Chapter 4

“What did you just say?” I ask sharply.

She wets her lips. “Would you? Regret it?”

I narrow my eyes at her.

“No. I would not,” I answer slowly.

“I don’t either. He was a bad man.” She shrugs. “Bad things should happen to bad men.”

The tension exits my body and I lean back, chuckling.

“I can’t argue with you there.”

She gives me another one of those smiles that illuminate her entire face, turning her into…something else.

The waitress returns with our food, and she lays five plates on the table the first round before coming back with another three.

The table is filled with dishes, and Minnie stares at them wide-eyed.

Once more, the waitress lingers, and I shoot her a questioning glance, after which she finally leaves us alone.

“Help yourself to whatever you want.” I incline my head toward the food.

She licks her lips, but she doesn’t reach for anything.

She’s just staring at the food, particularly at a juicy cheeseburger with a side of fries.

I shuffle the items around the table and push that plate toward her.

Her gaze meets mine and she swallows.

“Eat,” I tell her sternly.

“I…” She presses her lips together. “Thank you,” she murmurs before she reaches for the cheeseburger with both of her hands, then brings it to her mouth and takes a big bite out of it.

The melted cheese and sauce smear around her lips, but she doesn’t notice as she eats with gusto.

“Don’t eat too fast. You’ll get sick.”

At my words, she suddenly stops. She stares at me and slowly swallows.

I chuckle.

“You like it?” I raise a brow.

She eagerly nods. “Are you not eating?”

I assessthe food in front of us and my nose wrinkles in disgust. “I’m good.”

She frownsbut then shrugs and proceeds to devour the cheeseburger before moving to the fries. When she’s done with that course, she switches the plate for one containing pancakes.

For such a tiny thing, she can certainly eat a lot.

“Thank you,” she speaks in between bites of food.

My lip curls.

I hate it when people talk with their mouths full.

But just as I’m about to reprimand her for it, she swipes her arm across her mouth, cleaning up a mix of cheeseburger sauce, powdered sugar, and maple syrup.

With the sleeve of my coat.

I cross my arms over my chest and lean back—so I don’t strangle her.

Homeless—check.

Malnourished—check.

Police record—check.

Lack of manners…double check.

I shake my head. Perhaps I could talk myself into killing her.

Just this once.

According to her own words, she has no one in the world. She has no job, no home, no relatives.

By all intents and purposes, she’s the best candidate.

No one would miss her. In fact, she might thank me because what does she really have to live for?

Nothing.

She has nothing.

I click my tongue against my teeth as I continue to study her—and try to tune out her obnoxious eating sounds.

Perhaps this was fate. She fell into my lap at the perfect time—when I’ve been dying to get my mojo back. She would be my grand return to the game. And it’s because she’s not like the others that this has the opportunity to become my greatest kill.

Yes, Marlowe, you do need a change.

I nod to myself. I do, indeed.

Whereas I’ve previously fed my thirst for death with men who preyed on the innocent, this time I can take it a step further.

My mother would have my head for it if she knew.

But she doesn’t have to know. No one will.

I let my eyes roam over her again.

Despite her diminutive stature and average looks, there’s something about her that’s rather…captivating. I don’t know what it is, but something about her screams stop and look at me.

And by God did I stop.

Hell, I’m still looking.

She raises her gaze and gives me a tremulous smile as she licks her lips.

Now those eyes. They’re her most attractive feature. There’s something almost otherworldly about them. And when she bats her long lashes at me, a low tremor goes down my back.

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat? This is so good,” she says, once more with her mouth full.

It takes everything in me not to snap at her and tell her to eat properly.

But before I can voice my refusal, she cuts a piece of pancake, slathers it in sugar and syrup, and pushes the fork against my lips.

My eyes widen.

Hers sparkle with a hopeful glint.

I press my lips together and glare at her.

“It’s so good. Try it,” she continues.

I stare at her with a mutinous expression.

What the hell does she think she’s doing?

I’m not eating anything from this run-down diner, much less that maddeningly sweet thing dripping in sugar.

The sweet scent assails my nostrils, and I find myself twitching.

She smiles expectantly at me.

I shake my head, flattening my lips, but she continues to push the morsel of food against my mouth.

