Page 33 of Psycho

“I suggest you take a shower, and get some rest. You’re Psycho’s plaything now, and you never know when I’ll get an itch that I just can’t scratch.”

He removes his hand from my throat, and steps away with a chuckle, as I gasp and cough, nearly falling to the floor. I take my first full breath when he leaves the room, and shuts the door. A shiver runs down my spine, as I hear the click of a lock. I’m never getting away from him. There’s no chance.

I run to the window and look outside at the world around me. The bedroom faces a massive pool, and gardens, as far as the eye can see. I was not looking for an escape, but it becomes clear it wouldn’t have been an option, when bars slide down outside the window. I look around the room, trying to find cameras, because I know Psycho made those bars come down. Is he watching me? Probably. I don’t see any signs of surveillance, but I don’t doubt that, somewhere in here, there are cameras.

“I hate you,” I say out loud, hoping he hears me, before turning and walking to the bathroom, to take a hot shower.

I stand under the rainfall showerhead, soaking up the warmth, as I think about the man I wish I had never seen again. What made him this way? There has to be some traumatic event that led him down this path of madness. Children are not born evil, they are made. Was he abused? Mafia men are terrible people, so maybe his father beat him, and made him like this. I certainly don’t remember his dad being abusive, but maybe I wasn’t around for it. I’m fascinated by human behavior, and believe there’s normally a rational reason people snap, and do heinous things. It doesn’t make it okay, but it does explain how it happened.

After finishing in the shower, and drying off, I open the drawer to the dresser to find my clothes. Not clothes he bought for me.

My clothes.

He took them when he was in my house, which shouldn’t be surprising at this point, but it is. I groan in frustration, and get dressed in my favorite pink pajama pants, and a matching tank top. Crawling into bed, I squeeze my eyes shut tight, as the grief seizes me. I don’t cry, I never do. That part of me is dead. After Michael died, love was replaced with hate. Losing a child is the most painful trauma any mother can experience. It’s how I know I can survive this madman, no matter what he dishes out. Nothing could be worse than the day he was taken from me.

I let out a shaky breath, and force myself to sleep, knowing tomorrow I’ll go through the same things I did today, or maybe worse. My only solace is the hope that, if I die, I’ll get to hold my baby again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

PSYCHO

After taking a shower myself, I turn on my monitor to observe my little lamb. I watch as she gets dressed in fluffy pink pants, and my fingers itch to touch them, and drag them down her legs. I grip my cock hard as she slips into bed. Her expression is pained as she closes her eyes, but it’s her voice that makes me take notice.

“Goodnight, Michael,” she says, in a voice drenched with anguish.

Humans are curious by nature, which is the only reason I wonder who Michael is, and why she sounded so damn sad. I don’t really give a fuck about her feelings. As I reminded her a little while ago, she did this. Had she stayed out of our family business, she wouldn’t be here. I don’t kidnap random fucking women. Had she not started asking questions about the Bonetti Brothers, she’d still be safe in her own bed. We own the majority of the city. There is nowhere she could’ve safely asked questions about us, and it not gotten back to me. Showing up at my brother’s house? Dangerous game. Not just dangerous, but fucking stupid.

Deep down, I’m a nice guy, so I let her sleep for an hour, before I get up and grab my knife. I chuckle to myself, okay, maybe not really nice, but I have my moments of decency. I walk to her bedroom and open the door quietly. Stepping over to the bed, I grip my knife, while the desire to cut her surges through me, like a wildfire out of control.

I give myself a minute, and allow my eyes to take her in as I drag the comforter off her, tossing it to the floor. So beautiful. Her long dark hair is splayed across the pillow. Her chest moves with heavy breaths, as her eyelashes flutter subtly. I pull her shirt up over her tits, and smile at the mark I’ve already left. I’ve never seen a pair I didn’t like, but hers are perfect, a ‘C’ cup, so big and perky. They pebble under my gaze, like they know I’m here. I need to call my jeweler again and get her nipple jewelry rushed, so I can get that done. I run the blade of my knife over her nipple and stifle a groan. She’ll look exquisite with two knives in her rosy nipples, matching the one in her hood.

Climbing on the bed, I straddle her thighs without putting my weight on her. The thought of tying her up did occur to me, but I’m hoping for a fight, which restraining her would prevent. Leaning over Anastasia, I cut the side of her breast, just enough to make her bleed. I train my eyes on her face as I swipe my tongue up her skin, tasting her sweet blood, as her eyes pop open and a loud gasp leaves her lips.

Exquisite.

Her eyes widen with delicious fear, as they dart back and forth, as if she’s trying to make sense of her current predicament. Her tits rise and fall with her panicked breaths, and her bottom lip quivers, as she speaks quietly, almost like she’s at her breaking point.

Fuck, I hope so.

“I’ve done everything you’ve wanted me to. I don’t deserve to die, Massimo.”

She digs her nails into the sheets, her body trembling like a leaf, and I can see the fight to remain brave, and not crumble in front of me. Cutting her stunning skin does not mean I came in here to kill her.

“I’m not here to kill you, little lamb. Not yet anyway. I want to play with my pretty little fuck doll.”

She whimpers sweetly, as I move down her body and slice her stomach, just above her belly button.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Her voice sounds devastated, but when I look up at her face, there are no tears. Just a look of fury, mixed with alarm, and a side of lust, which makes my cock weep for her.

“Your skin is beautiful, little lamb. The perfect fair shade, that only looks more appealing when it drips for me. The contrast of the dark red color against your light skin does things to me. You taste like heaven. I can’t wait to find out if your pussy tastes as good as your blood.”

Moving further down the bed, I forcefully spread her legs, press my face to her pussy, and inhale her scent. Jesus, she smells good.

“Since you like playing games, we’re going to have a little fun, counselor. If you’re a good girl, I will reward you. If you’re a bad girl, I’ll fuck you with the blade of my knife.”

She releases another gasp, and I swear I can almost hear her heart pounding in her chest.

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