Page 11 of Dima's Vision
“Yup.” I pop the “p”. I hold his eye contact, mesmerized by the bright blue of them until some dickhead honks his horn behind me. “ASSHOLE!” I yell out hoping he can hear me through my closed window.
I follow the rest of the directions Dima gives me until I’m pulling up outside of the cutest little cottage I have ever seen. And the complete antithesis of the man sitting next to me.
“This is where you live?”
“Da,why?”
I look at him as if he’s lost his mind. The 6’ Russian god, decked out in black tactical gear apparently lives in a sage green chocolate box cottage. It has gables, peach colored shutters and a large wooden door that just screams “influencer house”. There’s a sweet picket fence and there are flowers in the small but tidy front garden. Fucking. Flowers.
“Oh, no reason, just expected a studio apartment in an old factory or something,” I mumble, unclipping my seatbelt and exiting the car.
I walk up the cobblestones, shaking my head. Surely he’s pranking me? He has to be. We’ll go in there with flabby old Glenn and it’ll belong to some kindly grandmother type or something. The slamming of a car door has me turning in timeto see Dima, once again carrying Glenn as if he weighs nothing. This bodes well for me and the wall sex I keep imagining.
He moves past me, walking up the steps light as a feather as my boots thud up behind him. He uses a normal looking key in his normal looking door and I look around for facial recognition scanners or cameras or some type of security and see… none. At all. How the hell is this man still alive? He has a weird and dangerous job, lives in the French Quarter and has no form of security. Shaking my head I follow him into the house. The one that is impeccably decorated with a sectional couch facing the fireplace and floor to ceiling bookcases filled with books.
I turn a circle in the living room, in awe. It’s like a library. There are a couple of comfy looking armchairs and I can imagine myself curled up in the corner, reading OH MY GOD HE HAS MC ROMANCE BOOKS! Michelle Dups, Nat Logan, some of my absolute faves. I gape at him as he reenters the room, a small smile on his lips and the tips of his ears pink.
“Ah, yeah, so you found my book collection.”
I squeak at him, too awed to use real words, then I hit him in the stomach before gripping his forearms and shaking him. “I live here now,” I rasp out.
A grin breaks out over his handsome face, “OK,” he beams at me. “Do you want to get comfortable while I get Glenn sorted?”
I wave my hands at him, shooing him so I can enjoy this room in peace and quiet. I mean, it’s been a hella eventful day and it’s not even dinner time. Speaking of, my stomach grumbles and I know with the work Dima and I will be undertaking soon we’ll need sustenance. I myself would have shot him in his house and staged it as a robbery, but I have a feeling Dima takes things slow. Good for me.
Taking my phone from my pocket I order way too much food for the two of us, pluck a book off the shelf and dive in.
Chapter 6
Dima
Ileave my little witch well ensconced in the armchair of the living room and head to my back room. The old owner had a gym out here. I do too, but sometimes, for moments like this, it comes in handy for doing what I need to do. It doesn’t happen too often. Most of the time my visions stop once the person found is reunited with their family. There aren’t too many occasions where I get the go ahead to avenge, but when I do I make sure I do it in a way that fits the crime. In this case Glenn will be raped. I would also castrate him but I know that Gretchen likes those bits the most.
Pressing a finger to Glenn’s chubby neck I feel for a pulse. He’s been out for a while now and while I’m no slouch when it comes to fighting, I’m also not so dangerous that a couple of well placed hits will kill a man. The pressure on his neck has him stirring, groaning. His eyes fly open when he realizes he can’t move his hands. Or his legs. I’ve strapped him over a flat weight bench, hands cuffed to the front legs, his back legs spread wide and cuffed into place on the back bench legs. Unlike Chewy, the Icer for the DRMC, I don’t really want to own a bunch of sex furniture in order to torture. This does the trick and looks a lotless fucking creepy when I have guests. I move slightly, watching Glenn come to, the plastic sheets on the floor for easy cleanup rustling at the movement.
Glenn struggles against his restraints, helplessly tugging at them. He growls and tries to tip sideways, and I watch in amusement.
“I know you’re back there,verdun,” he spits, his naked, pasty body turning a mottled red as he gets more wild with anger.
“Da, I am. When you’re ready we’ll make a start.”
His body goes slack, as if giving in to the inevitable. Then a snort. A chuckle. He turns his head to the side, trying to look at me as he laughs hysterically before he stops abruptly.
“You have no idea what’s coming, do you? You’re just a pawn in a game you have no chance of winning. You think I’m the baddest out there? Oh no, there are more. So many more. Worse than me.” He snorts, “I might steal those little angels you work so hard to find. But the others? They steal their light and destroy their souls.”
Turning my back on him and his ramblings I move toward the cupboard where I keep spare towels and suchlike. And by suchlike I mean the short wooden club that I like to use on men like Glenn. Again, unlike Chewy I don’t think I need a whole array of sex toys in my home.
“La Strega is interesting, isn’t she?”
I stiffen slightly at his words before hiding my reaction, not wanting to let him know what he’s said has affected me. I don’t give a shit about other specials or curses at this moment. I only care about sending Glenn straight to hell.
“You think what I do is dark? It’s fucking child’s play compared to what those in charge want to do with La Strega and her curse. If you’re aligning yourself with her you better be packing more than just the ability to find little lost girls.”
I rest the wooden club on his back, at the top of his ass crack and head for the living room, chased by his words. My visions brought me to La Strega, Kristiana, and it’s my destiny to save her, just like it’s my destiny to rid the world of Glen. Hitting the doorway to the living room I search for her, needing to have eyes on her to know that she’s safe and sound. Her book is lying on the floor and she is nowhere in the room.
“La Strega!” I call out, moving to the kitchen, then to the hall, Glenn’s laughter following me. “Kristiana!” I call her name as I move through my house, making my way to the dining room, “Kristie!”
“Hey,” she steps in front of me, bouncing off my chest. I grip her upper arms, stopping her from falling to the floor, “no one calls me that except my family.” she says with narrowed eyes.
