The Acceptance

Chapter 9

In a world-class mood of surliness, Gaby raged at the locked door to Mort’s apartment building.

Okay, so she knew Mort had started locking the doors under her edict to provide an inviolable sanctuary. But damn it, she didn’t mean to lock her out. She wanted to talk to him, to clear the way before she brought Bliss to him.

Her fist battered the door until it opened with a jerk.

“What?” demanded a slim, blond, and very beautiful woman barely wrapped in a morning robe.

Shock took Gaby back and she almost fell off the front steps: Ann Kennedy, the cop who worked with Luther, a woman better suited to him.

A woman who instilled jealousy when jealousy didn’t make a damned bit of sense.

Even with her hair all frothy, her makeup faded, and her clothes missing, Gaby recognized her. So where the hell was Mort? Had something happened to him?

“Gaby,” Ann said. “I wasn’t . . . that is, I didn’t expect you.” She started messing with her hair, gave up on that and tightened her robe around her.

“What are you doing here?” Filled with suspicion, Gaby peered around her. “Where’s Mort?”

“He’s in the shower.” Ann held the door wider by way of invitation. “Would you like to come in?”

In the shower, huh? And with Ann barely clothed.

In delayed reaction, the pieces clicked together.

They’d spent the night together. Holy shit. That constituted more than mere dating. Gaby stepped inside and said, albeit with a lot of skepticism, “You and Mort are that serious, huh?”

“Yes.” Ann laughed. “I’m afraid so.”

Mort’s apartment caused as much consternation as Ann’s presence. It was the same, but a whole lot tidier, and brighter with fresh shades on the windows and a few plants on the tables. He even had colorful throw pillows on the sofa. “Wow. He’s cleaned it up.”

“And replaced some things.”

“Your influence?” Gaby wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that. Ann must carry a lot of sway over him, and maybe that was fine and dandy. Gaby only knew that she didn’t want to see Mort hurt.

Propping herself on the arm of a chair, Ann shook her head. “More your influence, I’d say.”

“Mine?” How dumb. She didn’t give a shit about home decorating. Never had and never would.

Probably.

Ann smiled. “You’ve had an incredible impact on him, or so he tells me. He claims that before you, he barely existed. Now he’s more aware of everything and everyone and, Gaby, he’s a lot happier.”

Huh. Gaby didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t want the responsibility for Mort’s happiness, but how could she deny what she didn’t understand?

Being tongue-tied was a first for her, and she didn’t like it.

“Come on.” Ann headed for the kitchen. “Let’s sit down and get comfortable. We can talk. Would you like some coffee? Mort and I have only been up a few minutes, so it’s fresh.”

“Yeah, sure.” Making note of the sway in Ann’s hips, and a faint, delicate fragrance left in her wake, Gaby trailed her. In a state of dishabille on the proverbial morning after, Ann exuded fundamental, salacious femininity.

And yet, Gaby noticed, she was nothing like the prostitutes who used their sexuality to draw business. Somehow, Ann was far more provocative.

For Mort. That really bent her mind. She’d need some time to get used to the idea of Mort as a sexual being, especially when the thought sort of gagged her.

“Cream and sugar?” Ann asked.

“Sure, whatever.” Gaby pulled out a chair. “So you and Mort are screwing?”

Ann nearly dropped the sugar bowl. In obvious offense, she pivoted to face Gaby in high dudgeon. “That’s none of your business.”

“So?” Gaby shrugged. “That’s never stopped me before.” Seeing hot color slash Ann’s face, she sprawled back. “Never mind. I’ll ask Mort.”

Snapping a spoon down onto the counter, Ann said, “That’s no better. You’d still be intruding.”

“Mort won’t mind. At least, he never has before.” But then, Mort didn’t have Ann before, so he’d been more than anxious to talk to Gaby for any reason. Well, for most reasons. She recalled asking him specifics on sex, and getting nowhere.

Gaby shook her head. “There have been times when he’s stammered on his words, turned redder than you are now, and refused to explain.”

