Virulent (Folie à Deux Book 1) Read online

  “You’re a sick bitch, baby girl. My sweet and perfect little Molly.” His voice is husky and rough, just the way I like it.

  “Of course, I am, that’s why you love me.” I laugh. I’m happy that he loves me as broken as I am. The carving before me has made my panties wet. “Such a pretty body for such a pretty night. The little girl is happy, giving you a fright.”

  “I love you more than life, Sweet Molls,” Pike tells me, kissing the side of my head as he pulls me into his arms. I’m once again drenched in blood, but my need is satiated. He lifts me bridal style, walking us to the fire escape and I know Pike is taking me home for a good fuck.

  The Choice

  Pike

  I’ve been sitting at the kitchen table staring at the small, wooden box in front of me for the past hour. It’s midnight and Molly still isn’t home. I don’t know where she’s gone, and she didn’t leave a note of any kind to tell me where she went off to.

  I worry about her going out alone because sometimes, her little rhymes tend to creep out onto the tip of her tongue and she’ll sing a song to anyone that’s willing listen—and those who choose to ignore her, usually get to meet the void inside of her.

  That comes with blood and a happy girl after.

  It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does because I know that Molls can handle herself, but it still fucks me up not knowing where she is.

  The clouds shift in the dark night sky, allowing a thick sliver of moonlight to illuminate the contents in the box and I blow my breath out in a rush. Do I want to do this? Do I want to add more to the monsters that are already inside of her head, or mine for that matter?

  I know I won’t decide until she gets home.

  Whenever the fuck that is, I think as I cast a glance at the green digital lights on the oven. It’s only been three minutes since I opened this fucking box and I can’t stand the silence of these empty halls. Either I would be able to hear her tossing and turning in our bed because I’m not in it, or I would be smiling at her as she sat across from me and stared with child-like adoration, as she sometimes tends to do.

  I use my forefinger to flip the lid down and my thumb to catch it and push it back up. It’s a silent melody that will help keep me calm now that I need it. Little things like this—tricks I’ve taught myself not to lose my shit over Molly being out on her own usually work for the most part, but the longer I sit here doing this, the more I’m convinced that ripping the fucking lid off might be a better way to ease my current stress level.

  With a grunt, I push the box away, almost tossing it clear off the table. I get to my feet and walk into the kitchen, fumbling around in the dark to retrieve my fresh pack of smokes that I know is on the counter somewhere. Once my hands close around it, I turn it upside down and pack it against my palm before using my teeth to rip off the plastic wrapper. I jam one of the cigarettes between my teeth and use my gift to light it, inhaling deeply as I run a thumb across my forehead.

  The only illumination in this lonely home besides the few times the clouds have granted a semblance of mercy in moving from fucking view, are the embers from my cigarette, and I don’t know if it’s too much right now or not enough.

  I let out a grunt of frustration as I walk back to the kitchen table and sit down in my chair. I reach for the box to pull it back toward me and flip the lid open. I want to do this right now—I want to fly high above the clouds and not look down until I have to again, but I want Molly to be here with me. I don’t want to go anywhere without her close by and I know she’ll want to fly with me too.

  I get back up and walk into the living room, pushing the curtains completely open. My hands begin to drum against my thighs as I slowly bob my head up and down to a tune I heard the other day. It’s something of a nervous tick lately but it seems to be working better than fucking with the box.

  I reach up with one hand to pull the cigarette from my lips, while keeping the melody going with my other, and that’s when I see the familiar flash of wild blonde hair coming down the street. I move closer to the window, pressing myself against it as much as I can to make sure she’s okay because she keeps looking over her shoulder and it seems like she’s talking to someone I can’t see.

  I roll my eyes at the last thought. There are days that Molly spends talking to someone I can’t see, and it’s never bothered me before since I know that the “someone” is usually in her head.

  I’ve got to get her back on her meds, I think as she disappears from sight.

