Chapter 26

That bitch!

Rage poured through him making it hard for him to breath. He tore the binoculars from around his neck and threw them against the tree branch he was sitting on. Even the sound of the lens shattering didn't make him feel better. How dare she do this to him. He thought she understood, thought she knew that she was the prize. And the prize was supposed to stay chaste. It was the way the game was played.

He pulled at his hair, feeling as if the rage would make him explode. So she thought that she could play this game, play false with him. He would make sure she understood how things stood. He was in charge. He was, not that damn cop. She would understand, he would make damn sure of it. And if she didn't, well, then she would be made to understand in one way or another. He pulled the knife out of the branch at his leg and ran the blade across his thumb watching the blood bead. He stared at it, then licked it.

He could have killed him tonight. Detective Nick Saint, superhero, had stood just feet away from him. He could have shot him. He could have jumped down from the tree and used the knife on him. But that wasn't part of the game. It would have been too easy, too quick. The bastard deserved to suffer. The game must be finished.

He walked towards the house, not worrying about being seen. He could see inside the house, see through the window as they stood kissing. He watched as they walked into the bedroom. He watched and he stood just outside the window, hoping they would see him. He saw them pull at each others clothing, saw them fall on the bed together. He heard their laughter and it enflamed him.

She would have to be punished for this. She knew the rules. He shouldn't have to explain them. They both knew the game and how it was played. She wasn't playing fair.

He watched as the man climbed on top of her. The bitch wrapped her legs around his waist and he saw her arch her back in pleasure. He watched as they fucked and felt the rage build. He pulled the knife out of his belt, played with it, dreamt about how it would feel plunging into the man, the detective. He would make them both pay. He would make her watch as he castrated him, carved him into pieces and fed them to the dogs. He would let her watch as he killed her lover. Then he would become the lover. She would learn not to take him lightly. She would learn who was in charge. She would learn respect and the manner of a woman or face the knife.

Her face was glowing with pleasure, becoming even more beautiful. He was making her look like this. That bastard cop.

No more!

He came quickly around to the front of the house, slipped his knife between the door and the frame and opened the door. He wasn't quiet. They wouldn't hear him. They were too involved with each other.

He stalked into the bedroom, the knife held in both hands over his head. He could see his target in the dark, see his back flexing as he pleasured himself with her. His eyes zoned into the back, the spot just to the left of the spine. He stood over them and brought his arms down.

She saw the flash of light from the hallway glimmer off of something. What? She saw the dark figure of a man, his hands up raised.

"Nick, watch out!" Even as she screamed the warning, she was pushing him off of her, rolling with him.

Nick felt a searing pain, then coldness flooded him. He let Michelle roll him over and kept going until he was standing beside the bed. His arm hurt, his back felt strange. Then he saw him, standing on the other side of the bed, staring at him. His face was in the shadows. But not the hand that held the knife.

They stood and stared at each other for a second, Michelle in the bed between them. Nick looked around quickly and realized his gun was on the floor by the door, where he had let it fall when Michelle was pulling his clothes off. Damn!

Michelle tried to roll off the bed, toward Nick but she felt a hand on her hair, yanking her backwards. She was pulled up, held under the arm, a knife at her throat quicker than she could blink.

The intruder let her feet slide to the floor, but he kept one arm around her and the knife always at her throat. She felt his hand slide up and cup her breast, squeeze, even as she tried to struggle. Only to be stopped as he pushed the knife hard enough against her throat that a trickle of blood ran down to pool in her collarbone.