The Darkest Knight #8


Contains bad words and sex-y scenarios. This one contains some gore. Mature (18+) audiences only.

Read Episode 7 here.

Giorgio stepped from the back of the van, the sunlight slicing him across the whites of his eyes. Gage tossed a duffel bag which he caught with one hand, sat it on the van’s rear bumper, and pulled down the zipper.

Spasibo,” he said, rifling through the blades, some of them slicing open the skin on his fingers in the best of ways. He could almost smell them—the leather on the handles, the oils he used to keep them pristine, the bodies that had come before.

“It’s nothing,” Gage said. “You’ve got a whole collection. It’s not like it was hard to—”

Nyet.” Giorgio pulled out a dagger and balanced the tip on his index finger. “Diya Aleksi.”

“Come on, mate. He’s my nephew. That goes without saying. I’d do anything for him.”

A tvoy syn?

“Grey? He’s good. He’s perfect. The boys are safe.”

Giorgio tossed a knife over his shoulder. Gage snatched it from the air.

They’d stopped at a location on top of a hill a little over two hours away from the farmhouse. Directions had been preprogrammed into the vehicle’s navigation system, but Gage had “pried” information about the van’s destination from the former driver anyhow just to be certain they were on the right track. However, the driver hadn’t known the purpose behind abducting Giorgio or what they would find once they reached their destination.

It didn’t matter.

Even if his Bez wasn’t here, whoever was would give him information or die. Give him information and die.

Giorgio walked to the edge of the hill and peered down. At the bottom was a valley decked out with small cottage houses tucked neatly together, each delineated by a rainbow of shingle colors on their roofs. Tall fencing surrounded the properties that sat in the center of the slope like an isolated village in Europe. There was even a body of water where a small rowboat sat although, considering the size of the body of water, there wasn’t much anybody could do with the vessel but spin in circles. A single road led the way in and out.

Gage walked up beside him and looked down. “Looks like a modern-day hippie commune.”

They were several miles off so could only make out specks Giorgio assumed were people. It went without saying that if this was where they were holding his Bez, the fence definitely was surrounded by heavy security.

It didn’t matter.

He started off on the long trek down the hill, Gage in step next to him. His fingers were sore, cracked, and bleeding, and he delighted in the sensation. Once upon a time, his Bez had hated when he killed. She’d been afraid that his need to spill blood had been part of Vater’s mechanism of control, and she hadn’t been all the way incorrect. But this? This hard, beating pulse and these steady hands? They were not under Vater’s command. They were barely under his.

He was not a normal man nor would he pretend to be. He was a deviant. A demon. A miscreation borne from a mother he would never know and a father who’d spilled evil with each release of his seed. Bez had chosen to love him and be his wife. She’d given him a son, she tucked his hair behind his ears at night when they were in bed together, and she opened up her body to him without restraint. She was his in every way—ears, lips, heart, brain, nose, throat, pussy, breasts. There was no going back for her, not even if she tried. Not even if she wanted. If he was a beast, she was his master.

So no, he was no longer in command. Everyone . . . every-fucking-one . . . all who thought they were going to interfere with him giving his woman and his child the quiet and safe life he’d vowed to provide . . . would die today.

The right side of his mouth hitched up.


* * * * *


“Why do I have to stay caged in like an animal?” Mo asked, peering out at some kind of morbid congregation of pregnant women. While she sat perched on her screened balcony, two armed guards located at each side, the other women had been allowed to gather and chat and share fruit around a firepit.

They all looked so happy, it made her sick to her stomach. They were being duped. They thought Giorgio, her Gio, was the father of all their babies. They were giggling and chattering about finally meeting him in person after seeing him only in images. From what she’d learned from Anisa, all the women were impregnated in a dark room. A tall man with dark hair was all they’d been able to make out. He spoke Russian and copulated with them. Apparently, they’d all been willing participants in the act, ready to make their mark on the world.

