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He was one of those people who could smile and talk you into believing all was right in the world right before he snatched your soul out with his bare hands. His road name wasn’t Spyder because arachnids were cute and cuddly.
The hitman’s tattoo with three teeth marked him as a new recruit, fresh out of training. Each tooth represented a kill. Eyes represented five kills each. A dagger represented fifty kills. Other than my dead uncle, my cousins Eli, Micah, and Israel’s father, I was the only Reaper with two daggers.
At this point, Jade may as well have been another article of my clothing. She was wrapped around me so tightly that I was convinced she was doing her best to climb inside my body.
“Call me an ‘it’ one more fucking time,” he warned. “I’ll kill everyone on this fucking block, including your new girlfriend back there, just for spite.” For someone who was a sociopathic parasite, my demon sure was sensitive.
the crease between his eyes grew any tighter, the idea swirling around in his head would merge into a single-cell organism.
“What did I tell you about calling me ‘it,’ motherfucker?” He shouted loud enough to rattle my brain cells. “You unleash me, and all your problems go away. End of fucking story.”
Old lady? “I told you to kill her. Now here we are, married and shit all of a sudden. If I had a mouth, I’d spit on you for putting me through this shit,” my demon grumbled.
mouth. Each time he hit deep and hard, the tingling ache in my back shot up my spine, and my pussy throbbed harder against his dick.
The man turned me into his pretzel, taking my pussy by storm and making me take whatever he felt like giving.
The expression on his face said I better take it and acknowledge that his dick was not good, but the best. And the look wasn’t telling me any lies.
The orgasm hit me everywhere, overwhelmingly aggressive and dominating. I grew deathly still, fearing I’d cross over and meet my maker.
because he had put it on me so good that, sore pussy or not, I already knew I’d be asking for more and looking at him all googly eyed until I got it.
“You fucked the shit out of your target, and it was good too. But it doesn’t change the fact that we still have to kill her, just not before you fuck her again. Fuck her until she’s calling you her God. I like that shit.”
A creamy shot drizzled down her brown lips while her pink center put serious stress on my ability to back away.
“Addictive spell-casting pussy. Just this one time, I agree with you on something, and fucking her was an excellent decision.”
“Pussy. Good, high-class, willing pussy. So sweet. And wet. And tight. And…”
Two more rounds were all I was able to pull from her until she finally fell asleep or passed out. I didn’t know which but was grateful. Otherwise, I believe I would have kept going.
Her light snores sounded, the noise relaxing like blood dripping from a fresh, dead body.
They would state the part of the knife they represented: edge, point, tip, flat, blade, or heel.
He was the leader of the Shadows, the church and spiritual branch of the Order known as the Edge of the Knife.
Mr. Murphey, the leader of the streets, weapons, and arms division, came on the big screen. They were known as the Point of the Knife in the Order.
Mr. Emmerson, the leader of the Tech and R&D division, also known as the Tip of the Knife,
Mr. Cromwell, the leader of the medical and psych division, addressed us this time. His division was known as the Flat of the Knife.
He was our division head, the Reapers also known as the Blade of the Knife.
“Once this boring shit is over, can we just go on a killing rampage? At this point, I don’t care if it’s people or animals. This ‘trying to do the right thing’ kick you’re on is fucking up my whole vibe.”
Mr. Martin, the head of the Law and Politics division, also known as the Heel of the Blade,
“And there you go. Six more motherfuckers you need to add to our list. It’s getting short anyway.”
right before the man aiming a gun at his head said, “Tip, Blade, Edge, Flat, Point, and Heel. A knife has many parts, but it’s too bad the point wasn’t sharp enough to scrape across the heel.”
I was born without love and bred without guidance, care, or concern. Ruthlessness was my mother. Savagery was my father. Loneliness was my best friend.
I was afraid for the first time in my life. I feared I’d lost the one thing I never dreamed would touch me. Genuine friendship.
to be strong enough, to be everything she needed me to be to save her. And in return, she’d saved me from myself.
I survived a nightmare in which I was the monster to the one thing I wanted to protect the most.
Do you really believe I’d let anyone, including the fucking devil himself, take you out?
It’s life and death and hate and pain. It’s more than an emotion. It doesn’t see color or gender or anything other than what it wants. It invades your body down to the cellular level and controls your mind at will. It’s stronger than death. It’s your worst fear and greatest joy. It’s chaos with no comprehension. It’s a raging beast infinitely more devastating than me.
“I’d rather be playing Operation with one of the fuck-faced idiots from our list. This shit is making me sick. I think I’m dying, losing my voice, fading back into the black hole that created me,” my demon spat, being dramatic.
