Tag: tw: murder

Characters::Luna and Cooper
Words::600
Trigger Warnings::Arson, murder, child death, gun violence

Luna was sitting on the supply bench, slim legs kicking back and forth as she listened to her dad explain the tasks at hand. She was definitely more interested in her dad’s woodworking than her mother’s cooking and she nodding along, memorizing his every word. 

There was fresh snow on the ground, but the garage was warm and she could smell her momma’s cooking in the house, the scent carried on the breeze. It was one of those days that everything just felt right. 

Until her dad stiffened.

Cooper sniffed at the air, his posture rigid in a way Luna had never seen before. It wasn’t until she was older did she realize what exactly it was that her dad had caught the scent of. 

Gunpowder and the oil used to clean guns.

Cooper had hurried her out of the garage and towards the predetermined escape route before making way to cover the tracks that led to it. They were close enough that he had to be quick about it.

“Just stay low and don’t make a sound, Lu, okay? I’m going to to get your mother and brother,” he had told her, making sure she was hidden before doubling back. 

She did as she was told, the den barely big enough to fit her and Sterling, but it looked like a thicket of brush, it didn’t stand out. She was peeking out, her nose level with the ground with the way it was built. She saw the strange men intercept her dad before he could make it to the house. 

The first gun shot was all the warning Izzie got. Cooper hit the ground, a splash of crimson on the white snow as he clutched at his knee. 

“How many of you are there?” one of the men demanded, his free hand jerking Coop’s head up, bringing his attention back to his home. 

He didn’t answer, a low pained whine escaping him as he struggled, still trying to get to his wife and son. “We’re foxes, we’re harmless,” he choked out, desperation making him sound more like a child than a man.

The hunters sneered at that, one of them taking a shot at the ground next to his legs. “Ain’t no such thing as an innocent monster.”

“The kids, the kids haven’t done anything. Please, please, don’t hurt my kids. Take me, I don’t care, but don’t hurt my kids,” he begged, trying to break the grip the hunter had on his head. 

“Hurt them? What makes you think we’re going hurt them?” one asked, a sickening smile on his lips. 

The one holding him nodded to the others and a strangled scream left the fox’s lips when he realized what they were doing. Cans of gas were spilled around the house, splashed up the sides, soaking the wood before they set his home ablaze, his wife and young son still inside. 

Luna had to cover her mouth against her own scream, silent sobs making her shake violently. The acrid smoke curled against the clear blue sky, her safety turned the same bright colors of the leaves in autumn. 

A sound drew her attention back to her father, the one that had given the signal to burn their home was behind him now, forcing him to watch as the central beam gave with a crack nearly as loud as their guns. 

It wasn’t long after her dad had slumped in defeat did the man put the barrel of the gun against his head and pulled the trigger a final time, leaving the girl an orphan at only fourteen. 

Probably one of the least triggering drabbles ever written including Chance.

@mythsandmonsters @missjinxei

Things had not gone as plan in his attempt at speaking to his son, but Chance was hardly surprised. Sera kept insisting it would take time and effort but he knew he didn’t have the emotional depth to do any good. It was frustrating and he kept saying things wrong. 

By the time he left, he couldn’t get the itching feeling out of the palms of his hands, so he made a detour. She wasn’t his usual type, blonde, sure, but not pretty enough. Her hair was too short, face too thin, eyes a weak shade of grey. But she screamed easily enough and it relieved some of the tension. 

No one batted an eye when he came home coated in blood. It was part of the reason all of the furniture was dark. He left a smear of blood on the refrigerator, he’d clean it up later, when he grabbed a beer and made his way back to the living room.

Sera asked, of course, but his response was short enough to keep her from asking further until he calmed down. 

But it was Arcadia that surprised him. The pup had only been with them a short time, her physical injuries still healing and the emotional ones still visible in her eyes. She was hesitant as she stepped into the room but she crossed it anyway and sat on the floor next to his legs. The blood didn’t seem to bother her as she laid her head against his knee and closed her eyes, body relaxed against him.

After several moments, he reached down to run his hands through her hair, leaving streaks of red through the blonde almost absently. He had never liked dogs before but she was an exception. Even for a girl, her mannerisms were more canine than anything.

At least she was already too damaged for him to really fuck her up any further. 

