Page 10 of Savage Keepsakes

“Let’s go,” I say and grasp her wrist and start walking.

As we reach the door and I turn to unlock it, she asks in her head-pounding voice: “Why don’t you have an apartment? I’m not some cheap whore.”

“I think we both know that’s not true,” I whisper, letting go of her wrist.

Sylvia tenses next to me as we enter the building. As I flick on the lights, the brightness causes me to blink and flip the lock closed behind us. Her gaze runs over the metal table in the centre of the room, then to the floor where drains catch all the animal drippings.

“You’re into some kinky shit, eh?” Her eyebrow raises.

I silently tilt my head.

“Aren’t you going to answer me? I was ready for a good time, but I’m not sure about this.”

I cross the room to grab the restraints and smirk. “Of course. I expect a fun time.” A fluttering twists my stomach as I twirl the metal cuffs.

She fidgets with the sleeve of her skin-tight shirt before tucking hair behind her left ear. “Do you want me to get on there?” She points to the metal table. I’m glad I didn’t pick her for her brains.

I move forward and draw her near me. Her hair tickles my nose. Fear is such a particular scent, and as I take a deep breath, my mind relaxes.

“Yes, please,” I whisper into her ear.

She at least listens and lies back on the metal.

Holding her ankle, I attach each one to the table and her wrists. “Such a good job.”

She winks, and I keep up my fake façade of lust for a few minutes more.

Taking my hat off, I place it on the workbench before walking to my storage closet. I insert a CD into the system and turn up the volume.

Next I move to the compartment with my paper mâché masks. I slide the silver one over my face, and as I turn around, the lust disappears from her expression. She widens her eyes while I saunter towards her.

Her nostrils flare as she pants, fear spreading over her features like a wildfire. Her flat, pressed in forehead perspires and her breathing quickens as she fights against the restraints.

“If you want to rape me, that’s fine. Just do it. But don’t kill me. I have a father. He’ll miss me if I’m gone.”

I wouldn’t fuck this cunt with Brute’s corpse’s dick. The only woman for me is not on this table.

“Alright, you caught me. I’m a sick fuck, you see?” I stroke her sweaty hair away from her face and undo her jeans.

Sylvia freezes under my touch. “When you’re done… you’ll let me go?”

I grab scissors from my back pocket and cut away her shirt, admiring the flesh underneath. Nothing but fresh canvas lies in front of me.

“Sure. Tell me about your father.” I spin around as I swap the scissors out for a scalpel.

“Um, this is weird.”

She’s not wrong. I can’t imagine thinking about my poor excuse of a mother while trying to fuck someone.

“Okay,” she starts, “he’s a good man. Lives in Toronto. Name’s Rooker Carter. He owns a floral shop.”

I file this information away for later.

“Excellent. Wasn’t so hard, eh?” I lean against the table and make my first cut.

The bladeslices through her flesh with ease, peeling delicate strips of skin from her thighs. I glance up at her face. Tendons stand out on her neck as she fights the restraints. A bloodcurdling scream rises from her throat and echoes around the room.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she demands.

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