Page 47 of Poisoning Ivy
Pretend you aren't here,I tell myself as he lowers his body over mine. His foul breath shoots over my face as he gasps in anticipation, holding himself over me on shaky arms.
Just let it happen.
I shake at his intrusion, feeling his tiny dick pry apart my insides. He groans the whole way in, and then when I feel his hips buck against me, trying to get himself deeper, he throws his head back, sucking in a breath.
"Fuck, Ivy. Such a tight little cunt for a whore. Maybe you're worth more alive than dead after all."
I can feel everything leave me all at once. The emotions, the pain, the disgust. One minute it's there and I want to crawl out of my skin and strip it off piece by piece until I'm rid of everywhere he touched. The next, I'm empty, my eyes unfocused and fixed on the nightstand that moves as his thrusts control my body. I'm empty, the way I always should have been. The way I was before Killian, Monty, and Theo came and brought me back to life.
"Tell me how much you love my dick, Ivy. Tell me how you've been waiting for it all your life."
I hear his words like they're spoken from the other end of a tunnel... like the train tunnel, where I went with the boys the night Killian and I played chicken with the train. The night he carved his name into my flesh like some sort of promise.
The knife.
I blink, noticing the red switchblade on the nightstand, bobbing in and out of my line of sight as my body is wracked with the force of Uncle Vitoli's dry thrusts.
He doesn't even see me reach for it, his eyes closed as he loses himself in the bliss that my body is giving him, his body moving back and forth though I don't feel him moving inside of me.
"Oh, Ivy," he groans, his sweaty hand tightening on my thigh as he nears his climax. "Your body was made for me. So fucking good. So tight. I— "
Judging by the way his eyebrows pinched together, I'm guessing he was close. But as I drive the blade deep into the side of his neck and blood bubbles around the point of impact, his face goes slack with shock and his hands leave me to go to the knife in his neck, appraising the damage I've caused with trembling fingers. I don't let go of the blade, relishing the fear in his eyes, the shock, as his brain works to figure out how to save himself.
I sit up, bringing my face up to his and feeling his pathetic, deflated cock slipping out from inside me.
His lips move, desperately trying to come up with words to talk his way out of this situation, but even if I was willing to hear him, his words can't save him. Nothing can. Judging by the blood that's spurting out around the gash where my blade is still buried, I caught him in the jugular. The minute I pull my knife out of him, he's a goner.
"Save your pleas, Uncle Vitoli. Mine never worked on you."
One bloody hand reaches out for me like a request, his crimson coated fingers trembling as I back out of his reach without ever letting go of the blade. My hands are slick, my grip slippery over the handle, but I hold onto it and the look in his eyes as the realization sets in that there's no escaping this.
"It's okay," I tell him, watching the desperation turn to acceptance as his body goes slack. I place a hand on his chest, a gesture he takes as an offering of comfort. "Just let it happen."
There's a flicker of awareness, and once I am sure he knows that my words were every bit intentional, I yank the knife free of his flesh.
There's a loud squelching sound, followed by the gasp. Blood rains down over me, coating me in it. It's sticky and warm and it feels like glorious justice as it covers me like it's baptizing me in his sins.
Just before his body turns to dead weight, I push him off of me onto the floor and stand, looking down as he stares up at me with vacant eyes. There's still a little life in him, so I tug his jeans in place to spare myself the sight of his pathetic penis as I watch and wait until it disappears before grabbing the nearest shirt— Killian's, bearing the logo of the fire department on the chest.
Going home isn't an active choice that I make. But my feet lead me out of the cabin, where the front door was left open. There's no sign of any of the boys, and when I step out into the setting sun, I realize their truck is gone.
They left me.
But there's a car in my driveway that I don't recognize, and part of me thinks that I should run and go back the way I came. Wait in Killian's bed until he comes home and can help me figure out what to do with the body. I know better, though. I need to tell my mother what Uncle Vitoli did, not because I expect her to sympathize, but because she needs to send someone to clean it up.
The front door opens before I make it to the porch, and my mother stands there with another man at her shoulder, her eyes wide.
"Ivy!" She screams, rushing toward me.
For one stupid, foolish second, I think she means to wrap me in her arms the way a mother should. Instead, she stops just before me, crossing her arms over the pressed silk blouse she’s wearing. "What did you do?"
My throat is thick, and I'm not sure my tongue will work, but the words come out surprisingly easily. "Uncle Vitoli is dead."
PART THREE
Present Day
Chapter twenty-five
