Carnage: A Dark Revenge Romance

Ryat was pretty spot-on when he said the guy was two hours away. The GPS brought us to a run-down piece-of-shit motel out in the middle of nowhere. It’s five miles off the main road.

Shutting off the vehicle, we get out and make our way to the tiny office. Walking inside, we find a young kid standing behind the desk. He looks from me to Ryat and then back at me.

“We’re looking for someone,” Ryat speaks first, pulling out his cell. He holds it up to show the picture he has of the man we’re here to collect. “Is he here?”

The kid smirks. “Who are you two? The police?” He then laughs. We don’t.

“Yes or no?” I go on. We don’t have time for this. If he’s not here, then that means we may be spending the rest of our night looking for him. I know how assignments work. You’re given an order and a timeframe for completion. I’m not going to hold Ryat up from making sure he gets his done.

The kid’s face grows serious, and he straightens his shoulders. My eyes slide to Ryat’s, and he nods. The kid is going to be an issue. “I’m not allowed to give that information out.”

Ryat walks over to the single window that looks out on the parking lot. He pulls back the dingy curtains that look like they’ve been up since the place opened. They’re discolored from use and cigarette smoke. “There are only two cars in the parking lot. Is one of them yours?” Ryat asks.

“My girlfriend dropped me off,” he answers nervously, confused by the question.

Ryat lets the curtains close and comes back to me. “How many rooms are currently occupied?” he asks the kid.

“Look, man.” He places his arms out. “I need to see some kind of identification…or a badge—”

Ryat reaches across the desk, grips his shirt, and pulls him over it. Then slams his back into the front of it. “Every question you choose to avoid, I’m going to cut a fucking finger off starting now,” he growls, having no patience. “How many rooms are currently occupied?”

“One,” he shrieks. “Only one. A man came in…the one in the picture. With a woman…”

“Let’s go.” Ryat pulls the kid toward the door, and I hold it open for them as he drags him outside. “Which room?” Ryat barks, shoving the kid forward, and he trips, falling onto his knees in the gravel parking lot.

“Five,” he rushes out, pointing at it. “They’re in room five.”

Ryat looks at me, and I nod. Walking over to the hearse, I open the back, grab a few things that I had packed, and walk toward the front door of number five. I place what I wanted on the ground in front of it, and the kid gets to his feet and starts to run away.

“No, you don’t. You watch. From your knees.” Ryat kicks the back of his legs, and the kid falls to the gravel parking lot once more.

I go around the back and pour the gasoline in front of each back door, leaving a trail from room to room so there are no gaps. Then I take the boxes of matches and light several of them, tossing them into the gasoline.

Making my way back to the front, I cross my arms over my chest, spread my legs, and wait. The smell of fire grows stronger, and the kid on his knees sniffs the air.

“What is that? Is the building on fire?” he rushes out.

“Not yet,” I answer.

“Fuck,” he whimpers. Leaning forward, he grips his sandy blond hair with his hands. “My dad is going to kill me.”

Crackling wood fills the air, and I smile when I hear screams from inside the motel. We could have stormed in and dragged him out, but this is better. More exciting.

The door to number five is ripped open, and a woman rushes out first. Her shrill scream follows as she steps into the center of the bear trap I planted. It was meant for him, but anything to slow them down is a win in my book.

He runs out after her, tripping over her body that thrashes around on the ground while she tries to open the bear trap—as if they work that way.

“Hello, Timothy,” Ryat speaks, stepping forward.

The guy’s head snaps up, and wide eyes meet Ryat’s before they go to mine. “What the fuck?” He shuffles back toward the building.

“Tim?” The woman sobs. “Help me…”

Timothy gets to his feet and goes to run back into the motel, trying to run from us but realizes the fire is growing bigger by the second, consuming the old wooden building. I can feel the heat taking over the night.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

“Two ways, Timothy,” Ryat announces. “One, you get in the car willingly. Two, I make you.”

He looks at Ryat and then turns to run. Ryat sighs, pulls out his gun from the back waistband of his jeans, and fires, making the woman cry out as Timothy falls to his face by the hearse. He hit him in the back of the leg. Nothing life-threatening. Just to slow him down.

I walk over and open the back of the hearse, pulling out the casket on the rollers. Ryat grabs Timothy’s shirt and drags him to where I am.

He’s screaming for the bitch he was fucking that is still stuck in the bear trap as Ryat picks him up. I open the top of the casket and help throw him inside. “Lie down. I don’t want to kill you too soon,” I inform him as I start to close it.

“Nice.” Ryat nods, admiring the inside. “Did you make that?”

“Haidyn did,” I say, looking over the spikes he placed on the inside of the lid. So when it’s closed, it keeps whoever is on the inside lying flat. He said he didn’t want them lying directly on it because it’d impale them and they’d bleed out too soon.

Shutting the lid, I take the latch and lock the man inside. Then we shove it forward and shut the back door.

“What do you want to do with them?” I nod to the woman crawling away from the burning building and the man kneeling in front of it while he cries, thinking of all the ways his father will kill him.

I go over to her and undo the bear trap. She pulls her leg to her chest while lying on her back, sobbing.

Ryat goes to the Porsche parked on the side, opens the door, and digs around in it. Finding the set of keys, he tosses them to the kid. “Take her to the hospital. And enjoy the new car. Timothy won’t need it where he’s going.”

ASHTYN

The following morning, I get out of the shower to see a note on the counter between the two sinks right in front of where Saint pressed my face into the bathroom mirror. You can still see the print of tears and cum on it. Picking up the piece of paper, I read.

Do your makeup. Red lipstick, black mascara, and eyeliner to match. Make yourself look pretty for me.

Rushing over to the bathroom door, I yank it open. “Hello?” I ask, searching the bedroom, but I’m alone. No one else is in here. But I catch sight of the large mirror from their office. The same one I kneeled in front of and fucked a dildo. It’s sitting up against the wall next to the open double doors to the balcony. Next to the table and high-back chairs.

Swallowing, I go back to the bathroom and do as I’m told. I find all of my things underneath one of the sinks. Of course, it’s my bag that I took to the club for work. My everyday makeup that was in my house is nowhere to be seen.

I take the time to do my makeup as if I’m still Luna, about to go out on stage and bat my eyelashes at men who want to fuck me.

Once satisfied, I decide to get dressed and wait for further instructions. But you can only access the closet from the bedroom.

I exit the bathroom this time and come to a stop when I see Saint has joined me at some point. He stands on the balcony. He’s bent over, forearms resting on the railing. He’s dressed in black jeans, combat boots, and a white T-shirt. I shuffle on my bare feet as he turns around to face me, and my heart races because I’m already naked. I left my towel in the bathroom.

Leaning back against the railing, he crosses his tattooed arms over his chest and looks over my face and hair. The silence that lingers makes me nervous, so I tuck a few strands behind my ear, worried. I hate to admit that I put a little more effort than I would usually do to look my best for him.

Pushing off the railing, he enters my room and walks up to me. I lift my chin in order to meet his stare.