Vesper
Thirteen
Damn, Widow did a number on Roger already.
One thing that got to Widow the most was children and teens being attacked by sick fucks.
It hit home for her. She wasn’t the type to kill just because, but she would do it to save someone.
Widow didn’t realize the savior she was.
Sometimes people were meant for better things, and then there were the people who were intrigued with the odd and strange.
Was it appropriate to enjoy murder to see how it affected a body? Did it count if it was shitty people who died? Melisa would have a field day if she knew every aspect of what happened in the warehouse, but luckily she was on our side.
I slapped Roger’s face and he let out a weak groan. “Wakey, wakey, asshole.”
Torture was healing in a way that none of the other Vipers understood.
They had their own ways to cope with their issues—sex, riding, or whatever else.
Our vices were different like each Viper was different.
Some Vipers indulged in sex as their vice, but that was off the table since the only woman I wanted was off-limits.
So experimenting on pathetic men who preyed on the innocent filled the void.
I grabbed my hunting knife and my torch lighter. “You know, fire can be useful for a lot of things,” I taunted as I heated up the metal. “Warmth. Light. Fuel. There’s many things this viciously beautiful beast can do, but you know which is my favorite?”
He whimpered, pulling sluggishly at his restraints as I pressed the hot metal against his ankle laceration. I quickly heated up the knife once again, and did the same to the other one. It wouldn’t save his life since his penis was missing, but I could have some fun with him before he died.
And then the real fun could begin.
“Fire can prolong the torture,” I hissed as I used the knife to cut his skin. “She is dangerous though. Just like a woman, you have to know how to handle fire, or you’ll get burned. And sometimes getting burned is the most electrifying moment of it all.”
I sounded hypocritical.
Getting burned was a risk with fire, but taking a chance with Rory was…forbidden.
Feelings and emotions should be forbidden because they create problems and traumas we’re forced to cope with.
Emotions caused memories, memories caused feelings, feelings caused problems. Feelings and emotions only led to heartbreak.
I shouldn’t want Rory because I knew how it felt to lose someone and be nothing more than an empty shell.
Violet would kick my ass if she knew I was using her death as an excuse, mixed in with other reasons.
She was dead, so she didn’t understand the hollow feeling in my chest where she took a part of herself when she died, but James also took a part of me, too.
Nothing had ever been the same since that night.
But that night was the night Vesper was born, because Vida was weak.
“This is Ruben with the Marion County sheriff's office…the car flipped…Violet didn’t make it. I’m sorry. Her body…you can…” My world tilted as my fingers went numb, the phone slipping from my hand and crashing to the floor.
Gone…
Violet was gone.
James groaned, cursing me under his breath. I should have been with her. If she would have come for me, this would have been avoided. A sob ripped from my lungs, raw and painful, as the room spun. It was my fault. I should’ve been with her.
I hit James, anger flowing through me. I needed to go and claim her body.
She had no one else. We had plans before rehearsal, and then we would spend the night writing new music.
But James guilt-tripped me into staying home, which caused Violet to drive herself to the theater for the show we were dying to see.
I told her I would make it up to her. She said she wasn’t mad at me, but she wasn’t missing her musical.
“I need to go to the morgue.”
“Fuck off, Vida,” he mumbled.
I huffed out a violent breath and got out of bed, changing into whatever I could find as I grabbed his keys. Fuck him. If he wouldn’t do this, then I would go myself.
“Vida, who the fuck do you think you are?” James hissed as I stumbled back into the house. My heart was heavy, a part of my soul destroyed because she was gone and it was my fault. I should’ve left him. She would be alive if I never stayed with James.
“Fuck you, James! Violet is dead! I should have been with her, but you said no. I was the idiot that fucking listened to you! I’m leaving. I never should have stayed with your sorry ass to begin with.” I stormed past him, but he grabbed my arm, pulling me back and slamming me against the wall.
His fingers curled around my neck. “Listen here, you little bitch.” The pain was instant, shooting through my skull. “You are mine. No one else’s. No one would want worthless trash like you anyways.”
And then, it was a blur of mind-numbing pain before darkness.
The rattling of the chains snapped me back to reality, and I realized Roger was dead. “Well, shit.” Pulling out the stainless steel embalming table I convinced Cinder to buy, I put Roger’s dead body on top of it.
If my chemistry professor knew what I was doing with my degree in my spare time, she would have a stroke. Professor Stallings said I was her best student, but I was always intrigued with how things reacted and their chemical makeup. Music was a hobby, but chemistry and forensics were my passion.
Once I was in my appropriate PPE, I grabbed my container of copper sulfate.
I sprinkled a few blue crystals across his torso before I struck a match, dropping it to the crystals.
A sharp hiss screeched through the air as a green flame curled upward.
I loved how copper sulfate created a gorgeous hue of greenish blue.
I watched in awe for a few moments as the flames kissed his skin. This was one of my favorite reactions. I needed to get my hands on lithium chloride to create a pink flame for Rory one day. Rory would enjoy watching me geek out over my passions. She already wanted me to sing for her.
There was no scientific reason to do this, but I enjoyed disposing of bodies with a little extra science.
I also loved watching the flames create patterns on skin and the way it chorded.
After I burned myself more than once with poor protection, it intrigued something inside my brain that wanted to know how skin reacted with various chemicals and flames. Of course, I wouldn’t be the test rat.
When I was done, I made sure everything was properly disposed of. Roger’s body would decompose in a tub of lye for a few days before I got rid of him.