I don’t bother looking down his body. My eyes are on his face. I always like to look a man in the eyes before I kill him.
I’d like to say it’s a sign of respect, but it’s not.
I just enjoy watching the life drain from their eyes.
It’s so fucking poetic.
“What the hell?” he yells, falling against the tiled wall.
His gaze slips to the shower door.
The only way he’ll make it through that door is by fighting me off.
Given his slender frame, he won’t make it far.
I pull my gun from my blazer pocket, and he cowers against the wall.
“Please,” he begs. “Whatever you want, you can have. Is it money? I’ll give you the combination to my safe in my office. Five-five-six-six.”
I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth and hold my gun out, as if inspecting it. Shaking my head, I return it to my pocket.
He slumps forward, releasing a breath of relief.
Fucking idiot.
I reach into the other pocket for my knife.
No gun for this fucker.
No quick death.
I want him to feel every moment of me taking his life.
“Why are you doing this?” he cries out, staring at the knife.
“You touched someone who didn’t belong to you.” I crowd closer, getting in his face.
He shakes his head violently. “I … I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liliya Morozova.”
Recognition dawns on his face.
Oh, yeah, the fucker did it.
“I didn’t rape her, I swear.”
“No one mentioned rape, you fucking sleazebag.”
He pales, and his foot slips. He crashes down on his knees, his body collapsing onto the hard tiles. A groan rips from histhroat as I crouch down beside him. I grab a fistful of his wet hair and slam his head against the tiles.
He fights me, pleading and squirming like a pathetic fish out of water.
I bash his head against the tiles, lowly humming the lyrics to “We Will Rock You.”
He screams for help. Blood sweeps across the tiles, paling with the water. I grin, watching it swirl around the drain. I don’t stop beating his head until he’s nearly unconscious.
A gurgle releases from his throat, and he’s lost all his strength to fight.
