CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 3
THE WOMAN IN WHITE
GRIMM
3 years ago
I always hated flying, but somehow, I was always on an airplane.
A professional flaw, I supposed, only this time it was intentional, as she was going to be on the same flight, in the seat right next to mine.
When I reached my row, I opted for the window seat, even though my ticket indicated the middle one. I liked seeing people squirm when they had to sit next to me, especially when I deliberately took their spot, but so far no one had ever had the courage to ask me to move.
I understood why, though it disappointed me a little.
I didn’t look like an approachable person, and my behavior screamed psychopath. Undiagnosed, but still, I had all the traits except the difficulty in recognizing emotions.
Anger, disgust, hate, apathy, frustration, annoyance… were all emotions I recognized and felt on a daily basis.
Happiness, on the other hand, not so much.
Not for lack of trying, but how was I supposed to learn about happiness when all I knew was carnage?
I think I’d felt it once, for those twenty minutes when I danced with her and every drunk, loud, annoying student faded into the background, leaving nothing but me and her, swirling in a space that was entirely our own. It happened no more than a year ago, but it felt much longer than that.
Was happiness even a feeling that could be learned?
If so, I hoped she would teach me someday, because if there was anyone who wore happiness like a second skin, it was Arella.
I was good at learning things, having been taught from a young age that knowledge was power, and while physical strength was an important asset in my profession, I needed more than that to defeat my opponents.
Sure, I could inflict a lot of pain and was familiar with all kinds of physical torture, but some were strong enough to withstand.
Emotional torture, on the other hand, playing with a person’s mind, breaking them until not even a fragment of who they were was left… That was my favorite work.
The manipulation. The cat-and-mouse game. It made me feel powerful, gave me a sense of fucked-up happiness that was gone as soon as the adrenaline rush subsided, then I went back to feeling numb and bored.
Stuck in the same pattern as always.
She didn’t fit in that pattern.
Ever since my father gave me my first assignment, I made sure to keep human interaction to a minimum. I didn’t talk much unless it was dirty talk with a woman while she was under me or, on very rare occasions, on top of me. Not that I didn’t enjoy a woman on top, but I liked being the one in control. I liked to have them at my mercy. I liked dominating them, seeing how long it took to make them shatter, how loud I could make them scream in pleasure.
How loud could I make her scream?
I found talking overrated — unless I was talking with my fists — and although communication seemed to be the foundation of any healthy connection, I preferred to act. It wasn’t my fault that people didn’t understand the reasoning behind the action, since most of them were too stupid to even function properly, anyway.
Everyone rushed to find their seats around me, and there was still no sign of her. Had I made a mistake?
I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, anticipation brimming inside me as I kept my eyes fixed on the entrance, searching for her beautiful face in the line.
~ You are so whipped.
I clenched my jaw and stopped myself from answering him, then pinched the bridge of my nose and rubbed my eyes, trying to keep it together.
She would show up eventually. I was sure of it.
I had trouble understanding people who hurried in general, but especially on a plane. It wasn’t like it would have taken off any earlier if we’d all been nicely buckled in before departure time.
~ Fuck logic, I suppose.
Everyone took their allocated seats and yet no one claimed the one I was sitting in.
Where are you, little angel?
~ Yeah, where are you? Because this guy is about to combust in his seat.
~ For once, could you just shut the fuck up?
I couldn’t wait to see her again, since my work kept me away for longer than I liked.
A woman holding a toddler in her arms stopped to look at the numbers on the chairs, and she gasped when she saw my face, quickly moving away as she held her child closer, blocking him from seeing me.
I clicked my tongue and shook my head, hating that her reaction bothered me. I usually didn’t give two flying fucks about how people perceived me, but a woman reacting like that when I was about to show Arella my face wasn’t a good sign.
Suddenly aware of the scar staining my nose and half of my cheek, I ran my fingers through my hair, closed my eyes and thought about a glass of scotch and a woman’s lips wrapped around my cock as I savored it. Not that I thought much about women in general, except her, but the last few days had been torture, and I needed the touch of a woman to release some of the pent-up tension.
No, I hadn’t turned celibate just because I was obsessed with a certain blonde with an inclination for helping people, although I wasn’t sure for how much longer I could keep fucking other women while she was always a thought in the back of my head.
I never saw them; I only saw her. Imagined it was her under me, on her knees for me, naked for me, that it was her body, that full figure of hers writhing with pleasure.
Fuck my life.
A shriek made me open my eyes, and I was blinded by a sea of white and a whole lot of skin.
The universe had a seriously fucked-up sense of humor to make her appear right when I thought about getting a blowjob from someone else.
Fuck me.
I unconsciously licked my lips as I allowed my eyes to move over the length of her body, growing tenser with each inch. She was still one of the most beautiful creatures I had ever seen. Tall, with appetizing curves, wearing a white summer dress with minimal cleavage that ended a hand’s breadth above her knees. That same gold cross sparkled around her neck, and I wondered if she was ever going to take that thing off as my eyes followed the drop of sweat that ran down her forehead while she struggled to stow her bag in the overhead compartment.