“Come on,” she encourages, leaning over the table and all but lying on top of the food.

From the corner of my eye, I note the end of my coat dipping into the oily food. The sleeves are already stained with sauce. Now the entire coat is getting dirty.

She waves the fork in front of me, moving it from side to side almost as if she were trying to hypnotize me with it.

I don’t eat sugar. I don’t eat processed food.

It’s not a matter of diet. It’s simply a matter of discipline.

Sugar is addictive.

I don’t partake in addictive things, since I know that one taste would ruin me forever. With my obsessive tendencies, I’m prone to addictions of all sorts—something I learned early on in my life and which therapy later confirmed.

I don’t drink alcohol. I don’t do drugs.

My only vices are murder and trashy TV—the only ones I find it hard to part ways with.

The maddening sweetness coming from the pancake bite confuses my senses. It’s especially potent when coupled with the way Minnie is looking at me with those beguiling eyes of hers.

I gulp down as I stare at the fork, then at her.

Goddamn it.

Why is her smile so wide? Why are her lips so full? And why the hell am I not that disgusted when there’s still white powder smeared around her mouth?

She’s moving the fork around like an airplane. As if I were a toddler in need of persuasion.

My features harden when I realize she’s getting too close to being persuasive.

“No, thank you,” I grit out.

But just as I open my mouth to speak, she takes advantage of it to shove the piece of pancake in my mouth.

I freeze.

A shudder racks my body.

I taste…sweetness.

My atrophied tasting buds roar back to life as the strong flavor of the pancake bathes my tongue. It’s soft. Chewy. And sweet.

So fucking sweet.

No!

I must not give in. I need to retain control over myself.

Yet the more I chew, the more I find myself closer to the edge of the cliff and ready to dive off it.

I begrudgingly swallow.

“Good, isn’t it?” she speaks while the wheels in my mind turn and turn, trying to find a proper excuse for not indulging in that sweetness—for not consuming it all.

My lips twitch in annoyance.

Now that she’s no longer the scaredy cat I saved, she’s effusive and warm—too bubbly.

I hate bubbly.

She speaks too much too. She does too much. Why can’t she eat quietly and be thankful she’s not starving tonight?

“Try this, too,” she hurries to add, grabbing another piece of pancake, this time with some chocolate sauce on top.

A shudder goes down my back.

I despise chocolate.

It’s far too sweet. Too milky. Too…delicious.

One misstep is enough.

I grab her hand and stop her, communicating with my eyes that she has overstepped her boundaries. But she doesn’t notice. She thinks this is a game. So she leans farther across the table.

In her attempt to reach me, she ends up knocking a plate to the floor. Onion rings and mozzarella sticks fall to the ground. Her pouty mouth forms a small O as she stares at the food on the floor. I lift my hand to signal the waitress to come clean the mess when she suddenly drops to her knees on the ground, grabbing the plate and placing the food back on it.

She won’t eat that, will she? She’ll throw it away, right?

Wrong.

As she places it in front of her, she grabs a mozzarella stick, blows on it a couple of times, and stuffs it in her mouth. Then she smacks her lips together as if it were the most delicious thing in existence.

True horror grips me. I hold on to my seat so I don’t explode.

That thing touched the dirty floor. Tens if not hundreds of shoes have stomped on that floor since God knows when it was last cleaned.

Hundreds of shoes that carry all types of grime, dirt, and bacteria with them.

My stomach rumbles in protest.

Acid makes its way up my throat.

Minnie pays it no mind, however, taking another stick, then an onion ring. She blows on them as before, and she eats them with gusto.

“How can you eat that?” I mutter, my voice full of shock.

She raises her brow at me. Her lashes flutter in confusion.

“What do you mean?” She frowns.

“It fell down. You should have thrown it away.”

“Throw food away?” Her expression is horrified. “Are you mad?”

“I should ask you the same,” I say through gritted teeth. “Have you any idea how dirty that floor is?”

She tilts her head to the side, then shrugs.

“I’ve had worse.”

I gawk at her.

“Worse?”

“It might not be the best time to tell you about dumpster diving.” She giggles.

