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The apartment is small and disorganized; a cluster of journals, details of her goals, and the one atop the coffee table still open has a vivid and incorrect detailing of each interaction we’ve had.
“Motherfucking delusional.” I’m disgusted by the mere thought of her. It’s a little past four in the morning when the door bangs open, revealing the angry woman in question. She storms inside with a male. He’s young, impressionable, and is dead before the door closes with a bullet to the head.
“What the fuck?” she screams,wiping her face where the blood splattered.
“Good morning, Elise.”
At my voice, she stiffens, her eyes snapping toward mine. “Your—”
“Silence.” Standing from the oversized bubblegum-pink chair, I stride across the room and pause a few steps from her. She trembles in fear, her chest heaving while her body betrays her and thighs clench. I arouse her. I scare her. “You made a mistake, Elise. A costly one.”
“Please, let’s talk about this.”
“We’ve talked in the past, and yet you don’t listen.” Another step forward, and she takes one back. “I’ve given you chance after chance to accept your fate with dignity until she doles out your punishment.”
“She’s not one—” Her scream is cut off by my hand wrapping around her throat, squeezing until bruises begin to appear and her face becomes a nice cherry red. “Please.” The word is low, muted by my tight hold, but I hear her loud and clear.
“My patience with your acts of grandeur have reached their end, Elise.” My fingers tighten, the flesh giving way beneath the pressure. “You will stop, and you will bend. Do you understand? Nod if you do.” Her nod is barely perceptible, but enough for me. “You will wait for her decision with grace. Again, nod.” She does—frantically, with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Attempt something again and it will be my wrath you’ll face. I hold no qualms in holding a public execution, Miss Scott. Be afraid, because I am watching.”
With that, I release her and she drops to the ground, cupping her neck as she tries to regulate her breathing. Her choking sounds are pathetic. Show who she truly is.
Bending to her level, I gingerly push a few strands of hair behind her ear, an action she automatically leans into while my lip curls in disgust. “You have no shame. No self-pride.” With two fingers, I trace the shell of her ear, causing a shiver to run through her. “But then again, you’re the daughter of a traitor. One I took great joy in dismembering while still alive, and who then took his final breath as the flames rose, disintegrating his limbs.”
“Stop.”
“Why should I?”
“I’m the right one, and you know it.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.” Her voice betrays her—her fear is palpable, and I revel in it. Smile down at the pathetic woman on the floor. “There’s still time to make the right decision.”
“She will always be the right choice. The only fucking choice.” Then, before her next inhale, I hold her earlobe in my hand while she screams. Blood pours from the wound. The hole looks nasty—painful, but I hold no remorse. “This is my last warning, Elise. The next time, it’ll be your throat I hold in my hand instead of your ear.”
Leaving her where she lays crying, I walk out the door without looking back while pocketing the cartilage. She’ll strike. She’ll come for my pretty girl. Her problem is that she thinks her puppet-master act will continue to work, unaware that she’s dangling from my strings.
I move her.
I force her hand.
And the next time we see each other, my queen will have risen.
32
Gabriella
I’ve been awake for days now, watching the shadows on the walls.
I’m not okay.
I’m scared.
I’m still tracing the letters on my thigh, fighting the instinct to run because where do I go? Who will believe me when everything points to this being my own doing?
Someone had to be in my home. There’s no other plausible explanation.
And the knife beside me? How do I explain that?
