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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic

Scarlett goes after her town's criminal underworld, though, truth be told, there's not much that separates them from her. And she knows that. (Note that this story has nothing to do with the short
"Being with People".)

Submitted: June 05, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 05, 2018



“Hm, you’re cute.”


The shadows cast by the looming fire danced across the mansion’s walls. The fire’s sparks warmed the living room and its inhabitants, both the living and the furry and dead.


“What do you want? Hm? You rejected my money and killed my men. Hm, what the hell do you want?”


That’s right. Along with the bear rug and the deer heads, there were men sprawled across the floor. Although, Michael Lungg was wrong. They weren’t dead. No, that would’ve been too easy.


Scarlett maintained her eye contact with the ambitious 20 year old, her short hair falling loosely from behind her ears as she grinned and said,”Come on, cute and no brains? No, you know what I want.”


Her hand slid down from Michael’s chin, down his slightly uncovered chest and stopped right above his pelvis. Michael stared into both of Scarlett’s blue eyes and said, “Heh, so you’re a whore after - arggh.”


Scarlett grabbed onto his groin, and tighten around what ever muscle was underneath. Michael screamed and shook in his seat, his arms and legs threatening to pull away from the rope tied around them, though, apparently, they were all bark and no bite.


Scarlett yanked Michael’s hair so that they were now face to face. Almost kissing.


“I’m going to do to you what you did to them. You thought it was smart to create a sex ring here, in Osthedege?”


Scarlett’s grip tighten, turning the muscle not blue, but purple. Soon, it’d be black, and then, completely off.

“Heh, but I’m not going to rape you. No. If I have to willingly participate in sex, then so do you. No, I’m going to have fun. I’m going to show you what it’s like to be humiliated in front of thousands. You’re going to see your family turn on you, spit on your face, and then call you back home. You’ll do shit you’ll regret for the rest of your life. Shit worse than any fucking pregnancy. You’ll live a nightmare for the rest of your damn life, and you can fucking bet on your fucking God, that it’s going to be a long one. You’ll want to kill me, fucking torture me. And then, when that dimwitted red head of yours realizes you can’t, you’ll try to commit suicide. Numerous times. Hell, you might even succeed every now and then. But then I’d bring you back, and we’ll start this all over again.”

The fire sizzled behind Scarlett, casting a shadow on her all too euphoric face. Though he could no longer see them, Michael tried to stare deep into her eyes. Sweat and bloody tears ran down his face, as he trembled and gasped for air, for relief.

“Who the fuck are you?” She had taken his men, was taking his manhood, and a week earlier had taken what he spent his entire life creating. He could not hate anyone, anything, as much as he did her. Not even God could save her from his repugnance, his hatred.

Scarlett paused for a second, before whispering,”I’m your fucking Nightmare.” Though, truth be told, the only thing anyone heard that night was screaming in the distance as Michael’s skin broke.


© Copyright 2019 Jailyn Gonzalez. All rights reserved.

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