by Celia Crown
“We’re not doing anything scandalous!” I protest. “It’s just stitching, closing the wound, so you don’t die on me!”
He chuckles and softly pats the curve of my spine, his hand harmlessly above the plumpness of my ass.
“That’s the spirit,” he reckons. “My life hangs at your discretion.”
“It’s not surgery, it’s just a thread,” I grumble at his rumbling chuckle.
“The death rate for life-threatening infection is significantly higher at your hand.”
My face drains of blood while the ashen skin is warmed by the cradle of his palm.
“Apologies, Nia,” he whispers. “I couldn’t help myself. You were too endearing.”
I defiantly lift my chin and scowl at his smirking face.
His unfairly attractive face.
Chapter Four
Sergei
“Sweet little Nia,” I chide softly.
The coolness of the summer breeze glides through the curtains, her silken hair following a tentative dance around her forehead. I brush it away and take in the eternal beauty of her peaceful sleep.
She had tried to put on a brave face for me. It’s very kind of her, but the event that occurred this morning had caused her distress.
That man who goes by the name “Dakota” had touched a nerve in me that was very sensitive. It was an undesirable attraction on his part, very unreciprocated, but he couldn’t take the hint.
I’m more angered by the audacity of his entitlement to take what’s mine.
Nia’s mine; it’s been decided by my traitorous heart. I want her supple little body, her defenseless heart, all of her.
I prefer to take care of things when they happen. It brings me no joy to sit on my irritation instead of gaining more satisfaction with a planned attack.
“It’s going to be alright, lovely girl,” I whisper to her slumbering features.
I meet her cheek with a lingering kiss. She whines faintly as she turns her face to press closer to my lips.
I growl in my throat as I steady her face to kiss those tempting lips.
This is not the first time I have taken her plump lips. Every night after she has fallen into dreamland, I indulge in the addiction I’ve developed on a whim.
One kiss and I was snared. I became weak in the knees and fell into a limbo of greed for more.
I fear that kissing her will not be enough to curb the addiction. I want more, and when I do take it upon myself to take it, I will risk amplifying the trickling fear in her.
I can overpower her, and I can stoop lower than a sinner.
The power I have over her takes an awful turn every night when I see her sleeping. She is defenseless against my wandering hands when I caress her flushed skin, and she would murmur my name in her dreams.
A hushed thump from the window is followed by muffled upbeat music.
“Ah, yes,” I utter with asphyxiating heat behind my ears. “Business first, then I’ll give you more.”
I lay a gentle kiss on her forehead and get up from the edge of the bed. I get a torn piece of paper and lodge it between the windows when I close them.
The fan in the corner should suffice for now. A little discomfort from the stifling air is better than someone taking the open window as an invitation to touch my little girl.
I put my shoes on and close the door firmly behind me. Trekking down the stairs and mindful of which steps creak, I stop at the bottom and survey the pitch-black backroom.
The front door has that irksome chiming bell, so it’s inaccessible. The backdoor has stubborn locks that are often uncooperative. I will need to make it work since it’s the only one that allows me to leave this shop.
The windows are not big enough for my frame to pass through.
This time, the locks give in to my commanding twist. It unlatches too smoothly, making me question the quality of the locksmith who installed it.
“This won’t do.” I click my tongue as I lock the door from the outside.
She’ll need to find better security to protect the place she calls her home. I have three different security measures at my estate, and Nia would be the safest there.
However, I will need to wipe the trail of my escape before I can rope her into my life. It’s too late for that, but I can shield her from many aspects of the horror in my business.
Organ trafficking is a brutal business. The criminal empire was built with blood and sweat. No one is going to take it from me.
I see humans as disposable trash. It’s not a view that just came to me, and it’s not a belief that will change. Men, women, children—they’re all products.
“What she doesn’t know will not hurt her,” I convince myself with a sneering grin.
I’m not letting her go. The more time I spend with her, the more she becomes my priceless possession.
Pocketing her key, I search for a road with fewer homes. I travel through the darkness and follow the amber between the trees.
I stop at the sound of broken whistles from my left. Blending into the shadows, I listen to the noise as someone curses.
He’s relieving himself near a tree.
I pick up a broken tree branch and let the flow of upbeat music pump through my blood. The smallest flick of adrenaline lures my heart to a stilled thump as I thrust the sharp edge into the boy’s back.
He shouts in pain, but the music drowns out his voice. I stomp on his back to keep him on the ground while I use my weight to balance the tree branch, and it punctures through him.
The boy stops struggling when he also stops blinking.
For a “party” that Dakota had mentioned, it’s more of a gathering with distasteful music and warm beer.
Boys hyping each other up with their childish games and girls dressed scandalously while sitting on welcoming laps.
“Hey, old man,” someone calls out disrespectfully.
I turn away from the ridiculous scene, a bonfire made with old furniture. The boy who got my attention tips his head conceitedly despite being two heads shorter than I am.
“You’re on the wrong side of town, fool,” he continues to insolently heckle me.
