|
|
|
|
 |
 |
|
;void(0)) “Please, Edmond. Don’t! It won’t happen again, I promise,” Pepper pled. Her mutilated face, now almost twice its normal size, would need extensive surgical repair. Her blood-soaked hair plastered her head, appearing dark auburn rather than its natural black-ink hue. Backhanding her, Edmond sneered, “You don’t understand anything but this,” and then he smashed his fist into her left eye. His heavy, gold ring tore her flesh, and blood spurted from the slash just above her brow. She fell to the floor, her back against the ivory sofa. He wrenched her arm behind her, and she screamed in agony. “So sorry. I love you,” he heard her say through swollen lips. Controlled by his fury, he continued to unleash his pent-up anger, mauling her viciously. Her pleading and pathetic entreaties stimulated him. “You black bitch,” he said, “Who the fuck you think you are?” He kicked her repeatedly and stomped her right leg. The bone snapped. His senses now heightened, he looked at her, filing away her helpless image. He captured the contorted face, registered her pain. He catalogued her eyes, now tiny slits, to relish when he wanted stimulation. She lay curled into a fetal position between the sofa and the coffee table, crumpled and silent before him. Outside, the night storm raged, thrashing and moaning, whipping the waterlogged trees against the house. Scraping branches brushed the windows as lightening flashed, illuminating the dark room, spotlighting Pepper’s ravaged body and the sumptuousness of his home. He looked down on her in disgust, rankling his nose as a strong urine scent assaulted him. His arousal consumed him, and he needed immediate release. Touching himself, he erupted. His low-pitched moan penetrating the soggy night. “Bitch! You never stop. You always push until I hurt you.” His release left him breathless, but the rage still wracked him. His right eye twitched in rapid succession. “Get her out of here.” He spotted the blood-soaked carpet and bellowed to his two henchmen, “Jesus Christ. The carpet. Get that blood out…now! And do something with her. She’s caused enough trouble already.” They had stood watching as he’d plummeted her fallen body. They had become accustomed to his outbursts, but his extreme reactions never ceased to amaze them. Edmond Waverly Windbrook, III, euphoric and sated, welcomed the power that coursed through him. His mental state soared, everything back intact. These escapades were getting more frequent and violent, but they always bolstered his flagging self-esteem. I showed her something tonight. Criticizing me. This will teach her to keep her fucking mouth shut. He rubbed his swollen fist. He had cracked the crest of his onyx ring, a cherished family heirloom. He peered at it in the dim light, still visualizing her battered face. A lop-sided grimace creased his thin, dry lips. As he inched up the mahogany staircase, he glanced about, surveying his expensive surroundings, his keen sense of order appeased. Everything aligned, everything in its rightful place. As muted thunder rumbled in the distance, he lingered at the stair top and studied his reflection in an antique mirror. He stripped away his tailor-made shirt, exposing his pale, gaunt body. His emaciated appearance belied his extraordinary wealth and lavish lifestyle. But neither his financial state nor his possessions meant anything to him. He was back on top and in command, and those were the elements that propelled him. Now all he wanted was a long, hot shower and a glass of champagne. PURCHASE THIS BOOK NOW... LINK TO: BETTY BYERS BBB Collection Pkg. | Books and Tarot | | Return Home | GREAT LINKS | WHAT'S NEW? | CONTACT US | |
||
 |
 |
