Karina Halle - Dirty Angels

I heard nothing from her, not a “fuck off” or a cry to go away. It was dark out, evening, and she must have known it was me and what I was there to do. Her silence compelled me to open the door.

The room was dark, and from what I could see, she wasn’t in the bed. I quickly shut the door behind me and switched on the light, ready to be ambushed. She wasn’t anywhere, but the bathroom door was closed. I couldn’t hear her which made my heart pulse with worry. I racked my brain, trying to think if there was anything around here that she could hurt herself with.

But there was only me.

I slowly placed the tray on the bedside table. “Luisa?” I asked softly.

No answer.

I walked over to the bathroom door and rapped on it with my knuckles, saying her name again, hiding the urgency in my voice. Knowing the door had no lock, I turned the knob and slowly opened it.

The bathroom mirror was fogged up with steam, obscuring my reflection. Luisa’s clothes were scattered on the ground. She was in the bathtub, lying there, fully naked and exposed. Her hair pooled around her like octopus ink.

I expected her to cover up, to glare at me, but she did nothing but stare forward, her eyes fixed on the beads of condensation that ran down the edge of the tub. I could do nothing but stare at her naked form, the way her nipples poked above the still water, how beautifully vulnerable she looked. I liked that. Naturally, so did my dick. It strained against my zipper, and for once I tried to ignore it.

“I brought you dinner,” I said, once I was able to gather some of my wits.

“You sounded concerned,” she said, her voice chilled on ice, her eyes avoiding mine.

“I was,” I admitted as I stepped closer to her. I crouched down so I was at her level, one of my hands on the rim of the bathtub. “I was afraid something had happened to my greatest asset. Without you, I have nothing to trade.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Right. Well I’m alive, as you can see.”

I noticed the way she was laying there, her head taking off most of the pressure from her back. “Are you in pain?”

The smile vanished but she said nothing. I knew she was.

“Lean forward,” I told her.

“Why?”

“I want to admire my handiwork.”

She finally looked over at me and my eyes locked with hers. “You’d rather admire your handiwork than admire my body?”

I swallowed hard but managed to give her an easy smile. “I can do both. Your back is just as beautiful as the rest of you. Perhaps even more so.”

But that was a lie. I knew it as soon as she leaned forward. I reached over and lifted her dark, heavy wet hair from her back, placing it over one shoulder. Her back looked ugly now, the Taser wounds plus that deep gash of the I all ragged and crude, her flesh flayed and puffy from the water.

She looked so small and pure and helpless in the bath, those letters such a contrast, that I was hit with an unwelcome jolt of shame. It nearly knocked me off balance and I found myself gripping the edge of the bathtub harder than I wanted to.

Unfortunately, she noticed that too. Her eyes flew to my hand.

I had to remedy this right away. She was just a woman, a woman of no consequence. I didn’t know her and she didn’t know me. She never would know me. She’d be dead or gone in two days’ time—having feelings of shame or remorse over what I’d done and was about to do was useless, ridiculous, and dangerous. So fucking dangerous.

“You almost took my breath away,” I told her, giving her my most leering smile. “Such beauty in such pain.”

“I am in no pain,” she said. “If you’ve come to give me another letter, shoot another video, then do it. Don’t pretend you’re here under the guise of giving me dinner.”

I took a long, sweet look at her body and let the sight of her cause a spike in my cravings. “Perhaps I am here for other things.”

I waited to see fear in her eyes but there was none. There was something else though, something I’d only seen once or twice in her face, hovering around the surface. It was curiosity. For good or for bad, it was as if she was interested in seeing just what else I could do to her. Or perhaps, for her.

She looked away, breaking our heated gaze, and hugged her knees tighter to her chest. “Well, if you are here for other things, then do them.”

I clucked my tongue. “You are a strange one, Luisa. You should know better by now than to tempt the devil.” I reached forward and traced an invisible E on her back with my finger. She flinched at my touch but still let me do it. I wondered now what else she would let me do. I wondered if I reached my hands into the bath and stroked her breasts, if she’d surrender like last time. Or would she fight back? Or would she welcome it, want it?

I could bet she’d never come before, never had an orgasm. I found myself savoring the thought of giving her both pain and pleasure.

I traced an invisible R, imagining the finished product, telling myself it would look beautiful. Then I trailed my fingers over to her shoulder and down her arm into the warm bathwater. I gently caressed her nipple, as if by accident, and watched her closely for her reaction. Her nipple reacted exquisitely.

She closed her eyes, and in turn I closed mine, taking in the rich, sweet smell of her wet skin, listening to her breath catch and release.

“Did you like that?” I whispered.

I could hear her swallow hard. “I’m just waiting for the knife,” she said softly.

My eyes snapped open and I stared at her. Of course she couldn’t find anything pleasurable when there was blood to be drawn.

“And you shall get it,” I said quickly. I retracted my hand and waved the bathwater away while I got to my feet. “Especially now since Salvador is working out a strategy to get you back.”

She jolted, as if suddenly shocked, the water splashing around her. She stared up at me with horror, horror that wasn’t meant for me. “You heard from Sal?”

“In a manner of speaking,” I said slowly. I reached for the bath towel and held it out for her. “Come on out of the bath.”

“I’d rather you do it here.”

I frowned. “Your flesh is extra tender. It may hurt more.”

“And I’d rather sit in a pool of my own blood.” Though she said this with a hardened voice, her chest was rising and falling rapidly and she was nearly shaking. The night before I had seen how she reacted to going back to Salvador, but I hadn’t quite realized it was that bad. I had to wonder what the fuck had been done to her.

And then I had to stop myself. It would only make this harder.

“Very well,” I said. I folded the towel and placed it neatly on the sink, then whisked the knife out of my boot. “You sure you don’t want to have your dinner first? I made it. Fresh produce from town and everything.”

“I prefer the blade,” she said. Then she leaned forward even further, gathering her hair tight to her side, making sure her back was completely clear. What I was doing had no effect on her, it was as if she wanted it. I was getting further and further away from breaking her and deeper and deeper into something else, something more troubling.

I leaned over her, and with one hand at her small, delicate neck to steady myself, I began to cut the E. I didn’t do it nearly as deep as the I and it took much longer. I kept hesitating, something I knew she was recognizing, but it couldn’t be helped. When it was finally over and the last cut was made, I watched the blood run down her back, like it was crying crimson tears, and the water around her waist became tinged with pink.

Before I knew what I was doing, I placed my lips on the wound, tasting the salt of her blood, the purity of her veins. I wanted to soothe the damage I had just created and feel the vitality of her existence pulse beneath my skin.