Page 65 of Tex's Angel

“Yeah, you’re all kinds of polite and respectful when I’ve got you under my control.” He walks over and begins rummaging through a kitchen drawer. “I’ll bet if I let you go right now, you’d go right back to not giving a shit about what you did to me in a heartbeat.”

Too right buddy, though not before making sure they’d lock you up and throw away the key.

I don’t say what’s on my mind because he’s going to take anything I say the wrong way and that’s the last thing you want to do around someone with control issues.

Finally, he finds what he’s looking for because he stops pawing through the drawer and lifts a huge pair of scissors. A chill creeps up my spine as I wonder what he plans to do with them.

He walks over to me, holding them high in the air. “I’ve spent years trying to decide on the perfect revenge for a woman like you.”

“What do you mean when you say a woman like me?” I hear my own voice tremble a little when I speak.

His face lights with unholy glee. “Glad you asked. I’ve had years thinking up the perfect revenge for the woman who thinks she knows what’s best for every fucking body else in the whole world. Someone who can’t talk to the man she’s got a problem with, so she goes behind his back and starts meddling. Someone who thinks her shit don’t stink and that she’s so much better than other people.”

My whole psyche shrinks in on itself. “I don’t understand.”

“The perfect revenge for a pretty, Little Miss Perfect is to ruin all that beauty. I’m gonna make you so ugly that old ass biker you’ve been hanging all over won’t even give you a second glance.”

He grabs me and pulls me into the kitchen, sitting me at the table and shoving my chair in so I’m pinned in place. He grabs a hold of the cheap, dollar store handcuffs and yanks, pulling my hands onto the table in front of me. All of a sudden, I have a horrible idea what his plan is, and I try and jerk my hands away. Daniel just laughs at my frightened reaction.

Then he redoubles his efforts. Even though I try to ball my fists, he’s not having it, and pries my hand open forcing my palm flat on the tabletop. When he brings out the scissors again, I’m helpless to stop him. Panic rises hard and fast in my chest, and I start begging him. “Daniel, please don’t do this. I’m begging you.”

“Maybe you should have considered the implications before you started interfering in my life.”

“I was wrong for not caring about your feelings. I know that now.” I can tell my words are going in one ear and out the other. Even if I meant every word of my apology—which I obviously don’t—he’s beyond reason. I close my eyes, so I don’t have to see it happen. I have a horrible mental image of him snipping off my finger joints down to the first knuckle.

I hold my breath and keep my eyes squeezed tightly shut as I feel him messing around with my pinkie and hear the scissors snip. There is a tiny bite of pain. Then another and another as he snips to his heart’s content. I’m waiting for the agony, but it doesn’t come. I’m too scared to open my eyes, he’s not cutting off my fingertips but he’s clearly doing something.

When he’s all done, my hand slides from his grasp.

He sneers, “Have a look at my handiwork, bitch.”

When I open my eyes and look down, I see he’s cut off all my long, well-manicured nails, one by one. They’re strewn all over the table.

Something akin to relief surges in my chest. When he steps back and grabs my other hand, I let him. If clipping off my nails is some kind of punishment in his mind, I’ll allow it and act aggrieved.

He happily snips off one nail after another while I watch. When he’s all finished, he smiles down at me. “See what I did? I took all your pretty nails away. Now your fingers are just plain old ugly.”

I play along. “Yes, I feel ugly. Now we’re even, right?”

The hand holding the scissors drops to his side like a dead weight and his expression turns harsh. “Even? No. We’renowhere near even. I said I was gonna make you ugly and I intend to keep my promise.”

He takes out the key to my cuffs and undoes one, for a moment I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s not a lasting reprieve as he then forces my hands behind my back and cuffs them in that position before shoving me back down in the chair.

Then grabbing a handful of my hair, he jerks my head closer, making tears spring to my eyes. His gaze is hot and intense enough to clearly communicate how much he likes hurting and humiliating me. That’s when I realize he’s a sadist and clearly getting off on this.

Retrieving the scissors, he comes close, all smiles. “Now, to cut off all that luxurious hair.”

I begin shaking my head and using my shoulders to keep him away. This results in a swift jerk of my head backwards. He looks into my eyes and tells me. “I’m going to cut your hair whether you like it or not. Keep moving around like that and I might end up gouging out your eyeball my accident.”

I freeze in place for a brief second.

“That’s better. Now hold still, bitch.”

“Didn’t they try to rehabilitate you in prison?” I’m not trying to be rude. I really want an answer to that question, because if they did it clearly didn’t work.

Tugging my hair back again, only marginally more gently, he responds, “Yes. They did and it’s the reason I’m not using these scissors in more inventive ways. Now hold still.”

I let his words rattle around in my brain for a few minutes while he begins snipping bits off my long hair. I can’t get my head around what he’s doing because he seems to be just cutting off an inch at a time all over my head before taking off another and another.

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