Satan's Affair by Carlton, D. (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📗

slow. My demon slayer and I have plenty of ideas on how to make it the most painful last hours of your miserable life.” I shiver from his words. From the deep timber in which he speaks and how he claimed me as his.

I smile big. I have my first friend.

I hope he gets along with my henchmen. I’m sure once they get over their initial suspicions, they'll accept him into our little group. As a brother, and as a friend. Just like I’m already starting to.

I’m snapped out of my musings at another muffled yelp. Jack tried denying the question anyway, and Zade answered that by stabbing the knife deep into his thigh.

“That’s just a taste, Jack. Miller, how ‘bout you? You like to fuck children, too?” Miller, the man with bright blue eyes that spoke to me earlier, nods his head like a child with a marker in his hand standing next to the drawings on the wall.

Pathetic. Disgusting waste of human flesh and organs.

I bounce on my feet, restlessness taking over.

“Can I play now, Zade?” I ask impatiently.

He straightens and nods towards Jack and Miller. “Go ahead and have fun with those two. I have a couple more things to get out of dear old Mark first.”

“If you don’t let me go, I won’t tell you anything else! Nothing!” Mark shouts. The bargain is weak. Mark knew from the beginning he was never walking out of this haunted dollhouse. He’s just not willing to accept his fate yet.

“You’re a weak man, Mark. You’ll tell me anything I want to know once the pain becomes too much. You either die slow, or quick.”

I tune out Mark’s desperate pleas and arguments and turn my attention to the monsters before me. When they sense my stare, and the absolute pleasure already radiating throughout my body, they start fighting their bonds.

My pussy grows slick, and this time, I won’t let rage consume me. This time, I will draw out their deaths, and draw out the pleasure that will ultimately get me ready for my henchmen.

I let out a squeal of excitement and start slashing. Painting myself in the blood of sinners.

Somewhere between torturing the demons together, to finishing them off, to chopping them in pieces—I decided I no longer want to kill Zade.

That’s never happened before, but deep down, I felt relieved. I had decided to kill Zade because I knew he was dangerous. But he didn’t smell like rot—not like the true demons do. The hint of burnt roses told me that while he’s dangerous, he’s not dangerous towards the innocent.

Just like me. I’m not sure why it took me so long to realize that I was going to kill someone who has the same mission as me. I would’ve never forgiven myself.

Zade was nice enough to help me clean up the mess. He insisted on taking care of the bodies, so all I had to do was help him carry the numerous body parts to his car.

I sit on the hood of his Mustang, staring at the lifeless buildings and rides scattered across the open field. It’s fascinating to see how haunting and desolate the fair looks when the occupants leave, and the lights extinguish. The same buildings and rides that are lit up with an array of colors now look as if they’ve been sitting on the muddy earth for centuries, devoid of life.

“How old are you, kid?” Zade asks from behind me. I turn to see him coming around the hood, having put the last of the human remains in his car. He said he didn’t trust me to get rid of the bodies properly. And when I told him my henchmen would take care of it, he said the only henchman he trusts is himself.

It made me giddy. As if he was including himself in my little family. But sadly, he’s given no indication he plans on ever seeing me again.

I shrug my shoulders, swinging my legs back and forth. I shiver as a cold breeze picks up, blowing tendrils of brown locks across my face.

“I don’t know,” I answer quietly, swiping the hair from my face and tucking it behind my ear. “I’m sure that I’m in my twenties.”

He cocks a brow. Despite my best efforts, I shiver. I’ve never seen anyone cock their brow quite like he does. “How do you not know?”

I giggle, amused by that question. “How would I, silly?”

His raised brow plunges low. One end of his face to the other. I giggle again.

“Do you… not celebrate a birthday?”

I cant my head to the side, confused. “Why would I do that?”

He sighs and leans against the shiny black metal beside me. “The date you were born. What date was that?”

I shrug my shoulders again. “I have no idea. Daddy and Mommy never told me,” I say. I’ve heard of birthday celebrations in my time outside of the cult. I made it a point to learn a lot of things, mostly by reading newspapers. Birthday celebrations are something I still don’t quite grasp the point of.

“I grew up in a cult,” I state tightly. “I wasn’t born in a hospital, I was born in my parent’s home. They never told me when that was.”

He swallows. “No celebrations?”

This time, my laugh comes out bitter. “Daddy was the only one allowed to partake in any type of celebration, and it certainly wasn’t because I was born.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I realize how sad that sounds.

“I know that normal people usually know the dates they were born, but I was never taught to celebrate a birthday, so I never thought to ask when it was,” I explain quietly.

“Normal people… yeah.” He says that as if he’s not included in that category. “Every year, they celebrate another year on this hellhole of a planet, as if it’s something to be happy about,” he muses quietly, his voice deepening.

Sounds like he’s never celebrated a birthday either.

“You’re not normal?” I ask, my