Inspired by that 5 times the love meme

@mythsandmonsters @thewitchandtheangels @missjinxei

One.

The first time he picked her up from school, she was barely fourteen. He had been watching her sleep for nearly a year, careful not to be caught or found out by anyone. His arm had snaked around her waist, her body pulled closed to his, hand rest on her hip as he walked her to his car amidst a slew of stares and whispers. He noticed the look their brother shot him and he simply smirked, not bothering to offer Jericho a ride. He couldn’t have cared less about his younger brother if he tried. 

All that mattered was Sera.

No in the family batted an eye, they were relieved. He came off almost affectionate towards Sera. Like an older brother was supposed to be. They didn’t see the stolen kisses, the way he pinned her to the wall when no one else was around, wrists above her head and hard presses of lips with teeth and tongues. 

He was careful not to leave marks, to not raise suspicion. It was their little secret and it never went beyond that. He was careful. 

Two.

Rumors started going around at school within the year. Jericho wouldn’t admit they were related, refused to say Chance was family, so it would have been easy to play it off like he was her step-brother, but they looked alike. Sera looked more like Chance than Jericho did. 

A couple of guys got out of hand. They laid hands on her, called her a whore. 

Chance saw red. 

It was her birthday and he left her a horrifying present. The hearts of the boys that had thought for even a moment they had a right to put their hands on what was his. 

Each one was wrapped perfectly, the bows handmade and gorgeous. It would have been sweet had it not been human hearts underneath the carefully applied paper.

Three.

The dress he bought her was crimson, the shade of fresh spilled blood in large quantities. The heels matched, but the stockings were black and silky smooth. The note said they would look amazing on her, would match the silver necklace with the teardrop garnet. He never told her where he got the necklace, didn’t see the point to it. Its original owner was dead and it looked better on Sera. 

When she wasn’t home, he put a camera up, hidden in a corner near the ceiling. It was at the perfect angle to watch her. Something he enjoyed doing.

A smirk touched his lips when he watched her twirl in that dress, the loose skirt fanning beautifully as she moved, the shade perfect for her skin tone and hair color. 

When she left her room, he was there, arms snaking around her from behind, lips against her ear as he murmured praises and details of what he wanted to do to her before letting go and walking away with a smirk, giving her a moment to compose herself before joining the rest of the family for dinner. 

Four.

Princess. The word glided from his lips as his fingers skimmed her thighs. It didn’t take a genius to realize she had found the camera, not when she made a point of staring at it while really giving himself to watch. 

They had to be quiet, there were others home, but that didn’t stop him from making sure she knew who she belonged to. 

No one will ever know you as well as I do, Princess, not like this.

The promise was sighed against that little space between her neck and ear as she cried out for him. 

Five.

They had played their game for years, Oona distracted with that mewling disgrace of a thing she insisted on calling Lizzie. He had wanted that one, but the other one, his Manson, he had wanted. He saw the way Sera watched his daughter, saw the look in her eyes. He wished the child had been her’s, but it would have raised too many alarms for them to be at that point. 

But his daughter wasn’t turning out how he had wanted. She was too stubborn, unwilling to fall inline. 

Sera noticed the bruises first and Manson talked. 

It was the first time Chance had witnessed the extent of what Sera could do. Had it not been directed at him while she screamed and cursed, he would have enjoyed seeing it. 

But he knew their game was over for her and was willing to do nearly anything to get her back to being his pretty little pet.

Questionable Methods

@mythsandmonsters @thewitchandtheangels

The little girl was far too thin, her blonde hair a tangled, matted mess. Her clothing looked like it hadn’t been changed in days on top of it all. But it was the bruises she was rubbing on her arms that caught Jeff’s attention. Someone had grabbed that little girl’s arm hard enough to leave a near perfect handprint, the deep purple shocking against her pale skin. She couldn’t have been more than two or three. 

He was tempted then, but when the child turned, the bruising and swelling on her face was clear as the blue sky above. Someone had punched that baby in the face and it was taking every bit of control he had not to strike then.

Instead, Jeff waited. He followed the family home, not realizing just what he was walking into until night had fallen completely. 

Getting inside wasn’t hard, the doors were left unlocked, and he was silent as he crept around and disconnected the phone lines and hid the cell phones. The house was trashed, the stench overwhelming, and he couldn’t believe no one had gotten that little girl out of there sooner.

