Page 130 of Wicked Little Secret

Once, twice, again and again until the metal point slicing into his flesh and organs produces a squelch noise. He freezes up, giving his loudest howl yet.

Blood leaks from both of us. My lip’s split open. His side’s torn open.

Yet, suddenly, I’m in the better position. I roll out from under him as he drops to his knees in agony. The same bruised-knuckled, meaty hand he’s been using to clobber my face clutches at his bleeding side.

I’m not through with him yet.

I raise the pointed metal chisel and drive it into his jugular.

Satisfaction blasts through me, so euphoric and powerful, it’s almost orgasmic.

Blood seeps from the slit, dribbling down Wicker’s hands as he wraps them around his own throat. His eyes are on me in shock, his face paling.

I glare back at him, heaving for air, slicked with sweat and blood.

It’s several minutes before Samson Wicker bleeds out on the floor of Nyssa’s apartment.

He’s an inch away from death as I’m quick to start cleanup. Nyssa has a decent enough selection of cleaning supplies under her kitchen sink that allow me to do a full wipe down of her furniture and the floors.

I hang back up the artwork Wicker had knocked down and straighten the other knickknacks that had been pushed over.

In the bathroom, I do my best to patch up my face. Wicker’s fists did enough damage that I’m sporting a busted lip and swollen cheek and jaw. I scrub the bloodfrom my fingers, then thoroughly clean her bathroom to cover my tracks.

Peaches has finally emerged from her hiding spot under the sofa. She meows as I dig inside Nyssa’s hall closet for the large trunk where she keeps her backup art supplies.

“I know, Peaches… I shouldn’t…” I pant, heaving it from the back of the closet. I take out most of the art supplies and place them back inside the closet. “But desperate times. I’ve got to dispose of him. I’ll buy her a new one. Filled with plenty of art supplies, alright?”

The ginger cat blinks and then meows again.

“I’ll bring you more salmon.”

That seems to do the trick as Peaches purrs affectionately and I haul the huge trunk into the living room.

Cramming Samson Wicker’s huge, oafish body into the trunk is no easy feat. It feels like a morbid game of Tetris cramming him inside the piece of luggage. I’m sweating bullets all over again as I survey Nyssa’s apartment, taking inventory for any evidence left behind.

Besides the fact that her trunk will be missing.

I’m hoping she won’t notice at least for a day or two.

The riskiest moment is still to come. I’m on edge as I drag the trunk down the fourth floor apartment hall and step into the elevator. Thankfully, it’s empty.

I ride it all the way down to the first floor, where I proceed to tow the two-hundred-and-thirty-plus-pound piece of luggage to my BMW.

In the back of my mind, I’m fully aware I could be seen. I’m aware this moment could come to bite me in the ass should someone happen by or spot a suspicious man carrying a giant trunk to his car late at night.

But I have to keep going. There’s no turning back now.

I’ll worry about the rest later.

For a meticulous and careful person like me, it’s extremely difficult to disregard these things. It feels reckless and insane that I’ve done what I’ve done.

I’ve killed a man… again.

Once again, it was in Nyssa’s honor.

It was to protect her and ensure no harm comes her way. Though I’m fully justified, it doesn’t change the obvious fact that I could be ruining my life.

I could be found out.