When she asked Anisa about the man’s voice, Anisa didn’t shiver. When she asked about the man’s smell, Anisa had said he smelled “smoky and mint-like.” Finally, when she asked about the man’s penis, Anisa had used the word “normal.”

Mo laughed to herself. One of the guards looked back. She sent him a smile sweeter than a Werther’s factory.

There was nothing normal about her man’s dick, Giorgio hated the smell of smoke so he would never smell like it, and his voice was something the woman would not have forgotten. His voice, to virgin ears, was like razors slowly being dragged along the back of the tongue, complete with the taste of blood.

She loved it, so naturally, that made her crazy.

“Hey.” Mo banged on one of the screen’s posts. “I’m serious. I want to know. Why can’t I go out and have fun?”

“You only need sunlight,” the guard on the right spat, his accent one she couldn’t place. “You are getting sunlight.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “But I can’t make friends from all the way over here.”

The left guard blew out a snort of a laugh. “You think we would let you roam free?”

“I should get special privileges,” she argued. “I’m the only one Giorgio’s truly ever knocked up.”

The right guard spun and leveled his gun at her. “Shut up.”

“I will not shut up,” she countered.

“I will shoot you first and ask for forgiveness later.”

“Go ahead, then.”

His brows narrowed. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his chest pitched high, nearly into his neck, before lowering. When he lowered his gun and went back to his post, Mo released a silent sigh of relief. For a moment, she’d been certain he would have shot at her and dealt with the consequences later.

One of the women walked over to the screened-in enclosure. “Hi,” the woman greeted, waving and with an expression on her face that screamed naïve and easily duped. “I’m Anisa.”

The woman didn’t look like what Mo had been expecting. Her skin was flawless and the color of peanut butter. Her dark brown hair fell in curls ranging from tight to barrel sized. She was around five-four, on the slim side, and a round belly peeked from beneath her surprisingly modern linen dress.


Mo took in the rest of the women. All of them, every last one, had brown skin.

“I love your hair,” Anisa said, pointing the straight style that was beginning to revert. “Did you do the color yourself?”

Mo shook her head. “No. God did.”

Anisa took a step closer. “Your hair is naturally blonde with your complexion?”

“Yep. There’s few of us but we do exist.”

A pout formed on the other woman’s face. “If Auserwahlte decides to take a wife, do you think he might take you?”

“Because of my hair?”

“And your face.”

The right guard scoffed. “Auserwahlte wants a woman of substance. A woman who will bow to him and take care of his every need. Not trash like this.”

Anisa gasped. Another smile spread across Mo’s face.

“Oh, you have it bad,” Mo said. “You want me.”

The guard didn’t turn.

She stood, walked to the edge of the enclosure, and placed her palms flat on the screen. “You want to fuck me,” she taunted. “You don’t like women like me, those who don’t do as you say, who don’t submit to you. From the minute you saw me, you wanted to stuff your teeny little pencil cock inside me to teach me a lesson. Shut me up.”

The gun was back in her face, closer this time and directed at her head.

“Shut up!”

Mo glanced down. “Look at that. You’re all hard for me. How sweet.”

The left guard reached out, grabbed the gun’s nozzle, and lowered its aim from the center of Mo’s forehead. “Control yourself,” he warned his comrade.

“Yes, control yourself,” Mo echoed.

“You’ll get what’s coming to you.” The right guard spat the words like they were chewing tobacco. “Just wait.”

She leaned forward, pressing her lips against the mesh. “Well, you better hope that when you give me what’s ‘coming to me,’ you kill me. If not, I . . . will . . . fuck . . . you . . .  up. Not my husband, me. And you can put that on everything.”

A bell sounded. Anisa, whose mouth was still gaping at the exchange, spun around and followed the women back inside what Mo could only describe as a compound. They all lived in individual units, but it appeared the units were connected by a series of halls and tunnels. She hadn’t detected a change in elevation when they wheeled her from the exam room she’d woken up in, but the tunnels were definitely underground.

