Page 99 of Isle of Seduction

“Andrea, that’s enough,” I tell him.

He’s never rattled; he’s always been the beacon of light in my bloodlust, the tether to myself and my home, but I can feel him fraying. I was comatose and on the brink of death when Giulia got hurt. I don’t need to know the details to know what happened to her. Watching her slink away in the shadows these past few weeks was enough.

Andrea nods, then asks me, “Can I trust you to get what we need?”

He doesn’t doubt my capacity to get information, nor my violence but his question reveals how much he knows me. He’s not the only one who needs to take out his frustration and hatred on someone. And Addams is my perfect victim.

I force my eyes to close, willing the images of fire and death away, focusing only on the bright silver specks behind my eyelids.

“Yes.”

Andrea leaves, taking the cut off hand with him and placing it inside one of the barrels for disposal.

I thrive on stability and in this life, there is none to find. I compensate with deep controlling behaviours. The only times I feel really safe are when I know where my family is at all times, or when I’m at the club I frequent in London. Both Andrea and my mother have trackers on their phones. And now, Andrea gave me access to Giulia’s ring.

My thoughts threaten to spiral again. I was with her when she was hurt. I couldn’t protect her.

I check my phone and watch the coloured dots associated with the three most important people in my life. I like that there are three now. The number soothes me. Andrea’s green dot is moving to his cottage, where the red dot associated with Giulia is. The yellow one for my mother is safe and sound at her house.

I keep my eyes closed for another moment, breathing heavily through the nose and out through the nose. The trick is to exhale longer than the inhale to deceive the nervous system into thinking the environment around is safe.

That’s the biggest fucking joke, but I need something to pretend I’m normal.

Opening my eyes, the sterile room slowly comes into focus. Concrete surrounds me and in the middle of all that grey that I hate but can’t live without is Addams.

I remove my tee-shirt and unbutton my jeans before I bend over to remove those too and my boxers in one swoop. When I’m naked, Addams starts to shuffle and plead for mercy, adrenaline shooting inside his system, probably thinking of all the ways I could abuse his body just like he does with his purchases.

My head tilts to the side as I observe his wiggling body. I haven’t even started, and he’s already pissed himself, urine pouring under him and mixing with the small puddle of blood already cooling on the floor, the stench heavy enough to cover the bleach scent of the room.

“I’m not the same type of monster you are, Mr. Addams,” I say coldly.

I walk to the closet on the side of the room and fold my clothes into a neat pile on the middle shelf, then retrieve a thick painter’s suit. Being the enforcer in the Capaldi family for the past seven years should have been enough for me to get used to blood. It hasn’t.

Once my body is enveloped in the suit, I pull on the mask that will protect my face while still enabling me to see what I’m doing properly, and donne the hood of the suit over my hair. The thin powder-free nitrile gloves come on next.

I take my time to clean his wound. With precise movement, I cut through his clothes and discard them, leaving him naked on the chair.

A powerful trick for the mind. The human brain hates vulnerability and there isn’t a stronger symbol for it than nakedness.

I go back to my station and Addam’s eyes track my every move.

I see myself in the mirror that faces my work station and my target’s wiggling body. I’ve seen the image a hundred times, but I’m sure it looks terrifying to the first-time observer. There are never second time viewers.

I approach Addams with one of my favoured knives and in silence, I start to carve. Shallow enough so it won’t hurt, just sting, but enough for him to bleed and watch as the crimson colour flows to create a unique pattern over his skin in the mirror.

He wiggles again, and the knife sinks deeper than I want into his flesh.

“If you keep moving, I’ll hurt you.” I click my tongue.

“You’re gonna hurt me, anyway. I know what they say about you. You’re a freak, a killer!”

My hands stop, and I look up at him. “You know who I am? Curious.”

I’m never in the public eye, Andrea and I make sure of that. Of course, being who we are, people know I exist but no pictures are ever taken of me and if there are, we erase them easily. To know who I am, to know the rumours about me, you’d have to have contacts with the underbelly of West Hill or London.

“I know where you go to get pussy. I can get you more, I can get you anything you want. Your brother can’t,” Addams spews.

Pleading. I’m not totally impartial to it. It’s usually when I learn more about the people who grace these walls. Or rather, this ceiling. The thought draws a lift to the left corner of my mouth.