mm_j (mm_j) wrote in morningstar_mnr, @ 2010-06-19 17:51:00 |
|
|||
The stench of feces hit his nostrils as soon as he opened the door to the room where his girls were kept and his nose crinkled in distaste. He turned on the light, imagining that the stench was so strong that it could turn the fine silk of the scarf draped loosely around his neck a most unbecoming shade of ecru. He didn't have to think long to know which of his women had committed this unthinkable offense either.
"Adriana," he said in a low voice, looking to where the two women sat against the wal. Samantha was his good girl, and she proved this yet again by sitting with her hands loosely in her lap, dressed in the fine silk gown that he'd left for her, her hair twisted up to reveal her neck and shoulders. Adriana sat naked, swimming in her own filth and glaring at him.
"You piece of shit," Adriana started. "How dare you keep me here like this? I hope you know who's looking for me. My father will tear this city apart looking for me."
He looked at her for a long moment, barely checking the urge to roll his eyes at her arrogance and wondering silently how long she'd take to bleed out if he cut her tongue out. Only one way to find out, wasn't there? And he would know, long before her precious father had enough time to even send a police officer to knock on someone's door. Stupid, entitled little twats like this one before him were such a waste of good breeding.
"A lady doesn't use such language," he said in a conversational voice as he stripped off his scarf. "Samantha, you don't mind if I take off my jacket, do you?" A gentleman never took off his jacket without first asking a lady.
Samantha, always his good girl, didn't speak but instead simply shook her head. He smiled, entirely pleased with her.
"Samantha, my darling, have I told you how beautiful you look this evening?"
As if reading it from a script, her mouth opened. "No, Victor. Thank you."
"I think you should adjourn to the bedroom. I'll be with you momentarily."
Samantha moved, never even looking at him as she stood, spine straight, just as he'd taught her, and walked with the regal grace of a queen from the tiny room that stunk of Adrianna's spiteful filth to the private bedroom that he'd given the girls.Well, private if you didn't count the consistant video and audio surveillance and the two way mirrors.
He stripped down out of his jacket and his shirtsleeves to the white undershirt he wore beneath. He didn't bother asking Adriana if she would permit such a freedom because she'd just proven that she was no lady. She acted like a mere peasant, shaming her father's good name. Smirking, he had to wonder what the governor would do when he learned what had happened to his insipid little daughter. No matter. If he hadn't wanted her to meet such an unseemly fate, he should've taught her just a little better.
"Stand up," he said in a cold voice, looking down at the little, too-skinny brown from expensive time in the tanning bed body in front of him. He'd had her for two days, barely long enough for her family's panic to register on a private level, and she'd already signed her death warrant. Not only was she a waste of her fine breeding, but also a complete waste of his time and effort. She would die slowly for that offense.
"Fuck you," Adriana said and spat at him, the ball of spit landing squarely on his face.
How unfortunate.
The needle full of sedative he'd placed in his trouser pocket before coming down here was in her neck before she could muster another foul-mouthed remark and he watched as she slumped over, nudging her away from her filth with the winged tip of his shoe. He scooped her up and carried her into his 'operating' room where he strapped her to a gurney and injected another shot in her neck. This one would keep her conscious but leave her paralyzed.
Perfect.
He sat to work at first with a needle and thread, sewing together all the openings on her body that a lady should learn to keep closed and to herself while the haunting sound of 'Moonlight Sonata' echoed through the sterile space. He could tell the exact moment the pain of a needle in a very tender place brought her to consciousness, not because of any movement she made, she was paralyzed of course, but the sloppy wet splat of her tears on to the plastic beneath her body.
"I tried to teach you, Adriana," he said conversationally as he wiped off his hands and put on a clean pair of gloves. "I would never treat a lady this way.
First the hands, the devil's tools,finger by finger and then finally at the wrist.
Snip, snip, snip.
He watched as her eyes rolled and fluttered close and he was there with a bucket of cold water to bring her back. He kept her awake as he gave her femoral artery a little slice to speed up the bleeding, then cut her apart, only his imagination providing him with a visual of her horror as he fired up the bone saw and sliced off her limbs, piece by piece, always bringing her back to feel the best of it. This wasn't how he usually did it. In fact, he didn't like to do it the same way twice. That left too much of a trail. He was a firm believer of the punishment fitting the crime, and this little witch was mouthy and entitled enough to be ripped apart, piece by piece, much like she claimed her father was going to do to the City to find him. Silly little bitch. Her father would have to tear the City apart to find all the pieces of her.
He pulled the plastic back and kicked her body to the floor to let the blood continue to drain into the drain in the middle of the room. He'd let her dry out and then he'd package each piece of her to scatter about the City later this evening. It was important, for condition and media coverage, to not wait too long.
He did want her to be recognizable when they found her, after all.