I think I was starting to befriend the strange girl who dwelled within one part of me.
The devil on my shoulder reached out a hand to my fallen angel and they formed a truce.
Over the next two weeks, things were relatively peaceful. Every day, I fell a little more for my beloved monster. Our demons played at our feet while we got lost in one another over and over again.
I chose to live in my bubble of bliss for just a while longer before summoning the courage to bring up Tito. I hadn’t heard from him, but I figured if Tito knew anything about Simon’s death, his common sense had kicked in and he was playing it safe.
It wasn’t until the third week things got strange.
I was woken up by the noise.
It sounded like the biggest block party of the century was taking place inside the warehouse. Swinging my feet out of bed, I walked across the floor, feeling the bass vibrate through my soles.
Flipping on the bathroom light, I frowned at Arlen’s cosmetology job in the mirror, lifting my temporarily dyed strands of hair. She’d been struck with the idea after hearing Romero tell me I brought color to his world. His exact words: “It’s always so fucking dark in my head. You make me see color again, vivid colors: pink and blue, green and purple.”
He said this while we were in bed so I wasn’t sure if I’d fucked him so hard he saw a rainbow when he came or he was being sweet.
I splashed some water on my face, swirled some mouthwash, pulled my shoes on, and left the room.
People were everywhere.
Some wore the hooded robes from the night we burned down the church; others barely wore anything. They all had the inverted cross tattooed beneath their eye, or somewhere else visible on their bodies.
Five Finger Death Punch’s Cradle to the Grave blasted through the air at a deafening decibel.
I shoved my way through dancing, writhing bodies, from people openly fucking and rude assholes who wouldn’t move when I said excuse me.
Glancing over the banister, I saw Arlen’s usual resting spot on the couch occupied by Cobra and a busty brunette. Hanging down from the ceiling was a large flag with the official symbol of Satan printed on it.
By the time I made it to the lower level and headed towards the back of the warehouse where the doors were wide open, Cut the Cord had began to play and I’d tripped over two dead bodies—both nuns.
I reached the doors and took a minute to gather my composure, not wanting to believe what was obviously right in front of me.
There was a large crowd gathered around the man sitting like a king on a throne in the middle of a clearing. Someone had painted a pentacle in the dirt. There were four wooden stakes hammered into the ground at different points of the star.
“Here’s the woman of the night,” a soft voice said, almost right in my ear.
I sidestepped and did a quick onceover of the redhead who had come up behind me, noting her tattoo was located on her neck.
“Oh, he got you good,” she laughed, staring at Romero a little too intently for my liking.
“Can you speak like a regular human?” I cut off her view and leveled her with an unimpressed stare.
“Calm down and look around you. Everyone looks at him the way I do.
That’s what happens when you start sleeping with a man with power.”
I blinked at her, not saying a word.
“You had to know you were consorting with the devil,” she scoffed.
“I…” I let the sentence die, looking back out at Romero. She was completely serious. I’d already established that the Savages were a fucking gang of cult worshippers of all things, worshippers of Romero to be more exact.
Having knowledge of something and physically seeing it, though, were two entirely different things. The man I adored was revered as the actual devil. It wasn’t just a nickname. I felt like I’d taken acid and was still on a trip.
“He has you now, sweetheart. I can already see the web he’s woven around your poor little soul. One minute he adores you, the next you’re scared shitless he’s going to kill you for blinking wrong.” She tossed her cigarette down and snuffed it with the heel of her shoe.
“Whose fucking idea was it to give him something so pure? Your corruption was unquestionably going to happen.”
“I was never pure.”
“You have a heart, darling. That’s good enough.” She brushed past me and walked into the crowd.
“Goddamn it.” I dropped my head and closed my eyes, pressing my hands to my temples. I didn’t fully yet understand what did any of this meant.
Lifting my head, I locked eyes with his and like a tethered ball and chain he pulled me to him. People openly stared at me as I walked by, eyeing me with curiosity.
“What the hell is this?” I wasted no time asking as he turned me around and sat me on his lap, pressing my back to his chest.
“It’s a celebration.”
“Of yourself? When did you have time to do all this?”
“I told you, I have connections. This celebration is for you…us.”
“Why would we celebrate with your cult? What are we even celebrating?”
I tried to stand up but he locked his arms around my waist.
“I thought you’d be happy about this. I’m letting you in.”
“I am…I think. I need a minute.” I kissed his cheek as a reassurance that I wasn’t all the way freaked out—yet. I went to stand again and this time he let me, only to motion two robed men over to take hold of me.
My heart lurched into my throat as I found myself on the ground, my arms and legs each secured to a wooden stake in the pentacle.
“What are you doing?”
I tugged at the rope around my wrists but couldn’t break free of it. “Rome?”
I wriggled around in the dirt as hooded figures surrounded me, all wearing the silver leviathan cross around their necks.
I looked all around me but could no longer see him. A man stepped forward, holding a wriggling baby ram in his hands.
He held it above me so another man could slit its throat.
“No!” I protested, turning my head as blood rained down on me from above, coating my chest and neck, some inevitably landing on my face.
The circle parted the smallest bit, and I lifted my head up to see a shirtless Romero back in front of me, wearing a mask a little different from everyone else’s.
“What are you doing to me?” I screamed at him, furiously tugging at my restraints. He covered my body with his, pressing me into the dirt. I felt a sharp pinch, then a sting, followed by something wet running down my legs.
I sucked in a sharp breath when the same thing was done on the other side, and then repeated twice more.
Dropping my head back I closed my eyes and focused only on breathing, trying to ignore the way my body was reacting and the endorphins swimming through my brain.
I still had my eyes closed when he shoved my underwear to the side and pushed into me. I was so wet he slid in with ease. I had no choice but to take every inch of him as blood ran down my legs.
The men around us begin to quietly chant ave satanas as he fucked me harder, making me break my silent pact not to make a sound.
The music pouring from her mouth emanated pleasure and pain, her muscles flexing every time I touched her with the tip of the knife.
I loved seeing her like this, coming apart; it was beautiful. Ever since we’d met, she’d fed the beast in me, teased him and damn near begged him to come out.
I wonder what she would think of all this when she woke up, when she wasn’t so high off pain and my dick making her come that she could think straight.
What we did was animalistic. It was dirty. It had to be done; I had to shove her headfirst over the edge and straight into my world. They needed to know she would be my side––forever. This was deeper than marriage. It never ended until we were both buried twelve feet under.
This thing between was still begging to be explored. She had no idea what the near future had in store for her. She wasn’t done being molded just yet.
All that aside, she was it for me.
She wasn’t classically gorgeous, wasn’t what anyone would think of when they thought of centerfolds.
She was a sick bitch.
Maniac.
Homicidal harlot.
And that’s what made her so fucking beautiful—a motherfucking queen. Her devious, filthy fucking soul stole the air from my lungs.
I wanted her forever under my compulsion.