Serina Accardi had everything, and wanted for nothing. Her brother gave her whatever she desired, but kept the parts of her destined world out of her reach.
Until she lost everything in one night to a man who's eyes looks like the devils wrath.
Th...
mature content meant for eyes of 16+, you've be warned
Just A quick note—I hate Writing this part of the book and I am so ready for Satan to just die. •
I want you to feel my rage that is like a hurricane, feel my anger that is like a storm and feel my hate that is like the end of the world. Because everything I went through, I went through for you, and it'd do it a hundred times again.
•
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Four months, one week and two days. That's how long I've been kept as a object for Suck-A-Dick Satan. The wedding band sat on my bruised finger like both him and Thomas were attempting to banish my fight further away. But I didn't know how to give up, and I sure as hell don't know when to quit when I'm ahead.
The wedding was quick, papers signed and notarized. No white dress, no priest and no guests—just me, Satan and Thomas in his office.
Though Thomas now, four retched months later; lay in his bed, his lungs blackened from years of smoking cigarettes, restricting him to bed rest and an oxygen tank that will only buy him so much time.
Satan now sat on the throne of his new empire like it was the point of his existence, as he silently counted the days until his oh so revered master met his timely fate.
Satan sat upon his throne now, like a self proclaimed God, all while he had me on my knees at his feet, like a dog he could command—like every word he spoke I was blessed to understand.
The whores wear that covered me was so sheer I may as well not be wearing anything, but Satan wanted me to suffer in the way I was.
He wanted my humiliation.
His hand placed on the back of my head I froze, as he glided his calloused fingers through my hair. "I want you to cut this, the length Is disgusting." He said as he held the ends of my hair in his hands. Pulling it ever so slightly.
My hair was part of who I was, it symbolized something for me—and I know that sounds stupid—but it was a important part of me. "My hair?" I asked, as I turned over to look at him.
"To your shoulders." He said blankly as he saw my hesitation, all while I let my mouth hang open. My hair ran just past my mid back...it took me years to grow it that long.
I swallowed as I looked back ahead of me, my lip trembling as I stare forward. Satan's hand gliding over and down my shoulders. His finger tracing the bruises he put there, from a few night ago when he was mad that I fought back when he tried to fuck me.
But his Dicksicle wasn't getting anywhere near me, who knows what kind of diseases that man has.
"there's the gathering of capos tomorrow night at a sort of party, and I haven't decided whether you deserve to go or not." He said as he pulled at the strap of my bra.