He came up behind what he was assumed was the father and bashed him over the head with the first blunt object he could find, making sure it wouldn’t scream as he made his way to the bedroom. It was the cleanest room he had come across so far and the woman was startled by his appearance. 

She went to scream, but he was on her in a flash, hitting her hard enough to shatter her jaw. Unlike with Ollie, there was no part of him holding back as he beat the woman’s face into a bloody pulp. By the time she had stopped breathing, there was nothing that could be used to identify her facial features.

He wiped at his face, smearing blood across it. It looked like a grotesque mask, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even realize there was an audience until he went for the door to finish off the father. 

Carrie stood in the same clothes from early, terror clear in her pale green eyes. One had burst blood vessels and it made something inside of Jeff stir. 

He raised a single finger to his lips before slipping back into the living room and merely snapping her father’s neck. Of course, the amount of force he used made it so that it was just flesh and tendons holding his head on, but that was hardly the point.

He felt calmer when he made his way back to where he left the child and he knelt, holding one blood coated hand out to her. 

The child hesitated, lower lip trembling as she looked at the strange man. “You were at the store,” she finally squeaked, rocking herself back and forth. She winced when she spoke. “You waved.”

Jeff nodded, the first hint of a smile touching on his lips. “I’m going to take you away. Somewhere safe.”

Safe. That was a word she wasn’t familiar with. “What ‘bout bubby?”

He frowned, terribly confused. “Who’s bubby?”

She took his hand and marched him to the other end of the house and opened a door before pointing at a crib under the window. “Bubby. He come too?”

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, making his way to the bed and seeing an unbathed, silent infant staring up at him. The baby had been left alone all day and it didn’t look as if anyone had checked on him other than the toddler.

“Yeah, he comes too,” was all Jeff had to say as he lifted the baby from the disgusting bed and leaned down to pick the little girl up. 

He never once thought to call ahead before just appearing in Ollie’s room, covered in blood and carrying two small children.

“We have kids now.”

Prompt: “You won’t underestimate me again.” Containing the following objects: broken lamp, bloody ring, high heels.

He had been cheating on her for months. She wasn’t an idiot and he wasn’t the brightest when it came to covering his tracks. Still, it had taken some planning on Marnie’s part to actually catch him in the act. 

She had planned a fake business trip, laid the perfect paper trail and waited. He had taken the bait far too easily. He had always been too trusting for a man that couldn’t keep his word.

An hour passed, her husband was grunting on top of some random girl and she was disgusted. She couldn’t believe she had ever let that man touch her. 

Unable to listen to anymore, she finally stepped out of the closet with a loaded gun and fired a warning shot into the wall.

Adam and his whore both jumped, the other woman screamed. In the fray, the bedside lamp hit the floor and shattered, leaving the only light coming from the closet, her shadow obscuring most of it. 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” she screamed, shaking with rage. 

Whatever excuse Adam tried to give fell on deaf ears, the woman he had been fucking screaming too loud. With an enraged shriek, Marnie turned the gun on the blonde and fired twice, silencing her. 

“JESUS MARNIE, YOU’RE INSANE!” he screamed, falling as he tried to get out of the bed and landing on the shattered lamp. The feel of glass shards tearing into him made him yelp, but she didn’t care.

“Fuck you!” she snarled, swaying a little as she walked across the thick, beige carpet in stiletto heels. 

He tried to scoot away from her, but the pain had him faltering. 

“Good bye, honey,” she spat, pressing the barrel to his skull and pulling the trigger. 

The gun fell from her blood stained hands and she yanked off her wedding ring before setting the bloody band on his chest, the diamonds glinting duly where the blood had been smeared away.

Prompt: Flip a coin. If it’s heads, write from the perspective of a murderer. If tails, write from the perspective of the victim. Don’t let us know which one it is until the last line.

The room was poorly lit, cold and barren. Her voice echoed off the walls as she tried to call for help. It took almost an hour for her to realize there was no coming for her. No one knew where she was. But still she screamed, desperate and clinging to any last bit of hope. She didn’t want to die there. 

“Are you done yet?” he asked, voice cold as he leaned against the wall just out of sight. 