Searching her face, Ann relented and finished the coffee preparations. As she handed Gaby a cup, she visibly formed her thoughts into words. “Mort told me you had an eccentric background.”

“Master of understatement, that’s our Mort.” Gaby sipped the coffee. “If you’re going to hang around, you might as well know that I’m a first-class freak.”

Taken aback, Ann seated herself and then touched Gaby’s arm. “I don’t see anything freakish about you. In fact, I think you’re a lovely young lady.”

Flashing a look of disbelief, Gaby snorted. “Yeah, right.” She stuck her leg out toward Ann. “Wanna pull the other one?”

Ann chastised her with a look. “You are not freakish, Gaby. Outspoken, certainly. But that’s almost . . . refreshing.”

“Uh-huh.” Since Ann nearly choked spewing that falsehood, Gaby didn’t take her words to heart.

“Mort tells me you’re very capable. I think that’s a wonderful quality for a young, single woman to have. Not many people, male or female, are fully independent.”

Unable to help herself, Gaby asked, “So what does Luther say about me?”

Ann subdued a knowing smile, and leaned toward her. “For the most part, Luther keeps his own counsel. But when you have been mentioned, it’s with frustration and often urgency.”

“Huh.” To give herself a moment to digest those words, Gaby again drank her coffee.

“It appears that he cares for you, Gaby.”

“You’re a cop,” Gaby told her. “You should know that appearances can be deceiving.”

“Not with Luther.” At her leisure, Ann settled back in her seat, crossed her legs, and turned thoughtful. Steam rose from her cup and a lock of pale blond hair fell over her shoulder. “I’ve never known a man to be more rock solid, in his work, and in his convictions, than Luther.”

Great. Just fucking great. All that meant is that he’d never be able to reconcile his lofty principles with Gaby’s recondite purpose.

From behind her, Gaby heard Mort ask, “Are you worshipping another man, Ann?”

Gaby twisted around and found Mort striding in. His smile teased, and he went right past her to press a warm kiss to Ann’s mouth.

It was . . . nauseating. For most of the time that she’d known Mort, he’d been weaselly, pathetic, and annoying. Now he seemed . . . more manly.

Gaby could barely choke it down. “Eavesdropping?” she asked him.

“Just a little.” Both hands on Ann’s shoulders, Mort winked at her.

Winked.

Yeah, she was definitely going to hurl. “Why the hell are you so chipper?”

At her question, Mort laughed aloud. Ann ducked her face to hide her humor.

And it struck Gaby. “Oh yeah. The whole sex thing. You got laid last night, right?” Shaking her head, a little irritated at their combined good humor, she added, “Nookie has transformed you, Mort. I swear, even your hair looks thicker.”

Strangling, Mort scowled at her and smoothed a hand over his sparse brown hair. But his pale blue eyes twinkled and he stood taller, straighter. His paunch seemed less noticeable—maybe because he wore clothes with improved style, or maybe because he was now more active, more fit.

And maybe because Ann cared for him.

“Gaby has a, um, sexual question for you, Mort, so I’ll take my turn showering and let you two talk.”

Startled, Mort grabbed Ann’s arm to detain her. “You don’t have to rush off.”

“Oh, but I do.” She patted Mort. “I’m afraid this is out of my comfort zone.”

“I doubt it,” Gaby told her. “I was just curious about what Mort does to you. Luther did some stuff to me, but I’m not sure if it’s normal or not.”

They both stared at her.

“Well, that got your attention, didn’t it?” Under her breath, she muttered, “Pervs.”

Mort shook himself. “Maybe it’d be better if you asked someone else your questions.”

“Like who? The hookers? Luther insists they have a different slant on things, but since Ann’s not a hooker—”

“No, she’s not.”

Ann stiffened. “Definitely not.”

“Right. So I figured she’d have a different take on the whole sexual gratification thing. I mean, Luther keeps telling me it’s entirely different for women who aren’t in the flesh trade.”

“Oh God,” Mort said. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure Luther is . . . normal in his appetites.”

