Page 114 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

“That can be arranged. I know you like a man that takes control. One that holds you down and takes what he wants.” I pecked her cheek as she cursed and tried to pull away, but she was going nowhere.

I wrapped my arm around her neck and placed my hand over her face to cover her nose and mouth. Then, pulling her head closer to mine, I spoke in a soothing voice, telling her, “Relax, Emma. Let this next part happen naturally. It’ll only hurt you more if you struggle.”

She started to buck against me, so I tutted.

“I thought you were good at taking instructions. But you’re not listening and you’re not being a very good girl now, are you?”

I tightened my grip on her neck as she gave weak, muffled cries and clawed at me, trying to break free.

“Don’t fight it. You need to take a little nap.”

I squeezed harder. But she continued to fight against me, kicking her legs into my shins and jerking her body. But she was no match for me. I could have ended her right here, right now, if I wanted.

But I didn’t want that.

I had so much more I needed to do to make this perfect before I sent her to meet her maker.

“It’ll only be for a short while,” I promised as I compressed her windpipe, depriving her of the breath she was gasping for, as she clawed and scratched me like a feral cat.

And as she started to weaken and then slumped in my arms, I whispered, “There, there. All done. That’s a good girl. Now we can move to the next part and have a little fun.”

CHAPTER

FORTY-SIX

EMMA

He strangled me.

I fought so hard to stop him, but he was stronger.

Being restrained by a man like him felt like being trapped by a brick wall. Any fight I had in me was pointless. I didn’t stand a chance.

As I started to come around, the first thing that hit me was how sore my neck was and how dry my throat felt. I coughed, trying to swallow to ease the pain in my throat, and felt resistance from the tape that’d been bound over my mouth and around my head, pulling at my skin and hair. I couldn’t even scream for help.

Instinctively, I tried reaching up to touch my neck, but I couldn’t do that either. My hands had been tied behind my back, and my shoulders ached from being forced into an unnatural position as I lay on my side.

There was darkness all around me, and I could hear the hum of an engine as my body rocked and swayed against the hard walls of where I was trapped. It was a car. I knew I was in the boot, so I tried to kick out, but like my wrists, my ankles were also tied together. I could kick, but it wasn’t as forceful as it needed to be to take out a rear light or have any impact on my current predicament.

Where the hell was he taking me?

And what would he do to me once he got there?

Sharp, excruciating pain stabbed me in my stomach and heart as I tried not to think about what lay ahead, or the horrors I’d seen him inflict on others. I couldn’t bear to torture myself with what could happen, and yet, little details kept invading my mind, piercing like arrows, reminding me that he’d cut out tongues, gouged out eyes, sliced Achilles heels, and on and on and on.

I didn’t want to be a statistic.

A headline on the front of the newspaper.

Another name that people would utter and say, “God, wasn’t it awful what happened to her.” Before they got on with their day and forgot I ever existed, because things like that didn’t happen to them. It was just a newspaper story. A nightmare. Not real life.

But it did happen.

And it was happening to me.

Right.

Fucking.