Page 15 of Deviant

And then I hit the send button before I can talk myself out of it.

Ilook up in surprise as a man I thought was dealt with stands, wavering on the threshold. Judging from the bags under his eyes, he’s obviously been questioning his life choices, perhaps even regretting them entirely.

“Why is he here?” I ask.

The guard beside him nudges him in the back and he flounders forward. “I, I got a message.” he says in that weak, pathetic voice.

My eyebrow raises, I get up slowly from my desk, wondering if this isn’t some sort of trick.

When I extend my hand, he places the phone in it with a more than obvious shake.

I click the standby button, then flash it in his face. “It’s locked,” I comment, “what’s thepasscode?”

“07, 05, 1952,” he states stupidly before adding, “my mother’s birthday.”

How very touching. I make a mental note of that code as I tap it in, ensuring I commit it to memory. The screen comes to life, all those messages spill forth like dirty little secrets. It’s all there, her desperate words all typed out.

It’s a delicious insight in her mind. I can practically taste the panic in her words. Poor darling is so confused as to why her posts won’t go live.

Did she really think we wouldn’t be on top of that?

Did she really believe that was some sort of ‘get out of jail free’ card?

I let out a low, satisfied sigh. It’s all here. All his sweet little comments back, his words of reassurance, telling her that it’ll be okay. That he’s going to help her. I guess in a way he has, he’s helped lead her right to me.

I tap out a message, using the same lingo he does, keeping it short, brief. Giving her instructions to be at a certain service station later that day. In her mind, Saul will be travelling from London anyway, so that explains the delay.

Once the message is delivered, she types back immediately, stating she’ll be there. That she’s so thankful. My lips curl at that. Oh, she will be thankful. By the time I’m finished this bitch will be thanking me for every second of life that I grant her.

“Well?” Saul asks, cutting through the mental image already seeping into my brain.

“Well, what?” I reply.

“Is she…” He glances to my brother then back at me. “Is she agreeing to meet?”

“Yes,” I state, before pocketing the phone and turning away. We may have a few hours, but I want this all executed perfectly. I want her tied up and gift-wrapped, and more importantly, I wanteveryone who attends her deliverance to already know what the deal is. I want them more than aware that this bitch is mine.

My property. My plaything.

And I want Anthony to witness it, to look in his eyes as he sees the physical manifestation of his loss and my victory all there, in blazing colour.

Saul’s hand grabs my arm, jerking me back.

I raise an eyebrow at the level of insolence. He really thinks he’s in a position to even touch me?

“I, I promised she wouldn’t be hurt.” he says, wrangling his hands together.

“Right.” Like he was ever in a position to make such a comment.

“I…” He glances to my brother then back to me. “Look, if you agreed I could take her, keep her quiet.”

“Excuse me?” I retort.

He shrinks at the tone but the stupid, snivelling fuck continues as if he thinks he has some leverage here, “I have a place, with a basement, look, I could keep her there, no one would know. She’d be secure. And I’d never let anyone see her, meet with her, I’d keep her isolated…”

My, my, how this woman seems to lure men in. I take a step back, assessing him and all the things he’s not saying.

“You’re in love with her.” I state.

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