite parts of the event, but this year, it signals that I’m near the woods and the end of civilization. What will he do once we’re alone in the woods?

I consider circling back, but he’s more likely to hack me apart in front of Katie, and I don’t want to always be hurting people like he said. I keep moving, gaining speed as my muscles loosen and stretch out. The abuse they’ve taken will catch up with me. Hints of it threaten now.

My feet don’t hurt more than any other part of my body, until I leave the pavement. The woods sit only twenty feet from the event space. I consider running another direction, but when I look behind me, he’s only feet away.

“Fuck,” I shout as I kick it into high gear. I have no chance of outrunning him, but I can’t just let myself die.

He laughs again as his ax drags across the ground. We both pick up speed. Bits of rock and the forest floor cut my feet. He wears boots and I’m barefoot, another reason this escape attempt is pointless.

The ax swings through the air, sending a breeze across my neck as he just misses taking off my head. I shriek at the top of my lungs, and he swings again. The blade cuts my hair, spiking my adrenaline, and each breath becomes painful.

On the next swing, the blade grazes my shoulder, slicing me. Blood drips down my back, and I hope it’s not worse than it seems when the adrenaline wears off.

I need to live, I’ll do anything. In my desperation to get away, my foot catches a root, and I go flying. As I bounce across the ground, the pain is indescribable, and I’m grateful when I finally come to a stop on my back.

Upon opening my eyes, he’s standing over me. It’s hard to make out his full expression in the dark and having just hit my head on the ground, but his whole body shakes.

He drops down, a knee on either side of my hips, and swings the ax over my head. This is it. He’s going to bring it down on me like a judge’s gavel, and I will die.

My desperation leads me to do the absolute last thing I can think of, and I place my hands against his chest.

He stops at my touch, and gasps like I’m hurting him. It doesn’t matter if I am, at least he’s not splitting my head down the middle.

I slide my shaking fingers up his neck, clinging to him, hoping there’s something human in him left to appeal to. I’m not strong enough on my own to stop his advances, he has to be willing to stop. The ax hangs above me, and I plead with my gaze for him to not to cleave me apart. I can’t tell if I’m convincing him, as both sides are stoic and beautiful in their own way.

My fingers move to his face. My abs scream with the effort, but I need to touch all of him now that he’s near me. He’s not a goddamn monster. He’s Dante. He never should have wound up this way.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” he shouts as he drops the ax behind my head. It hits the ground with a thud, and I squeak in relief.

He grabs my wrists and slams them into the dirt by the ax. He’s an inch from my face, angry frantic breaths puffing against me as the moonlight dances across his ruined cheek.

“Why, Dante? What’s going to happen? What are you going to do that you haven’t already done?” I push myself closer to him, refusing to give up an inch of contact, hungry for more of it.

His body shakes against me as if he’s in physical pain.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” His threat lacks bite.

I tug my wrists, but he won’t free them, so I arch to press the length of my body against his.

“Then who will you have left to take your revenge out on? What will you be without me?”

His mouth opens like he’s got a ready argument, but it never comes, and his good eye blinks in astonishment. The other one moves at a slower pace, never closing entirely.

“Come on, Dante. What the hell are you going to do once I’m dead and there’s no revenge left for you?”

He just stares at me, but his grip on my wrists loosens. I slip them free and wrap my hands around his neck like he’s done to me so many times, but I don’t squeeze. It’s nothing more than an intimate gesture.

“What are you going to do when you have nothing left?” I wriggle my hips against him.

“I have nothing left. You made sure of that.”

“You do have something.” I push my crotch against him, and he’s hard for me. “Killing, fucking, revenge, it might not be a lot, but it’s more than nothing.”

I squeeze his neck slightly, pulling him closer and forcing him to meet my gaze. His eyes are like bourbon and so easy to get lost in.

“This is all that matters.”

“What’s going to happen after you kill me, then?” I push him. “You’re going to stop killing, act normal, and get a job? Are you anything but revenge anymore?”

“Are you trying to hurt me? Haven’t you done enough of that already?”

He inches closer to me, and I can’t help myself—I kiss him. It’s soft and trepidatious, and he doesn’t kiss me back but also doesn’t push me away. One more kiss and I slide my tongue against his mouth. Then I pull back just enough to answer him.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m trying to get you to see that I will give you my life, and you can take that however you want. Maybe you don’t have to be so fucking alone.”

