The third girl died, her nose broken after being slammed into the wall of the cell. She’d cried out before they took her. It was a silent agreement, that each woman would die by strangulation. It was almost scripted; it felt like they knew who would die next and all that was left was to fight until the inevitable loomed and it was time to lie down and accept fate. Always about the fucking fate. There was so much blood. Claw marks marred every woman’s body, blood seeped into long locks and matted them into place; corsets became rags and strips of lace decorated the floor, glued in place by splodges of blood from punches and kicks and bites so hard, flesh was torn from limbs and left to rot like scattered puzzle pieces.
This was what they did. I hadn’t believed Elias when he told me the whores tortured and murdered…but these women were not shy victims who had done what they had to in order to survive. They were criminals. They were puppet masters. They were dwindling out slowly and I took great pleasure in knowing it would be over soon. That the climax was building, both in tension and deep in my womb as I glanced at Elias and saw him transfixed on the fight. His cock was hard, his crown extending past the waistband of the boxers that could no longer contain him. His stomach was tense and tight, his breathing uneven and ragged, his eyes wild and carnal. Everything about him screamed with the longing to involve himself—to find relief in death and come until his mind was empty and sated along with his body.
We were both sick. If there had ever been any doubt that we’d been created for each other, it could fuck itself. We were destined to do this and, despite wanting to do the right thing, I also wanted more blood, more destruction, more death…more pleasure—more agonising, paralysing pleasure to sate an appetite fuelled by my husband’s reaction to the war in front of us.
The fourth whore fell spectacularly. She’d tried her best; she’d fought her hardest, and she was the one I had my bet on winning. The first one to claw at a fight in the hopes of feeding her craving for the deviant, the blonde fell in puddle of her colleagues’ blood and coughed and spluttered as she spat it out of her mouth and clawed at her tongue to get rid of it. When she scrambled to her feet and I saw the crimson cloak she wore from head to toe, she edged back to the wall and crawled into a ball to protect herself as the remaining two whores battled for access to her throat. They’d silently decided how they’d all die. With no weapons to grant a quick death, they would have tired if they’d beaten each other to death; so they’d slipped into a democratic way to admit defeat. There was no urge to live on, no will to fight to survive. Nothing. Just a quick fight for a quick fuck and a quick death that they eventually welcomed to steal them when they realised they’d been overpowered. Not this woman. She cried. She’d thought she could fight to the death, but faced with being the underdog for the first time, she resorted to begging for her life. She wasn’t cut out for the underground, so when the women found her neck, each one using all their weight to crush her to the wall she sought out for sanctuary, the death that found her had been earned.
Two women.
Just two women left.
One woman would die and Trixie’s true plans would be revealed. Just like Ruby, she gave nothing away. She refused to let me in until she thought I’d earned the right to know her plan.
I gasped when a hand stroked my cock, a firm thumb stroking over the exposed head.
“Why didn’t you touch yourself?” Trixie asked as she worked my erection and shoved my face to the side to watch as the final round began.
“I didn’t want to,” I lied. I had, I’d just tried to deny the effects the new decoration had on me.
“You don’t have to hide from me,” she whispered. “I wanted to watch you stroke your cock. I wanted to watch your thumb expose your crown with no obstruction.” I jumped when she twisted her hand and smoothed my foreskin back. I hissed. “I wanted to see you work yourself.” Her thumb collected the clear liquid forced out by her firm hold. “Girls,” she said, turning to the women in the corner who had torn chunks of hair from each other until loose strands of brown and blonde decorated the floor of the cell like carpet. “I know what he likes. I can make him come in seconds. No one pleases this man like I do. You’ve got until I’ve swallowed every last drop he’s about to give me…if two of you are still standing, you both die.”
With that, Trixie fucking Blackwood dropped to her knees and slurped my cock into her mouth.
“Christ!” I hissed, slamming my head back to the wall as her wet tongue ran down my shaft before her warm mouth closed around me and her throat constricted to draw me into its depths. “Fuck.”
