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Which thing would bring more order to my life? Maddie alive, or dead? That’s a question I need to keep far from my mind, but it’s too late, I already thought it. It’s already squirreling around in there.
She seems to be wavering, like she might actually do this, like she might actually obey my order. I send another message. Maddie, show me and come. Now.
I know I sound frantic and insane. If only she knew the actual thoughts I’m battling right now. If she only knew how close to losing my entire mind I am. And for what? One kill that went wrong?
Maybe Brian was right. Maybe I’m not cut out for this line of work. Maybe I feel too many things. Maybe I get too frantic. Maybe I need far too much order for this to ever end well, either with my kill list, or with Maddie. To say nothing of the actual business. I’m lucky the organization practically runs without my involvement most of the time.
I make a few big shows, and flex my power every few months and most problems resolve themselves. I’ve got underbosses who manage most of it. I’m just the one who sits back and counts the money. I’ve only had to directly kill three people for the actual business—so they knew I wasn’t just some stupid punk kid they could easily overthrow. In the first year there was more danger to me from within my organization than from outside it. Brian had warned me and prepared me for that. As much as I hate to admit it, without him, I might not still be here because there were definitely those who wanted me deposed.
They’d called me The Little Prince right to my face. Two minutes later, men who’d already passed my loyalty tests were removing their bodies and cleaning up the bits and pieces that my bullets had emptied from them. They’d had every intention of changing the order of succession. I’m still on high alert, but that situation has settled things for now. It probably also doesn’t hurt that I sent their heads back on literal platters to others who might have similar ambitions.
I’m jerked harshly out of my spiraling thoughts as Maddie actually does it. She pulls the blanket back. I’m surprised to find she’s completely naked under the blankets. Her legs are spread wide, and her hips buck lewdly up against the toy. Her moan makes all my blood rush to my dick. I’ll watch this back later and take care of myself, but for now, I don’t want to miss a single second of this happening live.
It’s the first thing she’s ever done for me because I asked.
These cameras are top of the line, but night vision has its limitations. I can see her but it’s not the same. It’s not full color high definition porn. I want to tell her to turn the light on so I can really get a good view, but I’m afraid I’ll spook her and she’ll stop. I’m already pushing her too far. I need her to finish this for me.
I hold my breath as her hips jerk upward one final violent time, as she rides her orgasm out. And then I send one final text for the night. Good Girl.
I close my laptop and lean back against the headboard of the bed. My dick is so hard it’s painful. I take another shower so I can take care of my raging hard on.
As the hot water hits my back for the second time tonight, I should be thinking about the live action amateur porn I just saw—the thing that made me this hard in the first place. But I’m thinking instead about absolutely everything else as I feverishly jerk my cock. The details of the wedding and how it all needs to be perfect. Van Alen’s brains splattering against the wall. Brandy’s mouth on my cock at The Black Gardens. My unhinged chaos. Van Alen’s brains splattering against the wall. Why the fuck was there a live round in that gun? The horses running out of the barn. The body sinking to the bottom of that lake. Van Alen’s brains splattering against the wall. Maddie walking down the aisle toward me in the Dior gown. Watching her walk to me and her unstoppable fate. Finally, the sweet taste of victory, winning.
She’s in my world now.
I press one hand against the wall of the shower as I shudder against the pleasure surging through me. I watch the evidence swirl down the drain. I turn off the water, grab a towel, get out, and try to pretend that long train of insanely interspersed thoughts while jerking off is totally fucking normal.
I dry off, go back to my room, get in bed and just stare at the wall like the fucking nut job I know I am.
She’s not safe with you. She’ll never be safe with you.
I don’t know whose voice it is in my mind warning me that Maddie can never be safe with someone like me, but I push the thoughts down. She’s mine.
Nine
Maddie
Saturday, June Fourteenth. Six in the evening.
* * *
I’m in the private dressing room set aside for the bride at Our Lady of Hope. Hope, what a joke. I have no hope left. It feels as though the name of the church is just another nail in my coffin—just one final way for Aidan to mock me.
Erica helped me button up the buttons on the Dior gown, and then I asked to be left alone for a while. She’s out there with the wedding planner, while I lose my mind in here.
And of course Aidan’s goons are right outside the door to make sure the product gets delivered.
My final gown fitting a few weeks ago required some minor alterations. I haven’t been able to eat much since all this started, and I look practically gaunt now. It’s only six pounds, but it feels like more. I was angry at myself for losing the weight, for needing this perfect dress to be altered in any way. But how does one eat at a time like this?
Stella did a great job on it, but I worried something would go wrong. I didn’t want a needle and thread to touch this dress. It’s the one good thing about any of this. I smooth my hands down the beige and pink silk. My hair is in loose curls around my face, and I’ve got a good base tan going. A small gold necklace glitters at my throat. That’s the only jewelry I’m wearing. No bracelets, no earrings. The same flowers from my bouquet have been woven into my hair. I went for a natural look with the makeup, a light flush of color on my cheeks, a neutral shimmery eyeshadow called beach glass, black mascara, and a neutral pink lip gloss. I got a french manicure yesterday.
It’s all so perfect on the surface. If you could just blur out the groom.
How is this happening?
I was grateful when he left me alone after that one night of insanity where I actually pulled back the blankets and let him watch me masturbate like a psycho. And when I say psycho, I mean me, not him. Who does that? With someone they hate? I was too in the middle of things to stop it, and my brain wasn’t functioning right. I never would have done it in my right mind.
He hasn’t texted me once since that night. I kept thinking, hey, maybe he died. Maybe he got arrested. He is a crime boss after all. Maybe he wasn’t above the law like he thought. Wouldn’t that be nice?