Page 85 of Nemesis
Not knowing his own wife was the one behind it. A smile curved my lips, knowing he was finally getting what he deserved.
Knife in hand, I stopped when I was directly in front of him, looming over his body. Satisfaction was already building in my stomach at the fear that emanated from his body.
“¡Puta madre!Where thefuckam I? Show your face,pinche pendejo,” he roared, struggling.
I quickly silenced him by bringing the knife to rest against his pulse point, softly pressing the tip against his bared skin. I’d removed his jacket and shirt before binding him, only leaving on his dark gray slacks and his crisp white undershirt that would soon be painted crimson.
His body immediately tensed at the sharp feel. I couldn’t feel his pulse turning erratic, but I could imagine how rapidly it was now beating from how fast his chest was heaving as I pressed further against his skin without ever breaking the surface.
I dragged the tip of the knife down, along his jugular, gliding it across the length of his body. He grew even more stiff, his throat bobbing down when I grazed over his dick, finally settling the blade over his thigh.
He tried to kick me, which only urged me to slam the blade into his thigh, enjoying the sound of his flesh tearing from the force, relishing in the ringing of his muffled screams.
“Let me out, you son of a bitch! Do you even know who Iam?” he barked, the chair rattling beneath him as he continued struggling in vain. I watched in fascination as his blood dripped onto the tarp, becoming the first strokes of my masterpiece.
I stood up straight. “Shut up,” I hissed.
Bloodied knife in hand, I rounded him and stood at his back. I grabbed the fabric on top of the hood that was over his head and pulled it off, striding back to face him.
I tossed the fabric onto the table as he shook his head, slowly peeling his eyes open, letting his vision adjust, and gradually taking in where he was.
Then, I stepped forward into the stream of light.
He was still taking in his surroundings when his eyes finally focused on me. They widened and I watched a myriad of emotions flicker across his face.
Confusion bled into recognition before transforming into relief, only to quickly spiral into surprise.
“O-Olivia?” he questioned, startled by my presence.
“Well, hello, dear husband. Fancy seeing you here,” I greeted him, my tone humorous.
“Mi amor, wh-what’s going on?” Victor asked, still trying to put two and two together, trying to determine whether his brain was playing tricks on him.
His brows furrowed and he craned his neck, scanning the room for more people. “Let my wife go,” he said to whoever he thought was behind me, only to be met with silence.
He brought his attention back to me, and I let out a dry laugh. “It’s just me,mi amor,” I answered, spitting out the endearment like it was wrapped in venom.
His brows pinched in confusion. “What do you mean, it’s just you? Who’s forcing you to do this?”
A smile spread wider across my face when his expression faltered, the realization of who was standing in front of him, a knife coated with his blood in hand. His eyes grew wide in surprise when I brought it up, running my finger against the sharpened edge, the slick feel of his blood sending a thrill of satisfaction humming through my veins.
His jaw muscles clenched as a mix of fury and betrayal swept across his face.Perfecto.
I stalked back toward him. Pinching the side of my dress, I placed the excess fabric out of my way, behind me, and squatted down. My elbows rested against my knees, the blade hanging between my legs.
A twisted sneer curled my lips and I stared up at the man responsible for my life taking such a drastic turn. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” I asked mockingly, cocking my head to the side.
His gaze shifted and I could see he was preparing to attack, now that I was in a more vulnerable position. Because that’s the only way this piece of trash knew how to fight.
When you were at a disadvantage.
“What kind of games are you playing?” he asked, glaring at me.
Pushing to my feet, I marched around him, running the tip of the blade along the planes of his body, his blood leaving a trail behind, sinking into the fabric it met.
“I was nineteen the last time you saw me. But I’m all grown up now, so let me refresh your memory,” I said, now facing him.
Stepping back, I brought my empty hand up, pretending to be holding a gun as I winked at him.