I kiss him again, and he responds by tipping his head just enough to deepen the kiss but still doesn’t engage with me. My hands slip over his shoulders and stop on his pecs. Power courses through me as he shudders under my touch.

“Am I hurting you?” Despite what he thinks, I’m not trying to cause him pain for my selfish gains or otherwise. I want to fix what I’ve done. I want to kiss him deep enough to fuse our souls and let him have whatever he needs from mine to feel okay again.

“No,” he grits through his teeth, and my hands find the hem of his shirt, pushing it up until I feel the dual nature of his abs. One side is fundamentally stronger, but neither side is unworthy.

He shivers beneath my touch, and although we’ve done a lot of sexual things, he jumps as I dig my fingers into his pants and take hold of his cock. I stroke him with one hand and use the other to caress his face, his hair, and the sunken plane of his cheek. He moans beneath my touch, and even though he’s on top of me, still plotting my death, I’ve never felt more alive.

“What do you mean you’ll give me your life even if I let you live?” I kiss him again, emboldened by his lack of violence and the fact he gets a little more into them each time. I lick his lips just once. Kissing him is the most exciting experience I’ve ever had, a thousand times more intimate than the sex.

I take his face in both my hands, trying to make him see how badly I want him and how dire the truth of our situation is.

“I’m yours, Dante. I understand there’s no escaping that, but aren’t you afraid of what happens when you need another hit? You don’t think you might hurt innocent people with no one left to take it out on? What if you just hurt me instead.”

“I wouldn’t.” He’s quick to argue, but stark fear shines in his gaze. He’s considered this before.

“You’re addicted to the blood, your revenge. You need it.”

He’s slower to answer, comprehending the truth of my words, and I take advantage, coaxing him into a full-on sliding of tongues.

“I wouldn’t hurt innocent people,” he whispers against my mouth.

“Wouldn’t you, though, Dante? You might not mean to, but I can feel the anger still burning inside you. It’s not going to die out with me.”

He bites my lip hard, drawing blood, and I whine against his lips. His cock gets even harder, needily jerking.

“Don’t talk about burning, you have no idea what it’s like to burn.”

He licks my blood, tasting the injury he caused. His breathing picks up. I upset him so much worse than with anything else I’ve said.

“Shh, shh, I’m sorry. You’re right, I’ll never say it again.”

His eyes beseech me, and I die a thousand deaths as he kisses me this time. His gentleness wrecks me much worse than his violence.

“And what would become of you? If I decided not to kill you and you gave me your life?”

It feels like he might want me, and that alone is enough to make all this worth it.

“That would be up to you, wouldn’t it?”

He smiles a perfect half smile.

“You have an idea. It’s obvious.”

“I plan on loving you as much as you’ll let me and taking all the punishment you feel you need to give.”

CHAPTER 11

DANTE

I WOULD LAUGH at the prospect of her loving me, but suddenly, the idea isn’t so funny. Picking up my hatchet and killing her crosses my mind, but the thought moves further away with each stroke of my cock.

She doesn’t flinch in disgust or act repulsed by me, and much to my horror, she doesn’t seem aroused by the sick horror of what she did to me either. She seems like she’s enjoying touching me, like she feels for me.

Even more concerning, the places she touches are miraculously free of pain, even more so than when I’m touching her. They feel nearly good, whole, alive. What if other parts of my being feel as good under her touch?

What if she really could love me?

I’m stupid for entertaining such romantic thoughts. We’ll never have a real relationship, but maybe I can keep her like a pretty fuckdoll.

She shivers in the late October air. Her full tits, peaked with the hardest nipples, pressing against my chest. Part of me wants to warm her. I knew I was growing too soft for her, but did I really stand a chance when everything about her makes me feel alive again?

She pushes my shirt up, stopping at my shoulders. Taking the weight off my hands and lifting my arms, I let her remove it. When did she make me desperate to feel more of her willing touches? Just how good she can make me feel?

I can always kill her later. I still want to, I’m going to, I lie to myself. Maybe next Halloween.

She gasps when my torso comes into view. Her eyes run up and down the ruined skin, and we’re not even in bright enough light for her to see the extent of the damage. Shame fills me, and I don’t want to see what she thinks of the monster she’s promised herself to now. But her face shows concern, not disgust.

“You lived through this?”

It’s obvious I did, so I don’t speak.

“I am so fucking sorry, Dante, but I don’t know a single person alive as strong as you.”

And why does she sound almost sincere?