  A few moments later I can hear the echo of her boots as she trots up the stairs to our place, then the sound of the keys jingling. The door creaks softly as Molly attempts to slip in unnoticed, probably assuming that I’m asleep.

  I keep my back to the door—I don’t want to upset her by not being where she expects me to be.

  Molly huffs as she wrestles her boots off, then walks into the kitchen. Her small, bare feet making the cutest sound as she moves across the floor. I turn ever so slightly to glance over my shoulder and steal a look in her direction. She has her back to me as she chugs from the orange juice carton before she puts it back into the fridge and I turn away again.

  “Baby?” she calls out nervously.

  I bring my fist up to my mouth and take a deep drag from my smoke before I turn to face her. I want to ask her where she’s been, but I know she’ll tell me when she’s ready to. I just hate the fucking sneaking around and secrets.

  “Why are you up?” she asks, tapping her leg with the boots still clutched in her hands.

  “Can’t sleep when you’re not home. You know that,” I say as gently as I can.

  “Sorry,” she replies, looking away and running a hand back through her hair. “I wasn’t doing anything bad though, okay? I promise.”

  “I know,” I say with a nod.

  Molly drops her boots in the kitchen as she walks quickly toward me, sliding her arms around my waist and placing the tip of her chin against my chest. The way she’s looking at me right now—like me believing her possible lie is the only thing giving her life right now makes me smile slightly.

  “I have something that I wanted to try, but I was waiting for you to get home,” I start slowly. Molly tilts her head to the side and waits for me to continue. I drape my arms around her shoulders, lean down, and kiss the tip of her nose.

  “Wanna fly with me?” I ask her softly.

  “What?” she asks with a nervous grin, screwing up her beautiful face in slight confusion.

  “Tonight’s the night that I give you everything you ever wanted, Molls,” I tell her, my smile slipping into a grin. “Everything you didn’t know you needed starts once we take what’s in that box.”

  She turns slightly and follows the direction of my nod, her gaze falling on the table. She pulls her arms away from me as she walks over and perches in one of the chairs, then glances at me expectantly.

  That’s one of the things I love about her—she trusts me unconditionally and if I told her I wanted to play another game of Russian Roulette like we had after the first time we fucked, she’d load the bullet, and spin the chamber herself. It was a stupid fucking thing to do, but we both only went once, and I just had to be sure that this was a commitment we were both willing to make to each other.

  A fast and wicked life together or death at our own hands.

  There’s no in-between for us, nor should there be. Not with the shit I know we’re capable of doing.

  I take a deep breath and walk to the table, pulling out one of the chairs next to her and sitting down before I flip the box open again.

  “Here,” I say, holding a small piece of paper out toward her. I gently push her hand away from her mouth before she has a chance to try and consume it. “That one is for me,” I tell her with a smile. “This one is for you.”

  I hold the paper up to her line of sight and her eyes widen with excitement. I think Molly understands more than she likes to let on, but she gets a kick out of me babying her, so she doesn’t really
show her true self unless she has to.

  “On the count of three,” I tell her softly, holding the magic against her lips.

  “One.”

  She opens her mouth and I do the same.

  “Two.”

  Molly slides her tongue slowly out of her mouth, barely able to contain herself at what’s to possibly come next.

  “Three.”

  I open my mouth and as she places the small, square paper on my tongue, I do the same to her. She closes her eyes and I reach for her, pulling her close as I put the cigarette out on the kitchen table.

  Tonight is going to be a glorious start to something that should have begun a long time ago, and this will help us lose our inhibitions and be our true, animalistic selves.

  The Father

  Molly

  Pike pulls the car up to the open brick building that looms over the small town as if it’s a savior. I know it’s not. It’s a fucked-up place where people think they’re being cleansed of sins, when all they’re doing is covering up the filth they have plaguing their minds.

  I giggle.

  “You okay, baby girl?” Pike questions, his hand on my thigh, squeezing it which makes me whimper with need. He fucked me this morning, two hours ago exactly. I watched the clock on our bedside table as I bounced on his thick pierced dick and made sure that when we got here, he’d be ready for another good, hard fuck.

