Absolution

by LP Lovell

  "I'm going to destroy you, Ezra. And when you're crawling on your knees, you will wish you had taken my offer."

  My burner phone beeps and I open it, laughing as I quickly read through the text. "Speaking of burning, you might want to check on your warehouse." I laugh once more and hang up.

  I smile as I press play on the five-second video clip of Zee's warehouse blowing to smithereens. If there's one thing Jonty does well, it's a good pyrotechnic show.

  I've been here for three days. I know I can leave, but I don't want to. Zee, the man who killed my sister, wants to take me. I'm not ready for him. I know nothing about him, and when I asked Ezra about Zee yesterday, he grabbed me by the throat and nearly choked me. Ezra said he would handle it, and I want to believe him, but he is taking too long. And he is ignoring me which makes me angry.

  I've spent every waking moment when this club is empty learning it. I know each and every place those monitors survey. I know the places they can't see. Ezra has fucked me and beat me four times in his office while clients and whores are in the hallway, and I moan and I scream because I like it, because I am a good distraction, because I am better than Jen.

  With each passing hour, with every touch of his hands, I hate Ezra even more because he has infested my mind like a crippling disease. My once pure heart is now tainted and blackened because all I can think about is how he feels between my thighs, deep inside me. I find no solace in prayer now because I know what forgiveness at his hands feels like, and that is what I want. I want forgiveness. I want this sin crawling through me beaten out. I want Ezra to purge me.

  That is who Ezra is, the devil, and I want him. Part of me wants to kill him, part of me thinks I'd die without him, and oh, what a fucked up place that puts me in. I feel trapped in a never-ending cycle of sin and penance, and Ezra is both: my sin and my penance. And how is that even possible?

  I have to cleanse myself. I must put myself back on the right path, away from the devil. And besides, Ezra must be punished for lying to me about my lips. I'll show him just how good I can be at sucking dick.

  The loud music from the club rumbles up through the floorboards. I have to remember why I am even in this mess to begin with. It's not to be Ezra's sex slave; it's to do the work I was chosen to do. Ezra believes he has the upper hand, and he does, but only because I am allowing him to. He thinks I am a meek little lamb ready for slaughter. But I am not. I am a hunter. I am a warrior. I use my weakness as a lure, and I will show Ezra he cannot control me. You only have control when you make a man love you when you kill him. Find a sinner, Evelyn.

  Without pause, I leave the room. I peer through the cracked doorway into Ezra's office. His chair is empty, and then I hear him arguing with one of the girls at the other end of the hallway. Quickly, I make my way down the stairs, scurrying along the corridor, my heart banging in my chest as I step foot inside the dark club. I close my eyes and stand in the doorway because the cameras can't see me here. Please help me... The moment my eyes pry open, they land on a man in a crisply laundered dress shirt, an air of power swirling around him like a storm. He sticks out like a beacon amongst the dingy drunks, and I know that is a sign. The moment his gaze lands on me, his eyes narrow and I motion him over with my finger and a kittenish grin. The closer he comes, the more he undresses me with his eyes. As soon as he is within reach, I grab onto his silk tie and pull him toward my face.

  His brows arch, and he grins, revealing his perfect, stark-white teeth. "Are you one of Ezra's girls?" he asks.

  "Yes."

  The man leans into my ear, sucking in my scent. Disgust climbs my throat, and all I want to do is choke him.

  "Are you just one of his cheap whores, or are you one of his girls?" he asks.

  I take that comment to mean he knows about the other girls, the girls like my sister. A vision of this man taking a knife to Hannah, coming as he takes her life, flashes through my mind and my jaw clenches. Maybe this is Zee.

  "Does it really matter when I'm offering services on the house?" I smirk, rubbing my hand down the front of his shirt. He groans in response, and I spin around, his tie still in my hand as I lead him to the stairwell.

  The stairs groan under the man's weight, causing my stomach to knot. I know this is risky because when Ezra catches me, and he will catch me, he's going to be so angry. Fear mounts in my chest, and I thrive on it. He wants to ignore me; he wants to make me feel used, he wants to make me sin over and over and not grant me forgiveness? I will make him notice me. I will make him angry. I will make him beat me. I will force him to forgive me.