“And you picked that up by osmosis? You don’t even know yet what he did to me.”

“I’m out of here,” Ann said with emphasis.

Before she could leave, Luther’s voice, harsh with indignation,filled the room. “No need, Ann. I’ll explain things to Gaby—again—when we’re alone.”

Sighing, Gaby tilted her head back and looked at Luther upside down. “You have the uncanny ability to sneak up on me.”

His smile was mean. “Maybe it’s just that you’re not as slick as you think.”

“No. That’s definitely not it.” She looked back at Mort with an expression that said Luther was way off base with that one. “You don’t keep the door locked?”

“Usually.” Sex might have revitalized Mort, but his unease in the face of Luther’s obvious disgruntlement still left him stammering. “Luther. Nice of you to visit. Can I get you some coffee?”

“Thanks, no.”

Because she didn’t look at Luther, Gaby had to judge his heavy silence by the looks on Ann’s and Mort’s faces. Not good.

“You’re being a bully, Luther. Lighten up before Mort pisses himself.”

The insinuation that Mort lacked courage sent Ann over the edge. “That’s enough!” She propped her hands on her hips. “They,” she said, meaning the men, “might tolerate your abhorrent bad manners toward Mort, but I will not.”

Gaby eyed her militant stance. The robe detracted somewhat from its effectiveness. “Odd. What Luther did to me was real relaxing. Almost put me to sleep.” She cocked one brow up. “Mort must not be doing it right for you to be so high-strung.”

Startling Mort, Ann rounded the table. For a moment there, Gaby thought the woman would attack her.

Instead, Ann stopped beside her and glared. “Listen up, little girl.”

Gaby straightened in her seat. “Little girl?”

“Your obnoxious behavior doesn’t fool anyone, least of all me.”

She dared? Rising to her feet, Gaby growled again, “Little girl?”

“You can be as eccentric as you like, but if you behave like a child, then that’s exactly how you’ll be treated.”

Gaby narrowed her eyes. “You must be hiding a pair of brass balls somewhere under that fluffy robe.”

“Not impressed, Gaby,” Ann shot back. “In my line of work, I’ve seen it all, and lady, you’re not the worst, not by a long shot.”

Cocking out a hip and folding her arms, Gaby grunted in disdain. “Well, that just goes to show that someone’s not paying attention.”

Exasperated, Ann threw up her hands. “I get it that you lack social skills, lady. But that is not an excuse for your cruelty.”

Cruelty? That gave Gaby pause. “When have I been cruel?”

Though Ann was much shorter, she held herself like a woman who knew how to do combat. Police training? Luther could tell her that it’d do her no good against Gaby.

Not that Gaby had any intention of hurting her. Ann was what people called “petite.” She’d feel like a fool battling with a petite little fluff like Ann.

And besides, neither Luther nor Morty would like it.

“Mort claims you’re a friend, yet you take every opportunity to belittle him. You say unforgivable things, and you—”

“It’s okay, Ann,” Morty said.

“No, it is not!”

No, it wasn’t, Gaby agreed. But in the middle of processing all of Ann’s accusations, absorbing them and sorting them out, tragedy struck Gaby.

The force of it bowed her back and left her blind.

In the periphery, she heard Ann say, “Oh no, what is it? What’s wrong with her?”

Luther grumbled, “Not again,” while Mort said, “Get out of her way.”

Seeing flames licking the sky, hearing an agonized scream, Gaby groped for the chair back and braced herself so she wouldn’t collapse under the force of the image. Inside her head, the prediction blackened, the screams escalated.

It was too much. It was happening now.

Pushing away the hands that reached for her, Gaby stumbled from the room. If the others followed, well, she couldn’t stop them—just as she couldn’t stem the tide of physical torment flooding the nerve sensors of her body.

The staggering pain stole her oxygen, contorted her features, and left her teeth clenched in anguish.

“Gaby!”

Aware of Luther trying to grasp her as she fled, Gaby sucked in harsh, too shallow breaths. But this was too critical, too excruciating, to be contained by mortal means. The efficacious pain rendered her oblivious to all but her purpose.

