This is an advisory warning to readers: the content below is pretty harsh, violent, and disturbing. I'm warning you now, if you get triggered by unsettling material, please skip this chapter. I will going forward continue to put a warning for chapters that have more-than-usual unsettling content.
No one ever slipped away.
No one ever disrespected him the way that pink haired bitch did; and get away with it.
She's all he's been able to think about. The scene played over and over again in his head; haunting him, her small hand slapping the shit out of him over and over and over and over and over and over—each time harder than the last. He wanted to pluck those fucking eyes out, the way they were looking at him like that. No one ever looked at him like that. He was a fucking god among the pathetic excuse that was humanity. He was to be respected and feared; not sneered at like a fucking roach.
For each time she'd slap him, he'd imagine his hand wrapping around her throat. He'd become giddy at the idea of pinning her down, slapping her the same way she had slapped him—fucking her so hard and raw that he'd permanently ruin her for the buyers after him. He wanted to punch her in her pretty mouth; to bust open those petal-pink lips and watch the blood dribble out from the split like cherry juice. He'd imagine the way he'd do it, too. He'd slap her first, as hard as he could possibly imagine; until her face was swollen and raw. He'd bust her lip next, licking up to taste her blood and bite down hard; tugging and hoping it'd tear even more. He'd dig his finger deep into one of her eyes and scoop it out—no one would care if the bitch was blind in one eye. He'd bite down all over her pale skin, making sure to tear away at the flesh each time. He'd pluck out some of her pearly teeth and shove them in his pocket for safe keeping. He'd break a finger or two, cut off her earlobe, and dig his knife into her pussy nice and good. Then, while she was still able to see him with her good eye; he'd shove her face into the concrete to break her nose, spread her open wide and shove his cock into her ass as deep and as rough as possible. He'd fuck her until she was screaming at the top of her lungs, begging him to stop—but he wouldn't. He'd fuck her in every way imaginable, making sure it hurt. He'd use her all up, and then sell her off to the cheapest, scummiest bidder; where she'd be sucking disease ridden dicks in some run-down shack for the rest of her life.
He'd spare no expense in making sure he got his hands on her. He'd never thought about a woman the way he thought about her, and he figured this is what love must feel like. Maybe he'd keep her for a little bit, make her suffer nice and long to prove to her just how much he loved her. He'd make sure she was utterly alone, she would have no one; her days would start with him and end with him. He figured it would be nice to come home to a blow job every day, especially if he did pull her teeth out it would be a breeze. He'd punish her, use her, and then when she was completely wasted, he'd give her up. Maybe as a memento, he'd use the edge of his blade to scrape off that mark on her forehead—let it dry and hang it up as a reminder that no one disrespects him and gets away with it.
No one.