Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” A cocky smirk twists his lips. “I don’t need to force anyone. I get plenty of pussy. Who the fuck are you?”
“But that wasn’t always the case, was it?”
“No idea what you mean. Did I fuck your girl? Is that it?”
I smile at his false bravado, his belief this is mere revenge. He’s not entirely wrong, but there’s no tomorrow for him. “In a sense, yes.”
He laughs like the idiot he is. “Forget it, man. These hoes ain’t worth all this. Move on and find another one.”
“No, I don’t think I will.” Pressing the blade tip into his shoulder, I apply the smallest amount of pressure. “Did you know the slower the knife goes in, the worse it hurts?”
His chest heaves, a trickle of blood running down his shoulder. “Hey man! What the fuck?”
“Do you get off on it? Pinning women down, forcing yourself inside them? Is that your thing?”
“I’m into whatever she’s into.”
“Is that why your wife left? Because you’re a sick rapist fuck?”
Outrage flashes in his eyes. “I’ve never raped anyone!”
“Never?” I slide the knife into his flesh again. “Not once have you fucked an unwilling woman?” I pull the blade out and force it back into the muscle of his shoulder, and he screams. “Be honest, Nolan.”
Our gazes lock for a moment. Recognition dawns in his eyes, but he lifts his chin defiantly. “Never,” he pants.
“Okay.” I jab the blade into his sternum, pushing deep and fast before dragging it down to his navel. “Let’s try again. This time, be truthful.”
Agonizing screams echo off the walls, the metal weights amplifying his suffering. Nolan is breathing heavier know, alternating between shallow breaths and deep ones, unsure which is the best way to save his life or at the very least, stop the pain. “Fuck!”
Yanking out the knife, I savor his tortured grunts. “Never?”
“Look, whatever I did, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry…” Tears stream down his face, fear and pain intermingling.
“Answer me, Nolan.”
“No,” he pleads. “Stop. Please stop. I don’t want to die.”
Digging the blade back into his chest wound, I rip through his navel. “Still lying.”
“No, I’m not.” Nolan starts to gurgle, blood spilling from his mouth. “It was the others…please…”
“Then surely you recall Hope House. We lived there together for years.” I watch the realization click into place. Now, he remembers. He knows who I am. Pulling out the blade, I wipe it across his chest. “You really fucked up, Nolan.”
Not waiting for a response, I raise the knife overhead and plunge it into his chest, carving down to his pelvis. “You see, Nolan, there is no forgetting. No forgiving.”
His body slackens as I withdraw the blade.
“You had years of freedom. A life. Love. A career. You had it all. It ends tonight.” I slash from kidney to kidney, slicing through his pancreas. The gush of blood and viscera brings immense satisfaction; his gurgling quiets the monster inside me a bit.
Leaning in close so he’s staring into my eyes, I fight the urge to grin. I want his last memory to be my face, but I think it’s too late. “I gave you so many chances to be honest. A chance to make amends. You shouldn’t have lied, Nolan. You did this to yourself.”
Gasping, he spits more blood, red pooling beneath him, painting the floor with the evidence of his demise. His eyes finally close, accepting the inevitable.
“I’m showing you far more mercy than you gave her.” My voice is devoid of emotion, cold and unyielding as I stab out his eyes and stuff them in his mouth. He deserves none of my empathy.
And all of hell’s wrath.
One less scumbag in the world. I look at his body, intestines spilling onto the bloody floor, a grotesque display of his sins. His death came quicker than he deserved, but he’s dead.
Another name crossed off The List.
Good luck, Frankie. Let’s see what you make of this.
The tape dissolves as I meticulously wipe every surface, leaving not a single trace of my presence. Each swipe of the cloth is methodical, precise. A spotless crime scene will stump forensics, but that’s just child’s play.
Fixing the door, I ensure it looks untouched, wiping the knobs until they gleam.
Exiting through the side door, I hop the back fence, landing in a CCTV-free alley, courtesy of my tech know how. My movements are swift and silent, just a shadow slipping through the night.
When I get home, I shower with a smile on my face, the hot water washing away the day’s sins. I think about Francesca, her sharp mind working overtime as she tries to piece together this puzzle. Oh, the field day she’ll have trying to figure this one out.
Maybe I’ll fuck her again before she finds him.
After my shower, I sit in my easy chair and watch Francesca concentrating on crime scene photos in her kitchen.