Once outside, her senses honed and Gaby broke into a full-out run. She didn’t have far to go. At the end of the block, consuming an old clapboard building, a red-hot conflagration dug fingers of heat into the sky with crimson terror.

Gaby heard the screams again, but they were silent screams trapped in her head, for her torment only.

That burning building held someone captive.

Gaby charged forward—and Luther tackled her from the side. They hit the pavement hard, him atop her; his considerable weight held her down.

Twisting her face around to see him, she met his resolve.

Pain eased, retracting its razor-sharp talons from her muscles and flesh, and at the same time, relieving her motivation to salvage an innocent life. Luther’s physical contiguity blunted what should have been an inviolable defense.

Her seldom summoned humanity reared up, urging her to free herself from Luther’s spell. Even with the demons gone, she knew what she had to do.

“Let me go, Luther.”

He knotted a hand in her hair. “God damn you, Gaby, do you want to die? You can not go in there.”

Closing her eyes and calming her mind against the residue of piercing cries, Gaby gathered her strength. When she opened them, Luther must have seen the purpose in her face.

He hardened himself and tightened his hold. “The building is empty.”

Sadly, she shook her head. “No, Luther, it’s not.”

Agony darkened his gaze. His fingers left her hair to pet her jaw, frantic to convince her. “The fire fighters will be here any minute. You can hear the sirens. If you just wait—”

“They’ll be too late.”

“Damn you,” he said, struggling with himself. “You can’t know that.”

“But I do.” Compulsion burned her worse than any flames could. “I need to go. And you need to let me.”

He shook his head. “Please don’t do this.”

“I have no choice.” And with that simple but veracious statement, Gaby dislodged Luther’s six-foot, three-inch powerful frame with remarkable adroitness. He landed on his back, stunned, and before he could recover, she’d crossed the street and broke through the crackling, blistering front of the building.

Indifferent to the smoke filling her lungs and the heat singeing her hair, Gaby wended her way through the front room. The curtains of swirling, belching smoke left her blind, but she knew right where to find the fallen body. She felt with her hands—and encountered human flesh.

The body was small, delicate—like Ann.

Knowing each second to be precious, Gaby levered her over her shoulder and ran hell-bent for escape from the engulfing fire. Wood splintered behind her. A wall crashed in.

Up ahead, a glowing egress shone among the smoke and flames. Without faltering, she sought escape.

The second she broke from the burning building and into the fresh air, Gaby collapsed to her knees, gladly relinquishing her load to waiting firemen. They moved with an economy of take-charge action. Hoses sprayed. Men issued orders. Noise escalated.

Please, she thought, watching as firemen carried an unconscious woman to an ambulance. Please let me have been in time.

Just then, she heard the woman cough—and then Luther was there, pulling her to her feet, urging her toward the open door of a cruiser. Mort hovered nearby, at the same time fretting and talking with Ann.

The pandemonium kept Gaby confused for a short time. Someone pressed an oxygen mask to her face while someone else did a cursory exam.

Shoving away the helping hands, Gaby lifted the mask. “The woman. . . . ?” Simple words left her choking, coughing and ready to throw up.

Luther stepped in front of the white-clothed man. “She wasn’t burned, but she inhaled a lot of smoke. She’s on her way to the hospital.” With infinite care, he threaded his fingers through her charred hair.

“Was I in time?”

The fingers briefly clenched. “I don’t know. We’ll find out soon.”

The paramedic spoke. “She should go to the hospital, too.”

Gaby freaked. “Fuck that. I’m fine.” Shoving aside the oxygen mask and knocking the paramedic away, she started to leave. Her reaction would only cause more alarm, but her astronomical fear of medical treatment kept her unable to temper herself.

“Gaby—”

“I said no.” She started walking, intent on leaving the scene before some damned do-gooder tried to strap her to a gurney.

The way she’d seen Father strapped down.

