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Icy blue eyes narrow a fraction. “You’re not an imbecile, so don’t act like one, Mr. Madrano. Think about it. If someone tortured you and manipulated your mind, your entire personality, to become a killer and do their bidding, what would you do?”
I’d fuckin’ paint the entire city with their blood. The thought strikes instantly with no remorse.
“Exactly,” he murmurs. He tips his head to the side. “But remember, she’s already murdered a handful of people. Once she succeeds, she won’t let herself survive.”
Dread fills my veins, and I stare down at the gravel, trying to reconcile everything in my head. Goddammit. How the fuck is this even happening? Just when I find a woman I think I could have a future with…
“I’m not supposed to intervene.” Frustration lines his tone, but when my eyes cut to his, his cold, steely gaze reveals no emotion. “Technically, we’re only having a conversation.”
I frown at him, not understanding where he’s going with this.
“The choice is yours, Mr. Madrano. You can choose to try and save the woman you love and witness the death of the man ultimately responsible for your sister’s death or…don’t, and simply let your sister’s murderer meet her fate.”
He turns and walks away as if he hasn’t just dropped a motherfucking bomb in my lap.
“I don’t even know where the fuck she’s goin’,” I call out after him, my tone edgy.
He stops in the driveway and glances over his shoulder at me. “Is that you asking for my assistance?”
My jaw tightens at the hint of condescension in his voice.
“You have to say it, Mr. Madrano.”
“Yeah.” The single word is clipped, harsh as fuck, but it doesn’t faze him.
“Then let’s go.”
58
HIM
Dr. Pinney
Teeth sinking into the apple with a crunch, I slowly chew the bite while the video recording plays. My eyes trace each curve of her face, the way her body thrashes before her mind clicks and she utilizes her training.
She goes to a place inside her mind where pain is irrelevant and she’s devoid of sensation.
Just like I taught her.
A proud smirk tugs at my mouth, and I take a sip of water. I click on the next video file, watching her move through her home, courtesy of the minuscule motion-sensor cameras affixed to the inside of her air-conditioning vents. Standing in her laundry room, she tears off her oil- and grease-stained clothing, stripping down to nothing.
Eleanor Mackenzie. A low groan escapes my lips, making me grateful I’m alone in this room.
I set my apple neatly on the napkin and place my palm over my growing erection. It throbs beneath the fabric of my slacks at the sight of her naked body.
Her silvery hair cascades down her spine, and I imagine what it would be like to feel it tickle the inside of my thighs and tease the sensitive skin of my shaft.
My arousal deepens when my index finger presses the button to fast-forward the feed. Once I’ve arrived at the desired point, I press play to relive an instant when I’ve triggered one of the hidden devices in her home to emit ultrasonic sound hypnosis.
This particular recording is from a few weeks ago, late at night. She darts up from her bed, eyes wide and displaying no sign of tiredness. In her sleep shorts and tank top, she “sleepwalks” to where her boots sit beside the door and pulls them on, efficiently lacing them.
Without a backward glance, she exits her home. The outside cameras pick up her quick, determined strides, losing sight of her as she closes the gate behind her.
That night, Eleanor ventured off her property to deliver a message to Lara Ketterson, the nurse who decided she could no longer assist me in my endeavor. That she couldn’t “bear to do these horrible things” to my dear Eleanor.
She even had the audacity to threaten me. “You have to stop this! This is inhumane!” Needless to say, she’d been the one who’d been stopped.
Ah, the irony of how Lara met her demise. By the same hands of the woman she wanted to save.
