Page 19 of Hate to Love You
I smirk to myself, shoving the phone back into my pocket, but deliberately not replying.
AccounTits is actually an employee that works in my accounting department.
Some petite little blonde who found her way to The Studio a few nights ago, and after two bottles of vodka, took a good fucking on the poker table…with an audience. It was fun, especially since the big-chested girl was more than willing to do whatever I wanted, in every way imaginable.
But I’m Roman Antonov. I don’t do “round twos.”
I don’t see the point.
After all, who wants to conquer the same pussy twice?
Chapter Four
ABBY
The scent of flowers fills my nose as I inhale deeply, the harsh thorns taking root within my chest, locking the cracks of my heart together. These four walls became my happy place, my safe haven.
My justice.
It took months for my pretties to grow, to flourish under my care, just as I flourished under theirs. My greenhouse is now full of Oleander, Deadly Nightshade, Henbane, Strychnine, Lily of the Valley, and my personal favorite, Foxglove.
Pretty and deadly.
My first time at the book club, I checked out Plants That Kill and then my collection was born. I chased down seeds online, went on walks, dug them up and brought them to the penthouse, where I made a makeshift greenhouse on the balcony. Garrett had no idea what I was doing, and he stopped asking when I told him they were herbs for dinner.
The first time I tried to kill him, with Morning Glory seeds, placed on top of a fresh loaf of bread, my heart was racing with adrenaline. I nearly chickened out, I sat on the chair in the living room, my knee bouncing as I chewed my nails…but all he experienced from that was hallucinations of me fucking the guy who lived above us. By the end of the night, I was beaten and bleeding, with him dripping down my thighs.
After that, all doubt had vanished.
He was a dead man.
The following morning, my sore body limped around grabbing the book again, while he drank himself silly on the couch. For hours I hunted through the pages, looking for my answer, my solution, my savior.
Foxglove.
It was the final piece of the puzzle that I needed, it tied it all together in a pretty little bow.
My concoction of death.
A widow maker.
A mix of Deadly Nightshade, for the nervous system, Strychnine for the respiratory system, and lastly Foxglove, for the heart.
The mix of these three becomes the perfect poison, each attacking a different part of the body, dancing simultaneously in beautiful harmony until they peak together, and the mark draws their last breath.
Beautifully poetic if you ask me.
It takes just two grams of my Widowmaker to kill a person. I heard a mark say it has a spicy, bitter taste, but they never seem to mind. It certainly hasn’t stopped a single one of them from finishing my deadly cocktail of karmatic justice…forever sealing their own fate.
Yes, each plant could kill a person on their own with the correct dosage, yet each one had a fatal flaw, one that didn’t benefit me: Time.
Time for the mark to get help. Time to be treated. Time to survive their fate.
That was unacceptable.
They do not get to survive the torment they have caused on another human being.
They do not get to survive me.