Completely unaware of my actions, I got up to help her.
~ Look at you, all helpful and shit.
There was too much light inside her, and unlike others before her, I wanted to make that light brighter instead of dimming it until it was just a flicker in the darkness.
I truly hated not being able to identify what I was feeling.
~ Yeah, me too. You’re breaking my balls with this uncertainty shit.
~ Oh, shut up.
Our fingers touched lightly as I took the bag from her hand and slid it into place with ease, and the small brush of her skin against mine sent a shiver down my spine. A thrill, just like the last time I touched her.
I counted to ten in my head as I closed the lid.
What the fuck was that fucking electricity supposed to fucking mean?
~ Stop electrocuting me, fucker.
Right there. Frustration identified.
~ So smart. A PhD should be sent your way.
I pinched the bridge of my nose shortly before I turned to look at her face and found her reddened by embarrassment, eyes wide as she tried to smooth out some non-existent wrinkles on her dress.
See? Another one. Embarrassment was an easily identifiable feeling, but the fucking sweaty palms I had and the wave of heat that flooded my insides were hard to pin down to a specific emotion.
~ Maybe you’re just constipated.
~ Shut it.
She looked at me as if she couldn’t believe her eyes, but there was no hint of fear in those greens as her lips parted as though she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. Arella swallowed and clutched the cross pendant around her neck, her gaze fixed on my face.
I took her moment of silence as an invitation to analyze, and I did.
I let my gaze wander over her round face, enchanted by her beautiful big eyes and tantalizingly full lips. Her blonde hair fell in messy waves over her shoulders, and she now had some freshly cut curtain bangs that added a certain sharpness to her otherwise gentle features.
Further down, I noticed the elegant curve of her hips, slightly fuller than the last time I saw her, but fuck if the extra pounds didn’t look great on her, and I knew she had some deliciously thick thighs under the thin fabric of her dress. It was hard not to imagine my hands gripping those hips, and for a moment I considered working my slightly superficial charm and convincing her that going to the bathroom together would make the flight more bearable for both of us, but I killed the thought as soon as it crossed my mind.
Arella wasn’t the “one and done” type, and her shy demeanor proved it as she fidgeted with her fingers. Her dateless college life proved it too, and I could have sworn on my dick that she was still a virgin. Not that I cared about it, as I was confident I could wipe any remnant of another man from her mind and body, but there was a hint of pleasure at the thought that I would get to be her first.
Do I intimidate you, little angel?
“Thank you,” she barely whispered as I struggled to stop admiring her and make eye contact.
I gave her a short nod in response and gestured for her to sit down, partly because I wanted to see if she would take the seat assigned to her or the one next to it, partly because I couldn’t wait for her knees to brush against mine.
“You first,” she said in that voice I missed so much, as soft as fucking rose petals, “I can’t sit by the window, I’m afraid of flying.”
My eyebrows shot up, and I did as she asked, even more confused than before, as she sat down next to me.
She was close. Too close. So close that I could feel her scent in the air, seeping through my pores and getting under my skin. So close that I was going to smell her for days to come.
So close that I wanted her even closer.
Fuck.
But maybe she didn’t see it.
For the first time since I had that ugly scar on my face, someone didn’t look at me as though I was a monster dressed as a man. She seemed more afraid of our transportation than the obvious danger next to her.
Arella’s reaction to me was so different from that of the woman who’d passed earlier. Maybe she wasn’t judging me based on my appearance.
Maybe I misjudged her, too.
Maybe because of her innocence, she wasn’t able to recognize the darkness emanating from me, because the beautiful blonde didn’t seem scared of me, and most women — those who weren’t turned on by danger — were usually terrified.
There’d been other women who caught my eye over the years, and I put every single one of them under the microscope, trying to figure out what made them so special that they caught my attention, but when I discovered their interests, profession, and personality — or lack thereof — I got bored and lost interest completely.
Not her.
Three years of analyzing every little detail about her life and I still hadn’t had my fill.
She wasn’t just another figment of perfection that would eventually bore me, but perfection incarnate.
Would she be the one to show me the way out of the darkness? Would she willingly choose to drown in black with me?
The voice in my head was silent, and I was close to bursting in my pants from the much awaited quiet.
I had yet to open my mouth while the flight attendants gave their speech about safety and such, and I tried to focus my attention on something other than her.
I looked out the window, the fingerprint on the glass, the time-grazed seat in front of me, the buttons above me, the lights, basically everything except her, all the while wondering if she recognized my voice.
But I was only human, and like a magnet, Arella pulled my eyes back on her without even trying.
She took a book and a notebook out of her handbag, then pushed her hair back and tucked a few strands behind her ear, her fingers lightly trembling. Then she took out a pack of chewing gum and almost dropped the piece before she managed to pop it into her mouth. A small, mundane gesture that seemed to be the highlight of my day.
I noticed the beauty mark on her right cheek, just under the corner of her eye, the little freckle above her cupid’s bow, the way her nose wrinkled as the mint exploded in her mouth, the tiny blemish on her chin. I wondered if she had any birthmarks, any scars, the color of her nipples and if she had piercings in hidden places.