Slipping my hands into her hair, I held her still and jerked my hips to hit the back of her throat. She looked up at me, as conflict and death-defying lust poured from her in wet tears tinged with mascara. The whites of her eyes reddened, her nose streamed and she held the handle of the gun with the free hand that wasn’t squeezing my balls until it was an effort not to explode in an instant.
“Trixie,” I grunted, curling my torso over to grip her throat. “Are you stroking your clit with my gun?”
She nodded, shame setting her eyes on fire, the vibration of her moan making me shudder and tense my thighs.
“Fuck.” I squeezed her a little harder, keeping my eyes on the slow movements of the weapon. “Harder. Stroke yourself harder, baby. Make yourself come with my gun.”
I watched as she picked up the pace and I felt my cock against my palm as she swallowed me down and gagged on the intrusion. Jesus, she was a devil. She was the fucking devil and she’d been sent to this earth to summon my demons. Fuck exploring my tastes…I’d satisfy every craving just by sating Trixie’s.
“Undo your fucking jeans and let me watch.” With that, I turned to look into the corner where movement had halted. One girl remained. One fucking brunette who had survived the fight and thought she had the right to stake some claim on me. “Now, Trix.”
Shoving her hand away, I fisted the base of my cock and slid it in and out of her swollen lips as she worked to undo her jeans and drag them down her thighs. Her knickers were next, pulled down to settle over the waistband of her jeans to expose her pussy to me. Good god, she’d soaked my gun. The barrel glimmered in the dim light and I wanted to suck on it to taste the deviant arousal that had trickled from my wife. I pulled my cock out of her mouth and she released it with a pop, and then pouted when she realised her mouth was empty.
“Lie on your back,” I said, bending over her to double check the safety was on the gun. It was an action I should have taken before, but I knew it wasn’t loaded. I’d fired fifteen shots tonight and had handed her an empty gun as a test. I kept the loaded one with me, but Trixie was too caught up to notice. Big mistake. I wanted to see if she would kill…I didn’t expect her to go all filthy harlot on me. Not that I was complaining. My cock was, however, throbbing at me and twitching as it pointed towards her and demanded I continue this. “I want it inside you. Shove the fucking gun inside your cunt while our winner finishes what you started.”
Her eyes darted towards the corner, where the brunette was standing and waiting for her next instruction. Blood coated her coffee-coloured skin and she licked her lips. I couldn’t tell which blood was hers and which had been her fellow whores’. I didn’t really want her mouth on me. I wanted Trixie to choke on my cock…but I wanted to watch her fuck herself a whole lot more. I’d use this whore’s mouth as a vessel while Trixie made me come.
My wife gasped, gripping the handle a little harder as she dragged it over the mound of her tight cunt. Her wedding band sparkled in the light as she stroked the barrel through her lips before probing her entrance and parting her legs with a deep breath of relaxation. How was she even prepared to do this? How could she be so fucking angelic with her morals and bullshit speeches about choices and making the right ones, when she was about to penetrate her tight little hole with a gun? A fucking gun. The weapon that had killed fifteen people in the time we’d been down here. When she dug her heels into the ground to hol
d her body still while the tip of the gun dipped inside her, I clicked my fingers at our whore.
“You.” I pointed to the ground at my feet. “Suck it. Bite it and I’ll kill you.”
She shot across the room to accept her prize, gripping my thighs as she gulped me down and gagged wildly.
“Don’t touch me,” I said, grabbing her wrists and forcing her hands to her lap. “Just suck.”
She did. She slurped and gorged and feasted on my cock as her saliva dripped from her chin onto her lap. She didn’t wipe her mouth. She didn’t move her hair out of the way, so neither did I. If it choked her—if she died by hair inhalation—it would save us a job when this was all over. The scrunched up stray strands sliding over my shaft felt unusual, but not unwelcome, adding another sensation to the cocktail of electricity swirling in my soul. Trixie fucked herself with abandon, shoving the harsh and unrelenting weapon inside her as she cried and moaned in both pleasure and masochistic bliss. It hurt her. She was in pain. Yet she loved it and continued to fuck herself like it was my cock buried inside her and bringing her to orgasm. I grabbed the whore’s throat and pulled her to her feet.
