Page 87 of Cruel Bargain

“I require an audience.” My eyes dart over to the girl on the bed. “It’ll be worth your while.”

She huffs, but takes a seat. “Get on with it, then.”

I walk over to the bed, and the girl stirs, a frown forming on her flawless face.

Red hair, green eyes, and a cute, upturned nose.

“How old are you?” I ask.

When she doesn’t answer, Madam Levy says, “She’s nineteen.”

“You have a beautiful name, Fiona.”

She draws her legs up and scoots further back on the bed. I can see why Madam Levy chose her. She’s angry and unaccommodating.

“Do you know why you were picked?” I ask.

“Because you wanted to fuck someone young?” she returns.

“I didn’t come here to fuck anything,” I confess. “Although I might need relief before leaving.”

Her brow furrows.

“I came here to torture and kill someone.”

As soon as realization strikes her, her face falls.

This girl is so deeply wounded, she’s not going to fight me.

Which will make what I have to do easier.

“Will it hurt?” she finally asks, refusing to look at me.

“My victims’ suffering is immeasurable.”

I walk slowly to the back of the chair that Madam Levy is seated in, thrilled that my patience has paid off.

“Just be quick about it,” the girl says, desperation needling her voice.

“Trust me, sweetheart. You don’t want me to be.” I take out the knife I have hidden underneath my shirt and clamp one hand around Madam Levy’s neck. She startles, bringing her hands up to fight me off, but I’m in complete control, from the moment I immobilize her, to when I pull her tongue from her mouth and dismember it with one clean stroke.

***

FIONA

What the fuck is happening?

I look on as blood spurts from Madam Levy’s mouth, mesmerized by the sight of my captor’s suffering.

The man then saws off her ears, nose, the lids from her eyes, leaving her looking grotesque and horrific.

Her screams are strangely quiet, and I wonder if that’s why the man removed her tongue.

It should have been me who’d killed her. I’d been planning her demise for so long, waiting for the perfect moment. It wasn’t until a week ago that I got my hand on a knife, and that’d only happened because one of my clients was drunk.

My hand is wrapped around the hilt right now because I was waiting for the man to attack me. I’m not stupid enough to think I could win against his brute strength, but I was determined to do some damage on the way out, and figured that he’d be so pissed he might kill Madam Levy afterward.

The man shoves a rag in Madam Levy’s mouth, pulls a length of rope from his bag, and ties her to the chair.

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