Cancer had stolen his thoughts, his personality, and left behind a stranger who required restraints.

Gaby gasped, and choked again.

Luther stepped in front of her. “Fine,” he said before she could draw back a fist. “You say you’re okay, then you’re okay. I believe you.”

Her chest hurt, and only part of it was from the smoke and excitement. “Do you?”

As black as a thundercloud, he dismissed the paramedic by saying to him, “We’re actually on our way to the hospital to see a friend.” His domineering attention swung back to Gaby. “If she’s not breathing easy when we get there, I’ll have her checked.”

Holding up both hands, the paramedic said, “Not what I’d recommend, but suit yourself.”

Shaken, feeling like a fool, Gaby closed her eyes and inhaled cautiously. “Thanks.”

“I need you to sit. I need you to stay.”

Her eyes snapped open again. “I am not your fucking pet.”

His left eye twitched. “Unless you want to explain what drove you to go into that building, I need to see what happened here. But I can’t do that if I don’t know you’re safe and waiting for me to finish.”

Looking beyond him, Gaby saw Mort and Ann watching. “I’m not explaining shit.”

Luther remained silent, and damn it, she felt guilty. But she couldn’t explain. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Fine. I’ll wait. But you could work a little on your verbal skills. Your idea of a request sucks.” Stomping despite her enervated state, Gaby left him growling and snarling, and went to Ann and Mort.

Mort stepped toward her. “God Almighty, Gaby. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She pointed to a less-crowded section of sidewalk. “I’ll be waiting over there for Luther. You know, if he looks for me or anything.”

Ann touched Mort’s arm. “Go with her. I’ll see what I can do about crowd control.”

Still in her robe, barefoot and hair loose, Ann took charge like an army sergeant. Wasted in mind and spirit, Gaby watched her, and admired her forceful manner and deep blue aura. “You’ve got a live one, Mort.”

“I know. She’s something, huh?”

“Her aura tells me that she’s doing just what she was meant to do. That’s good. Not many people ever find their true purpose.” Together, Mort and Gaby went to the curb and sank down on their butts.

Chewing her bottom lip, Gaby did her best to keep any further thoughts of Father at bay.

Mort’s hand slipped into hers. “That was pretty damned scary.”

Looking first at his hand, then his sincere face, Gaby frowned. “What?”

“Running into a burning building? It’s not what most people would ever do. In fact, I don’t know anyone else who’d do it.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know that. But have you thought about how you’re going to explain it to Luther? You know he’s going to ask how you knew a body was in there.”

“I know.” After what had happened with Bliss, he was already suspicious of her. But hell, it wasn’t like she could ignore the plea of the innocent, whether Luther Cross liked it or not.

“That’s not what’s worrying you, is it?”

“No.” She could deal with Luther. Somehow.

But images, memories, kept crowding in, suffocating her. Hurting her.

“Gaby?”

Her eyes burned, so Gaby used her free hand to rub them. “I just . . . anything to do with hospitals and ambulances and all that . . .”

“Oh.” His fingers squeezed hers. “You’re reminded of the guy who raised you?”

“Father didn’t raise me.” The state had raised her—and they’d done a shitty job of it. “I didn’t even meet him until I was seventeen.” And then her life, her entire world, had changed.

Someone approached with water and a wet cloth. Mort thanked them and accepted the items for Gaby.

After a big swig of water that helped a little, she wiped her face. Soot covered her clothes, her hair and skin.

Her thoughts.

She stared off at nothing in particular. “I didn’t know him long enough, but he was the closest thing to family that I had.”

Quietly, Mort said, “Take another drink. It’ll help take the sting out of your throat.”

“Thanks.”

As she guzzled the water, Mort cleared his throat. “What Ann said . . .”

“Yeah.” She set the jug aside. “She’s right.” A trickle of water ran down her chin and dropped onto her chest. That felt good, too, cooling, so Gaby upended the jug and doused her head and shoulders. “I am a bitch, Mort. We both know it.”

“You are not. It’s just that Ann’s defensive of me.”

