She struggles with her bindings, but she can’t get out. Her arms and legs are locked within metal restraints. There’s only one way she’s leaving here, and it won’t be on two legs.
“It’s not what you think. Please let me go.”
“And, pray tell, what do I think it is exactly?” I ask, setting down my knives on the stand next to her head. Bloodshot eyes leak, her pale skin splotchy. She’s going to be so beautiful when I’m done with her.
“I-I didn’t send he-her the h-hand.” She finally gets out, between her mewling.
I take in her missing left hand. A pity I wasn’t the one to take it off, though a missing hand is the least of her worries.
“Tut tut Pammy.” I pat her cheek. “We never thought you’d cut off your own hand and send it to our Angel.” She whips her head away from my palm and begins her waterworks again.
My dream is still riding me hard, so I can only imagine the manic look I must have.
Turning, I unzip my case, opening up ten gleaming blades of varying lengths and thicknesses. As I pull out my thirteen-inch stiletto knife, I call out, “Alexa, play Metallica,Until It Sleeps, and turn the volume up.”
Lev spent a great deal of time fortifying our houses, ensuring privacy from any spyware or silly AI from listening in.Can’t have Alexa dialing 911 before I can release my demons.
As the drums beat through the speakers, I place the knife down and pick up the shearing scissors.
“You won’t be needing these,” I say to her and begin cutting off the leggings and t-shirt she’s been wearing for the last couple of days.
We found her trying to board a flight to Bora Bora. As if a flight would keep her safe. We’re everywhere.
Now that she's naked, I can begin my work.
“Open wide bitch boy.”I shake my head, clearing that fuck’s voice from my mind. If I ever get my hands on the fat fuck, he’ll be opening more than wide.
Gritting my teeth, annoyed at my inability to clear my mind, I grab the knife from the stand. Usually, I would ask her more questions, but I’m more interested in her screams.
I plunge the aluminum blade into her right thigh and drag it down to her knee. The scream she emits causes a release of dopamine throughout my brain.
“That’s it, Pamela, sing for me.” I drag the knife back up until I reach her hip.
Remembering that I still need answers from her, I pull the knife out. She’s bleeding too much. I might have nicked something important.
Groaning, I grab the portable blow torch from the side of the stand. It seems it’s time to cauterize the wound.
Her cries paint the room as the smell of burning flesh, like a BBQ, permeates the air. I feel my dick grow in my pants. Fuck it’s been too long since I got to play, but I only want to play with my Angel.
Growling out my frustration I say, “Now, where were we?” When I hear nothing, I look up and see she’s passed out. We can’t have that. What fun would that be?
Exhaling, I open the drawer and pull out the smelling salts. Maybe I got a little carried away. As I’m about to wake her, my phone rings through the speakers, cutting off my playlist and announcing Wyatt is calling.
I quickly answer, “Wy, what’s up?”
“You need to get over here. Wes is having a temper tantrum over my pick, and Lev is backing him up.” He sounds amused but annoyed.
“Let me guess. You were egging him on?” I ask.
“Would I be me and he be Wes if I didn’t do such a thing?” he chuckles.
“Fine, let me put Pamela on ice, and I’ll be right over.” With that, I end the call.
I plan to put everything away, but her soft moans make me pause. What’s another thirty minutes?
“Glad you could rejoin the land of the living. Now, like I was about to say before you so rudely passed out, tell me what I want to know. You have ten seconds.”
When she makes no attempts to speak, I start a countdown, “Ten…nine.” She looks delirious, but that’s not my problem. “Six…five.”
