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“If that's what you want. You want the white picket fence and the two children and a golden retriever? I could get you that and so much more. You're letting your crazy out, baby, and doesn't it feel so fucking good?”
I laugh a little, dragging the blade up his arm to slide the tip between his flesh and the cable that is immobilizing him. When I free the first one, his eyes go wide with surprise, but it quickly turns to hunger. Wes takes it as a sign that he’s appealing to me and decides to keep going in hopes that I’ll free his other hand and together we’ll overpower Dimitri and disappear into the ether.
It would be one hell of a plot twist.
“Your sickness,” he says, his voice bordering on desperation. “You want to be loved and hated. You want to be treated like a queen in public but like a whore in private. You want passion, you want fucking color in a world of black and white. It’s normal, baby. But they don’t understand you.”
“And you do?”
“Yes,” he laughs. “I understand you because I am you, Claire. I see your abandonment issues, your want to be loved, and I raise you a mommy who abandoned me and a daddy who fucking hates me. Better no parents than the kind who make it their life mission to fuck you up.”
“Jonathan Boudreaux sold his daughter to your father. I’d hardly say he cared about her.”
“Just because he cared about himself more doesn't mean he didn't care for her. And our whore mother at least acknowledged their existence. What did I ever get from her? She sat across from my father during all of their parties and never once did she ask about me… her first born.” He scoffs. “Neither of us have that. We're both caged birds that the world turned away from, but you have a chance to unlock my cage and see what we could create together.”
“Wes,” I mutter. “It's so soon to be proposing marriage, children.”
“You think Boudreaux would give all that to you?” He laughs, jostling me along his chest. I hunch over him further until we share the same air.
“You think I can’t take it for myself?” My laughter joins with his, but it’s short-lived.
“You don’t know how. But I could teach you.”
“I could kill you right now.” I counter, perfectly calm.
“Come on, Claire. You’re not a killer.”
“Oh?” I glance around at Dimitri, like he’ll give me confirmation on that point. He just looks at me—or rather, grimaces. “Didn't you hear when I killed Eric Giante? You probably don’t know who that is.” I shake my head and sigh. “He’s no one important, just a former foster father who needed to be put down like the sick dog that he is. He's the man I killed in the room right next to this one. And I mean, sure, Remy started it for me. But I delivered the final blow. The last thing he saw in this world was his victim becoming the villain.” I shrug. “Don't overestimate your worth, Wes.”
“I know my worth," he smirks, "and you can't afford to kill me. Boudreaux just wouldn't let that fly.”
I let my shoulders slump and blow out a breath. He's got a point. “You know what, Wes? You’re right. I can’t kill you.”
A triumphant and cocky grin spreads across his lips, but it's cut short when I drive the blade right through his still-tied hand with enough force that the tip pokes through the other side. I fight a slight feeling of wooziness as I cant my head to the side, seeing the space where the knife protrudes from his flesh and digs into the wall.
He doesn't contain his scream this time. His free hand makes a grab for me, but especially now that Remy's kitchen knife is pinning him in place, he can't get the range of motion he needs to be successful. I slide back out of his reach without losing my grip on the handle.
“Remember when you asked me if I was a nurse?”
“You fucking bitch,” he spits, kicking his feet like a child throwing a temper tantrum. He doesn’t answer my question, but I continue anyway.
“I may not be a nurse, and I am certainly no doctor, but I think if you hit a nerve just right, you’ll lose sensation in your hand. That would be a terrible loss for a surgeon.”
I don’t give him a minute to piece together where I'm going with this, because I jerk on the blade, dragging it through flesh and muscle until I feel it catch on bone.
Wes is writhing in pain. I don’t bother pulling the knife out as I climb off of him, allowing him to draw his knees to his stomach.
“Go ahead and cry, Wes.” I say, sliding my phone away from where it’s been pressed against my hip and navigating to the camera. I make sure to turn the flash on before snapping a few photos, and then I reach up and coat my fingers in his blood before painting it across his lips. He tries to spit at me, but I pinch his lips closed.
“I see what you mean,” I breathe, pressing my lips to his forehead for a moment, reveling in the power I've taken from him. “This really is addictive. And you?”
I swipe my thumb along the top of his cheekbone, wiping away a pained tear I don’t think he wanted to fall. “Pure fucking magic.”
Chapter twenty-eight
Remy
An hour into the wake, Dimitri is late with my guest star.
