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SIXTEEN: Apocalytic Hellslide
Last Updated:
2025-07-04 23:24:44
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Nursing the Murderer Alpha King SEVENTEEN: Ferris Wheel
The moment he nods toward that fucking steel serpent in the sky, my soul evacuates my body like rats off a sinking ship.“That’s my favorite,” he says with a grin that has no business being this pretty. “You should’ve known that already, baby. We’ve ridden it before, haven’t we?”Haha.Yeah. Sure. Of course we have.I grab the ticket like it’s a goddamn execution slip and pretend my vision isn’t tunneling around the edges.“You coming?” he asks, already walking.I nod like a bobblehead on cocaine. “Oh, absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”No. I would miss it. I’m dying. I am already dead. This is purgatory.The line is short, because apparently, most people aren’t suicidal. The screams from the top echo as distant war cries and my legs start vibrating before we even make it to the gates. I try not to show it. I even link my arm through his and it’s definitely helping with making it seem as if we’re a cozy, stable, married couple and not a psych ward waiting to happen.Dante lo
Nursing the Murderer Alpha King SIXTEEN: Apocalytic Hellslide
I regret everything.The lights are too bright, the air smells like fried dough and burnt rubber, and Dante—Dante is vibrating. Not visibly. Not like a chihuahua on meth. No. Internally. There’s something simmering under his skin, begging for a reason to crack open and let blood out.He’s walking too close—too damn close—shoulder brushing mine every other step, breathing through his nose as though he’s fucking hunting. Every man that looks my way gets an eye-fuck so vicious I feel secondhand pain. And we haven’t even hit the main strip yet.The crowd’s thick, chaotic. Music’s blaring from every direction—Eurotrash remixes, kids screaming, teenagers dry-humping on the tilt-a-whirl. And Dante’s beside me, sniffing the air, which he might just be trying to find which part of this place he wants to murder first.I clutch my phone tighter, my thumb swiping over the screen one more time.‘I need you to plant actors at the carnival. People Dante will believe. Old neighbors, fake friends, I d
Nursing the Murderer Alpha King FIFTEEN: The Bathroom Escapade
“What were you calling, wife?”His voice is too calm and damn too level. It feels as though a blade is resting just above my skin, waiting to slide and cut me in half.I don’t answer. I fucking can’t. What do I even say, I'm calling your Beta so I could get rid of you? “Dante, give it.” I grit my teeth as I reach for the phone, praying he’ll let it go. Both he and I knows he won’t, and he doesn’t.Dante lifts his arm, casual as ever, dangling the burner just out of reach though I’m a child trying to snatch candy. My heart kicks against my ribs, and my fingers graze the edge of the device, but he simply steps back—and I follow like an idiot.“I said give it,” I mutter, throat dry. I glare at him but I have nothing against those hellish boody eyes. I would be dragged into it if I stay long enough.He cocks his head, his eyes being illuminated by the small window from the bathroom. “Who were you calling?”“None of your fucking business.” My voice shakes at my weak attempt at bravado, bu
Nursing the Murderer Alpha King FOURTEEN: Who Were You Calling?
The shower’s running and I’m stripped from head to toe. If I could burn those clothes, I would. He’s still humming, I can hear it through the loud showerhead in front of me, and I’m still fucking shaking. The warm water isn’t doing me favors at all.There’s blood dried under my nails when I scratched my cheeks off the dried, crusted blood when he cupped my face. When his fingers brushed my cheek like he was comforting me, not dragging me into hell.Red on my pajama top—right over my ribs. The stain smudged when he touched me. I don’t take long having to take a bath. I’ve changed into one of my silk pajamas after blow drying my hair. I can’t keep him waiting. I bet anyone wouldn’t want their husband waiting especially when they witness first hand what that said husband could do.I sit at the edge of the kitchen stool for five minutes now, in complete silence. I haven’t moved. Can’t. My legs are jelly, my head’s spinning. Dante has excused himself to take the bathroom now that I was
Nursing the Murderer Alpha King THIRTEEN: Did the Soup Boil Yet?
He walks past me, but it didn’t take long before my shaking hands found themselves reaching for him again. He immediately turns, those crimson orbs, eyeing me for anything wrong. “Please, just . . . don’t do anything stupid.” I whimper. A small smile spreads through his face, and he grabs something on the counter before turning to me. “How about this,” he trails of. “I’ll be back before this soup could even cook itself.” He winks.He takes my hand from my side, “Now wife, why don’t you stir this for me while you wait?”Dante hands me the wooden spatula like he’s asking me to water the plants, not babysit his fucking murder stew.“What?” I blink at him. “You-you’re supposed to be the one c-cooking. So, you have to come back to me.” I snarl, even with tears beginning to collect once more in my eyes.“I was,” he says, already pulling off his apron. “But I need you to check once it boils, okay?”“Please Dante, don’t hurt yourself.” I can’t lose you too . . . thats what I wanted to say bu
Nursing the Murderer Alpha King TWELVE: Good Girl
I stare straight into his eyes, with sheer determination lacing my voice. “No one.”I don’t miss the way his crimson eyes darken when I say it.Dante stares down at me, jaw ticking, and I swear I feel the pressure in my spine, like a fuckin’ blade running down it. He doesn’t move, nor does he blink. He simply stands there, stone-cold and fucking terrifying, watching me like I’m prey pretending to be clever.“You’re lying, wife.” His voice is a rasp—lethal, guttural, low. The kind of tone that makes your instincts scream to run. “And I told you . . . there’s no good in lying to me.”My mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. I choke on the air.Then I roll my eyes, even with the shiver running down my spine. “You’ve known me for what, five minutes? Don’t start playing lie detector.”His stare sharpens even more. Now there’s no amusement. No grin. No teasing smirk.Just cutting silence.The man, Lucien, that bastard who brushed past me is already long gone, lost in the river of bus
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