Page 19 of The Cute Psycho

"Now, that was just mean." I pout at her, half annoyed.

"Dude, you've been skinning himalive. For hours! What's wrong with you?" She shakes her head at me, coming around to glance at my work of art.

"It was supposed to be a quick job. In and out. And to think I'm usually the troublemaker," she mutters under her breath, scrunching up her nose in disgust when she leans in to look at what's left of the man.

Yes, it should have been a quick job. But once I'd realized who our target was—an Armenian human trafficker in charge of some questionable trafficking rings in Maine—my interest had been piqued.

It's not often that we're sent after human traffickers. Might be because my father is the one choosing our targets, and he doesn't want me to get too hot-headed on a job, since he knows I'd vowed to make Vanya's killer pay.

But just like this skinless fellow in front of me, I don't know much about the circumstances of Vanya's death.

My memory of the years before I'd returned to my family is fuzzy. I've only managed to piece together some things. Like the fact that Vanya and I had been abducted when we were three and we'd been held captive by some sort of madman for almost five years. Although my father and his associates had relentlessly looked for us, it was only by chance that the Italians got to us first.

Marcello's brother, Valentino, had been leading a team inquiring into a human trafficking ring led by some dangerous people when they'd found us—or rather a dead Vanya and her half-dead brother. Even he hadn't been able to offer me more insight, citing pure luck behind their sudden discovery of the location.

We'd both been found in a cage. The details are, even now, hard to stomach. Vanya had been well on her way to putrefaction, and me? Starved to the extreme, I'd already had one foot in the grave.

Because of the circumstances of Vanya's death, as well as my ownrather morbid state, a doctor had told me it's normal for the brain to block some memories—particularly traumatic ones. He'd also said that Vanya's presence in my mind might be explained by the residual trauma of living with her corpse for days on end.

Well, certainly that's one way of looking at it.

But there's also my way. Vanya is here with me to ensure I find her killer and I punish him or her accordingly.

An eye for an eye.

Even now, as if knowing the direction of my thoughts, she preens, her lips spreading into a languid smile.

I shake my head at her, returning my attention to Bianca.

"Maybe I could have gotten some information out of him," I mumble, "eventually."

Looking down at all the stripes of flesh I'd taken from his thighs and his back, I'm suddenly bummed that I didn't get to do the entire body. It had been going great too, since the bleeding had been minimal and my mental state never better.

"Sure," she mocks, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Now where's the fun in taking the rest of the skin if he's dead?" I sigh, returning to task and continuing with his chest.

"Wait," B says, her fingers going to her temples. "Let me get this straight. You're going to continue skinning him?He's dead!"

"Of course he's dead," I add drily, "you killed him."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her. But seeing that I'm in such a good mood, I refuse to engage further.

"You'll thank me when you get your Christmas present. I'll make you a shiny new leather holster. One hundred percentman-made too." I wink at her.

When she gets my meaning, she backs away, her hands up, her eyes half-shut in disgust.

"Ew, no thank you. You can keep it for yourself." She waves me off, going to an empty chair and opening her laptop.

"Stalking again?" I ask, amused.

Her face immediately lights up and she turns the screen around to show me the latest pictures of the subject of her obsession.

"I don't get it." I shake my head, turning back to my work. Might as well finish this now.

"Of course you don't get it," Bianca mutters, "we've established you don't know what love is," she says with a dreamy sigh, staring at the computer and no doubt imagining herself with that suit of hers.

I don't even deign a reply, because she's not too far off the mark. Idon'tknow what love is. At least not the type of love she's implying. I know loyalty and family ties. I know my connection with Vanya, the type that not even death can sever.

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