Page 2 of Judas (The Lito Duet #2)

Her whimpers, and the insistent huffing through the gag I wrapped around her mouth and head, are beginning to rake on every one of my nerves.

The ones that are left anyhow—now that I’ve had her in my possession for the past few days.

This was supposed to be a happy reunion.

One where I can reconnect with ‘long lost’ family and share my world with them.

A bit more appealing than sitting in the bowels of yet another prison, rotting away.

Long ago, the good Detective Whitlock, promised me something far more appalling than what I have experienced.

And truth be told, I’m rather disappointed with what he considered ‘awful’.

He implied that I’d end up somewhere the sun wouldn’t reach, where the world would never hear from me again.

At least, that’s what he wanted me to believe.

Quite frankly, other than a few piddly kills here or there, I’ve been bored.

It’s no surprise that Whitlock didn’t have any sort of pull to have me tossed into a hole, but I wish he did.

I would have been a lot more entertained over the years, playing with the investigators, batting them around the chess board and leading them on wild goose chases. Or should I say cases?

Hah!

A small chuckle tickles my throat, almost escaping, but like this…

girl… nothing leaves me. Ever. Looking over at her, I note how she’s cowered on the opposite side of the bed.

Cramming her smaller frame into a corner as if that would stop me, or keep me away.

All that it’s really doing is rubbing the stink from this musty hotel room all over her soft skin and permeating the fibers of her clothing.

She should really count her lucky stars.

I’d rather we sleep in a ditch than create any sort of paper trail.

But no, the poor little thing wanted a bathroom and was cold.

I guess hiding in the trunk I threw her in wasn’t a five-star service she was willing to experience.

I’m a psychopath, not heartless.

She wanted a bed, too bad she will be sleeping pinned between the mattress and a cockroach-entrails speckled wall. Beggars can’t be choosers, right? I’m quite the gentleman after all, ensuring the lady in waiting has all the amenities other captives like her are privy to.

Bouncing my legs, I stare at her from across the burnt orange blanket, the remote glaring back at me.

Angry that I threw it across the way instead of placing it on the side table where it was initially setting.

Scolding me for what I have done as if it has feelings despite being an inanimate object.

Keeping her head down, she sniffles on occasion, adding to the other aggravating meek sounds she keeps filling the room with.

The antagonizing shade of her bright blond hair irritates me just as much as her stupid whimpers.

She was supposed to be strong, resilient and a fighter, but maybe she’s more like her mother than I thought she would be. A disgrace to our bloodline—not surprising to say the least. We are all messed up, imperfect, in our own way. If that’s how you want to look at it.

What really annoys me the most is how much she looks like him—no, it infuriates me.

Even after his disappearance, here he is, mocking me by existing in the maw of someone else.

Especially her. His inferior recessive genes somehow overpowered mine and Nadia’s dark hair and gray eyes, which is unacceptable.

I should probably put dye in her hair and hold her down while someone tattoos a different color into her irises. Remake her in the correct image.

“I asked you a question.” My voice drawls in the uneasy atmosphere that blankets the both of us in suffocating tension.

Her head snaps up and those bright blue eyes of hers meet my gray ones, glaring at me as if her stare could set the both of us ablaze and leave this room in a heap of embers and dying coals.

There we go, sweet girl, let me see who you really are.

“Well?” I prompt her, tilting my head to the side in mockery.

She just stares at me, unable to say anything since I have her mouth stuffed, which only makes me grin. Though the blue of her eyes is sharp, chilling to the core of my being, they’re furious and desolate.

Hopeless, helpless. Just like I prefer each and every one of my victims.

Reaching up, I pluck the cigarette I lit before the end of the news broadcast from my lips.

Allowing the smoke to billow out of my mouth in a floating plume that dissipates the further it closes in on the ceiling.

Waiting, watching, anticipating the aggravating scowl she’s giving me to disappear—which never does.

With a shove, I launch out of the chair and move my way around the end of the bed. The matted shag-like carpet, that’s no longer green but a mix between the color of vomit and composting juice, silences my footfalls as I quickly encroach on her precious corner space.

She begins to squirm and thrash in her bindings, pulling at the already red and abraded skin of her wrists, exacerbating the pain that I’m sure is radiating from the tender flesh there.

Releasing a little laugh, taunting her and the predicament she’s found herself in, I finally come to a stop about a foot away from her.

She’s cute, fighting like she is. But she has no choice for what I’m going to do to her.

There is no escape for my niece. I’m bigger, faster, stronger, and pent up with rage that runs so deep Hell feels it when I wake from a cat nap.

Squatting down, she cowers but she doesn’t get far as I snag part of her gag and yank her to me.

Leaving the smallest bit of space between her face and mine—violent gray eyes fixating on the pale blue of hers.

I may not have won over Nadia, but this one?

I will bend her, break her, and mold her into something unrecognizable.

I will recreate her in my image.