“I’m not alive.”

“But you are, and I’m in awe of you. Let me show you.”

Her hand moves to my pants, opening the button, then pushing them and my boxers off my hips. She stops when she can’t reach any farther, and I slide them the rest of the way down, kicking them off with my boots.

She presses her nose to my skin and makes the most delicious noise of satisfaction. I went out of my way to make sure I was clean for her tonight. I didn’t want her to have to take dirty dick for her last night alive, but I’m suddenly relieved to be clean for a different reason.

If I’m going to keep her for a while, I’d like her to enjoy my body, as well as me forcing myself and my punishments upon her. That realization sends a stark warmth to my chest. There hasn’t been a thought in my mind for two years that I could be anything but my revenge. I didn’t believe there was more than a monster left. She shows me she still likes what I am by kissing all over my neck, shoulders, and chest, her soft lips leaving behind little electric sparks.

“Oh fuck,” I grunt, literally shaking, feeling as if I may collapse against her at the intensity of the sensation. If she stabs me in the back again, it might be worth it.

Taking advantage of that weakness, she places her hands on my shoulders and rolls us, once again putting herself at the top of our dynamic, but isn’t that how it’s always been? She calls the shots, she breaks me.

She takes my cock in her hand, pumping it a few times to make sure it’s hard enough before pressing it to the opening of her cunt. Her warmth is an incredible contrast to the cold night air. Quickly swallowing my entire length, she works her pussy up and down my shaft. I have to focus not to come immediately. It’s been a lot more than two years since a woman fucked me.

“Shit,” I hiss as she digs her fingers into my chest and fucks me harder. Her cunt is like a vise, and I know I’m done for. I need more of this. I can’t give her up.

“I’m going to make this up to you for the rest of our lives, whatever you want, whenever you want. Isn’t that worth more than my severed head?”

“No,” I groan, but fuck, it’s not how I feel. I’d take this every minute of the day over the usual pain. She’s everything around me.

My cock splits her little pussy open, and her wetness shines in the light of the moon. I can’t stop staring.

“What is it, Dante? What do you want?”

How the fuck am I supposed to know what I want? I’ve barely come to terms with the fact that I don’t think I can kill her.

“You’ve always needed me to tell you,” she says, referencing that she led our relationship before she led me to my doom, but her bouncing on my cock takes away the sting.

A moment later, she’s gone, and I nearly cry at the chill of the air on my wet dick and the loss of her tight cunt. She doesn’t run, though, and shimmies up my body instead. I’m too interested in what she’s doing to stay upset.

She rotates her body, and a moment later, she’s straddling my face with a knee on either side, pussy so close it’s all I can see and smell. I want to taste her so bad.

“See, Dante, you’re not a monster. You’re just a man who wants to eat my pussy.”

She lowers her hips, pressing her cunt directly against my mouth. I taste her for the first time, and my brain blanks as I slip my tongue between her lips and start eating her like a starving man. Did I like the taste of pussy that much before, or is her cunt literally magic?

She rubs her little clit back and forth on my tongue, and I hold it out so she can use me. I grip her thighs and ass, filling my hands with all her delicious curves.

“Dante, Dante,” she chants as I suck her clit a little too hard. I thought it might be too intense, but she is a dirty little whore. “Mm, not yet.”

She lifts off me, pulling her clit from my mouth with a pop of wet suction. I groan at the loss, ready to shove her back down, but she only flips around. I put my mouth back on her, not even realizing what she’s up to until she sucks my cock to the back of her throat.

“Oh fucking hell.” I can’t even hide how much I want her. I still hate her. How could you not hate someone who has this type of control over you?

I shove my tongue deep inside of her, wanting to taste from the source and make her feel as good as she’s making me feel with my cock hitting the back of her throat over and over again.

I take control of the situation, flipping us over and using my superior strength to choke her with my cock and eat her pussy with my lips, tongue, and teeth.

She orgasms out of nowhere and spills hot cum down my chin as she squirts. I just keep licking, sucking, and biting, nowhere near done with her yet.

“Dante, please,” she wails, and I shove two fingers inside her. I don’t know if she wants mercy or another orgasm, but she’s getting another orgasm.

Her G-spot swells beneath my fingers, and every inch of her body shines with sweat. One more wet orgasm rushes out of her, drenching the dirt.

“Happy Halloween, Little Backstabber.”

CHAPTER 12

TATI

“FUCK, I CAN’T MOVE.”

