Page 45 of The Hitch
"How's today been?" he asks, like I'm not here.
"Uneventful. Though I believe your wife has something she wants to ask you." Helena tilts her head towards me.
"You're goddamn right. I need—I'm having the urges. I want to fucking tear someone apart, limb from limb, I want tohurtthem—"
"—good." Dante cuts me off. "Roman should be setting it up now."
Helena's eyebrows twitch before she schools her face back into a neutral expression. "Lovely. Is there anything you need from me?"
"No," my husband replies. "Enjoy your evening."
"What do you mean, setting it up now? What's he setting up? What's happening?" I bound over to him like an excited puppy.
"Let's go to the basement, shall we?" He extends his arm, and I grab it. Oh, fuck yes. This is what I need. This is what Icrave.
"I think this is going to be averyprosperous partnership, Dante." I smile and practically skip to the basement, arm in arm with my husband.
He follows the familiar routine of unlocking the murder-basement, and I trail after him, barely able to contain my giggles. At the bottom of the stairs, Roman locks the cuffs around a man's ankles.
"Who's this?" I ask. Fuck, I'm almost vibrating with excitement.
"This, my love, is Chad." The man flinches upon hearing his name. He stares up at us, squinting, watching us descend the stairs.
"Chad? Are you fucking kidding? Classic asshole name. What'd he do, piss on your car?" I scurry over to the surgical table, running my hands along the various implements.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I swear I'll get the money!" Chad wails, and I snicker. Ofcourse,he sounds like a cat in labor. His eyes are bloodshot and snot bubbles from his nose as he sobs.
"Really, Dante?Money?You're richer than god; what do you need his cash for?" I turn to my husband.
"Oh, it's not about the money, love. He's been name-dropping me all over town. Using me as a threat to get what he wants." Dante strides up to the man and backhands him with acrack. "I don't appreciate being used as a cudgel,Chad. And really, if you're going to drop my name? Don't threatenmyemployees."
"So, what? He's stupid?"
"I'm sorry! I didn't know you owned it. I was—I was trying to get the money to pay you! I didn't know where else to go!" Chad snivels and whines. The chains clatter and clank as he wriggles, trying to get free. Bad move, Chad.
"That's not all, love. He assaulted Claire."
"Who's Claire?" I sniff and turn to Dante.
"General manager of one of my restaurants. Tough woman. Doesn't take any shit, let alone from assholes like him. He came in with a gun under his shirt and demanded money—said he was making the rounds forme, as if I need a protection racket. When Claire laughed in his face, he pistol-whipped her." Dante frowns and picks up a scalpel. "Good thing she called me the second she regained consciousness. And now he's here, ready for his punishment. Would you mind if I started, love?"
"Fine. But I get to finish it off." I gesture my husband forward but grab my machete. I can'twaitfor him to tap me in. The growling in my skull is building to a scream. It needs blood, I need blood, and I'm so fucking close to getting it.
Dante
Ilike to consider myself a reasonable man. Not always pleasant, not always the nicest person to get along with. But reasonable. Yet, something about Melody makes meunreasonable.Irrational. I find myself wanting her to be happy. I find myself wanting to give her the world. Even when she's furious, even when she's purposefully antagonizing me.
And especially when she's drawing blood from a ratfuck shithead likeChad. She let me get the first slice in, of course, but she took over from there. It's beautiful. She's an artist. I lick mylips as I watch her eyes roll back in her head. A full-body shiver runs down my spine as she guts the man like a fish, his intestines spilling out onto his blood-soaked lap.
"I hate to bother you, love," I call out to my enraptured wife. "But I must say, you look absolutelystunningin that red."
Melody whips her head back, tossing her brown-black waves. Spatters of blood decorate her face like gruesome freckles, and she looks incredible. She grins and waves a bloodied hand. "Why, thank you, Mr. Lyons."
Fuck. Oh, fuck, that does something to me. I feel myself suddenly straining against the zipper of my pants. I can't believe we haven't discussed the possibility of period play, but now feels like as good a time as any. Practically floating over to her, I remove the machete from her hands and toss it to the side, ignoring Chad's slumped-over corpse.
"Melody, love. I want you," I breathe into the shell of her ear, tracing a droplet of blood over the exposed skin of her neck.
She flinches back, confused. "But I'm—uh, I mean, I'm still… bleeding?"