My eyes fell on her arms, where I could finally see the scar up close, and the tattoo surrounding it. Cherry flowers mixed with thorny branches, leaving each stitch and creeping up her arm, disappearing under the sleeve of her dress. When I noticed her wrists, the whole world seemed to stop spinning, as they were stained by two tattoos she didn’t have the last time I saw her.
Set me on fire.
But I was already burning.
Beautiful, cursive writing.
Her left one read “
You could never be ice
,” and her right one “
You have too much warmth to ever freeze
.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I blinked a few times, shook my head, and tried to clear my mind, suppressing the urge to reach for her hands and pull them to my mouth so I could kiss over those wrists.
She had my words tattooed on her skin. I was in her blood, forever engraved on her body. I was stunned, lost for words, out of air. I was high on the rush that those little tattoos injected into me.
When I looked at her again, her lower lip was tightly clamped between her teeth, seemingly considering something before she half-turned her body towards me and held the pack out.
“Want one?” she asked, merely a whisper, the hint of a smile ghosting her lips.
I tilted my head to the side, analyzing her features as I considered her question, my heart pumping faster in my chest as her lower lip lightly trembled when I looked into her eyes, holding her captive in that stare. I caught the slight change in her pupils, how they dilated for a second, and the little inhale that filled her lungs as she held the pack towards me.
“Thank you,” I answered in a low voice, not allowing my feelings to take over my tone as I took a gum, my fingers brushing her skin, lingering on the warmth it exuded.
She frowned a little at the sound of my voice, then frantically shook her head as if to erase her thoughts, and broke eye contact.
What was she thinking about when she spoke to me? And why couldn’t I stop myself from wishing I was the one biting that damn lip?
She put her things on the aisle seat, then buckled her seatbelt, her dress slightly riding up her thighs as she did so, revealing more pale, perfect skin.
I’ve never been a man who liked small or thin women, and as her full thighs came into view, my brain automatically pictured them wrapped around my hips as I slammed into her, then over my shoulders as I feasted on her, and I was sure she could take it as hard as I could give it.
I wondered what she would taste like, something sweet probably, and my mouth watered at the thought. I wanted to kiss her inch by fucking inch, slowly and thoroughly, so much so that my lips were tingling.
I pulled on the collar of my T-shirt, suddenly feeling smothered by her presence, and looked out the window, ready to blow my own fucking brains out as I bit the inside of my cheek in a failed attempt to reduce the swelling in my pants.
My fantasy was undeniably silly, because she looked like the type of woman who would want sweet lovemaking with the lights off, probably under a blanket, the type of woman who faked orgasms to boost her husband’s self-esteem.
Carnal needs and preferences aside, she also looked way too innocent for me, and that thought helped me get my mind out of the gutter and calm the fuck down, even if I wanted to be the one to tarnish that innocence, rip it to fucking shreds and show her how pleasurable deviance could be.
I believed she was just as obsessed with me — or rather, the idea of me —as I was with her, because why else would she get tattoos with my words if she didn’t think of me?
Fuck it. I liked the idea of her thinking about me, obsessing over me, no matter how delusional it sounded, so I chose to believe it.
~ She tattooed the words of a stranger, you idiot. She thinks about him, not you.
~ I am him.
~ She doesn’t know that.
~ Yet. Now shut up.
*
She read the whole time.
I knew that because I had been watching her like a creep for the last two hours, which meant I also caught all the little glances she threw my way, and enjoyed how she blushed every single time because she found me already looking at her.
The plane hit slight turbulence, whereupon she yelped, her breath catching in her throat as she dropped the book, clutched her cross and quietly hummed a prayer.
God’s flown the co-op, little angel. All you’ve got to cling to is the devil’s enemy.
The plane began to shake a little harder, and she squealed as she grabbed my forearm and dug her long nails into my skin. I gritted my teeth, not because it particularly hurt me, but because it turned me the fuck on.
She didn’t realize she was grazing my arm and not the armrest, and I didn’t dare point it out, because she was touching me.
The feel of her skin on mine felt sinful.
“Breathe,
Snezhinka
[1]
,” I heard myself whisper as I turned my arm over and took her small hand in mine.
She turned her head towards me, her lower lip trembling as her eyes filled with tears. They didn’t fall, but it still made me angry.
Her skin was cold, too cold, and I figured that she must be seriously frightened, which made me want to kill the pilot. I didn’t give a shit it wasn’t his fault.
She nodded frantically as she struggled to calm her breathing, and I found myself whispering words of encouragement to her.
~ Look at you, being a fucking emotional support puppy.
The plane shook again right when I was about ready to knock my head against the chair in front of me, and a tear slid down her cheek, breaking something that I didn’t think I had inside me: my fucking heart.
It contracted painfully, tossing and turning as she let out a whimper, her hand squeezing mine as she kept moving her lips with a silent prayer.
When the movement subsided and the plane went back to smooth flying, I slowly let go of her hand and she finally seemed to breathe normally again as she kissed the stupid cross around her neck.
