Page 70 of Deviant Virtue

“What?”

“Are you an idiot? I’m telling you to pick a number between one and seven.”

I glanced at her perplexed face, her lips slightly agape as her hair fell over her eyes. She had wavy hair, which was pretty, but only if taken care of correctly. Currently, it looked like a bird’s nest.

“Uh, five?” Her question was filled with uncertainty.

“Perfect.” I beamed and turned around after picking a sharp butcher knife out of the drawer.

Brianne took a step back. “What are you doing?”

I feigned innocence. “Oh this?” I pointed to the knife. “This is number five. Very beautiful, might I add. You and she are about to become acquainted.”

Brianne’s fight-or-fight response activated, and she bolted. It was like a scene from a low-budget horror movie, where the main character rushes up the stairs, when the door to the outside was right there, as if they wanted to be killed.

Humming softly as I followed her, I inspected the knife. It was big but a bit dull. That posed no issue though because I knew which body parts to hit, and how to wield a dull blade. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to resort to barbaric methods.

“Oh, Brianne,” I sang out, “there’s no point in hiding. Unless you want to jump out of the window, it will end quicker if you just come to me.”

There was a hallway in front of me, with two pairs of doors on each side. All the doors were locked, so all I could see was the big window straight ahead of me. It was fairly early in the afternoon, just after four o’clock.

Davorin had left an hour ago. He’d told me he had to pick up his suit from the store, and the mere thought of that sent shivers down my spine. Meeting with my two brothers was next, and discussing another plan that didn’t involve me was their main topic; however, I couldn’t be stopped, and they fucking knew it.

In the other hand, I held my phone. As quietly as possible, I typed out a message, pressed send, and locked it. Then I put it on the floor and slid it towards the far window, to make sure it was out of reach.

The wooden floor squeaked underneath her feet. My eyes snapped to the left, just as she busted the door open and ran straight towards me. Screaming, she pushed me, and I stumbled. My gaze landed on the sharp object in her hand, a piece of glass. I had no idea where she’d got it from.

I hissed in pain when she punctured my right arm and used my left palm to hit her throat directly. At a loss for breath, she fell off me, trying to regain her strength. The opportunity was there, and I kicked her in the stomach with my heel, penetrating her skin.

The butcher knife was safely in my right hand, and as I managed to bring it up—the glass still in my arm—I hit her in her throat, where her fingers were clutching. Her fingers were sliced in half from the harsh impact, and they fell to the floor.

She wasn’t dead yet, and the rage that had been building inside me for the past few weeks, months, even years resurfaced. Tonight, I had no intention of keeping my feelings hostage.

I remembered everything about her. How she’d snooped through my home, how she had information on me that no one else had. Well, Aleksei had got his hands on the documents, but he was never going to speak of what he’d read.

I brought my hand high before I hit her with the knife again. Her screams subsided as the life slowly drained out of her body. I wished I could have tortured her more, but all I saw was red.

I never would’ve admitted it out loud, but I was jealous of the time she’d spent with Davorin. Who the fuck was she to be by his side? No one. She wasn’t me. That was my place, and all she’d done was stir up trouble since the day I met her.

Another strike, and her warm, thick blood was all over my bare stomach and chest. I’d ruined a perfect set of underwear, though I didn’t actually care all that much. All that mattered was that my hair and makeup remained intact. I had no time to do it all over again.

Another slash and I exhaled loudly. Then I threw the knife to the side and watched the scene in front of me. She was no longer a recognizable person. The wounds I’d inflicted were brutal. She looked like an animal that had been hit by a truck, before a predator had found its body and started eating.

I didn’t notice how much rage I’d put into the action. Her eyes were open, wide. Her head was almost decapitated, though I hadn’t thought I had enough strength or a blade sharp enough for that. Blood continued to gush. It was everywhere—the walls, the floor, where it had become a pool very fast, and on me.

I’d created a hole in her stomach, her insides visible. I wasn’t easily disgusted, yet this took the cake. I gagged then shook my head. Slowly, I turned around, but the buzzing of her phone made me halt.

I found it in her pocket, and my brows creased as I read the words on the screen.

100% complete.

I began to search through the app to figure out what it was. Another wave of fury overtook me, and a sarcastic laugh slipped free.

It was an app that sent a message to a chosen number at a pre-selected time. Quickly, I found two voice notes, each around two minutes long, designed to be delivered to different numbers in four days’ time.

I couldn’t see the numbers, but I assumed one of them was Davorin’s.

“Even in death, this bitch is causing issues,” I muttered under my breath.

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