Mors

Chapter 16

Trigger Warning.

I was stripped bare right there in the center of the church, and the brutal reality of it finally hit me. Augustino didn’t just want my body. That would be too simple, too merciful. He wanted to completely hollow me out until there was absolutely nothing left inside me but him. He wanted to scrape away every single piece of who I used to be.

The humiliation burned through my veins like acid, branding me forever. I clenched my fists, digging my fingernails so hard into my palms I thought they’d bleed, as I felt the heavy, terrifying weight of him shifting to position himself behind me.

“Look up,” Augustino suddenly chuckled.

The sound was dark, amused, and it sent a violent shiver straight down my spine. When I refused to move, keeping my eyes glued to the stone floor, his hand snapped around my throat. He squeezed, completely cutting off my airflow, and violently forced my head up.

“Look at this motherfucker,” he growled, his voice a low hiss in my ear. “He is eager to see you get fucked.”

Through my blurred, watery vision, I looked at the pastor. The man was still on the floor, groaning in agony from the bullet wound, but as my eyes adjusted, the horror deepened. There was a crazed, frantic look in his eyes. He wasn't looking away. He wasn't praying for my soul. He was staring directly at us, his chest heaving.

My eyes widened in absolute shock. I didn't even know this man, he had no connection to me whatsoever, but the sheer weight of the betrayal made me feel like I was suffocating. In a place that was supposed to be a sanctuary, I was entirely alone.

“Well, let's fill the dying man's wish,” Augustino growled.

The casual amusement in his tone vanished, replaced by a rough, heavy rasp that I hated myself for noticing. He moved, slowly pushing something into me. Something that wasn't a c**k. Something that felt cold. I realized that it was the head of his gun pretty quickly.

I pursed my lips, squeezing my eyes shut as a sharp pain exploded through my entire body, shattering whatever numbness I had tried to force myself into. I barely had a second to process it before Augustino slammed the whole body of the gun all the way in, ruthless and unyielding.

“f**k,” he cussed under his breath.

I felt his body shiver against mine, a strange, sudden tremor that didn't make any sense given how completely in control he was. It was confusing, but my own situation was far too horrendously painful for me to waste a single second wondering why he was shaking or why his tone had shifted.

I started sobbing quietly, the hot tears streaming down my face and dripping onto the cold church floor as he continued his twisted humiliation ritual. He moved with a brutal, rhythmic pace that felt like it was wearing me down to the bone. After what felt like an absolute eternity of torture, Augustino leaned down, his chest pressing hard against my bare back.

“Drill this into your brain, Everly,” he whispered, his breath hot and malicious against my ear. “You can never escape me. I will hunt you down every single time you run, and each time, I will break you in ways you will never recover from.”

I bit my tongue so hard I tasted copper, the sheer, paralyzing horror of my new reality finally dawning on me. His words clanged around in my head, forcing me into a dark, desperate corner of analysis. I couldn't stop the thoughts from rushing in.

Should I have just stayed back? If I had willingly become his trained w***e, or a spy, or whatever twisted thing he wanted to turn me into, would my life be different right now? Would I have been able to at least negotiate for my life, or save a tiny shred of my freedom, if I had just lowered my head and pretended to be submissive from the start?

A thousand desperate questions flooded my mind, overwhelming me, until suddenly, the worst possible nightmare happened.

My traitorous, broken body actually started responding to him.

It was horrifying. Even the slightest, micro-tilt of his gun sent a dizzying wave of heat crashing through me, making my head spin in ways I had never experienced in my entire life. I hated every single second of it. I loathed the fact that despite the absolute terror, despite the violence and the location, my biology was betraying my mind. More than anything in the world, I hated him for showing me how weak my own flesh could be.

“God, look at this fucker,” Augustino laughed darkly, grabbing the back of my head and forcefully shoving my face down toward the pastor’s thighs. “He is turned on by your misery.”

To my absolute, stomach-churning horror, my eyes landed right on the pastor’s crotch. The fabric of his trousers was tented, his thing twitching visibly. He didn't even look like he was in pain from the bullet anymore; his entire existence had narrowed down to the sick, perverted thrill of watching my utter destruction.

The pure disgust made me want to violently recoil, to vomit, to tear myself away from both of them, but I couldn't move an inch. Augustino’s heavy hand was an immovable weight, pinning me down, trapping me in the center of their twisted gaze.

“As much as I enjoy toying with my game, I absolutely hate when others even think about touching it,” Augustino murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear as his pace quickened, pushing me toward a terrifying edge. “I hate things that are dirty. And you hadn't been tainted yet.”

And then, a deafening boom shattered the air.

The timing of it was what truly repulsed me, what made the trauma imbed itself permanently into my soul. Right at the exact second my body completely betrayed me, right when a horrific, unwanted orgasm tore through my muscles and made me shake uncontrollably, the gun went off.

Augustino shot the pastor. Right in the dead center of his forehead.

I screamed, a raw, bloody sound that scraped my throat raw as a warm spray of crimson splattered directly across my face and chest. The pastor’s head snapped back, his eyes rolling back as he went entirely limp on the floor. But the devil behind me didn't even flinch. He just chuckled, a low, manic sound that vibrated right through my trembling frame.

“To our successful deal,” Augustino murmured, his voice smooth again.

He reached down and brutally yanked the heavy silver rosary right out of the dead pastor’s stiffening fingers. With a sharp flick, he threw the cold metal beads around my neck. The crucifix dangled against my bare, blood-splattered skin.

“This is your price for running away,” he said coldly, finally pulling the gun out of me and stepping back.

The sudden absence of his heat made the cold air of the church hit me like a physical blow. I collapsed forward onto my hands and knees, shivering violently, covered in the blood of a man who had died watching my violation.

Augustino didn't look back. He calmly smoothed down the front of his flawless charcoal suit. His shoes clicked with that same slow, terrifyingly deliberate rhythm as he walked down the aisle toward the exit.

When he reached the heavy double doors, he paused. He turned his head slightly, giving one last, mocking look at the massive wooden cross hanging above the altar.

“Glory to God,” he said softly, a sickening smirk evident in his voice.

Then, he pushed the doors open and walked out into the fading evening light, leaving me behind, a broken, sobbing mess on the blood-soaked stone, with no choice but to gather the ruined scraps of my clothes and follow him right back into the hellhole I had tried so hard to escape.

~•~