Sadie's Game (Ashby Crime Family)

I lowered until I felt his mouth, his tongue moving clumsily around my pussy. He flicked his tongue and sucked and slurped my clit.

But I wouldn’t make it so easy. My hips moved back and forth, fucking his face slowly at first and then harder and harder until arousal took over.

“This is how you taught them, right? Trial by fire? No love? Just threats of fire and brimstone?”

He grunted and squirmed, and I fucked his face harder until my nipples beaded.

“Please,” he groaned, the sound vibrating against my pussy until I came.

“Please. Is that how the children begged you to stop?”

“Stop,” he growled, a move that sent another aftershock through me.

I laughed. “Not so fun when you’re not in a powerful position, is it?”

James glared up at me when I slid down his body, and I laughed again.

“You’re a crazy bitch, you know that?”

“I’ve been called worse,” I told him as I lowered myself onto his cock. It was long and thick, something a woman would appreciate. A kid, not so much.

He groaned in pleasure, and his eyes closed.

“A woman like me, I could appreciate this cock of yours. It’s just too bad you used it for evil.”

“You believe in evil?”

“No. I believe in men. Flesh and blood men,” I told him as I rocked on his cock. “Who do terrible things simply because they can. Men like you. Not deities nor fairytales.”

His eyes remained closed against the pleasure while I bounced on his cock. His body tensed fast, a sign his orgasm was close. I never stopped on his cock as one hand went to my thigh, to my trusty blade tucked into my lace-tops.

“You should have come to me. I would have given you the fuck you needed. But you didn’t.”

“Oh God,” he growled and gripped my hips.

“Look at me.”

His eyes flew open, and my cunt pulsed around him. “It’s irresistible,” he insisted.

“I know,” I told him just as his jaw tightened. “Too bad this is vengeance. Pure fucking vengeance.” The minute his grip tightened, I touched the razor-sharp blade to his neck, and in a flash, I slid it across his throat. Fear and pain flickered in his eyes, followed by resignation.

It was always the same.

His blood was everywhere, and I was bathed in it, covered completely in the warm, red liquid.

My cleanup crew arrived before the blood had cooled, leaving not one fucking trace that I had ever been there.

“Get out. I need to think.” I needed to replay the scene at the church to see what, if anything, that little bitch might have on me. If Jasper was right and there was something, I needed to figure out where I fucked up and fix it. ASAP.

“Now, Jasper. Get out.”

He nodded and got up silently, leaving as if nothing was wrong.

I reached for a bottle of Velvet Fire and went up to my room.

To think.

Chapter Ten

Sadie

After Owen Doyle, the only person I ever fell victim to was my own husband. Colm was Irish and Catholic, and when drunk as fuck, there was only one path a woman could take as far as Colm was concerned.

Obedience.

It killed me that I stayed silent for so long, knowing the hell that my boys were going through at the hands of gangsters masquerading as priests. I stayed silent out of fear of something worse. What if I said something again, and instead of beating the fuck out of me, Colm let other men molest my sons? What if he wasn’t content to offer the boys up to priests and added little Kat to the mix?

Every time I spoke up, I paid for it in swollen lips, wired jaws, popped blood vessels, sprained wrists and internal bruising to my lady parts. I paid at the hands of the man who had sworn to love and protect me and with every blow, every injury, I grew to hate him. Despise him.

Eventually, every ounce of love I’d ever felt for the man had been transformed into hate. Not just hate, but a visceral feeling that flowed through my veins until I was filled with nothing but booze and rage.

It was the only thing left between us after a while, our love of booze and our rage. Why the fuck Colm was so filled with rage, I’d never know. He grew up with everything. He had power he hadn’t earned, money to spend he didn’t make, and a woman who loved him dearly. Still, it wasn’t enough to stop his rage.

During the last year before he died—I didn’t know would be our last—I was no longer Colm’s victim. I was his equal. His tormentor.

I reminded him of all the things he’d done wrong in his life, a list that always started and ended with what he allowed his own sons to endure. Mentally torturing my husband was the second time I took my revenge.