Page 110 of Satan's Spawn
“Need a hand?” Saint offers, looking over my shoulder. “Could use a little fine detailing.”
“Fuck off.” I bite back, smacking Puny’s cheek in an adoring, friendly fashion once I’m satisfied, then climb off the guy in one fell swoop.
“Get lost,” I demand as I haul his ass up with one hand, “And not a fucking word about what went on here, or else your cock is next.”
Puny reaches for his clothes in record time, running off without even looking back at his friend.
How quickly loyalty flies out the window when a little torture is involved.
My gaze darts to Joffrey, whose face is turning paler by the second.
“Doubt this one’ll put up much of a fight,” Saint shrugs. “But I’ll help anyway. I feel like channeling my artistic side.” He takes two long strides over to Joffrey and grips him by the back of the neck, dragging him closer to my makeshift workstation.
“Please, please, please.” He begs as Saint forces him down onto the bench, then onto his back where I, in turn, sit cowboy on the second naked cock of the day.
Not bothering to wipe off the blade, I hold it up and ask, “So what’ll it be Joff? A puppy? Kitty? Maybe a snake like you?”
“I say a wink face.” Saint shrugs. “ Y’know, stick with the theme.” He pauses. “It is Emoji’s right?”
With a shake of my head, I bring the blade inside Joffrey’s mouth, pressing deep into the tissue, and the fucker doesn’t stop crying until his entire tongue looks like a chart of smiley faces.
When we finish with Joffrey, Saint and I leave him to clean up the mess so I can go back to keeping an eye on Rebecca.
Saint stays mostly quiet as I do my thing, leaning his back against the wall opposite of me, unaffected by the silence between us because he’s used to it.
I never was much of a talker, and Saint is really the only person in the entire school I make a priority to try.
He’s chuckling at something, and when I look over I find him staring at his phone, probably at another naked pic from one of his conquests. Naked girls never interested me, so I go back to studying an oblivious Rebecca as she floats on her back in the pool.
There’s something uncomfortable about watching her this way: still as a statue, breathing slowly and steadily to stay afloat, unaware of how easily I can drown her with such little force. Just these two determined hands that want to see her suffer.
Nevertheless, I can’t look away, not even when she sinks beneath the surface and spins her body like an underwater ballerina.
Her hair sways slowly as she moves, somehow managing to remain that white shade even wet. Most hair changes, but no, not Rebecca’s.
There’s not a thing about her that distorts.
Not a feature that flaws.
It’s. Fucking. Irritating.
Even my mother’s hair, as light as her blonde was and as perfect as she kept it, would seem darker all those times we were in the shower together.
Then again, everything about her turned darker when she took me into the bathroom.
“Did you figure out who else is still talking about her?” I turn and ask Saint, needing a break from the memory.
Saint shrugs, still focusing on his phone. “Mostly Alexis’ crew, and I heard a couple assholes in the locker rooms during Phys-Ed.”
My jaw tenses. “Names?”
“Chase McAffrey, Owen Anderson.”
I run my tongue along the top row of my teeth, sucking air through them. “They’re roommates, no?”
“Yeah, a few doors down from ours.”
I know those pricks. Their family comes from new money, no class, and are known for running trains on all the new girls.