Anger boiled up inside me because I wanted her to kiss me instead of that thing, and I looked down at my forearm to see the marks she left. I reveled in them, hoping they would last longer than a few days so I could remember her clinging to me like I was her lifeline.
“God, I’m so sorry,” she said in a breathy voice, and I was snapped out of my trance as I tilted my head to meet her gaze, “I didn’t realize it was your arm.”
For the first time since she sat down, she seemed a little scared of me, probably thinking I was about to lose my shit and hurt her, or maybe I was just imagining it and Arella was still just a little startled about the turbulence.
“I’ve had worse, don’t worry,” I reassured her. “Are you alright?”
She swallowed and nodded. “Yes, thank you.” She gave me a faint smile, then went back to reading her book, and I went back to sneaking glances at her.
She wrote stuff down in her notebook, probably quotes or opinions.
I sighed internally every time her nose wrinkled when she read something she didn’t like, how her eyes sparkled with tears on some pages, and how she struggled to hold in her laughter at times.
Arella was reading Jane Eyre, and I found myself intrigued by it. Not that I gave much thought to literature in general, but the sole thought that she might find herself in that book turned me feral. Was she an orphan? Was she feeling lonely? Was she looking for a place to call home? Someone, maybe?
Was she looking for independence?
For belonging?
What made people choose their reads, if not finding oneself between the lines?
What are you looking for, little angel?
What’s been eating at you?
When she went to the toilet, I casually picked up the notebook and opened it to the first page. Right there, at the bottom, was written: “If found, please return to Arella Santino” and underneath was her fucking phone number.
I already had it, but I still took a photo of the page because I wanted a piece of her writing, then I closed the notebook and put it back exactly as it was.
Arella
.
Her name meant messenger of God, an angel, and that’s exactly what she was. Sort of like a ray of light in a black sea.
I swallowed audibly when I took another look at the woman who just came back from the bathroom.
Her hands were wet, and she began to rummage in her handbag for a tissue. After drying off, she sprayed her hands with a lemon-scented hand sanitizer and rubbed it in, then applied a lemon-scented hand cream. I bet she used a lemon body wash too.
I had smelled it on her before, and it became clear that she loved everything lemon, from scents, to gelato.
I smiled to myself.
Fucking lemons
.
When she noticed me staring, a light blush crept up her neck and cheeks, then she threw the travel-sized items back in her bag.
“I’m sorry. I’m a bit of a hygiene Nazi. Does the scent bother you?” she asked, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth after speaking, trapping it between her teeth, and my eyes narrowed in on the movement.
I blinked away the fascination, struggling to regain some composure as I decided to answer her.
“It doesn’t bother me” I reassured her, and she nodded as she reached for her book, but I wanted to keep talking to her, “business or pleasure?”
Jesus Christ, every word that fell out of my mouth sounded so fucking awkward it made me cringe, but at least I’d managed to make her smile.
“Both I guess, I start an internship on Monday,” she smiled, “and you?”
“I’m returning home,” I replied, biting the inside of my cheek as I tried to think of something to say.
It didn’t come as easily as it had when I was wearing a mask, and I sucked at small talk.
“What position?” I blurted, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise as a light brush crept up her cheeks.
She turned her head to the side, averting her eyes from me as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The corner of my lip slightly tilted in a smirk as I reveled in the reaction I managed to rip out of her.
“I’m sorry, what?” Arella asked after she regained her composure, thighs pressing together as she shifted in her seat.
“I meant which position did you apply for?” I clarified, tapping my fingers on my leg as I struggled not to brush them over her cheek.
Her eyes brightened, and the hint of a smile ghosted my lips as I took in that happiness that drew me in the first time. How?
“At Northwestern Memorial Hospital; I’m a doctor, or at least I’m going to be one if all goes well,” she began, then proceeded to tell me more about her job.
I just sat there and listened to everything I already knew about her, since I asked my hacker to find out the internships she applied for and made sure she got the one in Chicago, so as to bring her closer to me. I’d meddled with her life for selfish reasons, as I also got her rejected from all the others.
Arella was beautiful every day, in every scenario, even when she cried or when she was angry, but there was something unmistakably pure about her beauty when she was happy. Nothing compared to the little sparkles in her eyes when she spoke about the things she loved, or to the bright, sincere smile she displayed when she talked about her goals.
Nothing even came close.
There was no doubt in my mind that Arella Santino didn’t just look like an angel, but she actually was one.
What kind of fucked-up game was fate playing at? Why had it brought a woman who saved lives into the hands of a man who took them? What was the point?
Questions piled up in my brain as I listened to her talk, and suddenly, the three-hour flight was worth the pain of the uncomfortable seats. Even though I knew I couldn’t be with her.
Unbeknownst to her, she had found herself a protector, one who reaped souls and found release between screams of agony, but even though I was as far away from heaven as possible, I wanted to do whatever was necessary to make sure she got everything she deserved in life.
BLOOD RED ROSES
GRIMM
Present day
I parked my car in front of Northwestern Memorial, rolled down the window to light a cigarette, and waited.
Arella was nearing the end of her second year as a surgical resident.