  He has that look on his face. A sinful smirk.

  “I’ve never been happier, Daddy,” I murmur, making sure to use the nickname I’ve given him. Even though we’re not meant to be doing the things we do, I can’t help but crave his touch, the way he makes me scream and moan.

  “Good girl. Now, let’s go,” he exits the car, leaving me staring at his ass that’s hugged in a pair of dark jeans. He opens my door, offering his tattooed hand and I slip my fingers through his. The sun is still high in the sky when we walk into the building that’s dimly lit with candles.

  The stained-glass windows make it seem even darker than it really is, but the shards of colorful light that follow us as we step inside make for a beautiful rainbow. I love rainbows.

  “Little Miss Molly, lost her dolly,” I pout. “She’s in the chair, with her legs in the air. She doesn’t like to come to church because that’s where she gets hurt.” A giggle bubbles in my chest when Pike glances my way, shaking his head at my rhyme.

  I know he loves it really. He loves me. I remember the day he first reached for me. When he slipped into bed and curled himself around me. His body cocooned under the pink comforter my mother always insisted I use.

  “Baby girl,” Pike warns. “We need to sit down and pray before you can sing.” His tone is so serious, I’m sure he’s trying to be a real Daddy to me now. But it’s okay, he likes being in charge. He likes making me a good girl for him.

  “I know,” I shrug as we wander through the building, finding it barren. I spy candles sitting on the altar, flames dancing in the low lights. Pike saunters over to one of the pews, settling himself before turning to me.

  “Why don’t you go up there and play for me, baby girl,” he gestures to the organ sitting in the right corner beside the pastor’s chair. Racing up toward the instrument, I sit my ass on the bench and place Gigi—my knife—beside me. My fingers trail the ebony and ivory keys before I close my eyes and play from memory.

  It’s easy to recall the melody that I learned when I was so much younger. When Pike and I used to play hide and seek. It was always fun when he found me. He’d lift me against his hard body and tell me how pretty I was. He was the only boy I loved; he stole my heart the moment he stole a kiss.

  I play the song that he hums along to. It’s nothing in particular, just something between me and the man I love. My Daddy. Pike.

  “Who are you?” A gruff voice comes from behind me, interrupting my playing. My body burns in anger at the intrusion. Pike ceases his humming and my fingers still on the keys.

  “Little Miss Molly lost her dolly, and now she wants to play, but everybody always runs away.” My rhyme is fun, it makes my heart flutter and calms my mind. There’s always noise in my head, in my ears. Only Pike knows how to make it better. He told me I’m a special girl, that I’m meant to have more love than others. I don’t know what he means, but he loves me a lot. I like how much he loves me. He makes my body fly.

  “I’m going to have to ask you both to leave,” the man in the black long dress looks at us with fear and anger swirling together like a pattern of a candy cane.

  “I don’t want to leave. I like this.” I poke the keys of the organ, causing the large space to fill with echoing sounds from the pipes.

  “Please, miss, that isn’t a toy.”

  “Toys are for boys, and dollies are for girls. Gigi wants to play the game, perhaps you’d like to bear her name? Bloody droplets, so pretty and red, I want them all over my hands.” I rise, strolling over to him, holding Gigi tight in my hand. I lean into the old man’s face, my eyes trailing over the wrinkles in his pallid skin. “Old men make me angry. They make me rage. I like to carve. I like to dissect. You’re nothing but an insect.”

  “Sweet Molly,” Pike’s voice comes from the pew, he’s watching me with those big blue eyes. They hold me hostage for a moment before he gives me that filthy smirk and a naughty wink. “Have fun, my sweet baby girl.” He pulls a smoke from the packet, putting it between his lips. I watch him light it up, the pastor mumbling something about the devil’s children and I can’t help giggling.

  The man’s face is a picture. It’s filled with fear and anguish, and I can’t stop giggling when he attempts to run away. Pike pulls his gun from his jacket. “If you want to live, you’ll come back here,” he tells the old man, cocking the gun like a real-life hero.

