SWNOVELS Red Thorns: Chapter 19
It’s not supposed to be like this.
When I went to Naomi’s house that day and saw through the balcony door that she was alone, I planned to scare her a little, to play a prank by cutting off her lights and then jumping in front of her.
But the moment I grabbed her from behind, I knew, I just knew, that the child’s play wasn’t enough. The throb of her pulse beneath my fingers and the hitching of her breath was nothing like I’ve felt before.
Fear.
Raw fear that doesn’t even exist in horror films.
Deep fear that I fed from like a fucking junkie in need of more.
So I took it.
Even when she screamed.
Especially when she screamed.
Her pussy tightened with each of her sobs and wails. I believed the trembling of her limbs and the shaking of her legs as I tore through her cunt.
But I didn’t stop.
Not when she was at her limit and not when she sobbed or when she begged me to stop.
And definitely not when I realized she was a virgin.
Fuck me. I never cared much about that, and I ultimately preferred experienced girls, but when her blood coated my dick, a shot of ecstasy burst through me.
I’m her fucking first.
No clue why she waited this long, but I couldn’t give a fuck when she let my dick be the first inside her.
And now, I’m so tempted to make it the last.
Those thoughts intensified my fucked-up lust. I took and took until I became the beast I didn’t think I was capable of embracing.
Turns out, even I could reach new levels. Because I have a new surprise for her tonight.
After I went home that night, I told myself it would be a one-time thing, that we would both forget about how we fed off each other’s darkness and bury the experience in the past.
And yet, the thought of repeating it has been pulsing through me non-stop. It’s occupied my every waking moment. Right after I got to my apartment, I stood in the shower and jacked off to the sight of her blood on my dick and came faster than a pubescent teen with stamina issues.
But I fought going back to her house and climbing up to her window. Attempted to, anyway.
It was half-assed, but I picked up our text conversation right where I left off as if nothing had happened.
I intended to keep it that way.
But then I saw her today on campus.
Just the sight of her in her short black skirt and white top made me think about smearing her with my cum all over again.
My thought process only consisted of holding her down as she kicked and clawed while I fucked her senseless.
And just like that, any attempt of forgetting about what happened that night withered into thin air. Because the truth is, I can’t get enough.
I don’t think that’s possible in the near future.
Not when my heart thunders at the promise of a chase. Of grabbing her by the hair and forcing my dick into her tight cunt as she screams in both fear and pain.
Does that make me fucked up? Probably.
Do I care? Fuck no.
I’ve screwed more girls than I could count and yet, it’s always felt as if something was missing. I’ve done it rough and demented. I’ve fucked them until they couldn’t move, but while that got me off, it wasn’t special. It doesn’t even compare to the demented pleasure I felt when I tore through Naomi’s hymen, breaking her figuratively and literally.
In a way, it feels as if I’ve been waiting for someone like her. For someone who enjoys the twisted shit as much as I do. Someone who screams, cries, and claws, even when, deep down, they love every second of it.
Someone who begs me to stop but doesn’t use the word that would end it all.
Someone who comes by being roughed up.
I stand in front of my dimly-lit doorway mirror as I zip up my hoodie. A shadow covers my features. I have a face that I get praised for more often than I prefer. I’m called hot, sculpted, a beautiful creation.
A modern Adonis.
But no one knows the type of monster hidden beneath the physical perfection.
No one except for my Tsundere.
The Weaver clan excels at being pretty but barbarous. Powerful but corrupted.
I guess I take after them more than I thought.
Usually, I dislike being put in the same box as my ancestors, but I couldn’t give a fuck about it right now.
The only need pulsing in my veins is to pick up where I left off with Naomi and maybe take it to newer heights.
I look at my watch and it’s seven-fifteen. I’m late on purpose so that my pretty little toy stays on her toes.
After tying my shoelaces, I step out of my apartment. It’s located in one of the buildings owned by a friend of Grandpa’s. Because he and Grandma need to keep an eye on me at all times, even after I moved out of their house.
The elevator opens and I pause as my uncle steps out, carrying a takeout bag.
Nathaniel Weaver is another example of how well we hide behind the beautiful façade. His fancy suits and groomed looks gave him the title of ‘most sought-after lawyer’ in a magazine once.
They said, and I quote, because Grandma was proud and sent it over a thousand times, “Senator Brian Weaver’s son, Nathaniel Weaver, is the heartthrob of Brooklyn, the dream of every socialite, and the hardest fruit to reach. He has the looks of a Greek god, but he’s just as cold.”
And it’s true.
Nate might have tried to fill the gap the absence of my parents left behind, but he doesn’t play nice with outsiders—or his own parents—at all. He’s emotionless and aloof, calm and calculated.
And he has this foreign ability to read minds. Which is why meeting him right now is the worst-case scenario.