She recognized his voice. He was the guy from the club, the one that had offered to get her a cab so wouldn’t have to drive drunk. She had been dumb enough to just give him her car keys and ask him to drive her instead. 

She had passed out about half way home, the roads familiar and comforting. She had trusted him. 

That hadn’t even been her first mistake. 

When he stepped into the light, she could see the sheer lack of care in his eyes now. There was no charming smile, no sweet seeming concern. Just a hollow shell.

She screamed.

He seemed pleased by the sound as he began humming to himself, fingers skimming over the set of knives he had laid on a small, metal table. Each  blade was clean, well kept, and terrifying. 

She watched in horror as he picked up the first blade and tested the weight. Had she not been bound and certain she was going to die, she would have asked what it was for.

Whether she wanted to know or not, she was about to find out as he rested the edge of it against her arm and slid it down. The pain didn’t register beyond heat at first as he began to literally skin her. 

The pain was beyond words, but it didn’t stop him. Instead, he seemed almost gleeful as he continued to carve away the flesh on her arms and shoulders. 

When he finally took a step back, she sagged in her chains, weeping and begging him to stop. She couldn’t figure out what she had done to deserve this, but she just wanted to go home.

“I won’t tell, I swear I won’t tell, just let me go, please!” she begged, voice hoarse from the tears and screams.

He only smirked and picked up the next blade, a slender, fine tipped thing. “Hold still,” he warned before placing the tip against her chest and beginning to cut. It was his signature, a series of falling feathers under her clavicle. Each one detailed and delicate, meticulous with years of practice. There would be no doubt that it was his work.

It didn’t hurt as bad as the skinning. She had a couple tattoos and it wasn’t much worse than those. But still she cried.

He was growing bored with the task at hand, he always did, but he didn’t stop until the third feather was complete. 

She wished he would have stuck to those.

The next blade had a jagged edge, one that was better for tearing than actually cutting. It was his favorite and he gripped her face, prying her open before placing the knife to the inside of her cheek and dragging it towards her ear. 

She thrashed and screamed, trying to bite him, as he turned to the other side of her mouth and repeated the gesture. He didn’t even bother to wipe the spray of blood from his face before continuing to mutilate her face. 

She lost consciousness, the darkness and lack of sensation a small relief before she was forced back into it. 

“No sleeping,” he growled, resting that awful knife against her side. 

She tried to focus on him, but she couldn’t through the haze of blood loss and pain. 

“If that’s how it is, fine,” he sighed, digging the blade in and ripping it across her middle, effectively gutting her and cutting her life short.

Once he was certain she was dead, Chance took a step back and finally wiped his face off before using the blood to slick back his blonde hair. 

He had never even bothered to learn her name.

O Macbeth – Ava and Mason???

O Macbeth: I will write about how my character kills yours.

There had been rules. Things Ava had made clear the day they had met and she had given him more than enough warning. It didn’t matter that she liked him. All that mattered, at the end of the day, was the balance of things and he had gone way too far. 

It was bad enough to go on a killing spree, but Shades had been off limit. Why he had thought he could hide it was beyond her. Especially when it was her job to handle the spirits of anyone he murdered. He seemed to have forgotten that little bit. 

Burying her rage hadn’t been easy, but she had swallowed it down, played along, let him think he was in the clear. It wasn’t uncommon for them to get drinks, but she had grabbed some of her brother’s sleep dust and slipped it in his beer. 

Her grandson had let her use one of the abandoned buildings he used and it was a stark reminder of just where Chance got his darkness. 

Binding his magic had been easy enough, the right sigils carved into the chains she had slipped around his wrist and he couldn’t do much when he came to. She had even put a ball gag in his mouth so she wouldn’t have to hear his pathetic excuses.

“You know, Mason, this is entirely your fault,” she stated, her tone flat, eyes black as she stared him down. She could feel him trying to get a rise out of his magic, but she was older and far better with it than he was. 

“Don’t bother. The chains are spelled.” She let the rest of illusions drop, sleek black wings sliding into view as she picked up a rather jagged looking blade. It would have been easier to use her talons, but she wanted to make him hurt first. 

She felt betrayed. 

The blade slid over his cheek, tearing his skin more than cutting it and she smiled, all razor teeth and blood lust. “You fucked up, Mase. There are no second chances.”