I was nearing the end of my sixth year of following her around, and I had yet to lose my interest in her. I believed her work to be important, and I felt a rush of power from the fact that I was the one who protected her, making sure she was safe and able to do it.
~ Such a humanitarian you are.
~ I prefer the term philanthropist.
~ I prefer the term self-important asshole.
~ You should expand your vocabulary.
I bumped my head against the headrest and pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers, trying to shake off that dreadful voice in my head.
I’d known she was special from the moment I saw her with my sister that very first day. I’d known she would be hard to shake off the day I shared a dance with her, but something shifted when we took the same flight, my obsession morphing into something unknown to me. I also knew there was a darkness inside her, something I had seen over the years every time I witnessed a confrontation she had, something that yearned to be let out. I had yet to uncover that mystery she kept in chains, locked in a well-guarded cage, but I couldn’t wait to meet that side of her.
Arella made my skin itch with want. She made my insides shrink at the sight of her. And that feeling was dangerous, because it turned me into a man who killed for her.
After being her shadow for seventy-one months, three weeks, two days, twenty-two hours, and forty-three minutes, my initial assessment of her proved to be correct.
She was the brightest light, and she shared that brilliance with everyone, selflessly, which made the fact that my father had been giving me more and more time-consuming tasks fucking inconvenient. He’d stopped giving me names to wipe off the face of the Earth and started making me attend all kinds of boring meetings. Not that more responsibility bothered me, but it kept me away from her.
The thing was, I excelled at killing. He trained and molded me into the perfect assassin, and I never missed my target, but while I had no problem with that part, as it actually relaxed me, I thoroughly despised the meetings. They were so tedious, and most of the men there only had two functioning brain cells, if that. It made them easy to manipulate, but terrible conversationalists.
~ I thought you didn’t like talking.
~ I don’t.
When I was merely a hitman, I wished to be part of the meetings, but as I got into it, I realized that the business side of things bored me more than the weather channel.
~ It’s raining shit and smells like sulfur. There will be precip…
~ For fuck’s sake, would you just shut the fuck up?
I followed each mental word with a smack to my temple, wishing there was a cure for auditory hallucinations, and I say cure because I would never regularly take pills to keep him at bay. Sometimes the voice in my head helped me, sometimes it made me want to blow my brains out.
That was the reason why I absolutely had to see her as soon as I landed, because I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a month.
All I needed was one look at her and the ravaging waves inside me would settle down, like they did since the moment she entered my life.
I needed my
Snezhinka
to be able to rest.
She tamed my demons, illuminated my darkness and above all, she silenced the fucking voice, even if just for a moment.
That was the first thing I’d noticed over the years: the quiet in my head, the calm her proximity offered, and when I wasn’t close to her, I could think of nothing but when I would see her again.
~ Lucky I’m here to keep you company.
~ Bad luck, that is.
Arella slithered her way through the trenches and sharp stones inside me and reached the one place I thought was dead: my heart.
There was no doubt in my mind that in my own somewhat rotten, maybe toxic, definitely fucked-up way, I loved her. Even though I hadn’t spoken to her since the flight three years ago.
~ I’m vomiting.
I was undeniably in love with a woman I’d spoken to twice, in fucking love with the way she helped everyone around her, with her smile, with her white dresses and that long hair she never trimmed more than an inch. I loved the way she curled up on her balcony with a book, wearing nothing but a white satin robe. I loved the way she always smelled her coffee before taking the first sip, and how she shivered slightly after inhaling the scent.
I loved the small freckle above her lip, the scar on her arm, her walk, her obsession with lemon-scented everything, her slightly crooked laugh and the way she chewed her lips when she was anxious.
I also loved that darkness I knew she kept inside, and I wanted her to give me that cold she was afraid of, freeze me to death if needed, but I wanted her to give me that secret, so I could love it too.
Fucking hell, I loved everything about her.
As I promised myself that day, I watched over her from the shadows. I kept every filth at bay. I murdered men who stalked her and stopped her from going out with the wrong guys, those who, if given the chance, would have undoubtedly hurt her.
~ You’re a stalker too.
In all honesty, no guy was right for her.
Either they were boring, and she dumped them without my intervention, or they were cheats and liars, phonies who liked to pretend they were something when they were really nothing, and that’s where I came in to expose them. I had no idea how she picked them, but she seemed to go for the bad boys like a bee to fucking pollen.
~ She’s a bit of a cliche, don’t you think?
~ No.
~ But she…
~ I said no.
I didn’t kill them all, although they kept tempting me because they had the audacity to touch what was mine. It would have brought me morbid pleasure, too, but they didn’t know she was spoken for. She didn’t know it either. And so, until the day I got up the guts to risk it all, including her safety, and not be a fucking coward, I would keep giving her hints about the true face of her suitors.
~ What can I say? You’re Prince Charming.
The automatic glass doors opened, and she came out wearing her light blue scrubs. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and a few strands came loose from the elastic, dancing in the Chicago wind as she yawned.
I bit down my fist and wondered how many hours she’d gone without sleeping this time. Twelve? Twenty? More?