“She cares for you.” Using the cloth again, Gaby cleaned her face the best she could—but there was only so much she could do to put off the inevitable. She owed Mort an apology. “I’m sorry.”

“Gaby, don’t.”

“Ann hit it dead-on. I have been cruel.” She snorted at herself. “Hell, I’m usually cruel.”

“You’re a paladin. You save people.”

“Fucking hero worship.” Some things never changed. “Stow it or I’ll puke, okay? I’m an asshole and that’s all there is to it. You deserve better.”

“Okay, so you can be abrasive.” In a show of camaraderie, Mort nudged her with his shoulder. He was teasing, friendly. “You are the best, and I’m proud to call you my friend.”

Damn. How had she gotten so blessed? Gaby sat there, numb and hurt and horribly afraid—for things she might lose, things she hadn’t known were hers.

Caring could be a real bitch.

Ann strode up, then sat down beside her. “Mort, give us a second, okay?”

“Sure thing, honey.” He stood without another word and walked away.

“He minds well.”

“Don’t start, Gaby.”

“Sorry.” Wondering what Ann wanted, dreading it a little, Gaby waited.

Ann put her elbows on her knees and clasped her hands. Sunlight gilded her fair hair, fighting with the dulling effects of smoke. She looked like a smudged angel, like Luther’s counterpart.

But she loved Mort. Gaby could see that. She doubted Ann or Mort knew it yet, but they were meant to be together.

Strange. But kind of nice.

Ann let out a long breath. “Okay, so you’re the weirdest, scariest, and most capable person I’ve ever come across.”

Well, she hadn’t expected that. Closing her burning eyes, Gaby tried to meter her breaths.

“You’re also the bravest.”

Rasping past the numbing effects of memories and excess sentiment, Gaby said, “Bravery has shit to do with it.”

“Modest, too.”

Oh God. A woman could only take so much. Gaby reclined against the hot pavement and draped the damp cloth over her face.

Ann wasn’t deterred.

“You didn’t even know the woman in that building, did you, Gaby?”

Hell, she hadn’t known for sure it was a woman until they’d reached the outdoors. “No.”

“But you ran into that blaze anyway.”

Gaby shrugged. It was her duty. She’d been told to go, so she went. Not that Ann would understand.

“You’d have gone in for Mort—or me.”

If God told her to . . . No. She wouldn’t play games with herself. Not anymore. Luther’s presence had somehow counteracted God’s command—and still, she had to go.

If someone, especially someone she knew, was at risk, and she could help, then it wouldn’t matter what God had to say about it.

Tears burned her eyes and clogged her throat. “Fucking smoke.” Using the cloth, she swiped her eyes.

“Gaby?”

“Yeah.” Sitting up, she tossed the cloth to the side. “I’d have gone in for you. Happy?”

“I’d say I’m more enlightened than happy. But we’re getting there.”

“Dandy.”

Ann laughed, but quickly sobered. “How did you know?”

Shit, shit, shit. Playing dumb, Gaby asked, “Know what?”

“That she was in there?”

Here we go again. “I heard her.” Looking Ann dead in the eyes, Gaby asked, “Didn’t you?”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Huh. I guess I’ve got exceptional hearing.”

Not the least bit fooled, Ann nodded. “I guess so.” She patted Gaby’s knee. “It’s definitely time for me to get that shower. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do.”

Ann no sooner left, giving Gaby some respite, than a shadow fell over her. She knew it was Luther, and she wasn’t in the mood for his complaints. “Not now.”

He knelt down in front of her and took her hands. “We’re sharing, remember?”

His mood had changed. Again. He shifted tempers quicker than a teenage girl on her period. Right now, he was in comfort mode, and Gaby didn’t know if she could take it. Her throat felt raw, her eyes scratchy.

Camouflaging her loss of composure, she replied with acrimony. “How could I forget?”

His big hand cuddled the side of her face. “I have a bad feeling—”

“Then your feelings are dead-on, cop, because, yeah, it’s related.”

