Page 19 of Poisoning Ivy
Killian
I almost laugh when I see the direction his thoughts are headed. Sometimes I think I’m the most fucked up of us all, and then he goes and does something like this. God, I love my guys.
It’s rare, from what I’ve heard, to find the people who just meet you on every level, but if anyone in the world is capable, it’s Theo and Monty. It helps that our chemistry is all so similarly explosive that they feed my chaos and ride out the storms with me. It’s no wonder we all fell for her games back when we were young—she’s like us, and also not like us at all. For all the ways she wants to be, for all the ways she is underneath all that she tries to deny, she is also so desperate to deny her demons.
I think it’s why she’s let herself be pushed around her whole life—by daddy, by mommy, by us, and most recently by her husband. I called her Bambi the first time I caught her trying to run from her problems, a flighty little fawn scared to go against the grain, scared to stand up for what she wanted, scared to tell her daddy she didn’t want the life he mapped out for her.
“Time for you to grow a spine, Ivy.” I tell her with a wicked smirk.
As I stride over to the fireplace, I pull my mask back in place. I can feel her bewildered gaze on me, still lost in the haze of the pleasure that’s evaporated, as I grab the axe in one hand and the fire poker in the other.
Her eyes widen ever so slightly, the pupil making her ivy-green iris constrict. Not for the first time; I wonder if her parents waited to name her until they saw her eyes blink open to take them in.
“What are you doing?”
Fear makes her words shake, and she scrambles to her feet as I approach her, getting ready to flee again. “I’m liberating you.” I tell her, stepping right up to her to see the brilliant green in her eyes up close. Tear tracks still mark her face, and the whites of her eyes are red from crying.
I’m so sick of her fucking tears; sick of her feeling everything so deeply without ever giving it back to any of the assholes that brought her such torment. It’s too late to get vengeance on her father, and I think she’d rather die than stand up to her mother, who’s a thousand miles away anyway.
But the man who trapped her in a loveless marriage? The man who made her feel guilt, shame, and disgust for being a human with basic needs while also clearly not meeting her emotional ones? Well, that piece of shit is right here at our mercy.
“Pick your weapon.” I tell her, indicating the options in my hands. “Personally, I think the fire poker through his dick is a beautiful testament to his clearly fucked up feelings about sexuality. But the axe might be more satisfying.”
Her lips move without bothering to summon her voice, so I cock my head to the side, waiting for her vocal chords to catch up.
“What?”
“Pick a weapon.” I repeat, enunciating each syllable. “Unless you can come up with something that has more meaning to you?”
“What do I need a weapon for?” She frowns, glancing at Monty and then Theo, like she’s trying to see if any of us are preparing for battle. I’m not sure if she thinks we’re about to joust, but perhaps the fencing masks are throwing her off a little.
“Pick the weapon you’re going to kill your husband with.” I tell her calmly, holding out the fire poker to see if she moves toward it. When she doesn’t, I let it clatter to the floor and push the axe at her, though with her hands tied behind her back, she isn’t able to grab it.
“I’m not going to kill him.”
I roll my eyes, wondering why I’m even bothering. “You kill him, or you both die. That’s the rule, Bambi. You know too much, and we can’t let him leave.”
“You can’t kill him.” She shakes her head vigorously enough that it makes her tits bounce, which distracts me enough that it takes a minute to realize what she just said.
“Of course we can.” Monty laughs, walking around her back. She bristles at his approach, but he only unhooks the bungee cord, letting her arms fall to her sides. Ivy cries out in pain as blood rushes back to her limbs, but I don’t give her another chance, thrusting the handle of the axe at her.
She catches it, rather than let it swing back and hit her in the stomach, and a surge of regret pulses through me right down to my cock. Fuck choices.
I should have made her ride the axe handle like a pony on the carousel. She’s short enough that the rubber grip hits just below her navel, and I want so badly to see her stuffed with it, her tight stomach bulging from the intrusion.
But my lust has to wait, because her husband is just a fucking nuisance, and it’s past time to dispose of him. The craving insideof me is getting hard to ignore, and I need to spill blood; I need to see it bloom bright in this polished cabin.
“I can’t kill him.” She shakes her head again. “I—I won’t.”
I roll my eyes at her again, sick of her sanctimonious act. “Why not? Why can’t you kill a man who hit you? Humiliated you? He made you suffer every day of your married life, and you’restillprotecting him.”
She doesn’t look entirely convinced when she tells me, “I’m not a killer.”
Theo laughs. “I’m not so sure about that, Tiger Lily. Or did you forget the last time we saw you?”
Her breath catches in her throat, and the blood drains from her already pale face, making her look almost like a ghost. She stares at him like she can’t quite believe what he just said, and apparently neither can her husband.
“What the fuck is going on?” He groans, baring his teeth around the pain in his shoulder. Monty went easy on him—the rest of us won’t. “You know each other?”
