Page 56 of The Cute Psycho

"I don't think Sacre Coeur is known for its fair working conditions,"I add briefly, before commenting, "I'm surprised you have no guards with you," all in an attempt to switch the focus from me.

The last thing I need is for someone to pity me for everything that happened there. It's already happened and it's not like I can change the past. And certainly, I would never want to be seen as a victim.

"Why would I need any guards?"

"My brother requires Lina to have at least five guards with her at all times. I assumed that with you guys," I look around before leaning in to whisper, "being in this mob business it wouldn't be safe to just wander around unattended."

"And yet here you are," he smiles, "walking around with me unattended."

"It's different," I say before I can think it through.

"Different how?" He tilts his head to the side, awaiting my answer.

You make me feel safe.

But I don't say that.

"You said you're a cold-blooded killer," I reply with half a smile, "I'm willing to bet that people rarely cross you?" I look up to find him watching me amused, the corner of his mouth curling up.

"You would be correct. People would be fools to attack me," he agrees. "But, unlike the rest of the," he emulates my actions, leaning to whisper in my ear, "mob," before straightening his back again, "I have a certain reputation that keeps people away from me."

"Is that so?" I ask, although what I actually mean istell me more.

"I have a guard I use sometimes to keep up appearances, although if you are in the know." He smirks, unbuttoning the sleeve of his shirt to show me his wrist, and the design that's etched in his skin.

Surprised, I lean closer, my fingers tracing the ink. In the middle is a human skull impaled on a cross. There's only one eye in the socket, wide open and staring at me. A scale of justice is balanced on either side of the cross, one side white, the other black.

His muscles tense as the tips of my fingers move slowly over the surface, and I look up to find him studying me too, a frown on his face.

"What does it mean?"

"Retribution," he says curtly, "an eye for an eye."

"How does that work?" I ask, curious.

"Action and reaction." He covers my hand with his. "In this world, no good deed goes unpunished."

"And people recognize the tattoo?" He nods, tugging my hand into the crook of his elbow once more.

"People spread tales. It's easy to distort the truth when your name is on everyone's lips. Certainly, I've earned my reputation. But there are some things that even I find distasteful." He scrunches up his face in disgust.

"Really? Like what?" My voice comes out a little breathy, and I'm unable to keep the excitement from my voice.

Vlad comes across as this larger-than-life person, and his enigmatic personality is only making me want to know more about him.

A smile plays on his lips. "There's one rumor that I collect my victims' organs, and that I have a collection of them hidden in my basement."

"Let me guess, not true?"

"Not exactly. I'd need a hell of a lot of formol. I may have kept some, on occasion, but only for scientific purposes," he says, looking as if he's reminiscing about a fond memory.

"What else?"

"Hmm," he glances up pensively, "there's one rumor that I only eat human flesh."

"You do?" I squeak, the answer unexpected.

"I'm not particular to it, no. But I can't say I haven't tried it before."

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