She had an all over the place schedule, packed full. Long fucking shifts at the hospital and volunteer work at a shelter for homeless children. On top of that, once a week, she went to a local facility that housed women who were victims of domestic abuse, where she treated their wounds.
I did say she was an actual angel, didn’t I?
~ Yeah, Romeo, we got it. How about you drink some poison now, too?
It made me wonder if she was doing all that work to wash away some other sins I didn’t know about, but it was hard to believe someone as good as her had anything to wash.
Arella helped people so much that it seemed she forgot that she had to also take care of herself, and anger boiled inside me when I noticed she was thinner than last month.
A muscle in my jaw tightened at the thought that she hadn’t been eating enough lately.
I reached for my phone from the passenger seat as I watched her walk toward her car, an old Toyota Corolla that was – to put it kindly – a coffin on wheels, a problem I desperately wanted to fix.
I was already ordering takeout from her favorite Chinese restaurant — something I did often, and something she never seemed to question — when someone called her name.
I frowned at the sound and followed her line of sight to see a man leaning against his car, a black SUV with tinted windows parked next to her car, holding a bouquet of red roses.
I cringed and wrinkled my nose in disgust.
She liked peonies and dahlias, never roses unless they were white. She believed them to be clich and called them classic apology flowers.
~ Son of a bitch.
After entering her address and specifying the time I wanted the food delivered, I sent off the order. Then texted the license plate to Hannibal, and waited for his reply as I watched how she smiled awkwardly at the man before he leaned down and kissed her.
~ Let’s dissect him.
My fingernails dug into my palm as she seemed to melt into him for a second, as if she was clinging to him for a drop of energy, but when he tried to deepen the kiss and his hand grabbed her ass, she slowly pulled back and moved his palm to her waist.
~ Good girl.
Well, maybe a little chop at the wrists wouldn’t be so bad after all? He had no use for those hands anyway, other than that of touching what wasn’t his to touch.
~ What’s stopping you?
Arella didn’t like public displays of affection, she preferred to keep what little personal life she had private, and the guy did not even seem to notice how uncomfortable she was.
He pulled her closer to him, grinning like a cat in heat.
How stupid did he have to be not to notice she had been crying? She’d probably lost a patient, and the dumb fuck didn’t even ask about her day before groping her as if she were a piece of meat.
When he handed her the flowers, she tried to fake a smile and didn’t even smell them. He seemed insistent on something, and I rolled my window further down to hear them.
“… I’ll make you forget whatever is bothering you,” was the end of his sentence.
I highly doubted that.
He looked like a man who didn’t know what to do with a woman even if he had an instruction manual in front of him. A two-pump-chump.
~ Bullet, knife, flame? Choose one, or all of them. I vote for all of them.
“I’m tired, Justin, let it go,” she pleaded, shaking her head as she unlocked her car.
The guy aggressively grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“How long do you think this good girl charade is going to work on me, huh?” he asked as his eyes darkened.
I bit my fist, fighting myself not to shoot him on the spot.
“You’re hurting me,” she said, trying to pull out of his grip.
~ Can we kill him?
I was just about to get out of the car and kill the motherfucker in front of her when she lifted her leg and kicked him in the balls. The force of the impact caused him to let go of her hand and she started hitting him across the face with the bouquet, repeatedly, until there were no more petals left.
I instantly got hard as I watched her make a fool out of the fucker, and a rare smile formed on my lips, one that only she could bring to life.
“We’re over,” she yelled at him.
~ Do we kill him?
After throwing what was left of the bouquet in his face, she got into her car and pulled out of the parking space, the engine coughing as she floored the gas.
I watched with depraved satisfaction as fucking Justin wiped his face to remove the drops of blood falling out of the thorn scratches, then shook off the petals stuck to his clothes and got into his SUV.
As I was following him, my burner phone rang, and I answered it.
“What’s up, Ripper?” Hannibal asked as he popped his gum.
Fucking young people.
“What do you have on him?” I cut to the chase.
“Right. The car is registered to a Justin Fowler. He’s been in and out of jail for theft, attempted rape, aggravated assault, and breach of a restraining order…”
“Fucking bastard,” I interrupted him, “why is he out again?”
“He was released three months ago for good behavior due to overcrowding,” Hannibal replied, “is this about your lady friend?” he snickered.
~ Can we kill him, please?
“Shut up!”
The kid gasped on the other end, and I swore through my teeth for saying that out loud.
“Ripper? This guy is bad fucking news. There are photos of his ex-girlfriend on file, and she looks fucking disfigured. Shit, he’s so…”
“Dead,” I finished his sentence, “he’s dead, kid.”
“Good riddance,” he laughed, then I hung up, broke the phone in half and threw it out the window, grinning as I kept my eyes on the SUV driving in front of me.
~ Good riddance indeed.
Justin Fowler was about to meet the devil, but he would pass through my hands before burning for eternity.
He parked in front of a house with an unkempt front yard and a broken fence, in a questionable part of town, and I found it funny how he could afford the car but wasn’t able to fix his fucking fence.
How could she even date the guy? What kind of lies had he told her?
