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With one tremendous pull, Cerberus yanks on Willow, ripping her free from the chain-link fence. She comes crashing down, upper body banging into the corner of the bin she must have climbed to make it to the top of the fence. She hits the concrete floor hard and rolls herself onto her back, trying to scrambleaway from Cerberus. No force on earth could help her pull her leg free from Cerberus’s jaw—only my command.
I step closer, hands still in my pockets, and stand over her.
“Hello again.”
To her credit, Willow doesn’t utter so much as a hiss of pain. She didn’t when Cerberus was holding on to her leg; she didn’t when he tore her from the fence, or when she hit the metal bin, or when she crashed to the floor. Not a single cry or whimper.
“Hi, Luca,” she answers me through gritted teeth. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“You promised me we would meet in hell, remember?”
Her face is shining with sweat, her lips bloodless. With a magnanimous smile, I call Cerberus off. He drops her leg like a useless chunk of meat to the floor and traces a slow half-circle around us to stand behind me.
“How’s the leg?” I ask Willow, tilting my head.
“Can’t complain,” she bites out.
To me, that sounds like a challenge. I’m only too happy to give her something to complain about. I place my foot on the mangled limb and press down.
“Fff—uck,” Willow hisses. “Fucking bastard. This isn’t going to fix your broken dick.”
I smile, a true smile of absolute pleasure, and grind my foot down.
“You wouldn’t say that,” I tell her, “if you knew just howgoodthis makes me feel.”
“Sick fuck,” she says with a harsh huff of laughter.
Since this is my first time officially meeting Willow, I take the time to really look at her.
She reallyisa different person from Sasha. Gone is the long, lush brown hair; gone is the flirtatious sweetness, the fuckable innocence. Willow Lynch is a tough little thing, slight but lean, pale as a bone, her hair a shock of black. She’s wearing rippedblack jeans and a faded leather jacket over a black jumper, chipped black polish on her nails. Her mascara is smeared around her eyes, and her hair is tied in a messy ponytail.
The only thing that remains of Sasha is, of course, her poison eyes and that carnal mouth of hers, shaped like a heart, soft and pulpy like a berry you could crush between your fingers.
Her mangled leg squelches under my foot. I lift it away, glancing down at the pool of thick blood slowly gathering under her leg.
“How much blood do you think you’ve lost?” I ask her in a conversational tone.
She gives me a horrible rictus, bloodless lips smiling wide, a little scar on her upper lip stretched pink.
“Ten times the amount of bloodyoulost,” she says, “last time we met.”
“You think my revenge is complete?” I ask in a tone of false surprise. “Just like that?”
“What more could you possibly want?”
I crouch down at her side. From up close, I can see that her entire body is shaking, her eyes have a sickly glitter in them, and her face is covered with a film of sweat. It’s a miracle she hasn’t passed out from blood loss, but it’s not entirely unexpected, and I’m pleased with her resilience. She’s not going to be so easy to break, and I do so enjoy a challenge.
“I want to make you regret not killing me,” I tell her, with complete earnestness this time.
“You’re not going to doshit,” she says. “You don’t have the stomach for it.”
I pull my right hand from my pocket. The needle gleams from the black leather of my closed fist, and I watch Willow, savouring the moment she spots the needle, savouring the slight widening of her eyes, the shudder that shakes her shoulders. Grabbing her face in my left hand, I force her to look at me.
“Let’s find out, shall we?”
She spits in my face, cold saliva hitting my cheek. “Do your worst,Luca.”
I sink the needle into her neck, pushing the plunger with my thumb. Her entire body goes stiff; her eyes shine like oil spills. I smile at her—a smile full of anticipation.
