Page 72 of Psycho Obsession
He presses the heavy metal handles into my grip. They’re warm, slick with the life of the man who sold me. I wrap my fingers around them, the weight feeling right—feeling like justice.
I lean over the old man’s mangled hand. He’s looking at me, his eyes pleading, his mouth a bloody, ruined cavern.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I hiss, my thumb finding the trigger of the shears. “You always said I had to be strong for the family. Well, look at me now, Dad. I’m the strongest one in the room.”
I set the blades. I don’t hesitate. I squeeze.
The steel blades bite through the thick base of his thumb with a resistance that sends a sickening vibration up my arms. It’s not like the silk he used to dress me in; it’s grit and gristle. I hear the crunch of the joint, a sound like dry branches snapping in a winter storm, followed by a wet, heavy suction as the digit is severed completely.
The old man’s head snaps back, his muffled, tongue-less scream a hollow rattling in his chest. His body is jumping in the restraints, a frantic, rhythmic thrashing that makes the medical chair groan.
I drop the shears. They clatter onto the floor, splashing into the dark puddle gathering at my feet. My hands are coated in him—hot, thick, and smelling of the copper mines. I look down at my chest, at the way his life has painted my skin, and I feel a surge of power so violent it makes my knees weak.
“There,” I gasp, my breath coming in short,jagged bursts. “Now you can’t even hold a pen to sign your own death certificate.”
Jex is behind me in an instant. He wraps his arms around my waist, his large, blood-stained hands splayed across my stomach, pulling my back flush against his chest. I can feel the hard, frantic thud of his heart through his tactical vest, a steady drumbeat of war that matches my own.
He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his tongue licking a stripe of hot blood off my collarbone.
“You did it, Hallow,” he growls, the vibration of his voice rattling my teeth. “You broke the hand that held the leash.”
Below us, our father is fading. His eyes are rolled so far back only the whites are showing, his skin a translucent, sickly grey. The monitors are screaming, a frantic beep-beep-beep that signals the edge of the cliff.
Ryker steps forward, the silver mask catching the strobe-light flicker of the failing vitals. He doesn’t look concerned; he looks like a chemist watching a reaction reach its peak. He reaches for a syringe filled with a neon-yellow fluid and plunges it directly into the old man’s carotid artery.
“Stay with us, Father,” Ryker purrs. “We’re just getting to the part where you watch us burn your city to the ground. You don’t get to die until you’ve seen every brick turn to ash.”
The old man’s eyes snap open, his pupils pinpointing as the chemicals flood his system, forcing his heart to keep beating in a body that wants to quit. He’s trapped in a loop of perpetual, chemical agony.
Jex turns me around in his arms. He’s hard, hisarousal a thick, demanding weight against my hip, his eyes dark with a sick hunger. He grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him, at the monster I’ve finally matched.
“He’s going to live for weeks like this,” Jex rasps, his thumb dragging across my bottom lip, smearing the gore into my mouth. “And we’re going to spend every second of it making sure he knows exactly who we are.”
He picks me up, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, the blood on our skin acting as a slick, macabre lubricant. He slams me back against the cold, vibrating wall of the submersible, the metal humming against my spine.
“Watch, Dad,” Jex snarls over his shoulder, his hand reaching down to guide himself into me. “Watch the only legacy you have left.”
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
HALLOW
The metal walls of the sub hum with a low, sub-aquatic thrum as Jex pins me back. The cold of the bulkhead is a shock against my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating off him. He’s thick and heavy against my thigh, his cock a blunt, throbbing weapon that he drags—agonisingly slow—along the seam of my pussy. He doesn’t plunge in. He just teases the entrance, the broad, wet head of him catching on my clit, making me let out a high, broken sound that echoes in the cramped space.
“Patience, Hallow,” Jex rasps, his teeth grazing the shell of my ear. “We have all the time in the world now.”
Suddenly, another shadow falls over us. Ryker moves like a predator in the dark, his presence a cold, sharp contrast to Jex’s boiling rage. Without a word, he reaches out, his gloved fingers hooking into the neckline of my tactical vest. With one brutal, effortless jerk, he rips thefabric down the centre. The zippers hiss and snap, the material shredding until I’m standing completely bared before them, my chest heaving, my skin mapped in the spray of our father’s life.
Ryker doesn’t look at my face. He looks at the carnage.
He reaches down, dipping his hand into the pool of dark, cooling blood on the gurney. It’s thick, beginning to clot, a visceral crimson that he smears across my breasts in wide, violent strokes. He paints me like an idol, the heat of the blood shocking against the air-conditioned chill of the cabin.
“You look like a queen now,” Ryker murmurs, the silver mask inches from my skin.
He leans down, his tongue darting out to lick a slow, deliberate path through the blood on my sternum. It’s a terrifying, clinical sensation—the wet heat of him cleaning the father from the daughter. He tastes the iron, his throat working as he swallows the evidence of our betrayal.
Jex growls, his grip on my waist tightening until his knuckles turn white. He takes the head of his cock and pushes it just an inch inside me—enough to stretch me, enough to make me gasp and arch my back—before he pulls back out, leaving me empty and aching.