I wanted to punch myself for being away from her for so long and letting her fall into his hands.
It took him a while to get out of the car, but I had time because I knew Arella was home, safe, probably enjoying her dumplings at that moment.
She always ate them first, followed by the hot and sour soup, the kung pao chicken and finally a piece of chongyang cake, which she liked to eat fifteen or twenty minutes after the last dish, along with a cup of freshly brewed forest fruit tea.
~ She has you wrapped around her finger, and you haven’t even touched her yet.
The memory of her nails digging into my skin made my cock twitch, and I rolled up my sleeve to look at the marks. They were long healed, but I’d had them tattooed in red ink after the fact, to have her permanently inked into my veins, just like I had her inked into my mind and whatever was left of my soul.
I also had her name tattooed under the markings, using her writing from the notebook as a font, and I sometimes wondered what her reaction would be if she ever saw it.
Would she be frightened? Would she run for the hills, or would she love how much she affected me?
Thoughts of her faded into the background, but still very much present, when I saw the lights in the house go out one by one, until the only thing left on was the TV in the living room.
I got out of my car and circled the house a few times, blocking the back door in the process, even though I knew there was no escape from me. My senses were heightened, predatorial. I scanned everything, the anticipation making my skin burn.
When I returned to the front porch, I threw a calculated look around, checking for possible witnesses, but the lights were off inside the surrounding houses, so I calmly knocked on his door.
“Who is it?” he shouted from the living room.
I didn’t answer and knocked again, which earned me an insult, then I heard his heavy footsteps as he stomped to the door.
Confusion spread across his stupid face as he flung the door open and saw me.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as his eyes settled on my face, his mouth deforming in disgust as he took in my scar.
“A nightmare,” I grinned and grabbed his throat, not allowing him time to react as I shoved him back into the house and slammed the door closed with my foot.
I didn’t stop until he was pinned against the nearest wall, and pressed on his trachea with my forearm. As a precaution, I smacked his head against the hard surface a few times, making sure he was out of breath and dizzy before I let go of him.
He fell to the floor, gasping for air as I took off my suit jacket, neatly folded it and laid it on the back of the brown leather sofa.
“What do you want, man? Who are you?” he asked as I rolled up the sleeves of my white shirt, then pulled my gun from its holster and placed it over the jacket.
His eyes widened upon seeing it, then frantically darted around the room, probably looking for something to defend himself with.
“You are asking the wrong questions,” I said as I lit a cigarette.
His head tilted up to look me in the face, confusion crossing his miserable features as I blew out the smoke.
“Listen, man, if it’s about the car, take it back… I don’t want any trouble.”
I raised an eyebrow, then laughed without amusement. So, the car wasn’t his, but somehow it was registered to his name, which meant he had some connections. It complicated things, and I hated complications, but alas, I couldn’t allow him to live.
“I don’t want your car, Mr. Fowler,” I began, leaning against the back of the sofa as I smoked, “I want your life.”
“My, my life?” he stuttered as I moved closer, watching as he pushed himself harder against the wall.
I leaned over his face, watching him with a blank expression. “Yes, but whether you die quickly or in great pain while choking on your blood is entirely up to you.”
I took another drag on the cigarette, then pressed the burning side to his right cheek. He cried out at the burn and raised one hand to push me away, but I grabbed it in time and turned his wrist, hearing the crack in his bone as it snapped out of place.
This time, he screamed, and I took advantage of the moment to put my cigarette out on his tongue, then threw the bud in his mouth and covered it with my palm.
“Swallow, you piece of trash,” I gritted my teeth.
He choked and kept shaking his head, tears running down his face, but when I didn’t allow him to spit it out, he eventually listened and struggled to force it down.
I smacked his head against the wall again for good measure, then stepped back.
~ He’s so pathetic.
Fowler coughed, spluttered, and cried.
In that order.
“Please, man, I have no idea what you want,” he begged.
They all begged for mercy sooner or later, but I didn’t expect him to cave so quickly considering how he’d tried to manhandle her in the parking lot.
“It’s funny how you don’t seem so tough now,” I said as I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and showed him the photo of the woman he beat half to death, making him see how disfigured he left her, “What does your own medicine taste like, Mr. Fowler?”
“Are you her current boyfriend or what? Bitch was asking for it, man.”
The hatred in his eyes when they lingered on the photo did nothing to contain my anger. If anything, it only spurred it on. I hated trash like him more than anything, and while I’d entered his house with the intention of torturing him for hours on end, his time was running out quicker with every word that fell out of his mouth.
“No,” I held up my phone, flashing my lock screen.
It was a photo of Arella, taken in her favorite caf. She was wearing a salmon pink blouse, her beautiful long blonde hair framing her doll face, and she was smiling brightly as she listened to a coworker.
“The doctor? I didn’t touch her, man, I swear…” he defended himself.
“When did you meet her?”
“She brought her car to the shop I work at,” he said. “We hit it off, and I asked for her number, I didn’t know she was taken, I swear.”
He tried to get up, but I had no intention of letting him stand ever again, so I punched his jaw, hissing as the pain shot through my knuckles. A tooth fell out of his mouth as blood spilled down his chin.
