Page 17 of Luca
Angry at my self-doubt on doing the right thing, I transferred that fury onto this man.
I grabbed my favorite knife from my holster wrapped around my ankle.
“I’m going to plunge this knife into your chest and then slice you open,” I declared calmly.
He shook his head, barely able to move his head. He laid with his back against the steel table, his head, torso and legs tightened with three belts, like he was ready for surgery. In a way, it was ironically appropriate considering what was in store for him.
“Or maybe I should start with your eyes,” I said pensively, like I was seriously considering it.
He cringed, silently begging me not to do it.
This fucker was laughable.
And he thought he’d touch my woman and my child with his filthy hands.
“No, no, no,” he pleaded as snot ran down his nose and face. The guy was a mess.
The pitch of his screams turned higher with every inch the blade neared his eye. His overgrown, greasy coal hair was matted to his forehead. It made me sick to my stomach to think of him near my woman.
Okay, okay. Technically, she wasn’t mine yet, but she would be.
I was giving her space until she was ready.
God, I hoped it’d be soon. My balls were quickly turning bluish purple and threatening to fall off from all my jacking off.
Before my blade could touch his eyeball, he closed his eyelids as if that would protect them, but I let the tip of the knife scrape against it, drawing blood.
“Such a sensitive area,” I ground out, my anger bubbling under my skin. “Just one little nip and it bleeds like a bitch.”
“What have I done to you?” I almost laughed. Almost!
He continued crying and giving me a goddamn headache. I should be reading my latest book about natural births and looking for Lamaze class locations, not dealing with this shit.
“Well, first you dared talk to my woman,” I chirped. “Second, you thought you could actually marry her. And thirdly, you’re a pervert.”
“P-please.” He stared at me with beady eyes, blood and sweat smeared over his face. “I won’t marry her. I promise.” He stared at me like a little puppy pleading for a bone. “Please, don’t kill me. I have money,” he blubbered, spit sputtering down his mouth. “Set me free.”
I nodded, grinning like a lunatic.
“Sure, I’ll let you go.”
Then in one swift move, I sliced his throat and watched him gurgle his own blood, drowning in it.
It took him fifteen seconds to suffocate. Fifteen seconds for hope to vanish from his eyes.
“And this is how you end someone who thinks he’s worthy of my woman,” I deadpanned.
Margaret’s pale face, as that little girl and as a grown woman, flashed through my mind.
If only she knew, my conscience warned.If she knew, she’d hate me more. More than my father. More than anything in this world.
Shut. Up.
A conscience was a bitch sometimes. And it was something I didn’t need right now.
My hands curled into tight fists, my knuckles turning white.
Lamaze classes would have to wait. It’d be a long night getting rid of the body.