“With your hand,” I growled, bored of her mouth. It wasn’t that she couldn’t suck a dick, but nothing in the world compared to Trixie. Not even…
Trixie cried out as the whore gripped my shaft. I watched my wife’s body tense up as her orgasm seized her control. She shuddered, her breaths escaping in short pants and entering her lungs as sharp gasps. Her hair was wild, her eyes feral as they connected with mine. Slowly she came down and the cosmos in her eyes burned out until it was a smouldering fire ready to ignite again at any second.
“Here.” I clicked at her and pointed to my feet. “Taste what you created, baby.”
She sat up, the gun clattering to the ground as she crawled towards me and kneeled at my feet, next to where the whore stood and tugged on my raging dick. I was so hot I thought I’d combust. So turned on I wondered if this would be the last orgasm I ever had—if I’d burn out and be unable to stoke the flames after such intensity. Black spots danced in my vision as Trixie opened her mouth and extended her tongue, waiting for my cum. I choked the whore a little harder, hoping her adrenaline would kick start and make her work me with more vigour.
I didn’t warn either of them. Trixie had given me control; the whore had no right to breathe let alone receive a warning that her purpose was almost served. I allowed the burn in my stomach to draw my balls up into my body and the white hot heat shot along the length of my cock as ribbons of an intense release shot from me and spurted onto my wife’s beautiful face.
Dripping with my cum, Trixie stood and leaned closer to me. I thought she’d kiss me. I thought she’d wipe her hand over her face and suck every trace into non-existence to allow me to live inside her, just for a while. But she didn’t. She pressed her chest to mine, and reached for the gun I’d set on the counter next me.
Then she aimed and pulled the trigger.
So much death and destruction. It was scattered around me—bodies and blood, all of it caused by something worse than my hands. My mind. I had lost my mind and in turn, my psyche had turned me into a murderer. Again. Could I be classed as a serial killer now? Elias stood in front of me, heaving for breath as the gun in my hand shook with the responsibility of holding it out, pointing at where the whore had stood just moments ago.
"I have a plan," I said, my voice lacking all emotion. I could feel the shock moving in to take me hostage, but I distracted myself to keep it away. "I've been back to the village."
"I told you not to."
I heard a hint of rage in Elias' voice, but he kept it contained. I was volatile, I was manic, and I was holding a smoking gun. He was a smart man; he knew better than to approach me when I couldn't anticipate my reaction.
"I know." I shrugged. Then laughed. The mania took over, forcing laughs of anxiety up out of my mouth like a hyena high after a kill. "But I have a plan."
"And it involves the village?"
"It does."
"How?"
He glanced down at the silent chaos around us and I tried to infer his thoughts. I tried to guess what he was thinking, but all I could assume from the frustrated expression marring his beautiful face was that he wasn't happy about the mess.
"Do you want to clean up?"
"Yes."
I stepped back, realising he was waiting for me to retreat before he moved. Tossing the gun onto the counter, I took another step. Elias swooped in, dragging one body on top of another until a pile of death decorated the centre of the cell. Blood stained the stones, fragments of flesh and bone garnished the flooring, and the scent of copper made my nostrils burn. When the bodies had been arranged, Elias set to work cleaning the floor. I'd never seen him take control of maintenance. He'd always ordered a Sector worker to clean up after him, and I couldn't figure out why he'd chosen now to get to his hands and knees and clean up with the remnants of his shirt.
"Talk to me," he barked, scrubbing at a stubborn patch. "Tell me about this plan."
How could he be so cool with his hands smothered with human remains? I could feel the dark cloud of toxins circling me, ready to drag me under to drown in exhaustion and regret. I'd promised the winner a chance to break free...but that was before she'd touched my husband. My poor, vulnerable husband who just wanted a way to exorcise the demons who held him captive inside his own mind.
