Page 58 of Corrupting Ivy

I waved at him. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Walking up the porch as he drove away while I waited to go inside until his back end had fully disappeared down the road.

I took a deep breath, pleased with the bullet I had just dodged, then walked inside. Ma tipped her chair on her side, her fingers trapped under the armrest, pinned to the floor.

“Let’s hurry this up.” I pulled her chair to the upright position. “I have someone who needs me.”

I never thought I’d hear myself say these words and have the meaning behind them to be about a woman. My clubs satisfied my needs, but now I think I’ve become addicted to taking a woman and exposing her to my world just to see how she survives. It’s a thrilling ride… intoxicating even.

“I’ll ask you again. Where did you put Doug’s foot?”

“I can’t tell you. You’ll take it, and then you won’t need me anymore.”

I smiled as I laughed, shaking my head. “I’ve never needed you. To end that wouldn’t be poetic, it would be merciful. I enjoy seeing you suffer every day. Besides, mercy is something you’ve never afforded me. So I guess you can say I learned it from you, Ma.”

Her gaze drifted off and turned vacant. I tapped her cheek, bringing her back to this plane. She blinked her eyes a few times.

I stepped away and pulled out the shears. “Tell me where the foot is, Rhondaor I’m going to cut him up piece by piece until he resembles hamburger meat.” I picked up the tip of Patrick’s finger, lined up the shears. It takes an incredible amount of strength to snip through bone, but if you go through the joint, that part is softer. It allows the sharp object—or in this case, somewhat sharp—to glide through.

“Please don’t,” she cried.

I squeezed the handle with both fists. The shears closed together with a jerking downward motion as it slipped between the knuckle and sliced through tendons.

Patrick woke up, his eyes big, his mouth wide as he screamed. I picked up his finger as it dropped to the floor and tossed it at her chest.

Horror flashed across her face, leaving me with a midnight-black wave of pleasure rippling inside me. “Did I make myself clear?” I said over their sobs.

Rhonda may balance between her psychosis and sanity, but there was always one thing that I could count on. She was coherent enough at any point and time to understand the meaning of pain.

She understood that someone who took care of her and who she enjoyed having around was going to die if she didn’t give me what I wanted. It was up to her now to fight back the psychosis and give up the information. She could do it. I’ve seen it happen.

Rhonda was mid-break when I killed Doug. She pushed it all to the back and ignored it the best she could when I forced her to help me bury the bastard.

She ground her teeth and shook her head. My insides vibrated with euphoria.

I pulled the pliers from my back pocket. “Open up, Patrick. This is going to hurt.”

I’d folded my clothesagain, keeping out the short shorts I’d bought with his money, and put away the rest. Then twisted my hair in a tight bun so I didn’t have to fight with it while making drinks. Now I sat here twiddling my thumbs, waiting for Randall to come back.

How had things between him and me escalated so fast? I didn’t intend on letting someone into my life so soon after Billy, but Randall was so different. He made me feel alive, and the sex… I learned things about myself in just those two moments with him that I never knew about myself.

I don’t think it’s healthy to compare sexual partners, but sex with Billy was a standard missionary position, and it never lasted over five minutes. He was a selfish lover in the bedroom and out of it.

The sun dipped down past the tree, making my insides shake. I didn’t like being late. In fact, if I wasn’t at least fifteen minutes early, I was late, and that cutoff was approaching.

If he didn’t make it here in time, it would force me to walk down that darkening street again. A balloon of pressure built up inside me. I didn’t want to walk alone, but if it meant being on time, then it was something I’d force myself to do. I did it last night, I can do it again.

I paced, biting the tip of my finger, then glanced at the time on the microwave. Five till. I threw my hands up and walked out the door, spinning the dead bolt and pulling my key. I turned to walk down the steps when a man stood at the bottom, his hands braced on both sides of the railings, blocking my passage.

It wasn’t Randall. He was shorter, but still broad in the shoulders and muscular. My stomach dropped, and a burst of nausea tinged the back of my throat.

I fisted my long house key, placing it between my knuckles, and braced myself as he climbed the stairs towards me. There was no way I’d be able to get inside by the time he made it up here.

The man stopped mid-step and looked me up and down. I fisted my key tighter.

“I’m looking for Tonk,” he said, his voice deep and husky.

I shook my head. Why would he think this Tonk person would live here, or that I’d know anything about him? Who’s named Tonk, anyway?

---