Images suddenly assail my mind. I see this little thing happily dive into a stinky-ass dumpster to hunt for food, then eating whatever disgusting thing she found.

I cough/gag.

“There will be no more dumpster diving,” I tell her sternly after I get myself under control. “There will be no more eating from the floor. Is that clear?”

She looks at me with confusion.

“Is that clear, Minnie?” I narrow my eyes at her.

She seems taken aback by my question, but she eventually nods.

Good. At least she’s susceptible to training. But she’ll have to undergo extensive detox and a succession of thorough baths before I can allow her anywhere near me or my house. It’s bad enough that I need to have my car disinfected and throw my coat out.

I rather liked that coat.

The more she behaves like a little heathen—a rather sweet heathen, though—the more I think that perhaps I should just give in and have her.

Though she has a tendency to drive me mad, I have to admit to myself that she is rather…entertaining. And that’s what I’ve been missing from my life.

Always the same routine. The same shows. The same work.

Always the same type of victim.

I strive to avoid disorder.

I don’t like people, much less the body parts of people.

I conduct my kills rather clinically, in a manner that ensures the most amount of pain before death. After, I simply dump the bodies in my furnace and turn them into dust—which, of course, I keep in my prized cellar.

Perhaps it’s time to switch things up a little. Though I admit it would not be an easy feat to achieve, since I’m rather set in my ways. Despite that, something within me tells me that this is special—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

She’s everything I hate and everything I avoid.

I tilt my head to the side.

Yes, I would not torture her.

The thought of her in pain doesn’t sit right with me. But I could get creative. I could kill her in a way that would satisfy my craving for control but also one that would not harm one single hair off her body—I’m rather fond of that luscious dark hair of hers. And her eyes.

The thought of this new project awakens my previously defunct excitement.

She might struggle.

My lips curl up.

Ah, I do love a good challenge.

Besides, maybe I would like her to struggle.

A little.

That familiar hum in my veins appears anew, and joy I had previously forgotten pokes its head to the surface—or, perhaps, the type I’ve never experienced before.

She eats the last bite of the dirty floor food before she leans back in her seat, a satisfied smile on her face. Her teeth are showing. They’re white and perfectly formed. But there’s also something…unseemly.

“You have something stuck between your teeth,” I mention, doing my best to keep the disgust out of my voice.

Yes, another thing to add to the never-ending list of things I hate.

“Oh,” she gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “Is it bad?”

I lift a brow at her.

Her eyes widen.

“I-I’ll be right back,” she says as she all but jumps out of her seat and rushes toward the bathroom.

I release a sigh as I find myself alone for a moment—a well-deserved break after dealing with the little heathen. But even that’s short-lived as my eyes take in the mess she left behind.

Crumbs of food litter the table, together with smeared sauce and powdered sugar everywhere—including on her seat.

She hasn’t eaten in days. I suppose I could forgive her, but that doesn’t mean I find her uncouth manner any less disgusting.

Shaking my head, I call the waitress over and ask her to clean the table and pack the rest of the food. She once more glares at me but does as told.

Just as my scowl becomes evident, it softens as my thoughts return to my new little project.

My thoughts once more become wrapped in her and how her demise might look like.

For the first time in my life, I’m about to break the most important self-imposed rule I’ve ever had. And while I’d normally feel anxious about straying from my very well-thought-out path, the usual critters making noise in my brain are quiet for once.

There’s no anxiety.

Just anticipation.

Poor little thing. She escaped a wolf and she ran right into the lion’s den.

The minutes go by, and as I look at my watch, I realize she’s taking far too long in the bathroom. How hard could it be to remove some food bits from her teeth?

My eyes narrow.

She wouldn’t think to escape, would she?

Could she perhaps have realized my intentions? No, impossible. For one, I have a pretty damn good poker face. And I’ve been nothing but kind to her.

I stand up abruptly and head straight for the bathroom. As I reach the women’s restroom, however, the same annoying waitress from before catches up to me.

“You can’t go in there, sir. It’s the women’s bathroom!” she calls out, placing herself in front of me.

“Move,” I tell her in a low voice.

She blinks, and for a moment, fear enters her gaze. But she stands her ground, squaring her shoulders and staring me right in the eye.