For hours, Dante and I fucked in every way imaginable. He licked my pussy, bathing himself in my orgasms until my legs were Jell-O. Once he was done taking my pussy, he held me down and fucked my ass with the same intensity. That session was hard to take, but I find I’m willing to get through anything to please him, and I came too. Whenever I thought I couldn’t take more, he proved me wrong. Cum drips from every hole, and the sticky ground clings to my skin.

We lie there, watching the sunrise. He’s so gentle as he strokes my skin and occasionally says nice things I never expected to hear.

I feel more at peace than I have in two years, more than I ever expected to feel again. My fear of Dante hasn’t left me, but there’s a deep, soul-shaking bond between us now that overrides my self-preservation. I’m not sure if I would call what he’s given me forgiveness, but it feels a hell of a lot like it. The satisfaction may wear off, but that’s okay. Whenever it does, Dante will be here to make me pay for my sins. I’m sure of that.

His burned hand lazily strokes my back.

“Do I feel nice?”

He takes a moment to answer.

“It’s criminal how good it feels to touch you. Your skin has an entirely different texture to each hand, but both of them are so fucking soft.”

I giggle. “I know I can’t always count on it, but it feels so good to be with you when you’re gentle.”

“I won’t always be gentle,” he assures me. “I could still decide to kill you.”

“I know.”

But he keeps up the sweet and gentle touches.

“You really want to make it up to me, Little Backstabber? Do you want to give me your life like you said?”

“I’ll do anything,” I say as I nuzzle into him, loving the smell of his skin. I almost ask if he wants to marry me, but I don’t want to hurt my own feelings. He owns me; I’m his whore. He’s gentle right now, but that doesn’t mean he loves me like I’m starting to love him.

He stares off at the horizon, taking a deep breath. “We’re both dead now.”

For a long time, I can’t move. My legs are useless from the orgasms and the hours spent dangling from the ceiling. Thick fear fills my throat, but I’m too drained to run for my life again.

He turns to me with his remaining brow arched. “You’re not going to run? All it took was a few orgasms and a cuddle, and now you trust me?”

I chuckle. “Dante, you agreed we are not dying, come on.”

I grab his face, turning him to me and not the view in the distance.

“Not real dead, Little Backstabber, my type of dead.” The arm beneath me tugs me tighter against his chest. It’s a bone-deep satisfaction that he seems to relish my touch so much.

“What does that mean exactly? You choke me to death and revive me?” I’m suddenly wet again despite how sore and utterly used my whole body is. If I was a better person, I might not enjoy his torture so much, but it’s exactly what I need.

“Don’t tempt me. I think your body might need some serious rest if I’m not going to kill you.”

He strokes my skin, and I wonder what serious rest and Dante might look like. I’m stupid enough that romantic pictures are forming in my head. I’ve been pushing myself too hard for too long. My body would have given out on me eventually from all the stress. I’m just glad he was the one to force me to stop running from my problems. He wasn’t trying to help me, but he set me free.

“So, what do you mean we’re both dead, then?” I relax into him, finding he’s easy to trust, given he’s so honest about his intentions.

“You’re mine now, but for that to be permanent, the real Tatiana needs to die.”

“But if you kill me, you can’t keep me.”

“For you to belong to a monster, you need to leave behind everything that makes you human.”

He never breaks eye contact, the manic gleam in his eyes showing me he’s terribly serious. I take his hand off my chin and squeeze it.

“My mom is dead already. I don’t have anyone.”

“You have a Bratva father. Classmates. Teachers. You’re working toward a degree and goals. You have a life. If you’re going to come with me into the shadows, you can’t have people looking for you.”

I swallow hard, aching slightly with everything he’s asking me to dispose of but ultimately knowing the answer anyway. One day he might understand why it’s so easy to say yes to him. I haven’t been living for a really long time.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll give up my life for you.”

He nods, and his hand circles my neck. I think he’s going to choke me, but it’s an intimate gesture.

“Let’s kill you, Tatiana Sokolov.”

HOURS LATER, we’re back at my apartment returning all my belongings to where I removed them and making it appear that I had no intention of leaving.

I sent Katie a text on our way over to figure out where she was and make sure she wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire.

“We don’t have to do this. I’ve only committed one other felony, and that turned out to be a really bad idea.” I’m perfectly okay with faking my death, destroying my life, all that stuff, but the details aren’t sitting well.

“Don’t bring up your crimes right now, Little Backstabber. I could still change my mind.”

