Her eyes go wide—muffled pleas ringing out around the horse bit Ezra pulls down between her lips. The skin above my breast, forever scarred by the mark she ordered Simon to burn into me, itches, the coppery, pork meat scent of it lingering in my nose.
That’s BBQ’s ruined for me forever.
Ezra turns toward me where I crouch on the floor, my fingers dabbing hesitantly where the skin is raised, my other hand clutching my ribs where Simon’s boot had landed. Anger smoulders in his hooded gaze, his pupils dilating until they nearly swallow the green and amber of his irises.
“Ah fuck it—you won’t need a tongue or teeth where you’re going,” he barks with an air of playfulness to his tone as he harshly rips the bit from Lenora’s mouth. Her begging is now clear as day as she tries to appeal to Ezra’s better side. Sucks for her, it’s clear Ezra is all darkness where she is concerned. She has never and will never see his light. “I hope this hurts,” he whispers into her ear, eyes locked with mine, grinning as he flips the switch on the machine. Her spine arches off the bed, her limbs beneath the restraints angled unnaturally as the electricity fires through her body, leaving devastation in its wake. Her garbled screams make me smile, her disgusting soul failing to escape its host as Ezra removes the paddles and she slumps against the bed. He strolls around the table as though he has all the time in the world; his back to me, I see him twist the dial so the strength is at its max. The silence in the room is engulfed by the flickering flames of the spitting open fire beside me, Lenora’s panting cries, and the drawn-out fizzle of the machine. My skin is flush with heat and adoration as I gaze over at the man who holds my heart as he details a list of everything that Lenora has done to find herself where she is.
Everything moves in slow motion as Simon leans into the room. He doesn’t see me tucked away where I am as he creeps across the room towards Lenora. The swirl of a stormy rage builds in his flushed face, a vein bulging in his temple as Ezra flips the switch again and Lenora gurgles in pain. The eye not covered with the patch blazes, his pupil sharp as he locks his sights on Ezra’s broad back, his brows knitted together in a scowl. Every move is jerky. The buzzing of the machine masking the sound as Simon grabs for a hammer from the torture table beside him. Jaw clenched, the muscles in his puny neck strained—his intent is clear. I’m up and off my feet barrelling towards him before I even know what my next move is. He gurgles, his once tense body stiffer now as his arms shake and the hammerfalls to the ground with a clunking thud. I step back, releasing my hold on the branding tool now speared through the centre of his back. He struggles to catch his breath, his chest heaving in quick bursts. I hadn’t noticed that Ezra had turned in time to see Simon’s approach, his brow cocked in amusement. The paddles still in his hands as though he saw no threat at all.
His voice is gruff, praise lingering in his words. “Fuck, sweetheart—your timing is impeccable.”
The shock of the last twenty seconds dissipates like dust on the wind as the feeling returns to my body.
“I guess I’m not just a pretty face,” I retort, my smart-arse remark directed at Lenora on the table, her eyes fluttering as she gasps for air. “Don’t worry ma’am, here at Blackwood, we pride ourselves on our patients, our family.” I throw her words from my first day back at her and watch what’s left of her colour drain from her face. The pallor of her sweat drenched skin a sickly grey now.
I beam up at Ezra as I stroll around Simon, his prone body shaking as the adrenaline keeps him upright. The last of his life force seeping out of him slowly where the poker stems his wound.
I hope it hurts like a bitch; he deserves nothing less.
“Close though, don’t you think?” Ezra teases, stepping back to show me the smallest mark on his chest where the tip of the poker nicked his flesh. Thankfully, the dribble of blood is nothing in comparison to the human shish kabob I made of Simon.
I bend and lick away the drop of blood that has escaped Ezra’s wound, my eyes never leaving his. The awe I see flash in his hooded gaze fills me with pride. This seems like the worst possible time to be turned on, and yet here I am, wet between my thighs and counting down the minutes before I get to ride this man like the existence of all life depends on it.
“You’re nothing but a washed-up whore,” Simon snipes, blood coating his lips and staining his teeth as he grins at us maniacally.
“I’ve been called far worse by men with far more power than you. The way I see it—you’re the one bleeding out on the floor,” I respond, tucking away the pain that is attached to that word; he doesn’t deserve to see that he’s rattled me.
Ezra sees it though.
Simon laughs caustically, gurgling as his blood likely fills his lungs. He moves to say something else, but he doesn’t get the chance.
“Almost forgot. I promised my woman your tongue.” Ezra makes light work of pulling out Simon’s tongue, made easier thanks to his piercings, while grabbing for a scalpel and slicing off what he can, chucking the forked meaty tissue in his hand into the roaring fire over his shoulder when he’s done. The garbled cry out of Simon is a barely-there sound reminiscent of someone trying to clear their throat, his brain likely shutting down from lack of blood as he sways.
When Simon’s body finally gives in and drops to the floor, I jump up into Ezra’s arms, knowing he’ll catch me. Affectionately wiping the blood from the gash on his cheek that Lenora made when she pistol-whipped him. I plant the softest kiss in the smear I make. I grab and tug the hair at his nape with my gloved hand, eliciting a heady moan from his parted lips.
Fuck, I love that sound.
“Someone’s hungry,” he says breathily against my lips.
“For you. Only ever for you.” Our tongues dance when he smashes his lips against mine, holding me to him in a fierce grip that will likely leave bruises on my thighs. I welcome his marks, his grip, his claiming, and anything else he wants to gift me. My body writhes, pleading with him for more.
Simon refuses to die, spluttering and moaning sickly as tears fall from his eye. He looks awkward resting on his side, the branding iron through his chest making it impossible for him to rest comfortably on his back.
“Two seconds, beautiful,” Ezra chimes in, laying a featherlight kiss on the tip of my nose before placing me down on my feet beside Simon, his wide eye glittering with fear as he hears Ezra disappear out of view behind him.
I watch with bated breath as Ezra approaches the open fire, a twisted grin morphing his features as the crackling firelight casts shadows against his profile.
Ezra greets his beloved axe propped up beside the crumbling brick. “Hello, old friend,” he whispers fondly as he weighs it up in his hand—flexing his grip around the wood, his palm moulding to it as he gets reacquainted with his weapon. He makes his way back over to us, his thumb tracing his crudely carved initials at the base of the handle. But there’s nothing hurried about his movements; it’s the hunt, instilling fear in his prey that he likes—and it shows.
“Any last words?” he asks Simon, levelling the blade with his chin, marking out its path.
Simon tiredly thrashes on the spot, struggling as he winces in pain.
“Silly me, it’s a little harder to get your words out with no tongue.” He chuckles, like the severing was a little mishap rather than the show of brutal dominance that it was. Ezra grins wickedly and holds his arms above his head, the axe head gleaming in its back swing before he lets loose, the blade hurtling towards Simon’s neck and severing his head with one clean strike.
The axe clatters to the ground when I jump back up into Ezra’s arms and he catches me.
“That was decidedly longer than two seconds,” I pout theatrically, nuzzling into his neck as I breathe in his familiar cedarwood and leather scent that is mixed with the tinny remnants of Simon’s freshly spilt blood.
