Page 14 of Executing Malice
I won’t kill him. That would be too kind. Too easy. I want him to beg for death, beg the Gods and heaven for mercy as I make him regret the day he ever set eyes onmyLeila. I will make him regret thinking he has any right to hear her laugh. See her smile.
Make her fucking smile.
I start to my feet, eyes on the spiral of green roaming across a map of Jefferson, triangulating his location. My mind is already running the thin edge of my switchblade down his cock until the appendage is a splayed flower in four pieces curling intowards his pelvis. I’m already imagining how to fish down his esophagus to hook his intestines and drag them up through his mouth.
Maybe through his ass to feed back through his mouth.
I’m deliberating lemon juice and salt over the beautifully spread penis like some oyster platter when my computer pings. The scan’s complete.
Okay, mother fucker. Let’s see who I’m going to visit tonight.
I have to blink past the haze of crimson to read the name.
Reed Weir.
Fuck.
The murderous fury fizzles out like a broken sparkler. Just dies in its conception.
Well, this is awkward.
I lower myself gingerly back into my chair, ears burning. Humiliation swells beneath my skin as I realize I was about to dismember her ... I am not calling him her brother. That’s not his title. He didn’t earn it. Didn’t bleed for it. But the guy she knows. Do I trust him? Fuck no. But I won’t kill him ... yet.
I rub a hand down my face, tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling, letting the shame settle like ashes while Leila continues to chatter on about sushi and aSilent Hillsmarathon.
By the time they hang up, I’m mildly less homicidal, even less embarrassed, but actively invested all over again as Leilascoops up a T-shirt from the dresser and heads in the direction of the bathroom. Still topless. Still breathtaking in just her panties. Long, toned legs graceful. Ass perfect and round swaying with every stride. Her tits give just enough bounce to make me forget all about that phone call and relax.
The chair creaks beneath me with the shifting of my weight as I reach down and grip my cock. Squeeze it through the soft material of my cargos. The piercings tug with just the right amount of pain to curl the fire in my belly and I ease my hold.
Two and a half months ago when I first moved into the attic of her house, I worried she might hear me. There isn’t much insulation, but she hasn’t yet. Maybe she thinks the creaks and groans are just the house settling. That’s what a normal person might think. What else could it be in a town like Jefferson where people don’t even lock their fucking doors?
I don’t care how many times I say it, it’s an insane mentality in this day and age. The town is a criminal’s wet dream.
But other people aren’t my problem. The only person who matters is Leila. Obviously, it’s a good thing I’m here looking out for her. Herother brotherclearly doesn’t give a shit. If someone left a bloody apple and razor blade on my watch, I wouldn’t stop until I’ve added their teeth to my collection. This fucker has no idea what’s happening in Leila’s life. Then he hasthe audacity to cancel plans with her. Like what in his pathetic life is more important than spending time with her?
Useless.
He doesn’t deserve her.
None of them do.
Unbothered and unaware, Leila stops at the counter where I cut myself for her mere hours before and examines her face. She tilts it from side to side, picks at an imperfection along her jaw, sighs.
I settle back in my chair and watch her. Something about the simple routine of brushing her hair, washing her face soothes me. It’s so ... normal. So familiar. I wonder if she remembers all the times I’d sit on the toilet seat and watch her. She’d laugh and tell me I was weird, but being close to her calmed me in a way I never understood.
She half bends over the sink as she brushes her teeth. The tiny, nearly pinprick of a camera lens is fixed in the light fixture just above the mirror, giving me a clear shot of her face and the firm swells of her breasts as they bounce and jiggle freely with every twitch of her arm.
They graze the ledge of the sink as she leans in to spit and gather water in her mouth to rinse.
She finishes her nighttime skin routine with the same unhurried pace, removes her panties that get discarded in the hamper, draws on her top and returns to the bedroom. Sheclimbs into bed, long legs slip across cool sheets. She settles in and I wait.
There are several things she no longer does the same. Habits she cast aside along with me. But sleeping with her pussy bare and available for me is still part of her routine.
I relish in it even as jealousy prickles, wondering if she’s done this for another man. If she welcomed his fingers and tongue, even his cock inside her while she continued to sleep, blissfully unaware.
For me, it was a comfort thing. Sleeping with her warmth closed around me was my equivalent of sucking my thumb. It soothed me.
The fact that she still waits for me only amps the sweet thrum of torture in my cock.