The body we grabbed from the morgue lies at my feet, and I can’t help shooting her pitying looks.

“This is wrong. We shouldn’t have done this.”

“No one will miss her. I made sure,” he states.

He walks over to the kitchen counter where the fire starter and matches sit. His nervous gaze hasn’t stayed off them since I pulled them from my closet. We had a barbecue when we first moved in, and this seems like a dramatic way to use the leftover materials.

His terror is so clear my heart aches, and I’m an inch from begging him to punish me again. I’m not sure why he’s insisting on this method of disposal for the fake me, but it seems like too much.

“Dante, seriously, we can do anything else. We don’t have to deal with fire.”

“I know that. There are a lot of options, but maybe I’m the one that needs it to end this way, how it started.”

“Do you want me to do it, just in case?”

“Just like how it started,” he says.

I take the can off the counter, flip the top, and douse the poor Jane Doe lying on my floor. As the last squirt hits her, the door opens and Katie rushes inside.

“You said you were in class!” I shove the can behind my back and try not to look as miserably suspicious as I am.

“I was,” Katie shouts, “but I’m not fucking stupid, and I knew you were trying to avoid me!”

“That’s not true!”

“You’re going to tell me exactly what the fuck is going on!” Her blonde hair is a mess all around her, and her thin arms shake in her distress. “Everyone around me can’t keep disappearing!”

She’s gearing up for a full-blown meltdown when all of a sudden, she stops. Her mouth pops open in shock, and she blinks repeatedly.

“Did you kill someone?” She asks it so quietly I nearly don’t hear her after the yelling.

“No! Of course not!” I try to defend myself, but this doesn’t look good.

“I’m calling the police,” she threatens.

“Katie, please.”

Dante picks up his ax and takes a menacing step toward her.

“Dante! Stop! You can’t kill her!”

He growls, his fingers tightening around the handle, and slides me a look, telling me I’ll pay for that later.

“How much is it going to take to keep you quiet?” Dante asks, gesticulating with the weapon. “You used to live in an apartment off campus, now you’re here? Money not going well?”

“I—it’s not… Why the fuck are you asking?”

WE STAND FAR from the crowd, watching the building burn. Flames climb the side of the brick in long columns, eating anything they touch. I’m amazed there’s so much to burn. The building always seemed so solid. Smoke wafts around us, and the whole scene reminds me so much of how this all started, like he said.

Dante holds my hand, and the free one strokes my hair. I’m starting to think he will always be touching me in some way. I don’t mind that. I want whatever he’ll give me: pleasure or pain.

He was nervous when we dropped the match and ran, but by the time we made it to safety, he was only smiles and peace. I’m not sure how this will all affect him later, but this is his to figure out. I’ll be here for him any way I can.

Katie screams and cries at the top of her lungs from her place on the pavement. She’s really earning her money’s worth. I had no idea she was such a good actress or that she was broke, but she took the money he offered, and now she’s crying for her “dying friend.” At least she knows what happened to me, mostly.

I turn to Dante, wondering how he’s feeling after starting that fire and hoping this craziness has fixed some of his suffering.

“What are you thinking?”

“I can’t believe we lit that fire.” He glows with pride.

“It was your idea.”

“I can’t believe I let you live.”

“That was your idea too.”

“No, Little Backstabber. No, it wasn’t.”

EPILOGUE

TATI

“HEY, BABY,” Dante says as he comes inside and pulls his boots off.

He brings in the scent of fresh-cut wood and the forest, all normal parts of this quiet cottage in the woods we’ve made our home. The door shuts.

“Smells good,” he calls, as the fresh bread reaches him.

I barely even see his scars anymore, but I rush to put my hands on him because I know it takes the edge off the pain.

“Which one of us are you talking to?” I ask as I cup his cheek with one hand and rock our baby daughter with my other arm.

“Both of you.”

She’s three months old this Halloween, conceived while her daddy was “ruining” my life. She was born right here in this cabin. The amount of pain and stress I endured without medication went far in convincing Dante he and I would be even eventually, but he was an absolute rock during the pregnancy and delivery. Considering we live off the grid, have no medical care, and pay for everything on stolen credit cards, it was a blessing when she was born healthy, safe, and whole.

“How was your day?” I ask, stepping out of the way and showing him what I made for us. He hunted the meat on our table, and we both grew the vegetables. Our garden has become quite prodigious.

