Ivy's Venom (Whitsborough Progenies) by C.A. Rene (rocket ebook reader .TXT) 📕

but the hallways are empty, I can hear the faraway hum of the floor polisher and luckily the custodian is far from Dean’s office. We hook a left at the first corridor and I see the secretary’s office up ahead, beside hers is Dean’s. I’m petrified but at the same time, I’m excited to see fear in his eyes. Maybe Mom is right, the darkness really is inside of me, waiting to be unleashed.

I’m shocked when she opens the secretary’s door and softly closes it behind us. Dean’s office is always locked from the corridor, to get to him, you have to use the adjoining door from the secretary’s office.

I open my mouth to ask her how she knew, but she turns on me abruptly and presses her finger to her mouth. I nod and gulp back my words. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Mom opens the door and I hear a bit of rustling, “Carol, did you forget something?”

His voice has me freezing on the spot and I can’t seem to collect my thoughts. Mom steps into the room and I hear Dean jump from his chair with a shout.

“Hello Jerry Thompson,” Mom literally coos. “I heard you’ve been asking around about me.”

I can’t move from this spot in the secretary’s office and even though he is not in my line of sight, hearing him is having the same effect.

“Black Slaughter.” He sounds… terrified. My body relaxes and I take a few steps forward. I like that he sounds that way.

“Ding ding!” Mom claps her hands and I can’t help but grin at her antics. “You deserve a prize.”

“No,” his voice shakes and it stirs something in the pit of my stomach, “no, I don’t need a prize.”

I take a few more steps inside of his office but the door blocks me from his view.

“Too bad.” Mom takes a step towards him, “sit in your seat, Dean.” That’s what he makes everyone call him because he’s so proud of his position.

I hear his seat creak as he sits back down and my chest is brimming with adrenaline. Mom walks towards his desk and out of my line of sight.

“Wait, don’t take that out.” I hear his voice squeak with fear, “we can talk about this.”

I want to know what she has, I want to see what she does to him, and most of all, I want him to see me.

I step out from behind the door and walk up to the front of his desk, the very spot he continuously fucked me on. I see Mom twirling a large hunting knife in her hand and it has the same sugar skulls carved into the handle.

“Wait,” his hand shakes as he points to me. “There are two of you? What’s that one’s name?”

“Name?” Mom turns to look at me. I don’t have a fucking name, should I have a name? “Neither of us have names, Dean. We are Black Slaughter.”

He stands abruptly and I notice Mom tenses, her stance changing slightly. His eyes look wildly between us and he darts for the side of the desk I’m on, clearly making a run for it. Mom pushes me to the desk as she intercepts Dean with a quick punch to his ear and then a hard kick to his kneecap. He drops to the floor with a shout and I watch in astonishment as Mom punches him hard on the cheek. His skin splits and the blood swells around the wound.

“That wasn’t smart, Dean.” She begins to undo his tie. “Black Slaughter, get the chair.”

I bring one of the chairs by his desk to her side and once again I’m shocked as she tosses him into it. Dean is not a small man, he’s not as big as my dad, but he’s not small either. Mom is fucking Hercules.

He begins to struggle and she punches him another two times in the mouth, his lip splitting open.

“Keep testing me,” she snarls, “I fucking love this shit.”

Nope, definitely not my mom.

She takes his tie and wraps it around his neck as his head lolls from the blows. He’s on the brink of passing out and I can’t believe I’m feeling disappointed. I want him to struggle more so Mom will continue to punish him.

Mom is now standing behind him and the chair, tightening the tie, forcing his head up. His eyes widen and his fingers dig at the silk material, blood red in colour. Didn’t he want to see if it would match my blood?

I walk forward slowly and I can see Mom’s black painted eyebrow raise in question, but she doesn’t stop me. I swipe my fingers over his cheek, gathering the blood and then hold it against the tie.

“It really does match the colour of blood.”

The colour drains from his face and he begins to struggle again, until Mom’s fist hits the side of his head. His head snaps to the left and then he slowly lifts it up again.

“Ivy?” He questions.

I don't answer him because there’s no point. I know he knows who I am. Instead, I watch Mom knot the tie to the back of the chair and then she’s back in front of him. If he struggles too much, the fabric of the tie will dig deeper into his throat and he’ll choke. Then, Mom begins to undo his belt, pulling it from the loops, and once again stands behind him, putting me back in his view.

“I can’t believe you set this up.” He says to me. “Did you kill Serrano to?”

“No,” Mom replies, “I did make sure he received a warning.” She laughs, “I guess the coward ran.”

The more I hear his words and that smarmy voice, the angrier I get. That feeling builds more in the pit of my stomach and works its way upward. Mom wraps the belt around his left arm and tightens it to the back of the chair.

“Your belt.” She points to the one around my waist.

I undo it and hand it over,