All Chapters of Kissed By Chaos: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Waylon awakened a monster. As soon as his dick entered me, I wanted him all of the time. And he was a willing participant.In between classes, we would lock ourselves in a bathroom or a broom closet, and he would take me against the wall.Or during our last morning class, I quickly discarded my leggings, straddled him in the seat he sat in during class. I made quick work of pushing down his pants so I could ride him right then and there.When we came, he held me against his chest, and it was perfect. “And here I thought that I would need to convince you to have sex in random places.” He said as she brushed a strand of hair away from my face.I snorted at him and rested my head against his shoulder. His cum started to leak down my thighs.“I wanted to ask you something?” He said as he rubbed my back.His voice was serious, and I pulled away so I could look into his eyes. “What’s up?” I swallowed loudl

My emotions were warring with themselves. On the one hand, Wakely was going to save Mom. On the other hand, I hated that she could afford to pay for something so expensive.That thought never crossed my mind. I never wanted to take anything from her. I was no mooch, and yet here she was dropping hundreds of thousands of dollars to save my mom.“Don’t worry about it. I’ll go talk to someone and organize a payment. Why don’t you all go back into the room and tell her the good news?” Wakely said as soon as everyone stopped hugging her.I have never seen my dad hug anyone he wasn’t related to. He wasn’t the touchy-feely type, but there he was giving Wakely a bear hug.I kissed her hard before she walked away to find out who she needed to speak to about covering my mom’s treatment.Dad brushed a tear away. That was something new. I never saw my dad cry. But here he was wiping a tear away.“Wha

I knew that being here was going to be hard. But as soon as I saw his face, I snapped. I wanted to burn down the fucking house. To burn away every single terrible memory that this place brought.My father used this place as a prison for me when he went too far, when he abused me. I would show up, and he told me I couldn’t leave or talk to a single soul. But seeing his portrait was it. He no longer had me under his thumb.I stormed through the house, grabbing pictures and portraits off the walls. I knew this place like the back of my hand. I knew where every single fucking picture of my father was. He was alone, holding a medal or posing with dignitaries and celebrities. I didn’t care. I wanted them all gone.“Here,” Waylon said, holding out his arms to take the load of pictures I had already grabbed. I handed them to him. And he handed them to his brothers.“How many pictures does this prick have of himself?” Whittaker

My heart was pounding in my chest, and my stomach churned. I was going to throw up. I darted away from my father’s office, down the hall to the closest bathroom.As soon as I met the toilet, I purged everything in my stomach. There wasn’t much, but my body needed to reject everything in my body. I was the daughter of a serial killer.“Wakely,” Waylon said as he busted through the bathroom door. He knelt beside me and held back my hair. “I’m here.”Tears were streaming down my face. I wasn’t sure if that was because of the throwing up or the emotional realization that my father was actually a horrible person.I already knew that he was, but this made him way worse. “He killed all of those women.” I finally said into the toilet.“We can’t be sure.” He said.I glanced up at him. “He did it. Why would he keep those articles if he didn’t? Those are his trophies. Proof that he got away with murder.”“Let’s call Detective Raines and talk to her. Maybe this will help her case.” Waylon said as

The water washed over me. I wished that it would wash away the last couple hours so that I didn’t find those articles in that damn vault.Actually, that wasn’t true. I was glad that I found them; maybe finding them would put him permanently away so he couldn’t hurt anyone else.The thing that bothered me the most was that I had his blood running through my veins. I was part serial killer. I knew that Waylon would tell me that didn’t matter, that I was a good person, but it bothered me.I didn’t know my mother very well. The question remained, why would she be with someone so cruel? I racked my brain to think if there was even a hint of abuse. Did I ever see her crying?No.Did I ever see her with cuts or bruises?No.I was five, but I remember sitting on her lap, her arms wrapped around me, reading a story. I remembered her laugh. Of her singing and dancing in the kitchen. She didn’t seem like a bea