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“Not this time,” he doesn’t take his eyes off the TV

“Well, where is she?”

“Hell, probably,” he chuckles darkly

“Is she dead, too?”

He doesn’t answer me. And I get too upset and forget I’m not supposed to disturb his quiet time until he stands up, and takes his belt off.

“It’s just you and me now, we’ve got to look after each other” he says, stepping out of his trousers.

I switch my brain off again, it’s better when I don’t remember. I know he doesn’t like it when he gets told “no”, that makes him really angry with Mummy too. I heard it from their bedroom sometimes, and he’d make her cry.

Eighteen

Nik

Fucking Christ, my little darling is now an angel of death. A harbinger of doom for all those who offend her not so delicate sensibilities. Hair adorning her face, covered in blood fresh from battle, absolutely willing - if not capable - of taking the life of another man. My blood stained combats strain at the intensity of my erection. Killing always makes me hard. Killing with her. This is what sin feels like. She didn’t flinch away from me. She didn’t need to deliver the killing blow, that would’ve stolen my pleasure, anyway.

Instead she did what good people do. Nothing. She sat there, and instead of pleading or begging, she accepted. Accepted her part in that murder without so much as a negative word. She might be too full of adrenaline to articulate it right now, but she just got the same rush, the same thrill of deciding who lives and who dies as I did. And she got horny. Just like I did.

Now to deal with this suit wearing plastic mafioso cunt. I’m beyond outraged and offended that Harry didn’t even bother to visit us himself. I internally run the cause-analysis on that particular plot twist, on the motivation. Fear? Otherwise engaged? Security issues? Law issues? All of the above. It doesn’t matter.

Craig is a piece of shit, fancies himself as a Lieutenant. Like he’s some formidable enforcer, untouchable made-man type. He’s not. He’s loyal, I can’t fault that part. He’s demonstrably greedy. Most importantly though, he’s obedient. And too stupid to make a power play for himself. Or perhaps too smart. Flip sides of the same blade.

I’m going to have to interrogate him before I make any more decisions. I need the one thing I don’t have right now: intel. So this will be fun, maybe my little darling will play, too. I absent mindedly stroke myself through my trousers thinking about how much we can make Craig suffer before she squeezes her eyes again. Adorable. She can look away, but she can never un-hear the sound a breaking skull made under my boots once she had decided that his time on the mortal plane had come to an untimely end.

A quick search reveals exactly what I expected. Pistol, burner phone, packet of smokes. Not much else. He stirs slightly as I search him, I give him another slap and extend his little nap. I’ve not prepared my questions yet, it would be rude for him to arrive early.

I remove his tie and bind his wrists behind his back.

“Darling…” I call out, and she appears at the doorway. Still dishevelled, still this goddess who appears when prayed to. “Would you mind fetching the duct tape and a pillowcase which you’re not emotionally attached to, please?” I ask in my politest voice

“Sure” she nods, absent mindedly, she might be in shock. She’s never this compliant when she’s herself. No sarcasm, no wit. Just obedience. That’s a bit of a red flag that I file away for later.

A few minutes later I admire my handiwork. It’s improvised, sure. But it’s going to be disorientating, and that’s kind of the point. Hands and wrists entirely coated in duct tape, the same for his ankles. Shoes and socks removed to make every nerve ending on the soles of his feet available. Pillowcase over his head, duct tape cocooned over his eyes. And a little hole for secrets to spill out of where his mouth is. Beautiful work, I stuff half of one of his socks in there, and tape it in place.

Dragged and bumped up the stairs, I dump him in the guest-room bathtub. He’s not going anywhere quietly. I close the door and turn to my little darling, who’s shadowing me intensely, never more than arm’s reach away. The spark in her eyes isn’t what it usually is.

“We’ve got a bit of time… talk to me…”

She just blankly stares through me, the lights are on but I’m not sure anybody’s home. It threatens to rupture my temper, but I steady myself, for her.

Then she speaks, in a soft, factual monotone. “There’s a dead guy in the kitchen-diner”

I hold both of her hands, trying to offer her some comfort. “Yes, there is. A dead bad guy.” Emphasis on the bad

“He was… unkind to me” she confesses, turning infantile, not looking up from her feet

“I know he was, do you want to talk about it?”

“He said I was dirty. That I betrayed Dan. And Dan’s going to bust case” I mentally file that titbit and she continues “He said everyone would use me, so that they would all keep it a secret from Dan”

My heart threatens to shatter before I’m overcome with rage, that I force back into its cage. It serves no purpose right now.

She goes on “and then you came, and I felt safe… and then you made him say sorry… but I didn’t think he was sorry… and then he died… and he’s probably very sorry now but we can’t make him not dead now, can we?” for the first time she looks me in my eyes, hers glassy as a single tear rolls down her cheek.

It’s the shock of the first kill. It’s hit her. She’s too good of a person for her own good, sometimes.