Page 78 of Morally Corrupt

"Theo… I."

"No." I cut her words. "Let's have it now that we started it. I know… Pink."

I watch her eyes widen, her head shaking in denial.

"Don't insult me further by denying it. I know… everything."

"How?" She finally composes herself, and the change is immediate. It's like she's an entirely different person.

Neither Pink nor Bianca.

Her expression is cold, detached.

"Your apartment," I simply state.

"I see. Marcel?" she asks, probably realizing who'd done the investigation. I nod.

"What do you think you know, Theo?"

"What… you've got to be kidding me," I say, suddenly pissed at her. How dare she be so calm, so uncaring?

"I know you are Pink. I know about your drug problem, and I also know that you are some sort of Russian killer. Does that cover it?" I ask her sarcastically.

She gives a mirthless laugh.

"Wow, I have to say I never imagined this day would come. Or how it would proceed."

"Just tell me one thing… Why me? Why go through so much trouble just to get to me?"

"I wanted you." Her answer shocks me. "I wanted you, so I got you, the only way I knew how."

"By playing a hooker. For God's sake, B!"

"I told you. I wanted you." She shrugs.

"Then, why the whole innocent act?"

"I wanted to keep you, too."

"So what, you figured the hooker could fuck me while the innocent could marry me?"

"Well, isn't that exactly how it happened?" She has the gall to smirk at that.

"You lied to me. God… I don't even know what's true anymore. You told me I was your first kiss, your first everything. Shit…" I curse aloud.

"I do admit that maybe I wasn't entirely truthful. But I didn't lie about that. You were and still are the only man who's ever touched me."

"Entirely truthful? Are you hearing yourself? What's wrong with you? Our entire marriage is a lie," I say, exasperated, and watch her eye twitch.

"Since everything is out in the open, I might as well be honest with you." She raises her eyes to look at me.

"I'm not normal. You are correct. I don't feel remorse. I don't think I ever have. One psychiatrist diagnosed me with Antisocial Personality Disorder. I guess in popular culture, that's what you'd call a sociopath." She is completely serious as she talks. "I'm not a Russian assassin, by the way. I am mostly a freelancer. Although… I do have close ties to the Russians," she says proudly, and I'm just standing in front of her, looking flabbergasted. "I used to take on more assignments in the past, but I haven't worked as much ever since I married you. Now, I just do it to take the edge off every now and then. Like a hobby." The way she speaks about murder is how any other woman would talk about a grocery list.

"You killed Martinez," I state, and she shrugs.

"I'd kill anyone to keep you safe."

"What the fuck… B, that's not normal."

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