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She watched yet again, saw yet again the instant Talbot had sensed something, someone. That instinctive brace of the body, that quick whip of the head. His eyes had widened. There had been fear in them. Not full panic, but alarm, shock.
Nothing on Yost’s face. His eyes were dead as a doll’s, his movements precise as a droid’s as he’d set his briefcase aside.
“Who the hell are you? What do you want?”
Knee-jerk, Eve thought as she listened to Talbot’s angry demand. People so often asked the name and business of an attacker, when the first hardly mattered and the second was all too obvious.
Yost hadn’t bothered to respond. He’d simply started across the room. Graceful for a man with his bulk. As if, she thought, he’d had dancing lessons along the way.
Talbot had come around the desk, and come around fast. Not to flee, but to fight. And there, in that little blip of time, Eve saw those dead eyes light. The dawn of pleasure in the job.
He’d let Talbot strike the first blow, spill first blood. And with the corner of his lip spurting, Yost moved in.
Grunts, the crunch of bone on bone played under the soaring music. But only briefly. Yost was too efficient to toy with his target for long, to indulge himself by taking more time than he’d allowed. He’d let Talbot take him down, knocking over the table, letting him think, just for one heady instant, that he might win.
Then the pressure syringe was out of Yost’s pocket, into his hand, and its rounded tip pressed just under Talbot’s armpit.
Still Talbot had struggled, even with his eyes rolling back he’d tried to land a disabling blow. The drug would have blurred his vision, clouded his brain, slowed his reflexes until he was limp, helpless, then unconscious.
That’s when Yost had beaten him. Slowly, methodically. No wasted motions or energy. His mouth moved a bit as he worked. After the music was cleaned out of the disc, she would know that he’d been humming.
When he finished with the face, he stood and began to kick in the ribs. The sound was vile.
“He’s not even winded,” Eve murmured. “But he’s excited. He enjoyed it. He likes his work.”
Now, leaving Talbot broken and bleeding on the floor, he wandered over, ordered a glass of mineral water from the AutoChef. He checked his wrist unit before sitting down and sipping the glass dry. Checked it again when he rose to go to his briefcase. He took the silver wire out of it, tested its strength by snapping it between his hands, once, twice.
When he smiled, as now he smiled, she understood why the clerk in the jewelry store had trembled. He looped the wire around his own throat, crossed the ends to hold it in place, snugly. She could see that while it wasn’t tight enough to bring blood, it was secure enough to cut down on the flow of oxygen.
On the floor, Talbot stirred, moaned.
On his feet, Yost removed his suit jacket, folded it neatly on a chair. Removed his shoes, then tucked his socks into them. He stepped out of his trousers, aligning the center pleats precisely before he laid them aside.
He went to Talbot, stripped off the man’s shorts, nodded in approval as he squeezed as if checking muscle tone.
He wasn’t yet fully aroused. He tightened the wire around his neck slightly, using the autoerotic method to enhance his mood as he stroked himself hard.
Then he knelt between Talbot’s legs, leaned over, tapping the battered cheek lightly.
“Are you in there, Jonah? You don’t want to miss this. Come on ou
t now. I’ve got a lovely parting gift for you.”
Talbot’s bloody eye fluttered open, blind with confusion and pain.
“That’s the way. Do you know the movement that’s playing? Mozart, from his Symphony Number 31 in D Major. Allegro assai. It’s one of my favorites. I’m so pleased we can share it.”
“Take what you want,” Talbot managed between broken teeth. “Just take what you want.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you. I intend to. Up you go.” He lifted Talbot’s hips in his big hands.
The rape was long and brutal. Eve made herself watch, as she had made herself watch each time, despite her stomach wanting to heave, despite the whimpered pleas that struggled to rise into her own throat.
She watched, and she saw the moment that Yost lost himself, when he threw his big head back so the wire around his throat glinted in the light. He cried out, a roar of triumph that smothered the music, smothered Talbot’s helpless weeping.
The orgasm bucked through him. His face gleamed with it, his eyes shone. He shuddered, shuddered, sucked in air. Then braced himself with a hand between Talbot’s shoulder blades until he came back to himself.
His eyes were as bright now as the wire he slid from around his own neck and looped around Talbot’s. They stayed bright, dark and bright as a bird’s as he crossed the ends and pulled. Talbot’s body jerked, his fingers scrabbled at the wire, his feet drummed the floor.
