“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “I… I think there’s a good chance she isn’t. There was a lot of blood.”
I’ve killed my pet. I’ve killed my pet. I’ve killed my pet.
The horrific refrain echoes in my mind, nearly bringing me to my knees. Doesn’t matter that I didn’t push the trigger. Doesn’t matter that I never meant to.
I’m responsible. I made a series of decisions that led to her dying.
Logan gave her some money and told her to disappear. And she did a really good job of it. Too good of a job. She literally became invisible.
By the time Vincent managed to pick up her trace again, all he found was a puddle of blood.
“Where’s the guy who killed her?” I ask Logan. “The fucking cockroach?”
“In the room next door to the cell. Igor’s got him.”
“Good,” I nod, my jaw clenched.
Of course, we didn’t tell Igor why we’d brought the cockroachin. Can’t be sure of that sadist’s loyalty. But he doesn’t need a reason to make the insect suffer.
I grab my gun, leave Logan’s office and call the elevator. The cockroach has been with Igor all night. He’s probably completely broken by now. But I want him awake enough to look me in the eye when I kill him.
The fucking insect. I’m going to stamp him out with my foot.
My anger is all-encompassing. It terrifies me. I’m two steps away from bombing this building, and killing the cockroach, Devil and myself in one fell swoop.
Especially Devil.
They made me kill my pet.
I lean against the metal wall of the elevator, cursing Devil’s name. Cursing the name of the cockroach who’s being tortured right now as we speak. Cursing myself, because deep down, I know I’m the one to blame.
My body literally aches with the need of her. I never showed her how much I cared. She never had an inkling of my obsession. She was right there, in my building, held captive in an apartment that belonged to me, and yet I never truly made her mine. I merely fucked her up from the beginning till the end, always withholding, always cruel, never showing her just how much she meant to me. And then I killed her.
I fucking killed her.
The doors open and I enter the room where the cockroach is suspended by a hook from the ceiling, naked. Igor knew I was coming down, and he’s been busy dousing him with buckets of water. But the guy is pretty gone. Every one of his fingernails has been pulled off, and he’s like a slice of Swiss cheese with all the stab wounds carefully inflicted to areas that won’t kill him. Manyof his teeth have been pulled, his skin has been cleanly flailed off in various places, and his face is a pattern of bruises, burns and oozing cuts.
But he’s conscious, and his eyes stare at me from beneath his matted hair, crusted with blood.
“I’ll take it from here,” I tell Igor, and he leaves, shrugging.
I have my reasons for wanting to be alone with the cockroach. I want to try once more to wrangle information out of him, and of course, I can’t have the others knowing.
“Benjamin Duncan,” I start, as I draw nearer.
He mouths a word.
“What?” I ask, stepping closer.
“Ben.”
The word comes out feeble. I snort.
“Fine. Ben. I’m going to give you one last chance. Where is she?”
He doesn’t answer. I lift my gun and point it at his head. He doesn’t cringe. Bad sign.
“Where is she? Did you kill her?”
