“You are pissing me off. You don’t deny me. No one does.” His voice lowered in warning. “My power is limitless over you, Spooner. I’m going to give you seventy-two hours to come to your senses. If you don’t, I will play my trump card and then … you’ll have no leverage to ever get into Congress.”
Darius pulled in a breath to spit a searing response but the connection was summarily cut.
“Fucking bastard.”
He slammed his fist on the desk. Fury owned him at that moment, swirling inside him like a hurricane in full force. On the surface, he appeared normal but the anger kept pulling him closer to the vortex, and with each breath, he imagined the raging winds clipping away at his control. He wanted to break something … obliterate it until nothing but dust was left. He had never before felt the urge to kill … literally wrap his hands around a person’s neck and squeeze. Harder and harder until the fragile bones snapped under his hands … or they died from lack of oxygen under his hold.
“The meeting is about to begin, sir,” Vera warned from the doorway.
Darius got up and picked up his car keys. “I have an emergency. Arrange with Mateo to change it to first thing in the morning.”
“Is everything okay, sir? You look … flustered,” she ended softly as his glazed eyes met hers.
“Just do as I say. I won’t be back the rest of the day.”
Greenway … on the banks of the Potomac …
The cottage looked as if it was straight out of a fairytale with a happy ending or a picture book for little kids. It was rusty and old, but rather welcoming. The whole house was made of dark red bricks and surrounded by hedges, vines, and honeysuckles to add to the homey ambience. A green freshly painted gate had a cheerful welcome sign that led to a narrow white pebble path, a tiny pond with lily pads and frogs that croaked their songs in the dark night. A high hedge surrounded the property for ensured privacy. It was a home to someone, simple but cloaked in serenity and joy.
No one looking at it from the outside could ever imagine the horror on the inside.
“No! Please … why are you doing this? NOOOO!” The young prostitute screamed as she turned and ran, looking behind her as she cried for help. His eyes glazed over as he stared at the streak of blood she left in her wake.
“There’s nowhere to run, little bitch. You may as well stop.” Darius smirked as he stomped after the hysterical girl. He was unconcerned that someone would hear the ruckus. It had been an added bonus when she’d directed him to the remote little cottage in Greenway on the banks of the Potomac.
It turned out to be more fun listening to her screams of pain when he’d fucked her like a raging boar and sank his teeth into her skin and ripped it off in strips. He’d turned into a savage beast. Biting off her nipples had been the most fun. Her screams had been horrific, her body spasming in pain had given him the hardest climax he had in years.
The power that surged through his body was foreign as he lengthened his strides and caught a fist in her hair to yank her back. Memories of the tours he did in Vietnam in the military spooled through his mind. He’d learned to kill there. At first, he’d wretched every time he shot someone but it soon became like a drug in his blood. A rush of adrenaline to stab his knife through flesh and bone and watch the life slowly drift away from their lifeless bodies.
Now, after all the years since he’d left the military, he experienced the same rush. The same need to smell the blood, to watch as life became death.
“Please,” she cried, already weakened by the loss of blood running freely from her mutilated breasts. He had been suitably impressed that she’d only passed out briefly when he’d ripped off the nubs.
Darius yanked her onto her toes as he walked around her. His smile was devious as he slashed his knife from left to right, splitting open her abdomen. His ears filled with her screams, the raw realization that she was about to die was like a majestic crescendo of drums in his mind.
“Beautiful,” he gushed as he watched her intestines spew onto the floor in dancing coils.
“Oh god,” she whimpered as she followed his gaze. Her breathing became choppy as she choked on the smell of fresh blood … and death.
“Easy, little whore. I promise you, it’s nothing you did wrong.” He shrugged. “Except to choose a career that made it easy to choose my victim.”
“I’m not a prostitute! I’m an a-artist. I just n-needed to g-go out t-to relax,” she tried to reason with him.
“Whore or not, you fit the bill.”
“I d-don’t w-want to d-die, p-please,” she stammered. Her voice was soft as her lifeforce slowly drained from her veins.
“Not so fast. You don’t get to pass out now. Not until I’ve played one more game and I promise you, this is going to be the ultimate pleasure.”
Her eyes widened in horror as her screams echoed through the house when he picked up a blow torch that she usually kept in the shed where she did metal art.
“Let’s just close those wounds to stop the bleeding, shall we?”
The smell of scorching flesh permeated the air as her horrified screams reverberated against the walls. Darius watched, unmoved, as he moved the flame to her other breast, exulting in how she weakly thrashed and screamed. He was annoyed when she passed out before he finished cauterizing the wound. His eyes glimmered like those of a mad man as he watched the flames lick and melt her satiny skin.
It didn’t stop him though. His entire being felt empowered, king-like as he used the blow torch like a paintbrush, creating a canvas of pain and suffering that fed his own bruised ego. He switched off the torch and took a step back.
“So beautiful,” he smirked as he stared down at the mutilated and charred body of the once beautiful young woman. He tilted his head sideways as he regarded her critically.
It wasn't that the skin on her face was burned, it had been melted off entirely. The scorch marks on the semi-cooked muscle beneath was proof of enjoying his handiwork.
“Pity no one is going to be witness to my art.” He threw down the blow torch and fetched the cans of fuel he’d seen in the shed.
When he walked towards his car five minutes later, it was on the backdrop of the small cottage in a raging inferno. The fire destroying all evidence of his derangement.
For the briefest of moments as he drove off, Darius felt remorse. He had never deliberately killed. During war, yes, and at times with relish but this was his first murder. He shrugged it off as he watched the orange glow of the fire grow smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror. What he had done had served its purpose. It had given him focus, direction, and for the first time since he’d joined forces with the Russians, he felt in control.
To Darius Spooner’s own detriment, he completely missed the implication of his heinous deed that night. He was no longer his own man, in control of his own fate. The future he’d been working towards ended with the gruesome death of an innocent woman.
He had just crossed the line. He had succumbed to bloodlust.
There would be no turning back from it.
Chapter Sixteen
“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Master Tiger?”
Ava’s eyes narrowed as she watched the regal blonde run her palms over Parker’s chest when he stood back to allow her entry into their apartment. Madame Cherrie, according to Peyton, was employed as the fashionista of Castle Sin. She designed all the dungeon outfits for the trainees and subs. Ava grudgingly had to admit that she had talent. Some of the outfits the permanent subs wore were stunning.