Can he see the nefarious lust shining in my eyes? Or perhaps he can decrypt my need to inflict pain over and over again?
His dark gaze measures me up and down. He does that a lot, intimidating his opponents with silent observation until they crack on their own.
“Where are you going, Rascal?”
I twist my neck and stretch my arm behind my back. “A jog.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. I run better after people have gone home.”
“You can also hide a crime better when no one is looking.”
I grin. “That, too.”
“What are you up to? Do I need to be your lawyer?”
“Nah.”
“But you’re up to something.”
“It’s legal, but it could be…a little immoral.” A lot. But getting Nate’s parenting parameter up isn’t something I’d play with.
“Just because it’s legal, doesn’t mean it’s right.”
“Aren’t you the one who told me legal and illegal don’t matter, because justice is circumstantial?”
“And yet, here you are, twisting circumstantial beliefs in your favor.”
“Isn’t that why you said it?”
“I said it so you’d have no misconceptions about the world you live in.”
“You also mentioned that the concept of truth is an outdated righteous belief that no longer applies to modern society. Truth is the mold we shove ourselves into in order to escape the world’s harsh reality. So, in a sense, we all have misconceptions we try to escape in our own way.”
“That’s a reach.”
“Then are you implying that you didn’t say those words for me to learn from them? Or did you perhaps think I would accept them, blindly trusting your senior judgment?”
He smiles, the lines easing from around his usually rigid eyes. “Argumentative.”
I grin back. “I learned from the best.”
“You should ditch politics and join me. We’d have so much fun.”
“Being destroyed by Mr. and Mrs. Weaver, you mean?”
“They can’t destroy us when we’re on the same team.”
“I’d rather play smart.”
“Which is another word for safe. I didn’t peg you for someone who refuses challenges, Rascal.”
“I love challenges, but not when they ruin me.” I pat his shoulder. “Talk to you later, Nate.”
He grabs my shoulder in return, his humor disappearing. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“That was purged out of my dictionary by Mrs. Weaver.” That’s what we call Grandma behind her back, sort of like putting distance between us.
“Apparently, she left remains. I recognize impulsive foolishness when I see it, and your eyes are shining with it right now.”
“Don’t worry. It’s all under control.”
“That’s what your father said and we both know how he ended up.”
My jaw clenches. “I’m not him.”
“Good. Because Mr. and Mrs. Weaver aren’t the forgiving type. They weren’t with your father and they won’t be with you.”
I wink. “Everything is game as long as I don’t get caught.”
He shakes his head once.
“What? Isn’t that what you teach your clients?”
“No. If you don’t see what’s wrong with your statement, I won’t spell it out for you.”
And with that, we both leave my apartment building. I wait until Nate gets into his car before I head to mine.
I had planned to run to the forest, but his unexpected visit made me lose time I don’t have.
Fifteen minutes later, I park down the road and hike the rest of the way. The sun has finished its descent past the horizon, leaving a small line of violet in the distance.
The color black is slowly staking its claim on the tall trees and the dirt path. My muscles tighten with exertion as I run the distance upward, keeping my steps as quiet as possible.
It’s not hard. If anything, it doesn’t take much effort to be a shadow.
It’s been in me since the moment I had to disappear so I wouldn’t meet my parents’ fate.
The moment I became a shadow and watched their vacant eyes stare at nowhere as blood marred them.
Logically, that’s when my need for violence started.
I recognized it when I was a boy and had to do something about it after I beat up one of my classmates in elementary school. My grandparents got me into coping therapy and I had a shit-ton after that.
But the only way I could slowly get past the need to hurt was when I embraced sports. Nate used to play catch with me and then wrestle me to the ground, making me kick and scream.
So I chose football.
A violent enough game to wean down my constant need for violence. I wanted to go with boxing when I was a kid, but Grandma clutched her pearls, which was an indirect no.
I’ve managed to survive all this time.
Until her.
Naomi.
I can no longer control my violent urges when it comes to her. They blossomed the first time I chased her through this forest. Then they peaked when I took her like an animal on the stairs.
And now, they can only go up.
My feet come to a halt behind a tree when I make out her silhouette in the darkness. She’s standing by the rock, grabbing one of her arms as she stares sideways.
I’m more than a half hour late, yet she didn’t leave.
She waited like a good prey.
I don’t have to see her face to recognize the darkness. I can feel it even all the way to here. I can taste it in the air, and if I touch her, it’ll break through me and yank out the beast inside me.
My breathing deepens and I slowly let the metaphorical shackles drop around me.
I don’t have to put a mask on right now or pretend that the twisted feeling lurking under my skin isn’t there.
I get to let go, to feed on another human’s screams and fights.
By the time I’m finished, she’ll realize that not ending the fantasy was a big fucking mistake.
One we’ll both pay for.