Page 4 of Fatal Fantasy

He’s muscular in a way that shows he works out, but it’s nothing compared to the men I’ve been with in the past, and I find myself noting the differences between him and them more than I’d like to admit.

“I said, are you going to swallow this time, or can we agree that neither of us likes to see blood coming from your teeth?” He asks, a smug, asshole look on his face as he closes the blinds to his office, ensuring we have complete privacy.

“Whatever you want, Vin.” I bat my eyelashes ever so slightly, trying not to piss him off to keep my head from being knocked around again, but in reality, I’d bite the fucking thing off if it were even big enough to be worth the punishment.

It’s been exactly twenty-six days since Vincent was inserted into my life, immediately moving into the mansion, and watching over me like a hawk in his newly appointed position as the CEO of Cassini Supplies.

I’m being forced to marry a fucking office supply salesman, and if that doesn’t make you want to rip your hair from it’s roots, you may be a little more normal than me.

He’s from a smaller Family that we absorbed, and knows the ins and outs of this life, but he’s not Don material in the slightest.

I’m completely left out of anything resembling highly classified talks, so whatever this sham of a marriage will achieve, I’m not privy to that information, which is a stark contrast from the way things were before I left for Jersey.

My father doesn’t even look at me when I enter the same room he’s in, and rather than attempt to crawl back to him, or bargain my way to the table, I pretend he doesn’t exist, too.

“On your knees. Under the desk, little lady,” Vincent orders, my entire body shuddering at the stupid nickname he gave me as he yanks my ponytail in his hands, dragging me from the chair, and pushing me onto the ground.

At first, I was hesitant to accept that this is my fate, but once I realized that getting smacked around wasn’t worth the slight thrill that being defiant gave me, I learned to just do what he asks.

Usually, it doesn’t last very long, his sloppy thrusts barely reaching the back of my throat, reminding me that I’ve had bigger, and was treated better.

Once his pants are unzipped, the pathetic excuse for a cock springs through his boxers, and I spit in my hand to get him ready, his head already tipping back against the chair.

“Remember our deal,” he warns, slapping each side of my face before shoving himself into my mouth.

One of the conditions of our upcoming marriage is that he cannot have sex with me until the wedding night, but when Vincent saw the two names carved into my skin, he quickly found a bargaining chip that he takes pleasure in using every single day.

As he thrusts into my hollowed, uneager cheeks, I’m fucking disgusted with myself, hating that I’ve allowed another man to have me in the ways they did, but no matter how hard I squeeze my eyes shut, it never changes whose cock is down my throat.

While I give this stranger a blowjob, I remind myself of the reasons I’m here, and why I’m doing this, all of them more morbid than the last.

Since I spend most of my days trapped inside the inner workings of my mind, I’ve created a master list of ways I can kill myself – but make it seem like an accident – that run on a loop in my head, and it’s the only thing keeping blood pumping through my veins.

A car accident – how easy it’d be to blow through a red light into oncoming traffic, rather than stopping.

Drowning in the ocean – a simple mistake of falling into a rip current while it thrashes me around, instead of swimming away.

Carbon monoxide poisoning – accidentally leaving the ignition on in the closed garage while I doze off.

Nobody has ever had the satisfaction of breaking me, but I can honestly say, this specific mental state I’m succumbing to is of my own doing, in anticipation of what’s to come.

Once you choose to embrace the lowest of lows, the promised payoff of the highest fucking high one could ever achieve will ascend any ecstasy I’ve chased.

Eventually, I will find a way to end my own life, and in those final seconds where I realize it’s the last moments, I know the adrenaline of impending death will be the most alive I’ve felt since I lost everything worth seeing another day for.

FOUR MONTHS LATER…

TWO

JASPER

Every waking second there’s only one thought on repeat in my mind – revenge.

Four months ago, every fucking thing I ever knew, or loved, was cruelly stolen in the blink of an eye, and I’ve never been one to let things go, whether they land like a butterfly, or sting to my core like a vicious wasp.

The two places I called home were destroyed, erasing any chance of landing safely after such a whirlwind turn of events, but as usual, I’ve found my footing.

It’s not luxurious, as I have about three hundred dollars to my name, but four walls and a bed are all that matter while I continue my hunt, stalking a prey that is smart, elusive, and well-versed in hiding their true identity.