Page 91 of Isle of Seduction
Our chests move in sync, his against my back and mine against the corded muscles of his arms. I fill up my lungs with him, let his strength support me, and release a sigh that ends on another sob.
I’m already so fucking tired of giving my tears to that piece of shit. Andrea turns me around, before his hands frame my face, his thumbs wiping my tears away before he kisses me again. The colour of his gear mutes the ones in his eyes, but he’s never looked more beautiful to me.
Our kiss seems to piss off our esteemed guest and despite the wounds and the blood staining his clothes, he’s still not cowering, still not nearly as afraid as I want him. Rage is a sickness taking residence in my chest, but I hold onto her like my lifeline.
“Amore?”
“Yes, guerrieritta?”
“Do you have a lighter?” I keep my eyes trained on Louis who’s fallen silent again. Andrea hands me the small object and I twirl it in my fingers before flicking it. “Remove the gag and hold out his tongue.”
My husband’s eyes come to me and a flash of admiration shines through his expression. He does as I say, rummaging through the kitchen drawers and coming back with what he needs. He gives me a smirk while immobilising Louis and holding his tongue with kitchen tongs.
I flick the lighter on and take the small knife I’ve been using for the past however long, holding the flame to the blade. This is going to hurt like a bitch, and I cannot wait.
I press the blade down and my prisoner yells at the top of his lungs. The tongue is a muscle full of nerve endings and I’m surprised he hasn’t passed out already. I cut into sinew, blood pouring everywhere. I barely see what I’m doing, but I keep slicing.
Finally, I hold Louis’s tongue in one hand, the bloodied knife in the other, and just watch both. It doesn’t feel like it’s my own hands, so I force myself to take a breath and notice every single aspect of the morbid picture in front of me.
The blood is crimson and almost slimy, coating my two hands, wrists and drifting down my forearms to drip to the floor with a soft tap. The blade is indistinguishable from the handle of the knife.
The tongue looks grotesque, like a prop for a movie. God, it’s disgusting. It’s all red as well, with a stringy end where I cut.
I drop both on the floor and double over, throwing up the light lunch I had on the floor.
Hands take my hair off my face and soothe my back, and I smile despite the nausea.
When I stand back up, Louis’s passed out, chin to chest, and I feel marginally better.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, tesoro mio.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
DEATH AND LUST MAKE FOR THE PERFECT COCKTAIL RECIPE
I take Giulia into the small bathroom at the back of the house. Now that I know she is safe, she is back in my arms, the house we’re in gives me the creeps. It looks so close to what we have at the cottage, not in the grand scheme of things, but in the little details that I know Giulia brought to the house. The cushions in the living room are the same, the curtains are the same and now in the bathroom, the towels are the same.
It makes me want to do much more than cut that fucking bastard’s tongue.
Giulia walks to the sink and scrubs at her hands to remove the blood, her movements jerky and her shoulders high. I massage them to smooth the hurt, but I can see she’s holding on by a fucking thread, using adrenaline to stand until she sees this through. She finds mouthwash under the sink and spits it out in the enamel bowl before taking a deep breath and releasing a sigh. There’s no shower, just a tub but I’m sure she’ll want to feel somewhat clean.
“Do you want to shower?”
“No!”
She whirls back, her green eyes wide with panic.
“That’s okay, sweetheart, you don’t need to.” I take her in my arms again. Her head falls naturally on my heart where the organ beats for her as I massage her skull and pull lightly at the roots to keep her anchored to her body.
“Talk to me,” I ask softly.
“He touched me,” she silently cries.
I wait on bated breath, controlling my breathing to give her the space to continue. If I let my instinct take over, I’m going to murder that bastard and it will never be enough.
“He touched me when he bathed with me this morning. I don’t want to step into a tub ever again, Andrea.” Tears stain her voice and my heart squeezes painfully.
“Then, you won’t.”