“Try to stand again and I’ll break your legs,” I threatened. “Who else knows about your relationship?”
“Nobody, man,” he spat more blood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “I didn’t fuck her. That bitch is frigid,” he added, as if that was going to improve his situation.
“Doesn’t matter, man,” I mocked what he’d been calling me since he’d made the mistake of opening the front door, “You see, Mr. Fowler, I’m not her boyfriend, I’m the man who’s been following her for the last six years, and the way you grabbed her arm earlier tonight just didn’t sit well with me.”
~ Can’t we just kill him already? He’s boring me.
I smacked the side of my head and closed my eyes for a second.
“Fuck,” realization crossed his features when I looked at him again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panicked. “You’re a fucking stalker!”
I grinned in response.
“Much worse than that, Mr. Fowler,” I said as I took out my knife and pressed it against his neck, my breath brushing furiously across his face, “I’m the Ripper.”
I moved the blade down his neck, reveling in the feel of his blood gushing out of the long cut, then I pushed the knife in his chest.
Once.
Right through his rotten heart.
I grabbed his chin and held it up, watching with morbid fascination as life drained from his eyes. He coughed once, the blood splattering onto my shirt.
My muscles relaxed as his body fell limply to the floor, and I let out a pleasured groan.
I rolled down my sleeves, pulled out the knife and wiped it on his jeans, then put it back in its holster.
Calmly, I went to the kitchen and washed my hands, then put on my jacket and called my cleaner, all the while humming a Russian lullaby.
“Santa’s Laundromat, how may I brighten your existence today?” Klaus picked up with his usual greeting, and I almost laughed.
Almost.
“I’d like to order a laundry pickup,” I answered, then gave him the address.
He hung up, and I lit a cigarette as I looked at her photo again. A drop of blood had sprayed onto the screen, right over her chest, and I quickly wiped it off. His blood had no business staining her, even through a screen, then admired her beauty as I chain-smoked and waited for the guys to show up.
I lost track of time as I stared at her, carefully analyzing her every feature for the millionth time, and only woke up from the trance when I heard three consecutive knocks on the door.
I opened for them, and three men nodded their heads in my direction, then entered the house without a word and got straight to work. Klaus followed them, dressed in red leather pants and a black ripped tank top with “
I love ho-ho-hoes
” written on it.
He looked around for a second, grinned as he scrutinized my suit, then popped a cigarette in his mouth.
“Is this one related to your lady friend as well, Ripper?”
I nodded, disgust falling over me again as I looked at the guy who was being wrapped up in plastic.
“One of these days, you have to introduce me. You’re up fifteen personal clean-ups since she came into your life,” he laughed.
“I’ll die before I introduce her to your crazy ass,” I shook my head as we walked out of the house.
“Fair enough. How’s papa doing?” my little brother asked.
Klaus was born five years after me, and our father actually loved and married his mother, but she unfortunately died when my brother was ten.
~ Women die in the mafia. What a shocker!
Since then, Klaus had been a handful, a difficult to control chaos, rebellious, always getting in trouble and wreaking havoc.
His job at the Laundromat was supposed to ground him before he would become my second in command upon my promotion, but the lunatic asked to run the place because he liked to deal with murder after the fact, leaving me to find a replacement for a position that was rightfully his.
Fucking asshole.
“You should ask him yourself,” I said, giving him a pointed stare which was meant to scold him, upon which he wrinkled his nose.
“I did, he said I should call him when I come to my senses and return to claim my birthright,” he rolled his eyes.
“If you ever want it, Klaus, it’s yours,” I softened my voice as much as I could. “How much do I owe you?” I asked, reaching for the checkbook I had in my jacket pocket.
“As if I’d ever take your money,” he flipped me off and laughed as I looked at my phone again.
“I owe you one,” I said as I walked towards my car.
“Try fifteen, asshole,” he shouted behind me.
*
I parked in front of her building, seeing that the lights in her apartment were still on, her bedroom window wide open. It looked inviting, and I was tempted to take a peek into her world, but I didn’t. Instead, I preferred to wait until I could catch a glimpse of her, if only for a second.
Soon enough, she came into view, walking out onto the balcony wrapped in a fucking towel, her long, wet hair falling down her back and around her face. She sat down on the small wooden bench, lit a joint and crossed her legs, then scrolled through her phone, not realizing she was being watched.
Whatever happened during her shift was so bad that she needed weed to sleep, because Arella only smoked when she was really stressed or sad, and I would have bet my life on the latter.
Still, I wanted to punish her for flaunting herself like that, so openly for everyone to see, and at the same time, I also wanted to worship at her feet for offering me such a delectable image.
I bit down on my fist as temptation lurked, then I snapped a photo of her for later and opened my messages.
As I was typing, I suddenly froze, eyes wide as I realized what I was doing. I quickly deleted the text. The day would come when I could write to her whenever I wanted, but that day was not today, so I leaned back in my seat, content with only looking at her.
I sighed and closed my eyes, thinking about my options, because I didn’t know how much longer I could keep my distance.