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I grab a second knife.

Cole’s fingers dig into my ass cheeks. His tongue flicks in a rapid, brutal rhythm, drinking down the slickness pouring out of me.

I throw the second blade. It sinks into Raymond’s left thigh. Non-lethal. Unbearably painful.

Another scream. Another violent surge of heat in my veins.

I grab a third. A fourth.

I turn the man who ruined my life into a bleeding, weeping pincushion. Blades protrude from his arms, his legs, his palms. Blood runs in dark streams, splashing onto the floor and flowing toward the iron drain. He begs. He sobs. He pleads for mercy from a God who abandoned this trailer a long time ago.

Cole sucks hard on my clit, driving two thick fingers deep inside my aching walls.

The orgasm hits with the force of a freight train.

My hips jerk forward and a loud, ragged scream tears from my throat, drowning out Raymond’s wailing. The climax shatters me, ripping through my core in massive, violent spasms.

I squirt.

Hot, slick fluid gushes from my center, splashing across Cole’s face, raining down onto the metal floor with a wet splatter. I convulse on the table, my fingers digging into the aluminum edge, blinded by the sheer intensity of the release. The pleasure drags me under, a relentless, punishing wave of absolute euphoria.

Cole pulls back. His face shines with my slickness. He drags his tongue across his lower lip, tasting me, a savage, victorious grin carving into his cheeks.

He stands up and pulls my hips forward, bringing me down from the table, anchoring my trembling legs against his solid frame.

Then he turns his head, looking over his shoulder at the bleeding, weeping pile of meat strapped to the chair.

“That, Ray,” Cole drawls, his voice dripping with dark, lethal amusement, “is what it looks like when a woman comes, and comes hard.”

Raymond seethes. His chest heaves, blood bubbling past his lips as he chokes on his own agony, his gray eyes wide with stark, unadulterated terror.

I lean my forehead against Cole’s chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart.

Some of the darkness inside me has burned away.

I smile.

19

COLE

The shovel blade bites into the damp earth with a harsh, metallic scrape.

I drive my boot against the steel edge, sinking it deep, and heave another pile of dirt over the blackened pit. The forest air hangs heavy with the sharp, acidic stench of gasoline and charred meat and bone. Pre-dawn fog rolls through the pine trees, clinging to our sweat-slicked skin.

Logan leans his forearms against the wooden handle of his own shovel. Smudges of gray ash coat his cheekbones. He stares down into the shallow grave, a wicked, thoroughly unhinged grin curving his mouth.

“I’ve burned a lot of Prophets.” Logan kicks a chunk of charred wood into the hole. “But I gotta admit, blondie really put in the work before I struck the match. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy cut that many times.”

Jonah doesn’t pause. The massive strongman moves dirt like a mechanical excavator, burying the chopped, incinerated remains of Raymond Turner with terrifying efficiency.

“She had a lot of years to make up for,” he rumbles, his deep bass vibrating in the quiet woods. “He earned every single cut.”

“Oh, he earned it.” I plunge my shovel back into the soil. My shoulders burn from the exertion, but the physical labor feels incredible. A dark, twisted pride hums right beneath my breastbone. “She didn’t hesitate. I handed her the knife, and she went to work like a goddamn surgeon. Flayed him alive.”

Logan lets out a low whistle. “Savage. Completely psychotic. I love her.”

“Back off, Holloway,” I snarl, tossing a clump of wet earth over Raymond’s ashes. “She’s mine.”