He yanks up his plaid shirt and shows off his gun. The choice to put a semi-automatic gun in his pants, aimed at an angle that’ll end his family line with a single misfire, is natural selection.
The boy turns his baseball cap to the back and spits into the grass. It is one of the most pathetic shows of dominance I’ve seen in a while.
He tries to take out the gun, but he struggles as it gets stuck on the belt. “Shit!”
I close the distance with two steps. He staggers back while fighting to get his gun out. My clenched fist sinks into his gut, the force of the punch pushing saliva from his gaping mouth as he drops to his knees.
His airway snaps shut as I squeeze his neck. He aimlessly punches my wrist; when that doesn’t work, he tries to hit me with his weakening strength. His eyes become lifeless as the distant tawny flame brightens the side of his face.
I drop him and kneel to pick up the gun.
Time is of the essence; I must return to my little girl before she wakes up.
With a gun in play, I estimate the time I will need to discard this group of trash. I had planned to take them out one-by-one with my bare hands, but a gun will be very helpful.
I don’t like to get up close and personal on kills; those occasions are for people who’ve wronged me. These teenagers are the source of my Nia’s headache, they should consider themselves lucky that I don’t want to spend time breaking their puny bones.
“Hey, who the hell are you—” one of the girls yell.
The music climbs in tempo as the others haven’t noticed me yet; they’re too busy grinding against each other and exchanging saliva.
I shoot the girl at center mass, and she slumps over the boy she was using as a chair. I end his life too with another bullet.
By then, others have started to notice me.
Without the noise f
rom the gun, I stand out like a sore thumb. The tallest boy is also the lankiest and stands no chance against my towering frame. I hook my finger into the trigger and spray the bullets in their general area.
They fail to move in time, and their limbs flail at the force of bullets piercing their bodies. The music continues as their guide to death, the sliver of the moon illuminating the ground with creeping crimson.
A dark cloud swallows the area while the amber flame roars with a gust of wind. The tiny snapping of a twig cuts through the blaring bass.
My arm shoots out as I pull the trigger again, scattering bullets behind me and splintering the tree.
Turning around, I stalk towards the sound that I heard. The darkness of the woods limits my sight, but the shattered six-pack of beer proves there was someone here.
I’m not worried about leaving a witness. The time will come when it’s right to deal with a loose end.
I clean my fingerprints off the grip and place the gun in the hand of a dead juvenile.
My business with them is over.
Traveling the same path I took to get here, I’m vigilant in case the individual who bolted is still in the area.
I take longer routes and complicated turns to shake off any tails. I’m not risking my Nia for anything, even when I’m confident I’m not being followed.
When I close the shop’s back door, I still didn’t lower my guard. I strain my ears through the door and focus on sounds that aren’t buzzing crickets.
Deeming it’s safe, I move to put the keys back where they were before. I march to the bathroom and run a cold shower to clean off any specks of blood that might have splattered on me.
The clothes Nia got for me are always in the bathroom for easy access; the metal bin to the side has other dirty clothes. Caution is more important than convenience, so I drown my worn clothes in water to let the pink ribbons of blood peel off the fabric.
Droplets of water trickle down my back as I wring out the water. The lump of wet clothes lands in the metal bin, and the gray shirt underneath it darkens from the moisture as the bundle unravels a little bit.
I leave the bathroom and hurry up the stairs to her room. She had turned to her side, facing the wall with her perky ass towards me. The thin blanket had fallen off her shoulder to the dip at her waist, trapped between her luscious thighs.
Those shorts are in the way.
The room is too stifling for my taste. I walk over to the window and find the piece of paper firmly in its place. It drifts down the side of the wall after I push open the wooden frame.
A fresh intake of air clears the lethargy from my heavy muscles. I have several more hours to get rested.
I shut the curtains and step closer to Nia’s bed. She’s blissfully unaware of the need coiling in my stomach.
My knee digs into the bed as I bring her into my arms. Her pliable body rolls, and she lands perfectly in tandem with her drowsy protest. Sleep’s grasp is too strong as she simply puts her head on my chest to sleep more soundly.
Slowly and carefully, I lay on my back and set her on top of my chest. Her weight is a comforting sensation that lures a lightheaded haze over my eyes.
Then, she shifts to alter the peacefulness with her plush thigh grinding down on my cock.
A yearning sigh rumbles from my chest, jolting the thin strands of her hair.
I twist her body until she straddles my hips, her little cunt nudging the tight confinement of my boxer-briefs while her head lays innocently on my chest.
Reaching over her round ass, I tug down the waistband and free my thick cock. An unintentional hiss breaches my clenched teeth, the cool air nipping the throbbing shaft as I rub the thickness with fast strokes.
What sort of absurdity is this?
I have my precious little girl to use. It’d be a shame to miss this chance to fondle her tiny pussy and let her body memorize the pleasure I can bring to her.
When she’s awake and alert, she won’t understand why her body craves me.
I had intended to touch her as her big eyes glimmer with uncertainty, but this isn’t too terrible.
Her shorts are made with a flexible material; the elasticity pleases me as I peel the obstruction away.
