I was never so disillusioned. My captor relieved me of that deception. I knew all too well how easy it was to slip from one side of the spectrum to the other, all in the name of love. Feelings. Emotions.

I was thankful to my captor for removing the burden of having to balance on that precise emotional edge of right and wrong.

That’s why, I think, during those early years where I searched desperately for an answer to someone like me, I found a connection in Elizabeth Bathory. She, too, was created. She, too, had to have experienced some immeasurable suffering that cast her in the design of a monster. She, too, couldn’t help but seek out a source to funnel her pain.

I believe she saw something of herself—something she envied or lost—in the girls she killed. Maybe she envied their carefree childhood. Maybe I identify with her there—my own having been stolen away. But ultimately, it’s not why I formed a bond with the Countess.

Uncovering my own historic relation to Bathory sealed my resolve.

Once I understood my lineage, I transformed myself into a stalker of stalkers. A killer of killers. I would not wait for the broken and devastated souls to come to me; I would seek out their tormenters and punish them for their life-destroying sins.

Born or forged? With a bloodline linked to one of the most infamous serial killers of the millennia, does it matter? I could’ve just as easily been born defective.

Only I wasn’t. I was created. Colton proved this to me, showing me that I can cure the raging demon within. That it’s not pain that feeds the beast; it’s the depth of our love that quiets it.

Killing the thing I’m most terrified of becoming is no longer my calling. Though I’m sure there will be times when it’s the only answer, I can choose. I can determine who is worthy. I am not bound to deliver the monster’s bidding at its mercy.

Connelly was not my first, nor will he be the last. But he’s somehow the one who called my reckoning. For that, I am humbled.

So, is there a difference?

“Yes,” I say with absolute certainty. “The difference between you and I is that I am distinct in my defect, by which I have a choice.” At his confused expression, I continue, “You can’t help the monster you are, Price. You have to snuff out the threat of innocence. It’s a cruel taunt every time you glimpse it. You will never know what it’s like to empathize. Me, however…I remember a time when I could. And I want—oh, I want badly—to feel it again.”

A disgusted look crosses his face. “Well, that is a disappointment.”

I tilt my head. “My apologies. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

He shrugs. “You’re just confused. I should’ve done away with the bondage rigger years ago. He’s been a distraction that I didn’t anticipate. See, I thought I could use him. When I first came to you, you weren’t ready for me. So timid. So frightened of your own self. I knew I had to do something to tip the scales.” His gaze hardens. “I didn’t count on you fucking him.”

The cool brush of steel graces my knee. I lift my chin. “We would’ve found each other regardless. You’re not fate’s master.”

He laughs boldly. “Ah! But look at you now. How you’ve grown. Look at how strong you’ve become.” He licks his lips. “You’ve transformed before my eyes, beauty.”

“That has nothing to do with you.” I let the affront of just who is responsible for my transformation go unsaid. But he knows.

“So, this is our impasse?” he asks.

“I’m afraid so.”

The blade slips away again. “I won’t accept that. You got off with the man who tortured you. I read your psych evaluations. You were born, Sadie. Admit it. Your abductor uncovered your true nature. He didn’t design it.”

I push my tumbler farther away, deciding this conversation has gone stale. He’s letting his anger slip. “An orgasm is a physiological response to physical stimuli. During rape, it’s referred to as an involuntary orgasm. For years—despite what my therapist said—I thought something was wrong with me. If you paid attention to the notes, then you already know that I struggled to become who I am, Price.”

“Or struggled to accept what you already were.”

Ignoring his baiting comment, I press on. “Colton is the one who helped me accept myself. I don’t have to hide who I am with him. No matter how I came to be, he’s my answer.”

His eyes squint. “So you will accept the weakest explanation. I had higher hopes for you.”

I drum my nails on the table. This needs to hurry along.

“I understand why you chose Avery,” I say. “Not because you were worried about her discovery of the epithelial cells. No. You planted the evidence to incriminate Simon. You chose her because you had to teach me a lesson. But why Julian?”

He gives me a calculating once over. “You would assume to hurt your dear Colton. But honestly, that was just fun. Blackmailing a blackmailer is always a good time.” He sneers. “Seems Julian had a thing for underage girls. It wasn’t too hard to pull his strings and get him to hide my presence in the club. That is, until he grew a conscience. But, once the jig was up, he was of no more use.”

“You did the honors?”

He chuckles. “No. That sloppy work, along with the lab technician, was all Simon. My eager-to-please apprentice. He was so young. So willing to learn. And so impulsive. Honestly, taking a trophy before you complete the kill? A tooth? How unoriginal. No wonder he suffered from premature ejaculation.” He shakes his head. “Alas, as dexterous as I am, I couldn’t possibly be everywhere at once. Really, that whipping boy was an unfortunate choice. A convenience that I found and recruited from Connelly’s forensic lab.” He takes a drink, clears his throat. “But unfortunate choice or not, Simon did come through in the end. I needed—we needed—a scapegoat, after all. So that we can start fresh.”

Tags: Trisha Wolfe The Broken Bonds Dark
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