Page 17

PSYCHO

Listening to her talk about her mother, as a tear rolls down her cheek, makes me curious about things I shouldn’t be. I wonder what the deal is with her mother, that she cannot care for herself. I can’t stop myself from asking, even though it’s going to confuse her, and make her think I care. Which I don’t.

“Is she sick?”

She nods and admits.

“Very. When my father was killed, she lost her way. Her depression is killing her, slowly.”

Interesting. I assumed it would be cancer, or something like that.

“Make your cut. I’m growing impatient.”

“I hate you, Massimo Bonetti. I fucking hate you,” she says as she pierces his flesh, and drags the knife over his stomach, like she watched me do to her.

“Deeper.”

When I cut her, I wasn’t trying to fatally wound her. It was lighter treatment than she deserved. She will do far worse to her boss than I have done to her so far. Easton’s screams become annoying, so I grab duct tape from under the table, tear a piece off, and cover his mouth. His face is red, and covered with tears and snot. Way to die like a man, buddy. I’ve always known he was a coward, but now he’s proving I was right all along.

Bones is going to be pissed, because eventually a new District Attorney will be elected, and we’ll have to go through everything to get that person in our pocket. This is all his fault, though. He is the one that didn’t want to fuck with the pretty ADA, and waited until shit got out of hand. So now I’m doing his fucking job.

Her hands tremble as she pulls the knife out, and plunges it deep inside his abdomen.

“Fuck. Good girl.”

This is a first for me, forcing someone to kill another is different, but I think I like it. Maybe I’m more depraved than I thought, because my dick is hard as fucking steel.

Easton bucks his hips up, but he isn’t going anywhere. His screams are muffled now, but I can still hear them. Sometimes I like to hear them cry out in pain, but not now, because I’m solely focused on Anastasia. I don’t think she realizes it yet, but she’s going to kill him. Today is a big day for her. Your first kill is something you never forget.

I remember mine well, after my father found me with the Russians.

“How much did you tell them, Massimo?”

I shake my head and answer, “Nothing. Bonetti men are never rats.”

He grins at me while he pats his chest.

“You make me proud, figlio.”

My heart swells with pride, because my father is everything I strive to become. The thought of disappointing him is not something I can bear.

“It’s time for your next lesson, Massimo.”

I nod, ready for anything he wants me to do, as I look at the six Russian men of the Kuznetsov family, hanging upside down from chains, much like I was.

My father hands me a knife, and I take it, staring at it with a feeling I can’t quite describe. I think maybe this is what it’s like, when you become a man. Gone is the awkward little boy, unsure of his place in the world, replaced with the carbon copy of my father. Everything I want to be. All boys look up to their father, but for me, it’s different. For the last four years, I have asked to take part in the business. He has always said I was too young, and was not ready. After what I’ve endured, he knows I can handle it.

“This is a custom made blade for you, figlio. It can cut through flesh and bone with ease. That means you are careful with it. This is yours now. Use it now to exact your revenge. How much, or how little, is up to you, Massimo. If you cannot finish it, I will.”

I start with the man that beat me to a pulp. Maybe I should savor it, and drag out his pain, but at this moment, I want instant gratification.

I plunge the knife into his stomach, and smile at the blood pouring from his wound. It’s better than I ever imagined, his screams fill the large warehouse, his red face nearly matching the blood seeping onto the floor.

My father says, “Twist it, if you want him to die quickly. If you want to prolong it, go for a straight angle.”

Turning to my father with curious eyes, I beam at him.

“Could he be stitched up, so I could do it again?”

He chuckles, with what looks like beaming pride, and pats me on the head.

“If you don’t hit a vital organ, that will work.”

Shaking his head, my father laughs under his breath.

“It does make sense that my son would be a complete psycho.”

From that day forward, I became known as Psycho. It’s not just a name, I fucking earned it.

She turns her head to me, and asks, “Is that good?”

I lean forward, and run my tongue up the side of her cheek, tasting her tears. So fucking beautiful.

“It’s a good start, little lamb, but you aren’t done until he’s no longer breathing.”

She squeezes her eyes tight, and clenches her fist around the handle of my knife.

“You’re going to make me kill him,” she whispers, as the truth finally sinks in.

Placing my finger on her chin, I tilt her head back, and her eyes open, as she stares at me with a pain filled expression.

“For thirty days, you do as I say. Then, and only then, will you no longer be my property. You agreed to this deal.”

She blows out a long breath, as if trying to release stress.

“Can I do it, and get it over with? Or does it have to be slow?”

I run my fingers through my beard, while I contemplate how I should answer. Normally, I drag out torture, but I’m also aware Easton is mostly innocent. However, this is her test, and the reason she’s here is because she did cross us.

“I’ll allow a quick kill, because there will be time for me to make you torment someone, if I decide that’s what I want. If you want him to die quickly, plunge the knife into his chest, and twist it.”

She moves beside his head, and holds the bloody knife in her hand. Anastasia lowers the blade to his throat, and I could stop her from making the mistake she’s about to make, but where’s the fun in that? I’m surprised she decided on his throat, instead of doing as I said, but I like it.

“I’m sorry,” she says as she cuts into his flesh, and blood squirts all over her for a solid thirty seconds, while she stands screaming in horror. I fight the chuckle threatening to erupt, as I stare at what looks like a hot version of Carrie .

“You should have stood on the other side of him.”

Her neck is coated in blood, and her eyes radiate fury. It’s fucking exquisite. She drops the knife.

“You fucking asshole. Instead of telling me, you said nothing. I don’t know how to murder people. You’re a fucking monster!” She screams, and now, believe it or not, my cock hardens even further.

I fist my hand in her hair, pull her to me, and lean down, slamming my lips to hers aggressively. She holds her lips closed tightly, and I growl, “Fucking open. Do not fucking test me, little lamb. You won’t enjoy the outcome.”

I slide my tongue into her mouth when she parts her lips, and she kisses me back with equal aggression. The little mewl that erupts from her sweet mouth is intoxicating. Placing her bloody hands on my chest, she grips onto my shirt, pulling me closer to her. Her anger is palpable, and I don’t fucking hate it. Anastasia would kill me if she could, yet she wants me. Without a doubt, her pussy is drenched for me.

Moving to pull back, I stop momentarily, when she sucks on my goddamn tongue like she did my dick, and I snap. I grab her hair tighter, and yank her head back.

“Are you playing games with me, little lamb?”

“No,” she whimpers.

She tries to push my chest to get me to release her, but I don’t move an inch. I told her she would never overpower me, and I meant it.

“Do you think if you make me think you want me, that I’ll fall to my knees for you, and let you live?”

“I don’t think you fall to your knees. You feel nothing for anyone. Whatever is beating in your chest is not a heart. You’re far more monster than man. So no, I don’t think there’s anything I could do, that would make you choose to let me live.”

I slide my hand down the front of her pants, and she freezes, like she’s unsure of what I’m going to do when, in reality, she should know.

Circling my thumb on her clit, I lower my head, and speak into her ear.

“You think you have a magical pussy, little lamb? One that will change me into a man I wouldn’t recognize? Trust me, sweetheart. There’s nothing special about your cunt.”

I’m lying through my teeth, her pussy is goddamn wet perfection, and if I weren’t the man I am, it might actually save her life. Her eyes darken with a glare. If looks could kill, I’d be dead.

“Yeah? And there’s nothing special about your dick. You think it’s special, because you went and put a bunch of metal in it, like the psychopath you are.”

I mock a pout.

“You don’t think it’s special, little lamb? I’ll show you how wrong you are, but first, I’m going to mark you, because for the next thirty days, or until you die, you’re mine.”