Releasing a sigh, I grab her by the shoulders and deposit her a few feet over.

She regards me with a shocked expression as I lift her up in the air with the barest of effort, and I take advantage of that moment of inattention to barge inside the facilities.

“Minnie?” I call out.

The sink area is empty, but there are three stalls on the right.

All the doors are shut.

I tilt my head to the side and listen for noises.

“Minnie, where are you?” I ask again.

There it is. A small sound. I cannot make out what it is, but that confirms there’s someone inside.

I lean into the first stall, placing my ear to the door.

Nothing.

I move to the second.

It’s then that I see a shadow from under the third stall.

I take a step forward, and my senses tell me something is wrong.

The shadow is far too large to belong to Minnie.

At that moment, another low sound erupts in the air.

My nostrils flare.

Taking a step back, I put all my strength into my leg and kick the door.

The lock still holds, but the weak wood cracks down the middle.

Another kick, and the crack widens.

That’s when rage overtakes me.

Inside, there’s a dirty-ass man holding a hand over Minnie’s mouth. Her shirt is in tatters, her gaze petrified. My eyes go to her jeans, and I note that the button has been ripped and the pants are hanging low on her hips.

The man’s belt is unbuckled.

I see red.

With another kick, the lock breaks, and the door slams inward.

I barely give the man time to react as I step inside and grab him by the neck. He’s a little shorter than me but on the heavier side.

Doesn’t matter.

He dared to touch my little project, and that means all bets are off.

Pulling him forward, I wrench him with enough force to separate him from Minnie.

“Minnie, out,” I grit out as I drag the man by the throat.

She’s trembling, but she gives me a tight nod as she scurries out of my way. Yet she doesn’t leave. She backs away against the wall, watching.

The door to the bathroom is wide open, and the staff are now crowding the entrance, together with the waitress from before, who keeps babbling about me going into the women’s restroom.

But where the fuck was she when this creep got in?

The man flails his arms around, trying to land a punch on me. His silly attempts would have amused me if it wasn’t for the fact that he dared put his dirty-ass hands on Minnie.

Clenching my other hand into a fist, I bring it down over his half unbuttoned pants, hitting him hard. Once is not enough, though. His moan of pain is not enough. I ram my fist into his dick again and again. Until the bastard is begging me for mercy.

A twisted smile pulls at my lips.

Mercy? Mercy? Don’t fucking make me laugh.

I drag him by the neck to the sink, in front of the mirror. I give him one second to realize what’s in store for him before I smash his face against the mirror.

Once.

Twice.

Blood pours.

Not enough.

I grab him by the hair, pull him back, and slam his face into the mirror again.

Shards of glass fall to the ground. Some are embedded in his ugly-ass face.

I slam him again.

One shard penetrates his eyeball.

More blood.

Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.

There are horrified gasps flying around, together with cries for help. But they’re all drowned out by a rage unlike any I’ve ever felt.

I let his body fall to the ground. Limp. Fucker has no tolerance for pain.

He’s barely moving.

But oh, I’m far from done.

Assessing the different-sized shards of glass, I pick up a long and thin one from the ground.

Straddling the bastard, I cut through his jeans until I reach his underwear.

Fuck. This is gross as fuck.

I should be wearing gloves.

I shouldn’t have blood on my hands.

I shouldn’t have blood anywhere near me, nor should I have had to touch his slimy-ass hair with my fingers.

A ton of bleach won’t be able to wash away the disgusting slime from this lowlife.

The disgust is there. But so is the rage.

And the rage wins.

I grab the motherfucker’s genitals through his briefs and jab the sharp end of the glass into his groin. Bringing it down toward his bulge, I make a succession of rapid cuts until I feel the flesh peel off.

More blood soaks the material.

It soaks my hands.

Fuck. I hate this.

But I fucking hate this guy more.

I put more strength into my cuts until there’s nothing left to cut.

There are no more sounds coming from the man. He’s out.

Weak fucker.

Breathing harshly, I get up, the rage slowly clearing away.

My lip twitches.

Blood is everywhere.

On the walls, on the floor, on me.

But as I glance up and see Minnie’s bedraggled state, another fresh wave of fury washes over me.

