thought slid through my mind. As it landed, I felt sick to my stomach. The delicious treat soured immediately.
Pain. My Willow needed pain to keep her grounded in this reality. Softness held no sway in her mind. And I treated her like she was a porcelain doll. Fucking fuckers fuck! No wonder she ran away.
I set the cupcake aside and grabbed up my cell phone. I unlocked it with a quick flick of my fingers. I pulled up the right screen. But just as I was about to hit the button to connect the call, my thumb hesitated over the little phone icon next to her name.
Was this something I wanted to explain over the phone? Could I even begin to explain it? I still wasn’t sure why I’d treated her like I had. If I wasn’t sure, how was I supposed to make her understand?
At that moment, all I knew was that I’d screwed it up. And in so doing, I might have lost her. Something had brought her to me today. Made her seek me out. I repaid that instinct with a kiss that left both of us wanting.
I wasn’t going to allow it to be the last time that happened. She sealed her fate when she brought me Thor cinnamon cupcakes. I finished the best desert I’d ever eaten and called Anthony to cancel the rest of my meetings. I had some bigger things to plan.
Chapter 29 – Willow
It was a good thing I had an industrial sized mixer. I would have beat the cake batter into unusable lumps if I’d had to do it all by hand. Instead, I sat back and glared at the mechanical arm that sliced through the batter like it was a hot knife through butter.
Shame and embarrassment slid through me again. My stomach soured as I thought of the idiot I’d made of myself. Now, I was going to have to act like we could still be friends. That I hadn’t insulted him with my disappearing act.
I shuddered as the humiliation surged through me again. The black hole that lived inside me grew and pulsed as my inner asshole rose to vibrant life. No one will love you. How can they? You’re a murderer. You helped a serial killer destroy countless lives. You killed daughters, sisters, mothers, aunts, cousins. You’re worthless.
He should’ve just killed you. Then all those other women and girls would still be alive. They’re better than you. Even as society’s trash, they were better than you.
I beat my fists against my temples, tried to block the voice. It was harder when I believed it. Agreed with it. There was no plausible reason that I should still be here when none of those other women were.
I wasn’t special. I was a freak. A woman who could barely survive her life without pain. Even the Amatuccis, who were the fucking mafia, didn’t understand my need for it. They dealt in pain, torment, anguish, and they saw me as the monster.
I could feel that yawning abyss widen inside me. Beckon me with its outstretched arms of acceptance. I knew what it felt like to sink in its depths. I could almost taste the agonizing splendor of its touch.
In its embrace, I could just feel. Allow everything else to slip away until only the pain remained. The pain was all that mattered. The searing heat. The twisted flesh. The screaming nerve endings.
With a simple flick of a switch, I could sink into it. Drown myself in sensation and let my mind drift away for time unending.
The darkness I carried inside me added a different voice. Do it. Just flip it. No one would have to know. They don’t understand you anyway. Why do you even listen to them? Do it. Let the pain in. Let me swim in it. I need it. You need it. It can be so good. So very, very good. Do it.
The darkness seduced me. Cradled me against its chest. Caressed my hair as it spoke of agony and torture.
I yearned. Ached. Hungered for it.
As if from a great distance, I saw myself reach for the hand mixer. Its weight wasn’t great, but that didn’t matter. I knew the motor was powerful.
I lifted it, held it to my chest like a lover. In my mind, I could already feel it grabbing my skin. Feel the beaters as they twisted and wrenched on my fingers.
The sharp sultry snap of bone. The excruciating heat of mangled flesh. The flip flop