Page 31 of Corrupting Ivy

“You knew him well enough to know of his wife and kids?”

“I only know what Ma told me. You know how it is with divorced parents. She had nothing but terrible things to say about him.”

He nodded and scribbled some more. “And what would your mother tell you about Doug?”

I blew out a breath and tipped my head back, pretending to recall the things she never said. Ma never said a bad word about that bastard. She had an obsession with him that never went away, even though he’d left her for someone else.

“He’s a deadbeat. We’re better off without him. His wife is a whore.” I scratched at my stubble. “The usual stuff.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding his head to some unheard tune. “Well, if you have anything else to add, or if something comes to mind, call me. My number is on the card.”

“Will do.” I put his card in my pocket as the other two agents stepped out of the dump Ma called home. “You know. One other thing I heard was he had a major drug issue. Maybe it caught up to him?”

“We’ve heard that as well. I appreciate your time.”

I leaned against the porch pillar and watched them drive away. Only when I thought they wouldn’t return did I go inside, where I was ready to do battle with a crazed woman.

Ma sat at the kitchen table right where they left her, her hair clumped in her fists as she mumbled incoherently.

Great. Her sanity left with them.

I cleared my throat. “Ma,” I said, getting her attention.

Her head shot up, and our matching brown eyes collided. “They came into my home, Spence. They wanted me, but I wouldn’t let them.”

“Good job, Ma. Let’s talk about Doug.”

Her features softened at the mention of her junkie lover. Then she frowned, her brows crushed together, her lips pressed in a thin line as she clenched her fists harder in her hair. “The man you killed?” She released her hair with one hand and slapped her head in time with her words. “So much blood.”

“Yes, you told me to do it.” She didn’t, really. It was me. But that was just one more thing I used to keep her miserable. It destroyed her when I informed her the next morning that Doug was dead, just as she’d asked. I stopped myself from laughing as I recalled the horror on her face. “You helped me bury him. Don’t you remember?” That part was true, and it was how she knew where to find him.

Her mouth hung open, her eyes pooled with unshed tears. “Are you going to kill me too?”

I stalked towards her and fisted the rest of her hair, tipping her head back to a painful angle, then dug my fingers into her cheeks until I could feel her molars pressing against her skin. She cried out, and my insides clenched with pleasure. “If I wanted to kill you, you worthless meat sack, I would have buried you right beside your partner where the bugs could eat your eyes out together. I’d be rid of you, but that would be too easy. You deserve to be where you’re at. You deserve to suffer and live in squalor.” I released her with a shove, almost toppling her over in her seat, then stepped away and swallowed my disgust.

All feelings and emotions slipped down my body like a shiver until it sunk deep inside and disappeared.

She righted herself in her chair as I pulled one out and sat down. I gripped the knife I had strapped to my belt and stabbed it into the scarred wooden table.

The proverbial tables had turned. I was no longer afraid of her. She’d been afraid of me since I killed my first man. I was no longer the little boy she could push around, scar, and lock away. I was a deadly and ruthless man that knew no mercy. Even if I did, she didn’t deserve it.

They say that psychopaths don’t have the ability to love. But I disagree. We may not love a person as a normal individual does, but we know what love is. We love hearing the screams of our victims, the blood rushing down their paling skin, the sight of absolute terror and fear in their eyes. That was love—a true love that would never disappoint me.

“Ma?” Her eyes glazed over as she stared at her knife stuck in the wood. “Rhonda?” She snapped out of her daze, shaking her head slightly, then looked up at me. “That’s better.” I twisted the knife until the wood splintered.

She smiled, as though I didn’t just say these things to her. “Spence.” Her eyes flitted to the damage on the table. “Stop doing that. Do you want a glass of water?” She stood.

I cleared my throat and rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. “Ma.” She shuffled a little further towards the kitchen and jerked to a stop when I slammed my fist on the table. The cups of water that still sat on the table from her guests bounced in place, splashing. “Ma.” I took a deep breath, not letting my emotions lead me. “Sit down. Let’s talk about Doug.”

She turned around slowly and sat back in her chair while I spun the knife again—more splinters.

“Doug?”

Dealing with her while in her psychosis state was difficult and more time-consuming than it needed to be. My patience was thin, but snapping at her again wouldn’t help the situation and would only force her to retreat into herself.

“Yes, Doug.”

“What do you want to know about him?” she asked with a saccharine sweet voice.

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