Another cut, this time along his clavicle, and a wicked idea. Pulling back, she dragged one of her claws over her palm and pressed it to the wound, knowing the ichor would burn. It was, after all, poison to mortal beings and he was still mortal enough. 

It would be slow, agonizing, like fire in his veins, but it was what he deserved.

30 Days of Drabbles::Mikayla

Quick note, Mikayla is part of a plotline that we played out through chat. She’s one of the reincarnations of Aislynn. It’s also not a very good read. Like, at all. 

She had bolted from the boy pretty quickly, leaving him to his tears without much of a glance back. To be honest, learning that at least one of the two girls she had been having nightmares over was real was just a little too much. It made Mik wonder if the pregnancy had been real too, if he had killed her knowing she was pregnant or if he had found out after. Either way, she had been far too afraid to ask that one. If he had been unstable enough to kill a girl he claimed to have loved, what would he have done to her? She was just a stranger with the same face.

It never once crossed her mind that reincarnation was actually a thing. 

For days, she had tried to put the entire thing out of her head, but the dreams kept coming. The boy killing someone else, her finding out and freaking out, him not letting her go. It was a loop and it was making it harder to sleep. 

The only perk to it was that Mikayla was isolating herself, staying away from her dad more than usual, so the bruises had faded to just faint reminders. 

“She’s sick,” her mother had told him repeatedly. She had put on headphones to drown out the sounds of them of fighting as she hid like a child again.

The music was so loud that she didn’t even really notice the sound of gunshots over it. 

She never heard the door open or saw her father’s shadow on her wall before everything went black.

30 Days of Drabbles::Britt and Chance

Yeah, this is pretty awful and violent and I just do not recommend reading it if you’re easily triggered by like violence, torture, murder, etc. Also, it’s like…super long. 2,598 words of nope and still not as bad as I thought it was going to get.

A deal was a deal. In retrospect, Brittia should have known he wouldn’t wait much longer than a month for this. It had been something he had wanted for far too long and Chance had his limits on patience. But that didn’t mean she felt she could handle any of this. 

Sera had spared her the worst of what he wanted, sure, but the idea of murdering some innocent person with her son was not what she called a good family bonding experience. Still, she owed him in a way. She had left him, let them drag him down to the Underworld and lock him away. She had abandoned him. It didn’t matter that he had been doing awful things to the family, she knew how his mind worked. To him, she had betrayed him and that was worse than just about anything she could have done or said. 

He wouldn’t have tried to kill her if she had continued to try protecting him.

But the past was the past and now… Now they had a deal. This for the safety of the rest of the family. This to ensure the protection of her daughter and grandbabies. At the end of it all, it was worth it. But she wasn’t entirely sure she was going to be able to sleep or look at herself in the mirror after it. Not for a while anyway. 

“Wear black,” he had told her over the phone, and she checked the outfit for about the fifth time, her hands already trembling. Gods, she did not want to do this. 

Although her reasoning wasn’t exactly what she was telling everyone else. She had the same darkness that was  in Chance. She had killed before, he knew that. And, if nothing else could be said, her son had always had a knack of seeing that in others. It had been what drew him to Sera over everyone else. Of all his siblings, she had been the one he had targeted, fixated on. Brittia knew why. She had seen the bruising on Chance when the kids were younger, but she just thought Sera was defending herself. At least, she had until everything else came to light. 

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Britt closed her eyes and pulled her hair back. He wouldn’t like it, he had never liked when her hair was pulled back, but she wanted to keep it as blood free as possible. 

Chance watched her from the shadows, taking in the sight and memorizing every motion she made. He had been there for a while now, never one to be late personally. But he hadn’t decided to make it known he was there. 

He should have known better than that.

The skin on the back of her neck had been prickling for the last twenty minutes, but she had been ignoring it, letting him have his games. It was something she used to do when he was a child and first learning to use the shadows to mask himself. But she had always known. 

He knew it from the moment she turned and stared at the exact spot he was hiding, smirking a little as she crossed her arms. If he had an inner child, it would have been giggling over the sight. She didn’t look much older than him anymore, but she still had that expression that was so unmistakably motherly. 

“You’re terrible at hiding,” she muttered before turning away once more to pull out a pair of knee high leather boots. 