“I went into town.” His voice sounds strange now that I’m paying closer attention. There’s a slight narrowness around the edge of his mouth.

“You did?”

He never wants to go into town if we can avoid it. He doesn’t want people to remember us more than necessary. We’ll have to leave here eventually and find similar place to set up.

“I did.”

“And?” I ask, wanting to shake him for not just coming out with it, but my tone makes the baby cry.

“You upset her,” he says as he pulls her into his good arm and kisses her on the forehead. She settles down so quickly it’s criminal—typical daddy’s girl.

“What happened in town, Dante?”

He doesn’t look at me, just continues staring at Aurora.

“I spoke to someone who used to know me. The real me. I’m not sure what to do about it.”

I swallow a couple of times. Before his injury, he was the heir to the Italian mob. He didn’t know a lot of good people. Even though he’s become more of a man than a monster in the last year, he doesn’t have fond feelings for his family.

“Who?”

“My great uncle, he’s been posing as the priest at the church I attended when I was a kid for years now.”

That isn’t what I was expecting, and I grow even more tense.

“I know you don’t want your parents to know for sure if you’re alive or dead.” I’ve put an end to the tormenting calls to his father. If you’re dead, just be dead.

“He won’t tell them.” His certainty is a heavy weight between us. “He told me something, but I’m not sure I believe him.”

He stares at our daughter’s face, like he’s working through something very painful and his love for her is keeping him whole. I take her out of his arms and walk her over to the crib in the corner and lay her down. Her father’s demons are not her responsibility. I take his hands in mine and squeeze them.

“Dante, please…” My heart races.

“He said that when the truck blew up, everyone ran. They all left me alone to burn.”

I’m deathly quiet. That’s about the way I heard it too after the smoke cleared. I was back at the loading dock where they strapped Dante with all those guns and explosives and got most of my information secondhand at best. I shiver lightly as my guilt threatens to drag me back to that dark place.

“He says the moment they cleared the area, he pulled me out of that truck. He says he took me to get help.”

My heart stops, suspicions racing through me. Why would his uncle save him but not tell his family?

“Do you believe him?”

“I’m not sure what to think, but he knew a lot of things, things he shouldn’t know if he wasn’t the one to bring me to that hospital.”

I pull him by the hand and lead him to the couch, then push him down and sit on his lap.

“What did he want?”

“He says I owe him.” Strong arms snake around my waist. So what if one is stronger.

“Do you agree?” He has a terribly fair way of thinking, so I hope he doesn’t. Good deeds aren’t done to be repaid.

“I think if he’s not careful I’ll kill him. No one tries to force me to do anything.”

“What did he try to make you do…” I’m not sure I want the answer.

“He wanted me to finish my revenge and kill my father.”

The words hang between us, and I’m glad we’ve talked about it enough in the last year. He isn’t going to hurt his family. They betrayed him, and that’s the end of it.

“But the job is done.”

“But the job is done,” he agrees.

ALSO BY AURELIA KNIGHT

Dying to read another super hot, primal chase, non-con novella? How about finding out what happened to Katies roommates?

Sacked and Sleighed

Is it Valentines day? Do you care when there’s a super hot jock and a chubby goth girl?

Knives and Kisses

Want to see where the series began? How about some hypnosis, primal and dub-con?

Mind to Bend!

Serial killer abducts a nun? Can he be saved by her magic pussy? Find out in

Vow to Sever

Romeo and Juliet retelling but their parents die instead? Check out

Dynasty to Destroy

For a medium dark, nerdy heroine, secret crime family trilogy, check out The Illicit Library Collection books 1-3

Returning to Kindle Unlimited in September 2024!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A special thanks to all those who helped me in the production of Hacked and Hallowed.

Amy Oliviera my Alpha Reader and Cheerleader

Editing by Deidre Houpt with Dee’s Notes

Proofing by Amy Perkins with Nerdy Girl Collective

Character Art by Cuckooboo

Original Cover Design by Kirsty Still with Pretty Little Design Co.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Aurelia Knight is a hot mess, doing her best to keep it together most days. Words are the greatest love of her life second only to her husband and sons. If she’s not typing away, getting lost in her own world, she’s reading and slipping away into the worlds of other writers. A caffeine addict who believes sleep is secondary to the endless promise of "just one more chapter".

For the most up to date information join Aurelia’s reader group on Facebook, Aurelia’s Illicit Library, and subscribe to her mailing list at www.AureliaKnight.com