Chapter 8
MI’m holding the syringe in my right hand and motion for the pig to put his hand on the little table. Flat.
My question hangs in the air. While the room is clean and well-lit, the air is filled with dangerous particles and darkness surrounds us. His heavy breathing drowns out the silence, and the unmistakable smell of his disgusting piss is piercing my nostrils.
I huff out loudly.
“If you piss on my chair one more time, I will cut off your penis with a knife. Got it?” He nods in agreement.
Good.
I want to start, but his hands are trembling, which doesn’t make his arm very cooperative. I have had about enough of this shit.
“I know involuntary loss of bladder control and trembling hands are effects because of fear, but I’ve reached my limits,” I tell him in an even and flat tone. Before he can react, I grab the gun from my waistband and point it at his penis.
And then I come really close to him. Our noses are only inches away from each other’s.
“The people who have sat in this chair will tell you I don’t give out this many chances.” I press my gun on his dick even harder. “The only reason I’m keeping you alive and healthy is that I want you to deliver a message to Lana.”
“What fucking message? I don’t remember everything that well.”
I roll my eyes.
“I know there is a house up there, but that the lights are off, and that is not my concern.” I move away from his disgusting face. Unshaved beard, dark undereye circles, and ugly-as-fuck teeth. Do people not go to the dentist anymore? Or use floss?
Back to the matter at hand.
“This syringe.” With my eyes, I point to the little thing I’m holding. “It is the most humane thing I will have done in this room.”
“What the fuck is that?”
This guy is exhausting, but he has calmed down. The tremor in his hand is mainly gone, and I set my gun on the table.
“I’m going to numb your underarm, so you won’t feel a thing,” I promise him. Even though he is visibly afraid, he still manages to speak.
“So, what are you? A moral killer?” he stammers, and I shake my head, smiling genuinely.
“No, I’m a man in love.” My confession makes his eyebrow scrunch, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. His thoughts on my romantic life are not something I’m interested in, and I convey that message to him.
“My feelings are not to be discussed. Now, I’m going to look for a vein in your arm.
” I grab a tourniquet from the table, wrap it around his underarm, and find a vein.
“Perfect. You will feel a little sting.” Just as predicted, he winces a bit.
I don’t wait too long before I grab my scalpel.
I move my right hand toward his arm and start carving.
The scalpel isn’t going too deep into his flesh, but with each slice, I feel like I’m protecting her.
My little hummingbird.
In the middle of my work of art, he asks me a question.
“One question. How do you know I won’t go to the police?” That’s the first smart question he has asked me. I don’t look up to him because I’m dedicated to my message. After a couple of minutes, I do answer him.
“Because of Irina,” I say matter-of-factly. The time to be quiet is now, and he is hanging on to that luxury. Previously, he asked way too many questions, now he is letting me speak without interruption.
“Irina Ekic, your aunt, lives in Vienna right now. You were supposed to split your mom’s inheritance with her, because that’s what you promised your mom.” When I look up at him, his rage is obvious—his words tumble out in a rush.
“You don’t know what you are talking about!” He tries to sound loud and tough, but he fails. His breathing is now even more erratic, but his hands are steady.
Cheaters disgust me, and my next words make that clear.
“You swore on your mom’s deathbed that you would split her remaining assets. Yet that promise sounds even more shallow than the grave your mom is in.”
“I… I… I don’t even know what to say.” The defeat in his voice is delicious. This is one of my favorite parts of a personal hit—the fear that they feel. Even though I’m loving this psychological torture, I need to get going. Our eyes lock, and my expression says everything.
“How about shutting the fuck up and let me finish this?” When I don’t hear a single peep from him, I take that as confirmation. After a couple more minutes, I’m done and grab the little manual Isa left me.
Isa is a friend of mine from Belgium, and he is training to become a neurosurgeon. While my friends outside of this know what I’m doing, they don’t judge me for it. And that’s why I asked Isa to give me a manual for treating open wounds.
I grab a couple of things from my wall, and I tend to this pig’s wounds. After I’m done, I sit by his side again.
“Now, the fun part. Tomorrow you will go to Lana’s diner and show her this message.” My gaze lands on his arm. The pain in his face makes it clear he understands. He wants to be thorough, this asshole—he even says he’ll do what I ordered.
“I will. But please, don’t tell anyone about the inheritance.” His eyes are filling up with tears, and I smile at his desperation.
“You are such a gentleman. I don’t think I am being rude when I tell you that if you speak about me to anyone, I will torture and kill you afterward. Right?” My question is rhetorical and he knows this, yet he plays along.
“Agreed. Please let me go. I will never bother her or any other server again.”
“Very good. Because believe me when I tell you I have eyes and ears everywhere.” I stand up and tie his hands and feet again with the rope I had lying around. My hands move methodically as I have done this a million times before. Before we leave, I give out my last order to him.
“I will now bring you to your house. Stay out of trouble.” And with that, I leave for his house and afterward return to my primary residence. It’s well after midnight, and the only thing that is keeping me awake is seeing Lana on my monitors.
“I’ll see you very soon, little hummingbird.”