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What I do hate, though, is the other thing we need to talk about.
And that's what happened in the basement on the night we were supposed to be going after Frank DiPapas “together” but instead I tricked her into walking into my old kill room in that grotty building in Queens.
I used to think Bella’s response to that night was very, well, her.
I locked her up and stole a kill; she drugged me and then gleefully watched as Adrik beat the ever-loving fuck out of me.
Tit for tat.
An eye for an eye.
But the other night, just before I was heading out to go end Joey Dicheara’s miserable existence, I got a random email about some cloud storage I’d completely forgotten about. It turns out the cloud storage was hosting video footage intermittently captured by a motion-activated camera I’d set up years ago and also forgotten about.
The camera was in my old kill room.
A shiver ripples down my spine as I remember the footage I saw. Footage of Bella losing her fucking mind.
This wasn’t someone pissed off at being lied to and tricked. It wasn’t even just fury at being locked up.
This was something else, and it honestly freaked me the fuck out.
Bella didn’t look mad. She looked possessed.
Feral. Manic. Terrified, like the devil himself was chasing her down.
And after seeing that, I’ve decided drugging me and letting me get the shit kicked out of me was actually a pretty mild response, considering how she looked before she somehow broke the lock and ran—I mean ran—out of that place.
Bella’s typing on her phone when I clear my throat.
“There’s actually something I wanted to ask you—”
“It was fine,” she shrugs, not looking up.
I frown. “What was?”
“The sex.”
She glances up at me with a shit-eating grin.
“I mean, it wasn’t bad, but…” She lifts a shoulder. “I’ve had better.”
“Guess we’re not over the accidental ghosting yet, huh?”
“Oh, did you want to tell me about your dramatic gunshot graze again?”
I exhale heavily as she grins.
“I think it’s safe to say the other night was a lot more than fine.”
“Your words,” she shrugs, returning to her phone.
She came, like, nine times in the VIP room before I stopped counting.
It was fine.
Yeah, whatever.
“That’s not what I wanted to ask you about, anyway.”
