Page 7 of The Cute Psycho

Marcello sighs as he watches the blood from his own prisoner pool down. He'd tried to go the faster route too, aiming for the thighs. But without fire to close the artery, the blood is simply flowing freely.

"You win." He shakes his head, taking a step back and untying the man's legs, so that the body is once again in a vertical position.

Blood rushes out in spurts, just like a fountain, pouring down and flooding the ground.

I lick my lips, the sight tantalizing enough to make me forget my own project.

But not quite.

"What now?" Marcello comes around to survey my work.

I'd already gotten rid of his legs, but now it's even trickier. Any higher and the organs will spill out.

A devious smile stretches across my face. Ah, too bad Vanya won't be here to witness this.

"Help me out, will you?" I say, stepping off the chair. "I am the winner after all." I wink at him, taking the chainsaw and plugging it in.

"You don't mean to...." Marcello's eyes widen slightly.

"I don't have much use for him now. I've won, and statistically speaking, the chances of me cutting more without killing him are very low. This way we can enjoy the show." I grin at him.

Starting the chainsaw, I climb back on the chair, aiming for the man's midriff and pushing the revolving blade into his side.

I should have used goggles.

I realize that belatedly as pieces of flesh and bits of organs jump into my face. I shake them off, continuing to cut through.

Marcello looks done with me, and I'm not even halfway through.

"You could help me, you know," I add drily. He's the one with the extra strength.

"Really?" he retorts ironically, but does end up taking the chainsaw from my hands, cutting the last part of the man's torso.

He barely takes a step back before the man's entire chest cavity falls to the ground, the intestines slowly unwinding in a serpentine, blood, bile and stomach juice all mixing in a foul combination.

Marcello scrunches up his nose, quickly putting some distance between him and the half-body still hung to the ceiling.

I raise my gaze, taking in the eyes stuck in perpetual horror, the ugliness of life and death combined to both enthrall and disgust. My feet take me closer, and I can't help but be mesmerized by the sight of red—of mayhem and destruction.

It's like a long-forgotten memory is trying to surface, a need to hurt and be hurt swallowing me whole as I remain rooted to the spot.

It's much later that I realize I must have lost track of time. Marcello's already gone. My father's cleaners are at work.

There's also my older brother, Misha, watching me from a corner, his lip curled up in disgust.

"Freak," is all he says as I meet his gaze with mine.

I don't reply. I don't have to. I merely let my mouth open up widely into a full smile. His composure is immediately shaken off, and he scurries away, muttering something to himself.

For all his bullying tendencies, Misha is nothing but a coward. And no matter how much he picks on me, I know he fears what I'd do to him.

After all, I'd told him in great detail one time, when I'd seen himpick on Katya and Elena. He's almost sixteen now, yet his fascination with Elena, our youngest sister, hasn't escaped me. Mother and father prohibitmefrom associating with my sisters, yet they turn a blind eye to Misha.

Maybe I should just kill him and be done with it. But Vanya won't let me. Every time I try to tell her my plan of getting rid of him, she has to lecture me that family is where I should draw the line.

"We don't kill family, Vlad," she'd pouted at me, her arms crossed over her chest. And I'd reluctantly agreed with her. But she'd had to take it one step further and make me vow I'd never lift a hand against family.

My word is probably the only thing that makes mehuman, since I'd long resolved to make it binding. I can't behave like normal people, and I can't empathize with their situations.That, I'd learned, makes me extremely dangerous. But Vanya had made me see that I could still function in society—be in control somehow—by having a set of personal boundaries I'd make myself accountable for.

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