Page 69 of Deviant Virtue

“You’re wrong,” she told me sternly. “I didn’t do that. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I chuckled. I collected the drink I’d come for in the first place and glanced at her for the last time. “If you say so.”

I didn’t believe her, not one bit. However, tonight, I had bigger issues to deal with. My mind raced with numerous ways to get rid of Brianne as soon as tonight was over, and I found a very creative way that kept me going whilst I was getting ready.

Four glasses of whiskey later, I was all done.

The dress looked even more perfect on me. The material was so soft, it made me feel great. I opted for a pair of gold earrings and a matching necklace. I’d had them made years ago. They were in the shape of a snake, with two emeralds for eyes.

My makeup was perfect—winged eyeliner, with a great base and bold, red lipstick. It was matte, though it made my lips feel too dry. I added a light coat of lip oil, which made everything look better.

However, probably the best part of the dress was its pockets. I hadn’t noticed when I’d picked it, but I was grateful that I didn’t have to take a handbag with me. It had enough space to hold my phone and a gun. The perfect dress did exist.

I put on my favorite perfume, Dior Poison, and walked downstairs. The dress dragged behind me, my heels clicking with each step I took.

Brianne stood at the door, as if to prevent me from leaving. I laughed—loudly—at the pathetic attempt. I needed to figure out why the hell she was still here. Her father was long dead, and she should’ve followed quicker than this.

“Move,” I told her. “And this isn’t me asking. I’m telling you. I really don’t want to resort to using force and risk ruining this dress.”

She blinked. “Even if I let you walk past me, Davorin took your car keys and credit cards with him. You have no way to get there.”

I cussed under my breath. A bad habit of mine was that I never had much cash on me, so I didn’t have enough to pay for an Uber or taxi.

I sighed, hiding my anger. “Either move or die. It’s really up to you.”

To make sure she got the message, I pulled out my gun, took the safety off and aimed it at her head. I didn’t hesitate, not for a minute as I took another step closer.

Brianne reeked of fear. I could smell it and feel it as if it were happening to me. It was laughable. How was it possible to be this pathetic in the face of death? She should’ve either done something about it or not allowed it to happen. A third option didn’t exist.

“You won’t kill me,” she breathed uncertainly.

“And why is that exactly?”

“Because of what I found in your safe.”

I chilled. I closed my eyes, jaw clenched as I lowered the gun. Indescribable rage overtook me, and I was barely able to breathe. I wanted this stupid bitch dead, tortured until her last pathetic breath.

“That was your first mistake, Brianne.” I took another step towards her. With each passing second, her brave persona faltered, and I was enjoying every moment of it. “Blackmailing me is signing your death certificate.”

Gulping visibly, she shook her head. “There’ll be consequences.”

“Do you seriously think I care about that? You see,” I mused, “I never liked you. I couldn’t really put my finger on why, but now I have. Not only are you nosy, but you’re also in love with Davorin.”

I was mostly trying to rile her up. The last part was bullshit, but as soon as her eyes met mine, I laughed. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand the flushing of her cheeks, the swelling of her eyes, and the way her lips thinned.

“Oh, you are.” My voice dripped with disbelief. “It was a joke, but now…”

She deserved to die a slow, painful death—for so many reasons—but I didn’t have time to draw it out.

“You’re delusional if you think he sees you as anything but a toy to pass time with,” she spat.

Oh yes. This bitch was dying tonight.

A low grin overtook my face as I stepped back. I moved quickly, unzipping my dress and stepping out of it. I placed it neatly on the couch in the living room and made sure it was out of reach. I was left in nothing but my heels and my matching underwear.

I moved to the kitchen where Brianne had remained. She looked unbothered—until she took in my attire; meanwhile I was looking through the kitchen utensils for something that would cause her pain.

“Okay, pick a number between one and seven,” I told her.

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