I bring my arm back and fling the shard of glass into the man’s chest, right about where his heart is.

I have a good aim if I do say so myself.

But just to make sure the glass is deep enough, I press onto it with my foot until it’s fully embedded inside his chest.

“Minnie, come,” I call out, jumping over his corpse.

She nods and follows me out.

There’s a crowd of people whispering in the hallway, but as I exit the bathroom, they all fall silent and make room for us to go.

Good.

One unplanned murder is enough for today.

Rounding up the counter, I spot the bags with our leftovers and grab them on the way out.

Minnie follows behind. As we exit, I feel her small hand slip into mine.

I startle.

But my other side of the brain knows there’s no time to dally.

I open my car, dump the food in the back, and order Minnie to buckle up. The car roars to life and we’re back on the highway, leaving that goddamn town behind.

I drive for half an hour, taking a few odd turns here and there before I find the edge of a forest and pull over.

All the while, Minnie hasn’t said a word.

I get out of the car and open my trunk.

There are a few emergency license plates inside, and I get to work to replace them.

When I’m done, I take my shirt off and throw it in the trunk before closing it and sliding back into the driver’s seat.

Fuck, it’s cold.

I’m breathing hard.

The adrenaline is wearing off and I realize the extent of my mistakes.

So many, I can’t even count.

I turn to Minnie and stare at her.

“What did he do?” I snap.

She jumps in her seat, her expression terrified.

“He… He didn’t get to do anything… But he was about to…”

Her voice is so light and soft. So damn melodious.

I stare some more at her, as if by staring I can figure out what it is about this pocket-sized girl that made me break so many of my rules tonight—that will make me break even more of them.

“Tell me in detail what he did.”

She swallows.

I should probably gentle my tone. Maybe soothe her or something.

But I don’t know the first thing about soothing, so this will have to do.

She raises those big eyes of hers and looks at me.

Fuck. What the hell is it about her eyes?

“He cornered me outside the bathroom,” she starts. Her hands are in her lap, and she’s fidgeting with her fingers again. “When he saw it was empty, he pulled me inside and locked the stall. He groped me a little and tried to get my pants off. But then you came in…”

“Is that all?” I demand.

She nods.

“Are you sure you’re telling me the truth?”

Another nod.

“It’s not as if you can go back and kill him again,” she adds with a nervous laugh. “You killed him, didn’t you?”

I shrug. “Perhaps.”

She blinks.

“Does that scare you?” I ask.

She wets her lips as she takes her time to answer. Yet for some reason, I don’t want some politically correct answer that she thinks might be the right one.

I grab her by her nape and bring her closer. Our faces are inches apart—familiar, isn’t it? A dry laugh bubbles in my throat. Three hours ago, I would have never imagined I’d be willingly touching someone like this. But three hours ago, I was still on my self-imposed killing exile, and I was certainly not planning to beat a random man to a pulp and kill another in public.

Bloodily kill him.

Disgust rolls over me again. But it’s only at having touched that dirty-ass man.

It’s not directed at her. Now.

Interesting.

Perhaps I can develop a new killing technique after all, and she’ll be the perfect muse.

Perhaps therapy was never the key.

I didn’t need to stop killing. I just needed to find the perfect victim.

“The truth, Minnie. Do I scare you?”

She shakes her head.

“You saved me,” she whispers. “Bad guys deserve bad things.”

I maintain the eye contact for a few seconds as a smile curves my lips.

“Indeed.” I chuckle. “You’re a good sport, aren’t you, Minnie?”

She presses her lips together. Her eyes are so dark in the dim lighting of the car, they’re like two infinity pools striving to pull me inside.

“I can be,” she says after a moment’s thought. “If you want me to…”

“Good.” I nod and release her.

I glance at my hand. There’s an odd tingling sensation where my skin touched hers.

I frown.

Odd.

Sheis odd. My reaction to her is odd.

Every goddamn thing that happened today was odd.

Yet for once, instead of letting my obsessiveness for order rule me, I decide to embrace the chaos.

“You’re coming home with me,” I declare.

I don’t give her time to voice a protest, though it doesn’t seem she wants to.

This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for all my life.

The perfect murder.

I will kill her.

And I’ll relish every single moment of it.