  The door to Ezra's office is closed, which means Ezra is back inside. I swallow the lump in my throat as I lead this man to my room. As soon as we're inside, I shut the door, lock it, and slide the deadbolt into place.

  I glare up at the camera, rage building in my chest as I pull my shirt over my head. I walk toward him, swaying my hips. He undoes his tie as I trace my fingertips over his chest, slowly unfastening each button from his dress shirt. Running my hands up his sides, I slip the material from his arms and press a gentle kiss to his stomach—the stomach I will slice open in a matter of moments. He grabs my hair, jerking my head back. His free hand gropes at my breast, pinching my nipple to the point of pain. I hate him touching me, but I want him to want me. I need him to want me. I have to have him love me.

  I reach for his belt and pull the leather through the buckle, and he brushes my hand away. His pants drop to his ankles. He pushes his boxers down and fists his cock as he steps toward me. My pulse hammers in my ears when his dirty little lips lay over my neck, trailing kisses across my throat. His hands slip over my body, and my stomach turns. I have to get him away from me before I vomit. I push him away, gently, even though I want to shove him so hard he falls and splits his head wide open. He stumbles before falling back onto the bed.

  I take his dick in my hand, trying to control my urge to gag as I stare at it. I force my lips over it. Your mouth was made for Ezra's cock, Evelyn. These lips are Ezra's, but his are not mine. So this is not wrong, and although I still feel guilty, I have work to do. I have to rid the world of men like this—I peek through my lashes at the man, and all I can see is Zachariah—bad men. The man groans, his hips bucking up to meet my mouth, his hands grabbing onto the back of my head. Ezra lied, your lips are not the only ones made for him, Evelyn. My eyes stray up to the camera. I stare at the lens, a slight smirk on my face while I swallow back this man. I will make Ezra notice me. I will make him envious.

  Sliding one hand beneath the mattress, I grab the knife I took from the bar last night. My fingers slowly wrap around the handle. The thought of Ezra watching me makes me shamefully wet.

  I circle my tongue around the tip of this man's dick, staring at him. "Tell me you love me."

  His eyes narrow and I slip him into my mouth, then back out. "Tell me..." Back in. Back out. "Tell me you love me..." Back in, then I stop and glare up at him.

  He's panting and fisting the sheets, sweat beading on his brow. "Damn it. I love you, now finish."

  I smile around his cock, my fingers twitching over the knife.

  "Evie!" I hear Ezra shout from down the hall. He is angry now, and anger is an emotion he can't ignore. His hard footsteps thump down the hallway, and within moments, the entire door is shaking.

  "Shit!" the man huffs, releasing his hold on my head.

  Fear drowns his face, and I can't help but laugh.

  "Evie!" Ezra yells again, and the door rattles.

  The man's eyes narrow at me as he tries to stand, but before he can manage to get up, I take the knife, jabbing it through his thigh and jerking the blade through his muscle. Warm blood splatters across my bare chest. The bright red spraying from his artery looks like a volcanic eruption, spurting with each frantic beat of his heart. An agonized scream fills the air, and he knocks me over as he desperately tries to get away. He takes two steps before collapsing to the floor, desperately gasping as he bleeds out.

  Ezra b
angs against the door again and the entire wall trembles. The hinges groan the wood creaks.

  "Motherfucker!" Ezra shouts. "Evie! You open this fucking door, or I swear to your fucking god that I'm going to make you beg, little girl. I will destroy you."

  Butterflies flit in my stomach at his promise.

  I want Ezra angry at me, threatening me before he fucks me. He makes me sin only so he can forgive me. And although I know it is messed up, it is beautiful. The sinner and her sin. After all, what is more holy than being one with your very salvation? And as long as he can save me, I cannot kill him, no matter how evil he may be.

  Evie being here is not good. I look at her, and I crave her, her fear, her pain, her desire. Every time I fuck her, I want to own her. I want to put a bullet in the skull of any guy who looks at her, and believe me, they all fucking look! I've spent years fucking girls like Jen, running whores, but never touching them, and of all the women to catch my attention, it just had to be the pretty little murderer who thrives on pain as if it's her next breath. Fuck!