Luther cursed quietly under his breath. “Are you certain?”

That’s it? He wouldn’t question her beyond that one request for affirmation? Wonder of wonders.

Gaby nodded, and that seemed to galvanize Luther into action. He went to the officer in charge of taking names from the crowd, and issued new orders.

It wouldn’t do him any good.

The person responsible had already skipped away, gone before the flames took hold, leaving Gaby with a duty that superseded his capture.

Clever mastermind? Or sick sadist bent on any form of destruction?

More would happen. A lot more.

Until the degenerate fiend got his hands on a woman to torment, he’d wreak havoc in every other way imaginable.

He needed a hooker.

Perhaps it was time for Gaby to take up a new profession.

Utilizing infinite care, Oren stowed the syringes in a small case. If they thought the mayhem would end with one measly fire—a fire that hadn’t even killed the bitch he’d stowed inside the building—then they’d be in for a delightful surprise.

Not that the woman’s life would matter much, one way or the other. He’d found her nearly insensible with drugs at a crack house. Being near there had frightened him, but also given him other ideas. Addicts were easy to manipulate. So were transients. And here, in this slum area, both were plentiful.

Tonight, tomorrow, and the day after, he’d wreak havoc. He’d keep that fucking cop and beanpole bitch so preoccupied, they wouldn’t have time to worry about a group of worthless whores. In fact, now that he’d seen the beanpole take money from the cop, she ranked right up there with the other sluts.

If he could get to her, he would. She’d be his first pick.

But it’d be tricky. He wouldn’t underestimate her.

Against all odds, she’d charged into that fire and carried out the junkie as if misplaced heroism ran through her veins.

Interfering cunt. When he had her locked securely in his basement, he’d teach her what it meant to get in his way. He wouldn’t let Aunt Dory or Uncle Myer end her tutelage too soon. She’d pay, long and dear.

By the time he finished, she’d be begging for death.

Excited by his own plans, hands shaking and smile tremulous, Oren finished his preparations in a rush. Leaving his private rooms, he headed down the stairs—and overheard his aunt and uncle talking about him. Temper prickling, he paused to listen.

“Do you know what she’s going to do?”

“Don’t you ever learn?” Uncle Myer snapped.

“I just forget sometimes, that’s all,” Aunt Dory whined. “It’s . . . confusing.”

Staying firm, Uncle Myer grabbed her arm. “If you slip up in front of him, he’s likely to beat you to death. Do you want that?”

“You wouldn’t save me?”

“I’m trying to save you now. Thanks to Oren, we have a big house and plenty of money to spend, and we can feed our fetishes. Do you want to ruin it all with your stupid mouth?”

“No.” Aunt Dory, never knowing when to shut up, asked, “But doesn’t Oren need us, too?”

“Not anymore. Oren can be anyone he wants, and he can start over anywhere he wants.”

“But . . . we know things about him.”

“He knows the same things about us! Before he’d let us blab to anyone, he’d kill us in our sleep. Now shut up about it and do what you’re told, what Oren tells you to do. Soon he’ll have another playmate for us. Won’t that make you happy?”

Glee tinged her voice when Aunt Dory said, “Yes. Yes, that’d be perfect. I can’t wait. I hope Oren bags a body for us soon.”

“Trust me. He’s good. He knows what he’s doing. It won’t be long now.”

Thanks to that last volley of compliments, Oren’s fury faded. They respected him and what he could do. They nearly revered him. Because of that, he’d let them live.

For now.

But Uncle Myer was right. He no longer needed either of them. Living without them wouldn’t be his choice right now. He liked things the way they were. But if he heard Dory blabbing about females again, he’d cut her fat throat and watch her gurgle to death.

Oren pictured it in his mind: Dory’s fat face jiggling with fear, her blood running warm and wet down her flesh, her life slowly draining away until finally, her eyes went flat and empty. Yes.

He’d enjoy that.

He’d enjoy that a lot.

It was something to think about. For the future. When he got bored.

Luckily for Dory, he had other, more pertinent things to attend to right now.