Page 22 of Blades of Obsession

“See that? You’re going to end up dead just like your little girlfriend,” I taunt.

There’s a disheveled and bruised man about my age, his face smeared with dirt and tears, bound and helpless on thefloor. He begins to sob uncontrollably, shaking his head in a futile attempt to deny the harsh reality he’s in. “What do you want? I’ll give you money!” he pleads.

“I’m getting paid half a million dollars to be here. I don’t need your money. You should already know that, Eli.”

I’m getting bored. If this were a year ago, I would be in heaven, my own twisted version of paradise. But now, all I can think about is Amelia. Wondering what she’s doing. Imagining the perfume she decided to put on today. It’s been three agonizing days trying to find this prick shaking on the ground, three days without seeing her.

“I’ll give you two million. My dad will get it for you. Please!”

“I have more money than my grandchildren will ever be able to spend through. Now shut the fuck up with your whining.”

I kick him in the head, sending him crashing against the wall, thrown off balance by the ropes binding his arms and legs. A tooth goes flying. I walk over and crouch down to his level.

“Please. You know me. I didn’t do anything. You don’t have to go through with this,” he begs.

“Save it for someone who cares.”

“They don’t care about you.” He coughs. “You’re killing an innocent man for people who’d slaughter you without a second thought. Is it worth losing your sanity over? Losing yourself over?”

“Shutup!” I grab a shovel off the wall, using the sharpened edge to hack into his chest and legs. Blood sprays as I carve into him. A memory flashes—the first time this was done to me, three years ago—but I push it to the back like I always do.

When he’s a bloodied mess and I’ve expended enough frustration, I take out my pocket knife and press it to his throat. This knife is always the final blow, the thing to draw the soul outof anybody I kill, and it looks just as beautiful as the first time I used it.

“Any last words, Eli?” I ask my signature question. Instead of a last meal, you get last words.

“Your mom is going to hate the man you’ve become,” he says, his voice weak.

I slit his throat, not wanting to hear more.

Usually, people’s last words are desperate pleas for their lives. But he decided to say something I’m sure will haunt me for a little while. The little bastard.

My phone starts ringing, and I look down to seeMarcoflashing across the screen. This is the absolute worst time for my dad to call. My finger hovers over the green icon for a few seconds, debating whether he deserves my time. “What do you want?” I eventually answer.

“Can’t even start with a hi or a how are you?” His condescending tone irritates the hell out of me. Then again, most people usually do.

“I know you’re calling because you need something. Let’s cut the bullshit and get on with it, I’m busy,” I bite out. He doesn’t deserve a greeting and frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass how he’s doing.

“I’m getting evicted,” he admits.

Exactly. He only calls when it benefits him somehow. Just like when he’s in trouble with the Serpents and needs my help getting out of it.

“A-and I need your help.” He always stutters before he’s had his morning beer to stabilize him.

“How much are you behind?”

“Well, it’s way past overdue so it’s-it’s going to shit. But I did find this steal of a place in Santa Fe. It’s a nice little penthouse, you see the best view in New Mexico. Hey, you can even visit me there sometime.”

Well, that won’t be happening.

Despite this, I ask, “What’s it going for?”

There’s a long pause, like he doesn’t want to tell me. I’d pay anything to have him no longer blowing up my phone like he’s been, and I think he knows that.

“A little under a million,” he rapidly shoots out, the words blending together.

“Are you fucking crazy?” I say harshly. “You haven’t talked to me in almost a year, and now you’re calling asking for almost a million dollars?” An unamused laugh escapes my lips.

I pace around the room, my left hand coming up to rub my temples. This is more stressful than the bodies in front of me I’m going to have to bury. He always knows how to give me a damn headache.

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