The left guard ticked his head at her unit. “Playtime’s over. It’s time to go back inside, ma’am.”

She eyed him for a moment before spinning around and making her way back inside the studio right into a group of armed men. Thomas had returned and Maxwell stood next to him, his head lowered like a child who’d just been scolded.

“We’re going to take you for a test run,” Thomas said. “Now, are you going to come willingly or do we have to tranq you?”

Mo tossed up both hands. “Fine. I’ll come.”

The door opened. A hospital bed was wheeled in.

Thomas patted the middle of the bed. “Climb on.”

Mo made a quick note of every face she could see before climbing onto the mattress. Her arms and legs were strapped again, and they wheeled her back out into the hallway. This time, she paid close attention and felt the change in elevation when they descended underground. All the ceiling tiles were the same, and the wall paint was too monotone for her to use as an indicator, so she remained quiet and used the changes in her body.

After a few minutes of rolling, the bed stopped. A door opened. The ceiling tiles became a ceiling painted black. The monotone walls transformed into shiplap, also painted black. Soft lighting made the room less of a dungeon and more of a cozy space. A wall of sliding doors opened up to a manmade lake. It was the kind of place she would have preferred to book for a vacation with Gio.

The team, including Thomas and Maxwell, left the room. Seconds later, someone she couldn’t see reentered, and she felt a sharp prick against her neck. She immediately began to feel dazed and sleepy, like an anesthesiologist had given her every drug for her surgery except the one that would put her completely under.

She felt the straps come off, felt her body being lifted from the hospital bed to the softer, more luxurious one in the center of the room. Then, a door opened and closed and she was alone again. At least, she’d assumed. A tall, dark-haired stranger came into view at the foot of the bed.

“I have heard about you, Moana Grace,” the stranger said, in a Russian accent with a normal voice that didn’t feel like barbed wire on an open wound. “Tonight will not be about copulation. First, in order to breed the mare, she must be broken.”

She heard a belt. A zipper followed. Then, what sounded like fabric falling on wood.

“This will be so good,” the stranger went on. “I can tell just by looking at y—”

His sentence was cut short and replaced by gurgling. Her view was hazy, going in and out, but she knew that sound. It was the sound of a knife through the vocal cords.

“Gio?” Her eyelids felt like they had weights attached, but she struggled to keep them open. “Is that you?”

The dark-haired stranger was shoved out of the way. Another face came into view. It was the guard from earlier. The left guard.

His hands lowered to his waist. “Talk like you were earlier,” he urged.

Her arms were bare, but they felt heavy, like they were strapped.

“No.” She shook her head. “Please, don’t.”

He climbed over her.

She felt the hairs on his legs brush the skin on hers.

Mo shook her head again, each movement side to side like she was juggling a bowling ball. When her head tipped right, she spotted a lamp. And it was within arm’s reach.




Mo and Giorgio are from the book, “Angels and Assassins: The Dark Knight.”

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8 thoughts on “The Darkest Knight #8

  1. Kriston Samuel 03/09/2020 — 1:25 pm

    Awwww shit…this is about to be a problem!!! They don’t want these kinds of problems…ijs!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I’m always left wanting more, sitting on pins and needles,can’t wait to see how those pricks get skinned alive!!!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Aw, man I dont want to imagine them hurt Mo! Gio is going to skin some people alive.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. It was over so quick! Lawd it’s bout to go down😲 Can’t wait!!!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. 😮😮😮😮

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Mylene Williams 03/11/2020 — 3:36 pm

    The best extension of a book I have ever read! I love Giorgio and Mo. My best fictional couple.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Aww man. What happened to my sneak preview of episode 9? We don’t need no one to violate Mo. Gio is going to go crazy and let’s not even talk about Mo. Can’t wait till next week.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Nooooooo. He don’t know who he messing with..

    Liked by 1 person

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