  I storm down the hall, go back into my office, and pour some whiskey in a glass. By the time I sort this shit, I'll have liver failure. Thinking about Evie has given me a hard-on, and I glance at the monitor to her room, hoping to catch sight of her in her underwear. And I do. She's in a thong, on her knees, with a guy’s dick in her mouth. My heart slams against my ribs and all I see is red. I yank open my desk drawer and grab my gun before striding down the hall to her room. I wrench the handle down, and it doesn't budge.

  "Motherfucker!" I shout. "Evie! You open this fucking door, or I swear to your fucking god that I'm going to make you beg, little girl. I will destroy you!" I'm going to make her pay, and I'm going to kill the cunt who dared to fucking touch what is mine.

  I take a few steps back and charge the door, colliding with it shoulder first. The door creaks on its hinges, and I rear back, slamming it again. The door pops open easily. It looks like something out of Texas Chainsaw Massacre in here. At her feet lies the guy she was just blowing, still butt naked and feebly clutching his thigh. Blood is pissing out of his femoral artery, and an enormous red puddle is spreading across the floor, seeping into the carpet. Blood trickles down the top of Evie’s tits, down her stomach and over her white lace underwear. The bloodied knife is still in her hands, and all I can think is she resembles the angel of death.

  "Beat me," she says.

  Narrowing my eyes, I step into the room. I stop with my face only inches from hers, and she closes her eyes, her breath hitching. "Oh, I'm going to break you, Evie." She trembles and I can see her erratic pulse thumping in her neck. I grip her jaw, digging my fingers into her cheeks. "I'm going to remind you that I own you and that mine is the only cock you wrap these fucking lips around!" I shout.

  "Oh, how he moaned," she smirks. "How good he said my lips felt wrapped around his cock." I grab her by her throat with enough force to take her off her feet before I slam her onto the floor. She gasps for air.

  "Stupid Evie. Very fucking stupid." I say, barely containing the rage in my voice.

  This is what she does. She makes me insane. I don't pretend to be an especially moral individual, but I'm calm, I keep my shit together. If I kill someone, if I hurt someone, it's done with a rational point in mind. I don't get angry because I don't lose control. She makes me lose control. She sends me hurtling straight into fucking homicidal rage territory with one fucking look, and that combined with my need for her—to hurt her. I feel like a ticking time bomb.

  She claws at my hands and then bucks underneath me, rubbing her body against my crotch. Her eyes are wild, a mixture of fear and excitement swirling in those blue irises of hers. I release her and push up from the floor, pacing as I drag my hands through my hair.

  "Beat me, Ezra." I hear her say.

  When I spin around, Evie's leaned over the bed, hands fisting the sheets. Her arse is in the air, her white lace thong showcasing her amazing arse cheeks. Beneath her feet is the man she's just killed. My cock throbs, demanding I heed her request. Right now, she is in control, and she knows it, she's manipulated it. I fist her hair, jerk her back, and her body tumbles onto the floor. I make my way out of the room, dragging her down the hallway by her hair.

  "Jonty!" I shout. "Jonty!"

  "Yeah," he calls from down the hall.

  "Get a fucking cleaner into room three. Now!"

  I growl as I fling the door open at the end of the corridor. It slams closed behind me, and I lock it, shoving the key in the front pocket of my jeans. Evie stands motionless in the middle of the room, head dropped. This is not how this is supposed to work. She should not want this; she should not bait me to this. And I should not rise to it. I beat women to teach them, to train them, to profit from them. This... I do this because I like it because I crave it. No other reason.

  As I approach the cross, I rip my shirt over my head, flexing my neck from side to side. I grab two of the heavy chains hooked into a pulley system on the ceiling and adjust them, so the cross is now upright, just like a crucifix. I turn to face Evie, and her gaze fixes on the solid wooden cross, her face blanched white.

  She thinks she can provoke me, but I have been doing this for a long time. I will break her, by any means necessary. She has no physical limit, so if I have to strap her to a fucking crucifix to mentally fuck with her, I will. "Step up to the cross, sweetheart," I say with a smile.

