Page 51 of Crossed
“I’m jealous of your hands,” I note, resting the palm of mine against his, trying to steal the memory of her skin from his. “And I don’t enjoy being envious. It’s a nasty emotion.”
I bend his pointer finger back harshly until the snap of his bone reverberates off the brick.
He screams but it’s barely audible behind the makeshift gag.
“If you stop fighting, this will go faster,” I muse, leaning more of my body weight into him while I straighten his middle finger and repeat the snapping motion. A rush of satisfaction floods through me at the sound of the fracture.
Another muffled scream.
And then a different noise, one in the distance but close enough to cause concern. Muted laughter and voices.
Sighing, I glance back down to my victim, disappointment mixing with the adrenaline when I realize I’ll need to end this quicker than I’d like. Normally, I’d have ensured we were in a place more private, but this kill is fueled by passion, and it’s made me sloppy.
I release his mangled fingers and drop them to the ground where they fall limp to the side. His eyes are bloodshot, tears slipping down the side of his cheek and hitting the concrete beneath him, and I cluck my tongue.
“A quick death is more than you deserve.”
Leaning in, I slip the scarf from his mouth and wrap it around his throat. I crisscross the ends, one in each hand, and pull, soaking in the way his body jerks and flails beneath me as his throat is crushed from the soft fabric. His eyes bulge, and his mouth parts.
The sound of him unable to breathe and the sight of him realizing these are his last moments make my cock harden and my spine tingle with pleasure.
It’s erotic taking a life.
And then he falls silent, his body dropping limp until he’s prone and still on the cold, wet ground.
It’s not enough to temper the jealousy of having Amaya on his lap and in his grasp, but it will have to do.
Standing up, I brush down the front of my pants and rebutton my coat. There’s wetness seeping down my back from where a few of my newer lashes split open, but I ignore them. They’ll be worse by the end of the night anyway.
I don’t bother to clean up the body, instead heaving him into the giant dumpster and leaving him there to rot, just like he deserves.
When I make my way back to Festivalé, I debate on heading straight to Amaya’s. To suffocate her the same way I did him. It isn’t fair that she gets to live while torturing me this way.
But I’m starting to realize that when it comes to her, I am weak in every way that matters. And I’m wondering if I’ll be able to kill her at all.
Chapter19
Amaya
“DID YOU HAVE FUN WITH MISS GABBY?” QUINTEN says, hopping out of his occupational therapist’s room. “Ihad fun.”
Gabby walks over, her amber-colored eyes sparkling as we watch him prance down the hall. “He did a great job today. We worked with spatial awareness, and I got him halfway into the body tube and rocked him back and forth. He loved it.”
My brows rise. “How many times did he want to get out?”
“Only a few.” Her grin spreads.
I throw my phone into my purse and dig out Dalia’s car keys, thankful she lent me her ride for the day so we don’t have to trudge through the slush to make it to the bus station. I’m eager to leave before Abby, the owner of Little Hands and Hearts Therapy— which is where we are right now—comes into the hallway and asks me if I’ve been getting her messages.
“Hey, did Abby talk to you?” Gabby questions.
My stomach drops. “Nope.”
Gabby nods. “I think she needed to talk to you about some insurance stuff. Probably no big deal. I think there was some mix- up with what they’d cover for Quin.”
I roll my eyes and sigh, putting on the same front I always do, pretending it’s a simple misunderstanding. But Quinten’s care is hard for me financially, and I can’t always make my part of the payments. Insurancedoescover most of it, but they fight me harder because I don’t have Quinten in ABA therapy.
But ABA therapy doesn’tworkfor Quin. Play therapy does.
