Paint It All Red (Mindf*ck #5)(15)

That familiar coldness washes over me, and I slowly stand, moving toward Murdock who is positively quaking in fear now that he knows I’m a fucking crazy bitch with a knife. I’m sure the fact I’m the one who peeled all the flesh from Kyle’s body is wreaking havoc on his nerves right now.

The record starts skipping, the song coming to an end, and I let the annoying sound continue as I slice the knife across Murdock’s torso with no warning. Blood spills from the wound and red plumes grow bigger and bigger against the tan shirt.

The judge screams, as well as Murdock as I slice again, aiming at Murdock’s middle just right, and this time, the gash is deep. Everything on the inside spills out, intestines rolling from his body like an uncurling ball of yarn.

He stops moving, dying almost instantly, and I face the judge again as he spills his own stomach contents in a different sort of way.

As he retches, I come up behind him, finding his lack of fight anti-climatic. These are the men who I feared for so long? One who beats his child and wife, but couldn’t land a single punch on me? One who cries on the floor in the fetal position, praying I’ll disappear like a bad dream, instead of fighting for his life?

Instead of drawing it out, I slice the knife against his throat, finding no excitement with these kills. The blood sprays across the room, and gurgles of agony are all that escape his lips, as all other sounds struggle to make it past the gash in his throat.

I leave him there in his fancy suit, allowing it to be stained red, along with the carpeted floor of his chambers. After cleaning off my knife, I tuck it back into my boot, but I leave my other one stuck into the picture of the judge.

Then I pull out the paintbrush I brought, and I dip it into the blood. Instead of painting a wall this time, I leave a message.

A message for the man who broke my heart.

A message for the man I never should have loved.

It’s completely juvenile, but I can’t help myself.

By the time I leave, the blood has mostly drained out of them, and I walk out, stained in their shades of red, but no one notices. At least I put on the horribly huge boots, though I don’t know why I bothered.

Eventually Logan will out me.

I drive back to the house, finding myself in desperate need of a shower. There’s a silver sedan in our driveway, and my brow furrows. Hadley drives the FBI issued SUV. Maybe she got another car to keep them from looking at her GPS history or something.

Wary, I pull out a knife as I slowly open the door. All the lights are off, and none of the monitors are on.

With silence, I step into the house, stealthily close the door, and gingerly make my way through the eerie quiet. A garbled sound comes from the back room, something sounding like pain as a loud grunt follows.

Without hesitation, I kick open the door to Jake’s room, flipping on the light immediately, raise the knife in the air, and…freeze.

Jake curses, Hadley squeals while covering her bare breasts with her hands, and my mouth opens and closes a few times in complete shock.

“What the hell?” Jake asks, as though I’m the one who has lost my fucking mind.

“What the hell?” I shoot back.

I rarely get surprised. Usually I hate surprises. This time…I’m not really sure how I feel about this little nugget of unexpectedness.

Hadley groans while dropping her head to Jake’s chest, and he grips her hips, rolling her under him. “Close the door,” he says over his shoulder.

And holy shit. His hips start moving.

He can’t even wait until I pick my jaw up off the floor to finish?

I slam the door, stumbling backwards as I head toward my temporary room. I’ve dripped blood everywhere now. I have to look like Carrie after the prom, yet neither of them felt compelled to stop fucking on my behalf.

My first thought is to call Logan.

My second thought is how stupid that is, considering I can never speak to him again.

My third thought is…I really need a drink.

I step into the shower, clothes and all, and start stripping under the cold spray. I don’t even flinch against the chill, but I melt into the warmth when it finally comes. My clothes lie in a puddle at my feet as I wash away the blood and death, refreshing and cleansing myself of the madness.

I’m almost done when I hear the door to the bathroom opening.

“Any reason you kicked down my door armed and ready to kill?” Jake asks from the other side of the shower curtain.

“I should have killed someone in the shower,” I state randomly. “Like in the horror movies when the murderer always sneaks up and slices the knife through the curtain. The water runs red then.”

“Nice. And yeah, I’ve seen all the same movies, Lana. It was something you tortured me and Marcus with, because we hated them, and you refused to watch them alone.”

“I was scared,” I state quietly. “I can watch them alone now.”

He blows out a breath. “Answer my question please. What happened back there?”

I roll my eyes and stick my head out of the shower to glare at him. “I heard noises that didn’t sound like pleasure—which really should say something about your skills—so I barged in to save your life. From a lesbian who had your dick captive in her vagina. What the hell, Jake?”

His lips twitch. “You said to play nice.”

“I didn’t say those words. And how does ‘play nice’ translate to fuck her raw?”