“Forty-three,” I whisper, as I watch his body fall to the ground.
I walk away before Alex buzzes in again.
“Done?”
“Done.”
“Your plans are getting sloppy, Victoria.”
I light a cigarette as I walk back to the hotel, the smoke burning my throat with each inhale.
“No,” I answer, exhaling the toxins. “He was just too dumb for my plan.”
The apartment greets me just as I left it—empty and cold.
There is no use in turning on the lights, as the street signs outside cast enough light through the window to illuminate the kitchen in a dull, bluish haze.
I open the wine cooler, finding the bottle that has waited for me for far too long. It’s a Gewürztraminer from 2016. The floral tones contrast with the subtle bitterness, so unusual for a white wine.Unusual.This is such a suitable word for everything that has happened recently: my lack of self-control, the mission, the Professor.
The first sip is colder than it should be, coiling through me, making me cough painfully.
Pain for satisfaction, almost a transaction.
Blood for wine.
I lean in against the counter and stare into the dim kitchen like something might move if I looked long enough, letting the pleasure of the moment take over.
I can clearly discern three or four emotions: thrill from the killing, rage from his stupidity, and pleasure from the wine. And then possessiveness, newly discovered and totally uncontrollable, for Azrael.
I push off the counter and move toward the office where my home laptop waits.
The cameras in his office didn’t catch everything, but they’d caught enough, especially the one positioned on the shelf.
Every moment of Azrael’s day in the office from the past five days—since the last time I could check on him—plays out on thescreen in front of me. Most of it is mundane, nothing more than him doing whatever professors do.
I’m almost disappointed until the recording plays out what happened last night after the lecture. A girl, crawling. Her pathetic pretense of innocence. Her cheap shirt-unbuttoning performance. The ropes, the words, the way his eyes remained indifferent even when hers begged to stop, although she kept on sucking, with her mouth full of his cock—my cock.
Is this what Azrael likes?
Judging by how his expression remained flat throughout the entire time, betraying nothing but pure disinterest, I can confidently say no.
He was monstrous.
I sit there watching as he reduces her to an object. He didn’t fuck her. He used her and didn’t even enjoy it. Every second of their little interaction was meant just for him, and she was nothing but a mere hole that fulfilled his needs.
Nothing is more appealing than a man who knows exactly what he wants and has no issue taking it without asking for permission.That’s exactly what he’s gonna do to me.Oh, I can only wish.
I don’t touch myself at first, that would make it feel cheap, like porn. But the way he dominated her, the way he humiliated her—he broke her down to nothing.
And for a second—I swear—he looked straight into the camera, straight at me.
Not her. Not the girl on the floor who was sucking him off.
Me.
Once he was done with her, with the little show, he threw the useless garbage to the side, where no one would want to claim her again. Seeing all this, I feel something move under my skin, a strange combination of admiration, hunger, and rage.
I’m uncertain about a lot of things with the Professor, but I know one thing for sure. That whole thing? It was for me.