Page 42 of Sweet Venom

I smiled, but it’s not a smile. It’s a cruel, hollow twist of my lips, something far darker than any expression of joy. There’s no warmth in it. No mercy.

“Good. Now the real fun begins,” I murmured, my words settling into the air like cold ice.

Stepping back, I moved toward the wall where an array of knives hung, each one ready to be put to use. I selected the butcher knife, its weight steady in my grip, and returned to Lupe. Once in front of him, I pulled out a beaded rosary from my pocket and held it up for him to see. His sobs intensified, yet he still refused to obey. He didn’t pray. Slowly, I looped the rosary around his neck, just enough to tighten his breath, before stepping back, watching his reaction with a satisfied smile.

“Pray, Father Lupe. Pray, or it’ll be worse for you.”

My threat seemed to work because next the priest’s sobs started to quiet, his breath ragged, as a shift took over him.His black eyes, wide and pleading, flickered toward the rosary around his neck. Then, with a tremor in his voice, he began to pray.

“Father,” he whispered hoarsely, “forgive me… I... I have fallen victim to sin.”

Even now, he still thinks of himself as a victim.

His words faltered, the weight of his fear pressing down on him, but then his true nature came forward, and his voice grew steadier. “I did what I had to. What you asked of me,” he continued, his voice low, trembling with an almost reverent fear. “Diego... Diego…” His eyes glazed over, and he spoke as though he’s already far removed, detached from reality. “He was so innocent, so small. I told him it would be alright. I promised him he would like it... but I lied. I saw evil in him that needed to be expelled.”

His hands, trembling in his lap, fidgeted with the fabric of his robe. He could barely keep his eyes open as he recounted his sins, as if the act of confession was a twisted release for him.Motherfucker.

“Diego... he didn’t understand. I—” He paused, the words catching in his throat, a choked sob escaping before he could continue. “I took him. I made him... I made him kneel before me. I made him... pray. And then I... I rid him of the evil within. I saved him. His eyes—his eyes, they begged me to stop, but I couldn’t. I didn’t stop. Not until it was too late.”

A long, heavy silence filled the room. His disgusting confession hung in the air, each word a blade that cut me deep. His busted lips quivered, as though saying it out loud somehow released the last bit of his humanity.

“He... he cried. He cried for his mother. And I just... I just watched. I…” The fucker’s voice cracks again with the realization that what he had done cannot be undone. “I took his innocence, and then I took his life away... piece by piece.”

He shattered before me after that, while my blood burned hot.

“Do you think your God will forgive you?” I played with the tip of my blade as I watched him for any sign of guilt. There’s none.

“Yes. Yes, my God is a forgiving God,” he breathed, his voice trembling, a faint trace of desperation clinging to the words.

“Hmmm.” I nodded slowly, studying him with cold, deliberate eyes. “Good.”

I stepped closer, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling his head back until he’s forced to look up, mirroring the way he used to pray for mercy. His eyes, wide and vulnerable, flickered with fear—yet there’s something else beneath the surface, a silent plea he can’t hide.

A smile curled at my lips, dark and knowing.

Without warning, I drove the blade deep into his left eye. The sound, faint but sickening, lingered in the air as he gasped. His body jerked, but I held him still, my grip unyielding. Slowly, I dragged the knife down, feeling the resistance as it cut through his flesh, from his eye to his jaw. The pain, the agony—it’s all in the silence between us.

The screams are unbearable now, echoing off the walls, each one a testament to his helplessness.

I pulled a cigarette from my pocket, lit it with deliberate care, and took a long, deep drag. The smoke filled the air, swirling around me as I savored the moment. I let it linger, exhaling slowly, watching him writhe beneath my gaze. With bloodied fingers, I ran my hand through my hair, a wide smile creeping onto my lips as I listened to his screams, each one feeding the bloodthirsty monster inside me. The agony in his voice is music to my ears, and as I watched the sick cunt fall apart while he screamed to his God.

I don’t believe in God. I never had the chance to believe in anything but myself. When I was trapped in darkness, no one came to save me. I had to survive—and I did it by letting the madness consume me until I became this.

A different kind of monster than Lupe, but a monster all the same.

I took one last drag of my smoke before I shove it in Lupe’s now bloody and empty socket. His screams of agony are interrupted by the soft vibration of my phone. I pulled it from my pocket, furrowing my brows as I glanced at the screen. The camera feed flickered to life, showing Poe leaving her apartment in the dead of night. I frowned, zooming in on her face. It’s nearly midnight.

Where the fuck is she going at this hour and dressed like that?

Had she no sense of self-preservation? Did she know what kind of sick fucks come out at this hour? The irony. Because at this hour I did the Devil’s work. I turned my back on a still sobbing sick priest, stepping toward the door, my mind already mapping the quickest way to her. But before I could leave, the door creaked open, and Cato, my right-hand man, stepped inside looking like the angel of death himself. His eyes burned with vengeance, his presence a storm waiting to unleash destruction.

I met his gaze, and a slow smile curved my lips. “Stitch the fucker up and then cut his cock off.” I removed my gloves and left them on the cold metal table before walking back to the door. “Then fuck him with it— and when you’re done—choke the life out of him with his fucking rosary.”

“No,” Lupe cried out. “Please God. Save me.”

Cato’s eyes darkened, a cold fury consuming him, as he lunged forward, gripping the priest’s throat with crushing force. The priest’s skin turned pale, his veins bulging, his one good eyebegan to bulge from its sockets. Cato’s voice dropped to a low, menacing growl.

“I am your God now. Pray to me.”

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