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“Like stomping on a rat.”
I stand, slowly, righting my jacket as I do. I round the table slowly, and I pull my hand from my pocket with the needle in my fist. Richard sees it only too late. He tries to throw himself back in his chair but it’s already too late. The needle sinks into his neck, and he slumps back, eyes bulging wide open.
“Just a paralysing agent,” I tell him, placing the needle in a plastic folder and zipping it shut. “Nothing that’ll kill you. Just keep you nice and still for a little while.” I put the needle away and take a small, clean pair of pliers out. Richard tries to shake his head and say something, but his voice is a garbled gurgle. “You see, Dick, we’re very different men, you and me. And I don’t mean in the sense that you’re an abuser of children and I’m not.” I grab a handful of sweat-streaked silver hair, forcing his head back, thankful for the leather separating my skin from the filth of this individual. “You might not have enjoyed hurting Willow Lynch,” I explain, enunciating clearly, making sure he hears every syllable. “But I’m going to enjoy hurting you. I’m going to enjoy every single moment of it.”
And I do.
46
Dirty Angel
Willow
For the last hunt,on Halloween, Luca wears my red devil mask, and I dress up like an angel, just for him. All in white except for my underwear and my boots, and a pair of pretty white wings, real feathers, tipped with gold.
We stand face-to-face on the cool stone of the back patio. His three dogs watch us from behind the glass of the windows.
I’ve barely seen Luca over the past few months. He’s been busy with work, and I suspect, avoiding me a little. I know he’s not choosing to end the hunts because he’s bored of them, or me. How could he be? If I didn’t know him, I’d guess he loved me, at least a little, but Luca will forever remain, above all things, a cold-blooded snake.
He’s ending the hunts because he knows what will happen once I go after Richard Thornton. Unlike Luca, I’m not going tobe able to walk away from what I’ll do to Richard the way Luca got to walk away from killing Simon and Terry in cold blood, and later, Declan McConnolly too. Luca knows where I’m headed—he’s choosing to sever ties before it’s too late to do so.
I respect that. And when have I ever been able to say I respected a decision a man made?
Now Luca stands facing me across his patio, the autumn wind, slashed with fallen leaves, tugging at our clothes and hair. The red devil mask on his face completely hides his expression, but there’s a strange elation in his voice.
“Our last hunt, Lynch. Who would have thought we’d make it this far.”
“The hunts were pretty fun, Luca. Living with you was the nightmare.”
He gives a sarcastic snicker. “Yes, not living in a dirty hovel in Greenleigh must have been torture for you.”
“Torture is living with such an uptight asshole.”
“You’re making it too obvious how much you’re going to miss me, Lynch.”
“I’ll miss you like a hole in the lungs.” I jab my chin in his direction. “Where’s your bow and arrow?”
“I’m ready to forgo my bow and arrow if you’re ready to forgo your knife.”
He sounds like he’s in a good mood. Getting laid must have really made an impact on this man’s life because he’s positively walking on air these days. He’s not even bothering to throw out my food anymore, or kick me out of his bedroom, which has the much better bed, and sometimes he’ll come back from spending a few days or weeks away and find me wherever I am to kiss me and tear at my clothes like he’ll die if he has to spend one more second with his tongue outside of my mouth and his dick outside of my body.
I shrug, kneel on one leg, and yank his Japanese knife out of my boot. With exaggerated ceremony, I show Luca the knife, then set it down on the ground between us.
He dips his head. “How do I know you don’t have another knife on you?”
“What do you want to do, pat me down?”
He doesn’t even pretend to consider it, moving forward before he can even reply, “I’d love nothing more.”
Rolling my eyes at him, I raise my arms and spread my legs a little, standing like a starfish. It’s cold, with a hard wind blowing and the telltale clouds of a coming storm blackening the horizon. But it’s not the cold that makes me shiver when Luca crouches at my feet.
He’s nothing if not thorough. He checks my boots, pats my legs even when they are bare and blatantly knife-free. I’m wearing a short white dress that does little to cover me anyway—it was supposed to be a gift of sorts, aimed specifically at him, but now I’m regretting the decision.
And I regret it even more when he slides his hands up my thighs, past the sheer white stockings, feeling under my skirt at my hips, my pussy, brushing his gloves hands over my exposed ass. I glare down at him.
“Overkill, mate.”
He looks up, and I see the glint of his ice-grey eyes through the slits in the sinister red mask. I hear the smirk in his voice.
