Rip(5)By: Rachel van Dyken
Oh good, so he was a doctor who liked drugs and had more money than God. That should go over well for addiction problems.
I scooted back against the leather and clicked my pen for, oh, I don’t know, the tenth time. “If you aren’t going to answer my questions, I should probably go.”
“You won’t be going anywhere,” he said in a quiet voice. “And for that I’m truly sorry.” His eyes met mine, and they seemed… apologetic.
“Pardon?” Was he threatening me? Warning bells went off in my head as adrenaline shot through my system.
“Your father…” He tilted his head. “He owes me a debt… of gratitude… I asked for something irreplaceable, something that’s been owed to me for a very long time.”
My stomach sank as my heart started hammering against my chest.
“What exactly did my father give you?” I choked out, hating that I probably knew the answer, because my father was ruthless, he was a business man after all, and he never backed out of a deal. It was business over family and our business was darkness itself, horrible, something I blocked out because it made me feel better when I woke up in the morning and fell asleep at night.
“Well…” Mr. Blazik stood. “I thought that would be obvious.” He turned his back to me and walked over to his desk then pressed a button causing blinds to creep down all the windows. When he turned, the room was already starting to blanket in darkness, making it so that his teeth practically glowed. “He gave me you.”
The night previous
Drip, drip, drip. The sound was a rhythmic cadence to the madness that threatened to destroy my existence. Drip, drip, drip. The blood was fuel, it was life. It was also death.
The woman’s face was void of emotion, yet I knew she felt every single slice of the knife as I worked.
Finally, I removed the diseased organ and shook my head. “You’ve been very, very bad, haven’t you?”
A lone tear ran down her cheek.
I tossed the organ away, disgusted with the type of woman she was, with the type of human being she represented.
A complete waste of humanity.
“Now.” I reached for my scalpel. “I’ll tell you exactly why you’re going to die.”
“For your sins.” I brought the blade to her throat. “For selling your very soul to the devil. I’m sending you to the pit of hell.”
And she breathed no more.
I rocked back on my heels and exhaled as the world righted itself again. One less disease walking the streets.
Because of me.
The local police force is asking for anyone with information about the Pier Killings to please come forward. The reward has been raised to fifty thousand dollars. –The Seattle Tribune
SHE WAS A PUZZLE, ONE I would enjoy unraveling, playing with, touching. Damn, getting my hands on her would be a sweet sin—something I couldn’t do, something I had to deny myself no matter how much I wanted to touch, to feel, anything human, anything warm. Maybe that’s when you know you’ve actually lost all of your humanity—when you crave a stranger’s touch more than you crave your next meal or drink of water.
She would be water to me.
But it would be poisoned.
Touching her would end in both our deaths; he made sure of that, the bastard.
I cleared my throat and managed to keep my expression calm even though my heart was going into overdrive. She’d grown into a beautiful woman, soft where it counted. She had hips, full lips, a complexion that boasted of her rich heritage, and high cheekbones that accented her large eyes.
My admission had frightened her.
I could almost taste the fear in the air. It was a gift, being able to read people, being able to measure the emotions in the room and control them in order to benefit myself.
I toyed with the idea of letting her go for maybe a second. If I wasn’t so selfish I’d give her a new ID with a passport and send her on her way.
But I’d always been a selfish bastard, and she was my prize.
The one I’d waited for, but more than that, part of the contract stated she had to be in the right mind before she was freed, and I knew that even my work wasn’t always a guarantee.