Page 98 of Cruel Malady: A Necrosis of the Mind

For Mia, hurt turned into pain, and pain became anger. Anger mutated into seething hatred.

By the time she hired me, she wanted Addisyn disfigured.

Of course, back then, I had firm rules in place that statedno killingormaiming. So we agreed on the next best punishment for a narcissist like Addisyn.

Across the street, the townhouse door opens, and I watch my mark exit the building.

I wait for her to reach the crosswalk, taking inventory of every shop window, corner and alley where a stalker could emerge, before I pick up my coffee cup and start trailing Addisyn.

I keep my distance, staying almost a block behind her as she navigates the sidewalk toward her destination. She used to have a high-paying career as an interior decorator. One of the avenues she used to hunt and seduce married men. After I demolished her reputation with a well-tailored revenge scheme, she now lives a low-key life as an assistant at a dog kennel.

Not physically disfigured as my client had wanted, but a disfigured life can be just as effective. When Addisyn’s name is googled, a swath of websites pop up. Every time a background check is run on her, a fabricated report is delivered of the gritty details of the lives she’s ruined. An in-depth catalog of the people on her personal hit-list. The medical report of her extensive list of sexually transmitted diseases. Instead of felonies and misdemeanors, I created a report tailored to Addisyn, a disturbing and uncomfortable read for any employer, colored with vibrant images of her in various compromising positions—the very images she kept on her phone to blackmail her victims.

And for the cherry on top, I programed a bot that, no matter how many times she pays to have the information removed, or changes her name, is coded to her social security number.

It’s hard enough for her to get a decent job, but in today’s society, where everyone lives online, Addisyn finds it near impossible to even get a date, never mind seduce anyone’s man.

Maybe one day she’ll opt to change her identity altogether, but for now, she’s accepted her humble place in this world as a troll.

As I reflect inward, trying to analyze my feelings for Addisyn and what I did to her, I wonder if I should have some remorse for taking the revenge scheme to the extreme and never giving her a chance at redemption. But all I feel is satisfaction that, even two years later, she’s still paying her dues.

I made sure to cover my tracks, making it difficult for anyone to link me to her profiles and background reports—but there’s always someone better. And if she winds up murdered, she’ll become part of an investigation that could potentially lead right to me.

Which is another reason why I chose to stalk Addisyn in the hopes of finding Alex. He can’t take it that far. I’ll pay the price for Ericson when the time comes, but I won’t go down for Alex’s crimes also.

I spend most of the day reading a thriller on my phone, hopping from coffee shops to bars, while keeping tabs on Addisyn’s menial life. After two full days of this, I’m becoming agitated and nervous that I chose the wrong mark.

Where the hell are you, Alex?

It’s this frustration and doubt that almost makes me abandon Addisyn. But as I follow her toward a dance club, I decide a few drinks to soothe the burn isn’t the worst idea. Then I’ll start fresh. Move on to the next target on the list.

I dress in a black tank top and jeans, low profile but able to blend. I keep my small crossbody bag hooked around my shoulder rather than checking it. I lose the hat and decide to wear my hair in loose waves, obstructing part of my face. But really, in a dark and lively atmosphere like a club, where most patrons are inebriated, no one looks too closely at facial details.

With this in mind, I have a drink in my hand at all times, sipping slowly. I want the warm, comforting buzz to dull the sharp edge of tension, but I need to stay alert.

I turn down a few offers to dance. I’m not here seeking the distraction of sex. I haven’t had sex since that night on the waterfall cliff with Alex, and the thought of being intimate with another person feels…wrong.

Rationally, I’ve been avoiding the physical act out of fear of feeling those same heightened and torn emotions. Scared of losing myself to the deep end. Terrified they’re tied only to Alex and what that could mean—a connection that belongs only to him.

A wisp of fury curls within my veins.

How am I supposed to understand myself and what I actually feel if I don’t test the theory?

I can’t isolate myself forever. And I can’t live in fear of my feelings for Alex.

I toss back the rest of my cocktail and leave Addisyn gyrating with some loser near the bar. I do a quick scan of the men within the vicinity, and I walk up to one with a cute smile and nice build.

“You’ll do,” I say, as I grab his flashy button-down and tug him onto the dance floor.

He doesn’t protest as I turn my back to him and press up against his body, swiveling my hips erotically as a haze of club smoke mists the air around us.

I force his hands on my hips and thrust my ass into his groin, allowing the heated shot of alcohol to fuel my actions.

Don’t think. Not about Alex. The experiment. Fuckingfeelings.

Nothing.

Impulse and carnal need only.

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