Page 57 of Shattered
“You hit her over an insult?”
“She spit in my face. I don’t know what came over me.”
This time, I straightened, then walked down the small room, observing the different variations of the tree, the manic spree on display, products of her obsession. Getting it right.Justright. Seeking the perfection of her vision.
“Was the woman helpless?” I asked.
Melissa waved a hand at the bruise on the side of her face. “Obviously not.”
“And did she get anything out of it?”
“She talked tomyclub member afterward, if that’s what you mean.” The weight was heavy on that possessive word. She staked her claim, then, even there. What would she say if anyone came near the secret of me,herkiller? Would she be as protective, as greedy then?
“How does she compare to you physically?” I asked.
“She’s a dancer, but we’re basically the same size. An inch or two difference. That might be the heels though.”
I walked towards her again. “I don’t care about a fight between two grown women. Do what you want with your free time.” Because this moment? This was not free time. It wasmytime. And I wouldn’t waste any more of it listening to why she had to fight a frivolous enemy. “Did you take advantage of a defenseless person?”
“No.”
“Did you intend to cause harm because you knew you could get away with it, because there was no way that the person would fight back?”
“No. I just wanted—”
“It’s not a grave injustice then.” I straightened my shoulders. “I thought you would know my rules by now.” She didn’t say anything. She did understand, then. “Suppose I said otherwise. Pretend that I thought that youweretaking advantage of the situation. What then?”
“But she wasn’t,” Melissa said. “She’s my size.”
“You’re ignoring the question,” I leaned in closer, “If you had crossed me, what do you think I would do, Melissa? Tell me.”
She grew quiet. Gripped her hands together, then tucked a hair behind her ear.
“Something tells me youwantto be punished,” I said.
“Punished?”
I took another step, her bare toes touching the edge of my boots, and she flinched, fighting the urge to tuck her feet underneath her. She wanted me, but her instincts always fought with her, driving her to protect herself.
“Did you act out on purpose, Melissa? To get me to react? To try and manipulate me into doing what you wanted?”
She stammered, no full words coming out, biting her lip in between each failed sentence. She couldn’t figure out why she had done what she did. And I found it pleasurable to watch her unravel like this. Unable to explain herself.
Life was never simple. These moments amplified that.
“You know, I trust you,” she finally said. Her eyes darkened. “I’ll ask him to stop.”
“Who?”
“Jake,” she said quietly. “I trust you. You’re right.” I turned to the side, facing the bedroom window. “I’ll talk to him,” she continued. “See if he understands why it’s wrong.” Because screwing an incapacitated, barely living corpse was an unambiguous gray area.Not. “Try to knock some sense into him. Make the world a better place.” It was laughingly optimistic, but I wasn’t going to mock her view of the world. I leaned on the wall. “I believe you, Rourke. Even if I disagreed with you at first, I’m willing to listen now. I trust you.”
On the surface, Melissa was a woman with curves and an urge to paint, who had made poor decisions that landed her in debt to a madam, who would make her work for it until she was no longer profitable. Melissa was also a woman I could command. I could tell her to open her hands wide so that I could drop the evidence into her palms—the bodies, my bundle of prized cords, my gloves and mask—and she would accept them, one by one, without complaint.
But beneath that layer, there was the woman who had a soul as dark as mine, given to impulse. Given to violence. The need to mix fear with pleasure, the fight to survive raging with the desire to please. She didn’t understand her actions or her desires, but who did? We were just animals trying to make it through the next day. There was no bigger picture. Only tomorrow, or nothing at all.
Melissa trusted me. And… I believed her too.
“You are depraved,” I muttered, the mechanical voice jarring.
