Page 28 of Love Her Ruin
The sound he makes is not human. It's a wet, tearing howl that fills the basement and bounces off the walls. The smell of burning flesh rises, sweet and acrid, and I hold the cigar there for a count of five, watching the skin blacken, blister, and split. The edges of the burn curl inward, white and raw.
My own scars tingle, a sharp, electric pulse that travels from my front straight through my spine. I feel his pain and my own, tangled together, inseparable. It's the closest I've ever felt to him, and I hate it. I hatehim. I hate the way my body remembers what he did, even now, even when I'm the one holding the fire and the cock.
I pull the cigar away. I’ve left a perfect circle, red and black, already weeping.
He screams again, the sound catching in his throat as the cigar finds a new patch of skin. His shoulder, then the soft flesh just above his nipple, then the curve of his ribs.
I find a rhythm—press the cigar, hold it, watch him burn. A new spot, a new scream. His chest becomes a constellation of fresh wounds, each one a star in the map of his punishment. I lose count after ten, after twenty. Then I stop counting and start feeling.
The heat of the cigar against my fingers. The vibration of his screams in the air. The smell of his fear and his blood and his burning flesh. It all blends together into a dark symphony.
His chest is a ruin. His body is a ruin.Heis a ruin, and I am the one who made him.
He sags in the chains, his body trembling. His head hangs forward, his chin touching his chest, and he's weeping, silent tears falling into the dark.
But I’m nowhere near being finished. I hand the cigar to Eddie again, sweep around Vincent, and align the dildo to his ass.
To lube or not to lube. That is the question—or was, really—but with this giant dildo and what I want to do to him, I decided yes, I do need lube, which my court has already taken care of. It’s covered in Vaseline. A small mercy from me, I suppose, but it’s more for me than for him.
I’m about to shove into him when the doorbell rings.
My heartbeat stalls. My lungs seize.
Who the fuck is at the door?
Chapter 15
Sera
Thedoorbellringsagain.
The sound is so ordinary, so domestic. It cuts through the basement’s thick silence, through the haze of cigar smoke and anticipation, and lands right between my eyes.
For one second, we all freeze.
Vincent’s swollen eyes dart toward the ceiling. James’s head snaps up, his smile vanishing. Eddie goes still, the cigar still curling smoke between his fingers. Even the shadows in Daddy’s corner seem to stop breathing.
Then the world snaps back into motion, too fast, all wrong.
The doorbell rings again, followed by an insistent knock, followed by a loud voice. “Police! Open up!”
“Fuck,” I whisper.
My hands are on the harness before my brain fully catches up. The buckles are cold under my fingers as I fumble with frantic, clumsy urgency. The black dildo sways heavily as I struggle.
“Get it off,” I hiss, more to myself than anyone.
Eddie is beside me in two strides. He doesn’t speak. His fingers find the buckles, working them with a calm, efficient speed. The harness loosens and falls away. The weight is gone, and I feel suddenly light, unmoored, like my panic will sweep me up and away at any second.
“Plan,” I say, my voice low and tight. “Now.”
James is already at the bottom of the stairs, listening. “Two of them.”
“Daddy,” I say, turning to the shadows. “Keep him quiet. Not a sound.”
The darkness in the corner shifts. A low, resonant hum fills the air, and his power coils around Vincent like a serpent. Vincent’s mouth opens in a silent scream, his eyes rolling back, and Daddy’s shadows lunge down his throat.
“James, kitchen,” I order. “If I need you…”
