Page 41 of Sweet Venom

“I swear… I didn’t hurt them. I was only trying to do the lord’s work,” he sobbed, the lies tumbling from his cracked lips in a panicked rush. “Those kids are evil. They carry the mark of the Devil. You’ve got to believe me—please?—”

Evil.

Innocent fucking kids being called evil by men like him made my blood boil. The only evil ones are those that used kids tosatisfy their repulsive needs. They love stripping their innocence and breaking them just for the hell of it.

Lupe’s pleas are nothing but irritating noise. He set his fate in stone the moment he decided to act on his sick urges.

I stepped closer, my gloved fingers grazing his jaw with a light touch—sharp as a blade, cold as the steel waiting in my pocket. “Don’t be afraid,” I murmured, the words dripping with venom. “You’re going to have fun. Hell, you might even like it.” I let the words linger, savoring the irony as I repeated what he used to tell the kids he molested.

“N-no, no.” I felt the tremor in his body before I saw it. His breathing was shallow, erratic. I didn’t know whether it was fear of me or the reality of what was coming—but it didn’t matter. He was going to suffer, this wasn’t going to be fun, and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to like it. Not one fucking bit.

Slowly I pulled my favorite knife from inside my pocket, the cold steel catching the dim red light from the flickering bulb above. I held the blade up, just high enough for the crying cunt to see it, for him to understand that this was only the beginning of his suffering.

I would savor his pain and prolong it until there was nothing left of the sick bitch he used to be.

“Please. P-please. Don’t kill m-me.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” I murmured, my voice gentle.

He looked almost hopeful. “You’re not?”

I stretched my smile wide, stretching it beyond what should be humanly possible. “Oh, I will,” I purred, voice dripping with a dark promise. “Just not yet. You’re going to live a little longer. And you’re going to live in flesh what they did.”

With a brutal grip, I forced his gaze toward the far wall. There, the photos stare back at us. Images of the innocent children this so-called priest destroyed. Their smiles, once pure and full of life, frozen in time. Smiles that no longer exist, erasedby this disgusting man who stole them. Who taught those kids how ugly the world could be.

As his eyes met the wall, he trembled, the sound of his whimpering pleading through the silence. He couldn’t face what he had done, and he turned his head, desperate to escape the weight of their sweet and innocent gazes. The fucker was trying to escape what he’d done. He wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let him.

Without hesitation, I slapped him hard, the crack of the impact sharp and final. “Look at them,” I hissed, forcing his head back to face the wall, his eyes burning with the horror of what he’d done and what was about to come. “Do you remember him?” I demanded, gripping his face with an iron fist and forcing him to look at the photograph. It was a picture of a six-year-old boy, innocent and smiling. Every Sunday morning, the boy went to Mass with his mother, unaware that he was walking into the hands of a monster posing as a server of God.

The fucker remained silent, his face one of fear. I shoved the knife into his stomach, the cold steel biting into his flesh, and twisted it slowly, savoring his screams of agony. The tremble in his body, the shallow breath that caught in his throat…it’s all I needed.

He didn’t speak. Not yet. But he would.

“Say his name or I’ll cut your cock off next.” I threatened, digging the blade deeper. I didn’t cut his dick off. Not yet.

“Ahhhhhh!”

“SAY HIS FUCKING NAME!”

“D-Diego,” Lupe whispered, brokenly.

I placed my hand on his shoulder, the pressure light, almost intimate. “Now, that wasn’t so hard,” I said, my voice laced with icy calm. “Now… pray to your God.”

“W-what?” he whispered.

I leaned forward and whispered. “Pray to your God. Tell him all you did to Diego.”

His face went ashen, the color draining from his skin. His mouth opened, but the words—his lies—didn’t come. Only a strangled gasp.

“P-please.”

I sighed. Please. It’s always fucking please. How boring and unoriginal.

Tired of him, I pulled out the knife and held it up, the blood catching the light again. He was watching it now, his eyes darting between the steel and my face, his breath coming in panicked gasps. “You can either talk to your lord about Diego, or I’ll cut off your cock and fuck you with my knife until I ruin all your insides with it.”

Now that sounded fun.

And then, like the weak little bitch he was, he cracked. His voice is a ragged whisper, torn from him by fear of what will happen to him if he doesn’t do as he’s told. “I did it. I did it all,” he choked out. “Please… please, just make it stop.”

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