The tip of my leaking cock kisses the soft folds, and dare I say it’s the softest thing I’ve ever touched. She’s not wet, but my dripping cum is plentiful. Slobbering the slickness on her pussy, I blindly guide my cock to her little clit and grind the bud harshly.
A breathless mewl chokes through her parted lips. Her limp body shivers and her breath fans hotly on my inked skin, then she squirms and settles back quietly again.
Leaving my cock trapped between us and her juicy folds snugly hugging the shaft, I grab her ass and spread her cheeks to improvise.
I bring her ass to a rhythm, slipping her pussy on my cock and coating the thickness with her sweet juices that drool from her unused hole.
I could easily take her virginity. One missed stroke, and her puffy pussy would split open for my big cock, sucking and milking the cum that will always be hers to take.
I think I’m good at reading people’s emotions. So, Nia’s inexperience is like an aphrodisiac for a man with unreliable morals.
I use the honeyed juices from her soft pussy to fuck my cock. The absolute selfishness of my actions is deplorable, but I lack the essential decency to feel remorse.
It’s amazing how her velvety pussy brings my release within a matter of minutes. Each squelching squish of slippery juices coerces unsatisfying spurts of cum from my cock. I want to hold it in, to let her puffy folds suck on my thick cock longer.
Tilting my hips, I fuck her with vigor and take her little clit to a frenzied limbo of grinding.
Nia moans quietly as she shoves her face into my chest. I ignore the chance of waking her as I chase the recoiling muscle in my stomach.
A hotter gush of wetness floods my cock, dripping over my tight balls as her cunt twitches harshly.
My little girl’s sweet cum.
I crush her ass in my hands and thrust relentlessly, using her release to coat my cock while tapping her swollen bud with the tip.
Locking my jaw, I scrape her clit on the thick vein and unravel the heavy spurts of creaminess. Pulse after pulse, a pool of cum sits on my lower stomach as the viscosity slithers over the grooves of my muscles.
Winded from the orgasm, I lay with my Nia still in a deep sleep. Her body twitches sporadically, and the drenched friction between us continues with the aftershock.
I adjust our clothing as sticky cum smears on my abs and her clothes. I don't care about the filthy mess we made; the only thing I care about is the will to not flip her over and fuck her little hole.
I could open her virgin cunt with my fingers and let her grind on my tongue to prepare her unused hole to accept my cock.
I’m selfish to the point of wanting my cock to be the only thing that goes inside her.
Dropping a heavy arm around her back, I secure her to me and throw the other arm over my eyes.
When did I become this weak?
I’m a businessman with an empire that is notorious for cutting out organs from live products. It’s a business that requires a strong stomach and a weak sense of righteousness.
Where did the heartless entrepreneur go?
I’m reduced to being an obsessive man.
Nia will take responsibility for the change in me. This is not a forgivable offense, and I will twist her arm to keep her by my side.
The first chirp of a singing bird breaks the silence.
I snap my eyes open and pull the arm away from my face. The ray of sunlight jumps into my eyes and I turn away to stop the start of a headache.
More birds chime in, and Nia jerks awake. Disorientation forms on her pinched face, her silky hair grazing my naked skin while she blinks into focus.
“What?” she slurs while squinting at me.
She throws her head back and scrambles to straddle my waist. I don’t know how
I would’ve behaved if she sat just below my hips and squirmed her cum-soaked pussy on my hardened cock.
It never softened.
“What’re you doing?” she whispers accusingly. “Why’re you naked?”
“You fell on me, little girl.” I clasp my hands over her waist to stop her from inching down, or she’s going to regret waking up.
“I did?” she mumbles as she scratches her messy hair.
Her eyes dart around, and she buys that story when her face explodes with many shades of red. She scoops the viscid cum on her little fingers and spreads them in confusion.
Then, she coats her other fingers on the tacky cum from my abs.
She gasps in horror. “I drooled!”
Naïve little girl, I think grimly.
“I’m sorry,” Nia chokes pitifully, ducking her head in mortification.
I sit up and curl my arms around her; she doesn’t fight the intimacy as I press a lingering kiss on her pink cheek.
“Good morning, Nia. I dreamed of you.”
Her brows furrow and her lips tip into a pout. “Weird, I did too.”
I smile, shameless, and guiltless.
Chapter Five
Nia
News of dead children drafts through town like wildfire.
Earsplitting police sirens and sonorous firetrucks become constant background noise until mid-afternoon.
Nosy neighbors follow them, and words travel back as gossips. Seven teenagers, the same gang that’s been harassing the town, had been found gunned down. The initial assumption is that someone had hurt them, and the perpetrator was hoping to burn them.
However, burning a human body is more difficult than the idea alone.
The chief of the fire department corrected the assumption; he believes it was last night’s wind that knocked over some of the burning furniture.
There isn’t an arsonist, just a murderer.
The murderer happens to be the teenager who had the gun in his hand. Everything is in the first stage of the investigation, and the sheriff doesn’t want to let go of any leads.
They were delinquents, but they were still children in the eyes of the law.