“Or perhaps we’re just connected,” he purred, slipping into view and crossing the distance. His fingers were cool as they skimmed the back of her arm. He appreciated her choice in a tank top, but he kept it to himself. No sense in pushing that one. 

Her body stiffened when he touched her and she had to force herself to relax. He wasn’t going to hurt her again, he couldn’t, not physically anymore. This situation was hurting her, but it was something she had consented to freely, so it didn’t break his word any. 

No one liked the deal except him.

“How are we doing this, Chance? Do you already have some defenseless person locked away somewhere or are you going to make me play the whole game?” she asked, sounding far more exhausted than terrified. She wasn’t sure which would be worse. 

“You are going to be bait,” he murmured, far too close to her for her own comfort. 

His touch was making her skin crawl, but he had done nothing that could be considered anything less than chaste. But there was a promise of darker things in his touch and a part of her was still hoping this was some sort of bad dream.

“Let’s get this over with…”

He moved quickly, forcing her to face him. The lights were on, but no one was home in that nearly black gaze of his. “It will be fun,” he stressed, tone still falling too flat. 

That’s when it hit her.

“How long has it been since your last kill, Chance?” He was always at his worst when it had been too long. It was making her more on edge.

His smile didn’t help.

“Two weeks, give or take a few days.”

If it hadn’t meant an absolute bloodbath was about to follow, she would have been more impressed. Instead, she just felt a cold dread settle deep into her bones. 

Before she could say anything, make an excuse, try begging, he was wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging her back through the shadows of the room. 

The bar had been one of his and Oona’s old haunts. A rough around the edges biker bar that had, some how, stood the test of time. Most of the men that frequented the place weren’t worth the air they breathed. It was one of the only two compromises Chance was willing to make on the night. 

The outfit suggestions made a lot more sense as she took in the sight of the place, but that didn’t make her feel much better. She knew the reputation of the place well enough. It had always been one of the less pleasant crowds in the state. 

So much so that it was just enough to make her relieved she was there with Chance of all people. He would never let anyone else lay a finger on her in any real sense. He was too possessive.

“How does this work?” Her voice didn’t shake when she spoke. Brownie points for her. Not that they were worth shit.

He blinked slowly, taking a moment to actually focus on her. “You’re bait. You pick a mark, make him think you’re willing to leave with him. Get him outside.”

“You’re not coming inside, are you.” It wasn’t a question.

He shook his head and nudged her towards the front of the building. If he had to actually watch someone try to touch his beloved mother, he would snap far too quickly. 

Another hard swallow and deep breath. She could do this. She could do this. She had to do this. For Jack and Manson, she had to do this. For Sera too. It was the only thing she had to keep them all safe from the worst of her son’s habits.

It didn’t take long once she walked through the door. She stood out. The only tattoo she had was a splash of color on the pale skin of her back, visible only at the top with the cut of her shirt. Still, she held her head high as she made her way to the bar and ordered a shot of Jack Daniels. 

She had barely tossed the shot back when one of the patrons approached her, all vulgar words and too handsy already. It was almost too easy and she hated herself for even thinking that. 

With a flirty smile, she had turned, played the game. He wanted to bend her over the seat of his bike, she had acted like it was a stellar idea.

As soon as they were around the back, Chance was in her line of sight once more. Where he had gotten a crowbar was beyond her, but she didn’t have time to ask questions before it was connecting with the back of the man’s skull and he was falling with a dull thud to the ground.

“You’re better than Oona was at that,” he remarked, not at all shocked. Oona had always tried too hard, was too obvious. His mother had always had a subtleness about her. 

“Not sure I would take that as a compliment,” she muttered, trying not to look down at the biker at her feet. 

Taking her by the arm, Chance pulled her through the shadows once more, the old warehouse already prepped for the festivities. He had been meticulous in the set up for it. 

Before she could question why this place, he was gone again. But it was brief, not even enough time for her to fully take in the reality of it. 

She had been there before. 

One of his first kills had been in this place. He had called her afterwards and she had cleaned the place up, hid the body, and cried in the shower until the water had run cold. 

It wasn’t a very good memory for her and he knew it.

“We wait for him to wake up,” Chance instructed, gesturing for her to sit on the lone folding chair he had brought as he paced. This was always one of the parts he hated the most.

