Page 39 of Vicious Like Me

Franko is screaming hysterically now, blood still dripping from his face.

I turn back to the chair, a slow, wicked smile pulling at my lips. “Let’s see if you really are afraid of water. Goodbye, Franko.”

Chapter twenty-one

Skylar

Turning my back, I step fully into the light, focused entirely on the task at hand. I don’t bother looking at Franko. Instead, my movements are slow. Deliberate. Calm. I hold the glass vial up to the light, tapping the side to clear the air bubbles before drawing the pretty amber liquid into the syringe. Compared to Franko’s frantic blubbering sobs, its motion is quiet and rhythmic, blending in with the soothing hum of the hot tub behind me.

“Skylar, Skylar, please! Look at me. Anything! You can have it! Fucking anything!”

I continue to ignore him, all the while Jericho leans against the rim of the tub, with a wicked gleam in his eye. He’s calmly sitting there, letting me have this win. But I don’t want a complacent spectator. I want a partner in crime. Memories come to mind.

Last night, I broke apart for the first time in years. That familiar darkness clawed its way up my throat, reminding me of every single evil thing Franko did to my sister. I crumbled like a child who missed his sibling. A child who missed his parents. Suddenly, I was a small, broken soul who wanted his family back, only to remember they were all gone.

But unlike all the other times, Jericho was there to catch me. He held me, allowing me to get it all out. After that, he showered me with praise and soothing noises until my tears stopped flowing.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he put me back together. But I needed more. Not that I had any idea what more meant, just that I needed it.

Thankfully, Jericho knew.

Silently, he rose from the bed and retrieved a newly treated hemp rope. It wasn’t the jute that I preferred. It was softer.

“Come here,” he commanded, offering the unwavering sense of control I craved.

I didn’t even hesitate; at that moment, I was pure submission, begging to be owned and cared for. To be cherished. To be loved. I desperately surrendered to this man who knew how to put me back together.

Jericho worked meticulously, wrapping me with the art of Shibari. He wasn’t just tying knots; he was grounding me. The tight, biting texture of the rope around my torso and arms before securely coiling around my chest. With each deliberate pull and tug, Jericho was encompassing me until I felt safe enough to let go.

Franko’s screams yank me back to reality. Sauntering up to Jericho, I press my body against his, leaning forward and angling my head until my lips brush his. “Sky,” he whispers reverently. “What are you doing?”

I’m still holding the syringe in one hand, but Jericho doesn’t even flinch. His trust means everything to me. With my free hand, I grasp his wrist, trailing his fingers down to my hard cock.

He gasps in shock. “Fuck, little minx. What were you thinking about that made you this damn hard?”

I smirk and shrug casually, clutching the memories of last night close to my heart.

“Tell me why you’re hard, angel. Is it me, or is it because that piece of shit over there is about to die?” He hums. “Or maybe it’s because you want to make him suffer a little before we drown the bastard. Are you hard because you want me to make him bleed?”

Angel. Angel. Angel. I’m about to kill a man, and yet, I’m still his angel. I smile against his lips. “Yes,” I breathe. “All of it.”

I begin grinding against his hand, all the while Franko’s screams morph into insults and slurs. Jericho chuckles, stroking me through my black pants. We’re matching again, both in black jeans and dress shirts. Only his is white, and mine’s black. Our kisses and grinding turn a little frantic as we lose ourselves in the moment. My fingers find the buttons on his shirt, while his find mine.

My free hand snakes between us, slowly rubbing his cock before straying to his pocket and pulling out his tactical knife. I step back and unfold it. His striking blue eyes are dark and predatory. Dangerous. Filled with lust and sexy as fuck. I flip the knife around in my grasp and pass it to him, handle first.

“Go on, devil. Shut him up for me.”

In a split second, Jericho’s soft expression morphs into something deadly. A manic, exhilarated light ignites in his eyes, twisting his smile into something jagged.

Jericho approaches Franko, letting the light reflect off his blade. Franko’s screams turn shrill as Jericho slashes his knife in a violent, dramatic arch that slices through the skin on Franko’s chest. Blood sprays through the air, painting all three of us in a splatter of crimson. It’s a sharp cut that’s just meant to scare, more than anything.

“You heard my man. Shut the fuck up,” Jericho says, deadly calm.

Franko instantly snaps his mouth shut, shaking violently enough to cause the chains to rattle. While he’s distracted by the knife in front of his face, I stab the syringe into his neck, injecting him with a small dose of my perfectly crafted poison.

Franko’s eyes droop, and based on his height and weight, we have about two to five minutes to place him into the hot tub before he snaps back to reality. Dazed and blissed out, Franko blinks at me. I laugh. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Director. It’s the only bit of peace you’ll get before you die.”

Jericho and I have barely closed the lid of the hot tub when my poison wears off. Terrified, shrill noises erupt from Franko’s throat, sounding like music to my ears.