"We use the village," I said, waiting for a reaction that never came. "We develop it and we build communities for people outside the estate."
"What good will that do?" he asked, his back to me as he cleaned.
He wasn't rejecting my idea, but he wasn't singing his acceptance either. I knew it would be hard to let go, but how could this go on? How many more people would we kill before it broke us?
"You said you have surveillance in place, so surely you observe the good people of the city, as well as the underground."
"It's amusing that you think there are any good people left."
"I refuse to give hope that there are."
"You said you were a good person." He stood up then, turning to face me. His almost naked body was smeared with blood, his hands sopping with the evidence of what we'd done. I'd never seen him look so...alive. "That changed pretty quickly, don't you think?"
"You changed it."
"You changed yourself. I didn't ask you to do what you did."
"You asked me to kill them."
He laughed. It was loud and throaty, but no less menacing than when he'd opened fire on cells full of criminals.
"You created the game, Ashford. Instead of killing and blocking it out, you enjoyed it. You got yourself off on their pain. That makes you a sadist. You think sadists are good people?"
"I think..." I stopped and rethought my reply. "I don't know what I think. Maybe there's no salvation for me, but isn't our job to protect those who have it within their reach?"
Elias folded his arms across his chest, tucking his hands under his armpits and setting his feet wide apart in a powerful stance.
"What exactly are you proposing?"
"We build on the village. We construct more houses, we develop the land and we improve their way of life. We bring the good people of the city onto the estate."
"What good will that do?"
"We'll have them protected. We'll have segregated them from the evil that threatens them and we'll banish the underground to the corners of the city where there is no supply of victims."
"And...?"
"And then we burn the city to the ground."
Burn the city to the ground. Fire and flames, smoke and ash, death and extinction. Evil destroyed, land left barren and infertile. History eradicated from existence. A clean slate. A blank canvas. A new beginning.
For us all.
I shook my head, rejecting Trixie's idea. I rejected it because I'd thought about it for years—since I was a child and had studied the Great Fire of London, methods of capital puni
shment that involved burning criminals at the stake; weapons of war—burning arrows, molten tar and boiling water. Heat was the answer. It had always been the answer, but for years I had rejected it, toyed with the idea and convinced myself it was impossible. Because it couldn't be that easy. It couldn't end that quickly.
We wouldn't just be killing the underground...we'd be exterminating the very reason for GRIT's existence.
"Why are you shaking your head?" Trixie asked. "You know it makes sense."
"You're in shock," I answered, taking a step towards her and placing my arm around her shoulders. Blood stained her t-shirt and my cock stirred when I imagined it on her skin. "Let's get you to bed."
"Don't cut this idea off," she argued, trying to fight me back as I led her from the cell. "Give me one reason why it won't work."
"Just..." I sighed and dragged my hand through my hair, shoving Trixie past the threshold and closing the door behind us. "I'm tired, okay? After everything that went down tonight, you want to discuss this now?"
She thought for a minute and I wondered if I'd made a mistake. I knew why she wanted to talk. She wanted to rid her mind of the memories of what we'd done. Of how far we'd dived into the underground and why we weren't repulsed by all the things we'd done tonight.
"No," she finally said before a yawn took her. "Not tonight."
"Good girl." I stopped her slow trudge and bent to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before kissing the spot behind it. "Hold on to me."
She wrapped her arms around my shoulders as I lifted her into my arms. Where she belonged. I wasn't oblivious to the fact that the depravity we'd commanded tonight was a million times better than the alternate outcome. It could have ruined us. Instead, I felt like it had drawn us closer together.
Trixie fell asleep on the way up to bed. I let us into my room, set her on the bed, and removed her bloody clothes before tucking her in. When I'd showered and pulled on clean underwear, I climbed in bed next to her and caressed the tightness of her brow with the pad of my thumb until sleep found me.
The Uprising (GRIT Sector 1 Book 2) Page 18