No words were spoken during the twenty or so minutes the man was unconscious. There had been no reason for them. Britt was afraid she would break if she spoke and she was honestly glad that Chance hadn’t pushed on it. 

When he finally began to stir, Chance pulled on the chains, keeping him mostly suspended from the steel shackles around his his wrists. They couldn’t struggle as much like this and he found it make the wounds easier to inflict. 

Britt could barely stand to look at the man, already feeling sick to her stomach. All she could do was hope she didn’t still have the same monstrous reaction to the scent of fresh blood that she did when she had been pregnant. 

He gestured her to stand and come closer and she did so without argument. But there was a hesitance to her steps. He saw it and she winced at the look he gave her for it. 

“Relax, mother, I’m going to help you,” he breathed, fingers skimming her wrist before he placed the handle against her palm and curled her fingers around it. 

Her grip tightened around it almost immediately. It was something solid to cling to, to distract from how shaky she felt.

Chance didn’t help when he moved to be behind her, one hand on hers and the other settling around her waist. 

The man thought he had to be more out of than he thought. The girl looked more like his sister than his mother and he damn sure had never met any man that held his momma or sister the way that boy was holding her. 

“Mother? What kinda sicko fucks are y’all?” he snarled, struggling against the chains. 

“Mind your tongue or I’ll have her cut it out,” Chance warned as he guided Britt closer to him.

“Looks like your whore’s gonna chicken out,” he laughed, pegging her for weak based on the deer in headlights look in her eyes. 

With a bored look, Chance pulled a bit of hard plastic from his back pocket and stepped away from his mother just long enough to forcefully wedge it into the man’s mouth.

Any other time, he wouldn’t have bothered. He enjoyed the screams. But he did not like anyone speaking ill of what was his. 

When he returned to his previous position, Britt froze up, the only sound the word please whispered over and over again. 

It reminded him a little of Manson’s first time. 

“Don’t be afraid, mother, you’ll enjoy it.”

His voice sounded sickeningly sweet, but she knew the tone only too well. Still, she didn’t fight when he moved her closer still and guided her into making the first cut. 

“See? It’s easy.”

She wasn’t sure she would have used that word, but she nodded as she allowed him to use her the same way he did those gleaming blades. 

The first cuts were shallow, nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a few bandages, but it was just easing her into it. Every stroke becoming a little harder than the last until the man’s body was jerking against the bonds. He was screaming as best as he could around the plastic wedged between his teeth and she grateful that it dulled the sound. 

It didn’t, however, protect her from the feel of his blood coating her hands, hot and thick. 

Worse still was when Chance let go of her and she didn’t even realize it. The blade tore through skin and muscle, mutilating him until his torso looked like something that had been feed through a meat grinder. He had stopped breathing nearly an hour before she noticed. 

She stumbled back, the blade falling from her candy apple red hands, the sound of it hitting the floor never registering past the horror of what she had done. The only thing that kept her upright was Chance’s arms around her waist. 

She could hear his voice, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying as he praised her. Nothing felt real except the scream building in her chest. She had done this, not him. He had started the movements, yes, but she had damn sure finished them on her own.

Chance couldn’t understand why she seemed so horrified at her art. It had been perfect, even going into the overkill of it all. And when she finally did start screaming, he quickly covered her mouth and turned her away from the sight of their toy. 

As much as he wanted to revel in the moment, he knew it was gone. With a heavy sigh, he did the only thing he could think to do in that moment to get her stop and that was to get her back to her home. 

Once back to the house, he made sure to settle her in the bottom of her tub. It would be easier to clean the blood from the porcelain that it would have the carpet. 

She was distraught, that much was obvious, but he didn’t seem to care he brushed his thumb over her cheek, smearing the still wet blood. It made her flinch.

“The next one will be more fun,” he promised before leaning in and brushing a kiss to her lips. She was in shock, she wouldn’t remember it, he was sure of that much. 

Without anything else to say, he stood and turned on the shower head, adjusted the temperature, and turned to leave, but she stopped him with her fingers curling around his wrist.

She didn’t want to be near him right now, but she didn’t want to be alone either. The second won, but not by much. 

Without invitation, he kicked off his shoes and climbed into the tub with her, just as clothed as she was. It didn’t matter, it was the first time since he had been young that she hadn’t wanted him to go. 

It was enough for now.