Page 81 of Wicked Deceit
"Mmhmm. And I found out, too, amongst other things,” I mutter, heaving a heavy breath which gets harder and harder to do with my tightening lungs.
"What did you find out?" Shaw asks, rubbing his stubby jaw.
"A lot of things," I grunt.
"You mean the things I gave my son to give to you?" Cushing asks, smirking at me. If my face weren't so swollen, it would fall—my heart stalls in my chest at his words, piercing through me like a knife inserting into my aching heart. "Yeah, that's what I thought. He told you all about us. Who we were. Who Piper was. Everything, right? It was at my orders. I gave him the words to say. I told him to. You know why?" He drops to his knees in front of me, playing with the intricate knife in his hands. "Because you are his." The tip of the knife runs down the good side of my face, dipping close to my watery eye.
"No," I whisper. "He wouldn't—" Deny, deny, deny. Carter wouldn't do that to me—to us. I saw it in his eyes. He protected me, and he confided in me. Nothing about this makes sense. Carter loves me. You can’t fake that emotion from within. Sure, he can wear an amazing mask, not letting anyone in to see his vulnerabilities and emotions. But he never wore it around me. Carter is true to me and not to this dickbag.
"Afraid so, Pumpkin," Cushing murmurs, furrowing his brow. "He knew the entire time. Set you up and played you like a little fiddle. Perfectly, too. So now you are the promotion he's been working so hard at. He's so obedient and loyal to us. He infiltrated your fascinating relationship perfectly, I must say. This whole thing worked out just like we planned. And his role? He played it well.” He grins more, eating me up with his beady eyes. “So, tell me. Did he get into that tight little pussy of yours? Is that how far you fell in love with him?”
"Now," Shaw says, tilting his head. "Let's move on to the ceremony." His eyes light up at the word ceremony.
They shuffle around again, get the camera into position, and surround me for one final blow.
"Thank you for your sacrifice," Cushing murmurs, running a hand through my hair
"The world will fall to its knees when they learn little Kaycee Cole committed suicide." Shaw shakes his head, a fake sadness taking over his face.
"Poor little Kaycee couldn't bear the thought of her best friend's death anymore. She slit her wrists, slid into her tub, and slowly died." Crowe muses.
"At least that's what the coroner's report will say." Shaw shrugs.
"And my real death?" I swallow hard.
The walls close around me, suffocating me, forcing a heavyweight on my heaving chest. My mortality hangs in the balance, and my life is in their hungry hands. They're eager to move forward with their plan. How much will they make off of my death? How much money did they make off my pain?
At eye level, Crowe holds a tiny knife. Its gold-tinted jewels line the handle, sparkling off the soft spotlights pointing toward me. I'm the main event, after all.
"Bring him in. His true test begins now," Crowe shouts, filling the room, but he never stops running the tip of the knife down my arm and chest.
The door slams open and shut, and my eyes glue to the smug-looking man in red robes walking through the door. A heavy mask of confidence falls over his face. His brown eyes take me in, his smile widening at the sight of me tied to a chair, bloodied and bruised, my eye swollen shut and crusted over.
"Carter…" I whisper with a stunned expression.
Everything fades away when he cocks his head and smirks at me with the smuggest expression I’ve ever seen. "Hello, Sweetheart. Did you miss me?" He purrs without missing a beat.
“Let me introduce you to the fourth horseman you’ve been wondering about, meet Famine,” Cushing says, meeting his son in the middle. They clasp hands, shaking them together in a joyous celebration of murmured words and a whoop of excitement from Cushing. With one last tap on his son’s back, he breaks away and marches back towards me with deadly intent ringing in his eyes.
“Fourth horseman?” I gasp out as the knife’s tip slices through my abdomen like it’s nothing at all, ripping into my skin and settling just the tip into my flesh. My body instinctively curls around it, trying to run away from the stab wound's pain. My hands pull at my restraints, but nothing makes them stop.
Even as the knife plunges into my abdomen further, Carter’s face doesn't move an inch, remaining cut from stone. His deep brown eyes light up when a pain-filled scream wretches from my throat and fills the room with my misery, even laughing with the other psychos as they whisper to one another. My heart drops deep into the depths of my aching stomach and churns to dust when he takes a step closer, joining the other assholes.
The three horsemen take their time, getting their fill of my pain. Little by little, the knife inches further into my stomach, aided by the three of them alternating—Crowe pushes a little, then gives it to Shaw, and then to Cunningham. Carter watches from the spot he’s glued to, taking it all in with a cocked head. The warm blood trickles from the wound they’ve created, soaking through my shirt and spilling down my legs. His eyes track every movement, cataloging the blood. And when his eyes finally snap back up to mine, I see an unusual hardness gleaming in his eyes. His smirk never leaves his lips.
Carter is the fourth horseman. But has he been this whole time?
Betrayal stings through my veins despite the pain of the knife sticking out of my gut. Blood slowly pools around the wound and drips into my lap. The red paints the floor in tiny drips, staining the disgusting carpet. My head swims with chaotic thoughts, and our relationship flashes before my eyes.
Was I naive enough to believe that this man could come to light like I had begged him to? Did I really think I could drag him from the depths of Hell and release him from the grasp of the Apocalypse, when in reality, he was them all along?
A heaviness prickles the back of my neck when I lift my head, staring deep into his unchanged brown eyes, devoid of any sort of emotion. A nothingness stares back at me. And maybe that’s his father’s doing after all these years. Cushing finally got the soldier he was so desperate to get through his manipulations and blackmailed Carter into submission. But when did Carter turn over and become his father’s doggy?
Memories assault me, taking me away from the chair they’ve tied me to, and I drift off to a heavenly place I want to remain. Our time together flashes before my eyes: the good, the bad, and the ugly.
From the first time I met Carter, he put on a cruel act, taking his pain out on everyone around him. He lashed out, talking down to anyone to keep them away. Even me. He pushed and pushed, but I eventually pulled him into my orbit and never wanted to let him go. My heart stings worse than the knife continuing to plow through my skin like it’s cutting butter. I revel in the softness his eyes once showed, remembering the pain in them, and the happiness. Carter was happy at one point, I know that for sure. So, what is this? Is Carter too caught up to leave? Or is Carter a willing participant in my imminent death?
A sharp shiver works its way down my spine when Carter’s soft finger brushes against my swollen cheek, twisting his fingers into some of my blood. I watch in horror as he brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks the blood off his fingers. My lips pop open from the deep pain it causes, and I suck in a breath.
