Page 4 of The Cute Psycho

Gazing around, I note a variety of tools on one side, so I take my time to pick one that would suit my needs.

I don't know what Father expects to see, but I'm not about to wastethis chance trying to please him. Not when my mind is already focused on my next experiment.

A few steps and I'm in front of the prisoner, a pair of pliers in my hand. I'm quick to open his jaw and take his tongue out, the pliers settling nicely against the piece of muscle. The man barely has time to react before I pull—hard. My strength may not be that of an adult, but with a good gauge of angles, the tongue gives way.

The man writhes in pain as I tighten my fingers on the handle of the pliers and give one last pull, the tongue slipping from the cavity.

Long and with striations of pink and red, the muscle doesn't seem as interesting as I'd first thought.

With a low curse, I fling it to the floor, approaching the prisoner again and forcing his mouth open, curious about the damage.

He's bleeding, the blood pooling in his throat as he's trying his hardest not to choke on it.

The way clear, I'm suddenly curious about the inside of his throat. Grabbing some metal, I prop his jaw open so his teeth won't come clamping down on my skin. Then, folding my hand nicely around a tiny blade, I insert my arm into his mouth, feeling around the warm channel, before going down his throat. My arm is small enough that it fits down his esophagus.

His mouth is almost touching my shoulder, and I give a last push before I feel the edge of the stomach. Releasing the blade from my hand, I maneuver it around and penetrate the wall from the inside, pushing until the tip of the knife reaches the surface.

The man can't even yell in agony, and it must be quite the pain, because I start lifting the knife, continuing to cut through his tissue.

By the time my arm is out of his body, he's dead, his torso a bloody mess of uncoordinated cuts.

Damn!

It's not pretty. Maybe next time I'll do better. I study my mistakes carefully, already forgetting about my father's presence.

I'm startled by a slap on my back, Father's body next to my own as he stares at my work.

"I'll be damned..." he whispers, almost in awe.

2

VLAD

AGE TWELVE

Sharpening my knife, I look at Marcello's work of art from the corner of my eye. Begrudgingly, I have to admit that he has a knack for this sort of thing. Whereas my end product is often messy, his is neat, every detail in place, as if it had been thought out well in advance. And it had. Marcello is not one for impulsivity — he leaves that to me. No, his work is exquisitely minute.

"You're done?"

His tools fall to the ground with a thud. He nods, bringing his sleeve up to wipe some of the blood from his face.

Only a couple of years older than me, Marcello is the son of an Italian capo—our family's associates.

Since our very first assignment together some years back, the adults had decided that we worked best together and they'd repeatedly paired us, so we could do the mostunsavorywork.

With a bored expression on my face, I examine Marcello's handiwork. The dead man had been a rat that my father had caught feeding information to the Albanians.

I'd observed enough to know that ours was the most strategicposition. With access to all the major ports, we were the first to know when a special shipment would arrive. Of course, everyone vied for that type of information, which made our organization the perfect target for infiltration.

My father had been the one doling out punishments in the past. But since he'd witnessed the damage Marcello and I could do to a prisoner, he'd decided to leave the rats to us.

A cut runs down from his neck to his pubis, splitting the man in two. His arms and legs had been nicely broken and folded inside in a grotesque manner. This was all about the show, since his body will spend at least a couple of days in the grand hall.

A reminder never to cross the Pakhan again. After all, no man wanted his body desecrated and exposed in a sick spectacle.

I know I will enjoy my own time when the exposition is done, since I get to do a thorough examination of his remains.

Vanya is already restless thinking of the opportunity.

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