Page 9 of Only for Him
Cantiano.
I remember the way she glared at MacDougal’s name with hate like a viper.
I remember the disgust in her voice.
The righteous anger when she drew her thumb across her neck while she imagined doing what I’m doing right now.
Suddenly, there is a second purpose to my visit tonight. The stars are aligning to give me this opportunity.
“I like screams, too, James. But unfortunately, I don’t want to hear them from you tonight.”
The knife finds its way to a specific point in his neck. He starts to scream, but with a practiced slice, I sever his vocal cords.
It’s a small cut, tidy, but it makes all the difference.
His voice dies to nothing but a wet hiss. I savor the moment: no more speeches, no more deals.
It’s exactly what Detective Cantiano would’ve wanted.
And it’s exactly what I’ll give her.
As MacDougal struggles against his restraints, all I see is the wild darkness in Detective Cantiano’s eyes. Oh, what she would do if she were here.
My knife begins to move and I dare to imagine the sensation of her soft hands in mine as I guide her through each step of the torture. My movements take on a renewed fervor.
They are no longer just for me.
They’re forher.
They are forus.
With every cut and every stab, I find myself wanting her more and more.
I want that slender neck of hers between my teeth. I want to wrap her dark silken hair around my fist while I bury myself deep between her legs. To taste the sweat slicking her skin as I drive the air from her lungs one thrust at a time.
I want to make her shake with pleasure the way this man is thrashing with pain.
And shewillshake with pleasure when she learns about this. About what I’ve done for her.
I know it.
The torture takeshours.The blood is a perfect red when the councilman finally stops moving. In the dim light of this hellish apartment, it’s brighter than the city lights.
As I savor my handiwork, I imagine her here, in this room full of mirrors and twisted desires. Her full lips parted as she pants in exertion at this beautiful sight of what I’ve done.
No,I think.Of what we’ve done. Of what wewilldo.
I let out a breath, imagining it somehow filling up her lungs.
Then, for a reason I can’t explain—whether it’s from a singular moment of madness or something moreprimal—I carve three clean and legible words onto MacDougal’s chest.
A message of my desire and a token of my affections.
TO DETECTIVE CANTIANO.
5
GISELLE
