Xavier snarls but doesn’t deign him an answer.
“I want to show you why,” Zade whispers, his deep voice dark and sinful.
His touch becomes firmer, and a low moan slips free. I close my eyes, embarrassed by that, even though Xavier can’t see anything but the outline of Zade’s hand.
“Don’t be shy,” Zade murmurs in my ear. “Show him why he never stood a chance against me.”
I exhale a shuddering breath, unable to contain the breathless moan, my eyes opening then fluttering shut again from the pleasure taking hold of my body. He expertly rubs my clit, and soon my head is dropping back on his shoulder.
“Zade,” I moan, my thighs beginning to tremble.
“Stop it,” Xavier barks, his voice pained for more reasons than the arrow piercing his spine.
“Are you angry because she never moaned your name?” Zade challenges. He’s right—I never did, despite how hard Xavier tried.
“Did she cry out for God?” he pushes.
“Yes,” Xavier spits, and fuck, I’m falling apart. I thrust against Zade’s hand, rolling my hips mindlessly, the bliss eroding my entire being.
“Good,” he says, a grin in his voice. “That means she was crying out for me.”
“Oh my God, Zade,” I sob, the orgasm building, forming into a sharp point right where his fingers are rubbing.
“That’s it, baby,” he purrs. “Show him who you’re really praying to.”
“Zade!” I cry out, splintering into millions of pieces while my soul breaks free, shooting far into the heavens. It’s then I realize I don’t belong there, not when my dark god is pulling me down into a world of sin and pleasure, making me come while holding an arrow to my rapist’s throat.
We’re all fucking damned anyway, forced to live outside of heaven’s gates. I find I like it better living in the darkness next to my shadow.
Zade slips his hand from my leggings, cupping my pussy over the fabric while I ride out the rolling waves of euphoria.
Slowly, I come down, my vision spotty as clarity gradually resurfaces.
Panting, I look down to find Xavier seething, his eyes glassy as he glares at me.
Why does he look so betrayed when he’s never owned anything more than my nightmares?
“You’re a whore,” he spits angrily. Zade stands, his presence looming, seconds away from taking the wheel and sending Xavier into the afterlife. I reposition the arrowhead against his neck, a droplet of blood forming beneath the tip.
“And what makes you think your opinion of me means anything at all?” I wonder.
Before he can answer, a loud screech cuts in, full of pain and frustration.
“Fucking psycho bitch!”
That would be Francesca.
On shaking legs, I stand and turn to find Sibby dragging Francesca’s flailing body toward us, her red, sweaty face twisted with annoyance. Zade starts to head to her but pauses and points at Xavier.
“I hear you call her any names one more time, I’m cutting out your fucking tongue. Believe me when I say you wouldn’t be the first.”
My brows pinch. “Who was the first?”
Zade just grins, then jogs over to Sibby and takes over, relieving her of Francesca’s weight and carrying the screeching woman the rest of the way, an arrow protruding from her ass cheek.
I’m still a little hung up on the tongue thing, but I decide that I don’t really want to know anyway. Ignorance is bliss and shit.
“Where are your henchmen?” I call out, raising my voice above Francesca’s screaming. From the sour look on Sibby’s face, I’m assuming she wasn’t imagining one of them as the one dragging Francesca.
“I told them to stay behind. They’ve been arguing with each other all day, and it’s driving me nuts. I needed a break from those morons.”
Zade drops Francesca next to Rocco, her scream heightening when she lands on the arrow. The stem breaks, though the arrowhead is still lodged deeply in muscle and bone.
Then, Zade approaches Xavier, the injured man’s eyes widening with fear.
“Don’t be shy, come lay with your friends,” Zade says, grabbing Xavier by the front of his shirt and dragging him to lay on the other side of Rocco.
Their agonized moans, curses, and insults blend together, and Jesus Christ, is that annoying.
I approach them, staring down at the pathetic trio of rapists. A part of me wishes Rio were here so he could watch Francesca die alongside me. Who knows how deeply he’s suffered at her hands? Like Sydney, his pain doesn’t justify the pain he’s inflicted on others, but I do know that it wasn’t any less significant than mine.