Page 43 of Lost to Thievery
His body urging him to run was not a new sight for me. I had that effect on people. And for good reason. Most peoplehad the good sense to feel uneasy around me. They might not understand why, and some even chalk it up to infatuation, but the nervous laughs and jittery shifting was a constant in my life. Even Ava never quite lost that instinct completely.
Turning my back to Anderson, my eyes glided over the assortment of toys laid out on the steel table. My fingers grasped the dirtiest one. I didn’t like that he was talking about my Ava.
This one I made myself while on a stakeout in Mexico. A piece of wood with five rusty nails through the end. A simple device really. But, oh, the calculated pain it could cause.
“I asked you a question, you sick fuck,” Anderson bellowed again. “Did. You. Fuck. Her?”
I turned to him, feeling my composure slipping.
Yes! And she’s getting off on my cock at this very minute, in this very room.
The crazy clawed up my throat in the form of a demented laugh as I watched Ava throw her head backwards, her movements desperate as she used me to make herself come.
Seems like her betrayal really did a number on Anderson. Or was it because a woman had led him to his demise? After all the pain he had inflicted on women over the years, it was kind of poetic, really. But after all of it, he still saw Ava as his, clinging to his delusions. In his mind, she was nothing more than his property, on which I had trespassed. And I really tried to battle the urge to wipe that notion from his mind, finger by fucking finger. To wipe his mind of her entirely. He didn’t even deserve to kiss the dirt she walked on.
And neither did I.
Ava’s laughter filled the room, the memory dragging me back to Rainbow Falls. Where I held her cold, trembling body as close to me as I could possibly get it. Her hair smelled like theforest and a hint of berries. Even wet, it glowed in the sun, making it look like she had a halo around her head.
It was the best feeling having her relax in my arms, letting me hold her, resting her head on my chest, trusting me.
No. The way her laughter made me feel.Thatwas the best feeling in this goddamn world. It was all things good, wrapped up in the most beautiful sound, and it was the drug that had consumed me, but instead of destroying, it healed. It mended the black, broken pieces of my heart. So I made it my mission to see her happy. To make her laugh. For completely selfish reasons.
Focus, you bastard! Snap out of it.
Anderson’s eyes were wide at the medieval device in my hand, and a sneering smile crept onto my face. After Ava’s laughter… and her moans, Anderson’s screams could become my third favourite sound. And he was playing with the devil’s balls for daring to mention my princess. “Tell me, Anderson. Are you trying to distract me or make it worse? Because you’re only achieving the latter, my friend.” I chuckled. “ByGod, you are dim.” I sauntered over to him, taking blissful delight in his squirming with each step I took.
Anderson took a deep breath and steeled himself, not taking his eyes off the thing in my hand. “When I get out of here, I’m going to make her watch as I cut your dick off.”
I had to give it to him. He was a brave bastard. And I couldn’t wait to take that from him. When I’m done with him, he’ll be sobbing, begging me to stop.
Like I watched my mother do.
Maybe we could do a little roleplaying later. I would be his god, and he the stupid, pathetic creature at my feet, begging for my mercy.
“I’ll feed it to h—” His word was cut off as I swung, the rusty nails piercing his gut. A satisfying sound ripped from histhroat. Most people would find it terrifying, but I revelled in it. It was music to my ears. Yes, this was the third best sound in the world. The tension of the last few days eased a bit. This was exactly what I needed. To hear Anderson scream. It made what I did to Ava almost bearable. Almost.
I lowered my face to his ear as he panted audibly, his eyes wild as he stared down at his stomach and my crudely made torture device still stuck in it. I was careful not to pierce any vital organs. He did not deserve that quick a death.
“Oh, Anderson, you delusional little fool, you shouldn’t speak to your god like that,” I cooed.
Whoops. There I go again, slipping into my thoughts like they were reality. We haven’t done that part outside my head yet. “You’re not cutting off my dick. You’re not feeding it to anyone. And you sure as hell are not leaving here alive. Or in one piece for that matter.” I patted his cheek playfully. “Now, now. Don’t look so scared, old friend.” I raised my arms high and pointed at the Happy Birthday banner across the room. I had crossed out the word “Birth” and replaced it with “Death.” A masterful piece of art, if you’d asked me. My mother might not agree. She might not see the artistic vision like I did. Then again, my taste in art had always been a tad darker than hers. “Cheer up. This is your party!”
He looked at me with a mixture of hate and fear and spat at me. But I could see it sinking in. His conviction of walking out of here alive was faltering.
“That’s the spirit! Let the fun begin!” I said as I yanked the nails out of him, only to grate it over the skin on his chest, cleaving it as I slowly pulled it down. I laughed at his cries, like his men had laughed at mine.
“That’s it! Louder! Let heaven hear your screams, you piece of shit. Show my mother how sorry you are.”
After a while, and a few of my Deathday souvenirs later, Anderson had passed out.
What a pussy. I hadn’t even gotten to the best ones yet. I paced the room, while I waited for him to wake up again. The headache that always plagued me was returning. It’s been worse since I opted out of sleeping.
The blood was turning sticky on my hands, making them itch. I wiped it on my pants. My black shirt was sticking to my stomach, drenched in Anderson’s blood, but you could barely see it. It was one of the reasons I liked black clothes so much. It hid the blood well. And I absolutely loved bathing in Anderson’s blood.
An image of Ava in her black dress from our last night, flashed across the room. She’d looked like a fucking goddess, descending those stairs. It had gutted me when I’d caught on to what the black outfit represented for her. She had worn it with such pride that it almost made me change my mind. But that’s the power of my special brand of darkness; it swayed her to willingly turn herself into a monster to please me, without her even noticing it. Little by little. Day by day.
It had to be done. I would not be my father.