  She takes a shaky breath and glances between me and her destination. I think she's going to refuse, but she slowly steps up to it and turns to face me.

  "Turn around and face it. Do not look at me." She stares at me for one more fleeting second, a defiant smile gracing her lips. I'm about to wipe that off her face. "Don't hesitate," I say through gritted teeth.

  I'm not even sure anymore whether I want her to like it or not, but right now, in this very second, I want her to hate it. I want her to scream and cry and beg me to stop because she sucked another guy's dick, got blood all over my fucking club, and she needs to learn a motherfucking lesson! I'm about to fucking own her.

  She turns around, pressing her cheek to the wood. I take her slim wrists and fasten the leather cuffs around them. She's trembling, her body flushed in goosebumps. I would usually leave her legs loose, but not this time. I go to the inconspicuous set of drawers and pull out a simple pair of metal handcuffs. She flinches as I clamp the cool metal around one ankle and then the other before strapping the leather cuff to the chain. I stand and look at her, smiling at the irony of her position, strung up on a crucifix, and why? Because she likes to be beaten, to feel depraved, to submit.

  I pull my belt through the loops and trail the leather across my palm before cracking it together. The muscles in her back tense and release as her head falls back a little, her hair brushing the top of her arse. She wants this. She wants this enough to kill for it. She thinks she can push me, manipulate me into giving her something she fucking needs. She's wrong.

  "Do you think you can control me, Evie?" I ask quietly, taking steady steps towards the cross.

  "No." I hear her swallow amid her heavy breaths.

  I stand so close to her I can smell her perfume, feel the heat from her body. She twists her head to the side, attempting to glance over her shoulder. "Do not. Fucking. Look at me," I say calmly.

  "But I want to."

  "That's your problem, Evie." I laugh. "You seem to think I give a fuck what you want."

  "And you seem to think I believe that..."

  I smirk. "Do you want me to hurt you, sweetheart?"

  "Yes," she breathes.

  "Do you want me to fuck you?"

  She hesitates. "Yes."

  I move closer to her, pressing my erection into the crack of her arse cheeks, because just the sight of her naked body, the promise of no limitations, has me hard. "You want my cock buried inside you?" I say against her ear. She shivers, pushing back against me, making me grit my teeth. I'm so tempted to fuck her, to pound into her until she can't walk straigh
t. But that's what she wants.

  "Please," she begs shamelessly.

  I wrap her hair around my wrist, leaving the pale skin of her neck exposed. Slowly, I trace my tongue along the side of her throat. "No," I whisper.

  Releasing her, I step away, and unzip my fly. She tugs against the restraints. I smile as I yank my jeans and boxers down just enough to expose my cock.

  "But—"

  "Shut the fuck up!" I stroke over the length of my hard cock, fisting it, imagining how beautiful Evie would look right now, bound and covered in scarlet welts. I think of everything I would do to her, everything I can't do to her because that is what she wants.

  I bury my nose in her hair and pull hard on her nipple. She moans, and pushes her arse back against me. Her desperation is enough to make my balls tighten. I stroke my cock until my legs start to go numb. I grit my teeth as raw pleasure shoots through my body. I pump my dick harder, groaning as I shoot my load all over her. My eyes slam shut as I milk my cock for all it's worth. I'm breathing hard, trying to catch my breath, and I rest my forehead against her shoulder blades.

  I glance down at the come all over her lower back, smiling as it drips over her arse. "You look hot, covered in my come, Evie," I say breathlessly, and she doesn't say a word.

  I grab a handful of her hair and yank her head back whilst swiping a finger through the sticky mess all over her arse. I bring my finger to her lips. "Taste it, little killer," I say as I force my finger into her mouth. She licks the come off my finger, moaning as she does. She may be fucked up, but fuck, she's perfect. She sucks on my finger like a woman starved, and my cock threatens to harden again.

  I grab my trousers and pull them back up, adjusting my dick before I drop to a crouch. I free her ankles from the restraints. "Spread your legs."

  She slides her legs apart, and her rapid breaths accelerate. When I stand, I pull her thong to the side. I drag two fingers from my other hand through the cooling pool of come dripping down her arse before ramming both fingers into her pussy without warning. She gasps, flinching away from me.