  The pastor halts dead in his tracks and spins around. His eyes widen when he sees the weapon in Pike’s hand. The same hand that made me squirt all over it earlier this morning at breakfast. Then he licked all my juices from his fingers, telling me I was his favorite candy.

  “Please, just leave. I won’t call the police.” His begging only makes me giggle some more. His body is shaking in fear, and I revel in it. Like a drug satiating my hunger, I smile. Lifting Gigi to my tongue, I slowly lick the blade.

  “Please don’t cry, please don’t run, I’ll come all over the naughty nun.” I swirl the knife as I near him. My hand grips his black cassock, pulling him closer to me. Leaning in, I run my lips over his old wrinkled skin, “did you put your old cock in a nun, Father?” I question, laughing when he shudders. Father. It’s such a strange word. I prefer Daddy because Pike is mine and he’s good to me. My father broke me. He made my head funny, and now I do things that other people don’t. I lift my knife, pressing the tip along his papery flesh.

  “Fathers need to hurt. Fathers need to cry. They do bad things all the time, but what they believe, is all a lie. Their fingers are dirty. Their cocks are filth. He pushed inside my little holes and made me cry. He was happy and smiley, until it was time for him to die.”

  His eyes widen in shock at my words, at the poem I wrote just for him. I shove him to the ground until he is on his hands and knees. He attempts to crawl away, but I’m faster. My heavy black boot finds his ankle and I stomp on it as if I’m squishing a bug. A loud crack along with an echoing screech of agony is music to my ears.

  “Get out. Get out now,” the old man grunts, the bible he’d been carrying is on the floor beside him. “You’re devil children.” His eyes find mine and I laugh—it’s maniacal, and it makes him gasp. I tug my tank top over my head and smile.

  “Look, he’s going to get a hard on looking at my tits,” I tell Daddy. The old man’s eyes are wide when Pike’s hands maul my nipples through the soft material of my bra. I can’t stop whimpering as he teases the hardened buds.

  “I think you’re right, sweet Molls,” Pike chuckles from behind me. “I think he’ll watch us.” Hands trail between my legs, lifting the pink mini skirt I’m wearing to find m
y wet panties. Pike’s fingers toy with my clit, circling it as the old man watches. He can’t turn his filthy gaze away from us.

  “I think he needs to learn, Daddy,” I whisper, my head dropping back onto Pike’s shoulder as he continues his ministrations.

  “Get out!” The old man shouts, causing me to snap my gaze on him.

  “Listen, Father,” Pike says, releasing me and lifting the gun toward the priest. “My baby girl wants to play and when she wants something, I make sure she gets it.” My Daddy aims the weapon at the knee of the wrinkled old fuck and pulls the trigger, allowing the loud shot to ring through the space.

  He cries out in agony and I giggle as I pounce on him. My legs on either side of his waist. My hips roll wildly as I rub myself against him. He’s sick. He is. They told me I was broken, but even in his agony, the asshole can’t keep his dick down.

  “Little Molly likes to play. Little Molly likes to maim. It’s her favorite game. She loves to hear you scream. It makes her happy, it makes her dream. Blood and guts pool on the floor. When she takes Gigi and stabs you even more.”

  I take my sleek silver blade and slice it through his wrinkled flesh, smiling at how pretty the red color of his blood is as it drips from his pale skin. I happily press the tip over his lips and slice a bigger smile for the old Father who looks far too sad.

  His screams and screeches make me tingle in the same special place that Pike licked and touched when he knew he shouldn’t’ve. And even now, when Pike puts his cock inside me, and he tells me things we’re going to do together, I know people would call us sinners. I don’t care though, Pike is the only one who understands me.

  I take the knife and cut a large M in the Father’s forehead. His body shuddering below me as I make sure the letter looks perfectly formed on his pale flesh. Pike reaches for me, drenched in the blood of the evil man.