Page 85 of Sinner's Malice
“Little One,” Sinclair said, walking over to me, resting his arm around my shoulder. “Let me introduce you to Lucy McLaren.”
Gasping, I looked up at him and happily smiled. “No! Really?”
“In the flesh, as requested.”
Hugging the man, I kissed his cheek as I giddily skipped over to the irate woman in the trunk. “Hello, bitch.”
She mumbled something incoherent.
Shrugging my shoulders, I ripped off the duct tape as she cried out, “You fucking bitch! That hurt!”
“Really?” I smirked and wasted no time punching the bitch in the nose. Hearing the crunch of bone and seeing blood drip across her face, I laughed. “Did that hurt?”
Seeing her knocked out, I clapped my hands and giggled, looking at Sinclair. “It’s like Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and the Fourth of July all wrapped up into one. I love my surprise!”
“I knew you would, Little One.”
“Oh, you stupid cunt.” I grinned at the unconscious bitch. “Boy, do I have fucking plans for you.”
With a little effort, and Sin’s help, I carried the unconscious pedophile out of the sedan and into the mailroom, securing her to the Saint Andrew’s cross without too much fanfare. However, when it came time to remove her clothes, Sin stepped back, shaking his head.
“She is all yours, Little One.”
Huffing, I glared at the man. I couldn’t really blame him. She didn’t hurt him. Technically, he had no beef with her, and he’d honored his promise to me. Nodding, I walked over to a table pushed against the far wall, eyeing all the tools Malice and Payne left displayed for easy use.
Rubbing my chin with my finger, I sighed, turning to look at the still sleeping bitch.
“Fuck it,” I muttered, grabbing a box cutter, and went to work removing the cunt’s clothes. I was actually quite proud of myself. I didn’t cut her once. Lucky for her, because in my current frame of mind, I wanted to do all kinds of nasty, salacious things to her body. When I was done with her, she would never touch another child again.
Seeing her attached to the cross, naked as the day she was born, I tilted my head, taking a good look at her.
“What are you thinking, Little One?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered as my eyes scanned her body. “This bitch spent her life torturing young boys. She reveled in the destruction she caused. For years, she tormented Malice. Made his life a living hell. Because of her, he won’t let me touch him.”
“Go on,” I heard Torment say from behind me.
Turning, I saw him standing next to Sinclair, eyeing the woman on the cross with disdain.
“What are you doing here?”
“Came for the show,” he said, stepping over to a chair, and sitting. Taking a deep breath, he added, “You were saying.”
Frowning, I turned back to the woman.
“She’s evil. The very reason kids think there is a monster under their beds or hiding in their closets.”
“Kind of like Petrovitch was your nightmare.”
I nodded, reaching for a baseball bat that was lying on the table. Holding it in my hand, I tapped it against my palm, as vivid memories of my time in his clutches pushed forward. Instead of Lucy McLaren before me, she morphed into Boris Petrovitch with his smug, condescending look.
I hated that motherfucker.
Everything that was good and innocent in my life, that son of a bitch ripped away with his sadistic desires.
“If Boris Petrovitch was on that cross, what would you do, Silver?” Sinclair asked.
I didn’t need to think.