He jumped to the floor, shushing the woman’s moans of confusion and fear.
Gaby tipped her head at Oren’s veiled surprise. “Oh, Oren.” She shook her head, ignoring the rope that rasped the soft flesh of her throat. “I know you think yourself superior in a sick, perverted way, but the truth is, you’re so fucked up in your head, you put other psychopaths to shame.”
Showing his teeth in a grimace, Oren bunched his shoulders. “I am not a psychopath.”
“Ah, come on, Oren. You’re the definition.” If Oren snapped and started hurting anyone, Gaby wanted the anger directed at her—not Luther. She’d do whatever she could to ensure that end. “Personality disorder, manifested in aggression. Check. Amoral, antisocial, and depraved. Check.”
She needed Oren closer to her. Very close. “Confused and alone?” Gaby snorted. “I’ve never seen anyone more confused. The mental ward would have a field day with a specimen like you.”
Trembling with hatred, Oren stared at her. “You’re wrong.”
The mockery cut deep, Gaby could see that. “And you know, Oren, that’s all you are, really—just one more pathetic, lamentable specimen among all the lame little mongrels of society. I see you for what you are—and to me, to the real world, you’re as insignificant as a gnat.”
Ready to come unglued, Oren paced away—going closer to Luther. Gaby prepared herself, willing to break her own bones to escape the bonds if it proved necessary to protect Luther.
But at the last moment, Oren paused. More composed, he turned back to her. He laid aside the clippers, and picked up Gaby’s knife.
“Careful,” Gaby taunted him. “That’s a real weapon, for a real woman.”
Oren’s head snapped up.
“What? You’re surprised I know? I already told you, I see right through your masquerade.”
“No.”
“You thought you fooled people?” She laughed, further riling him. “Now put down that knife. It’s not meant for a fucked up mental case who can’t decide on her own sexuality.”
That did it. Oren gave a banshee scream of rage and charged Gaby with the knife raised high in a clenched fist.
Finally. Gaby flattened her feet, clenched her knees, and just as Oren reached her, she kicked up and caught the maniac in the jaw.
Like the frail female she was, Oren pitched to the side and landed hard on the floor with a moan. Gaby’s knife clattered free, and skid a few feet away.
Oren’s uncle started shouting for Oren to get up, but it wouldn’t happen. Not now.
The aunt screamed and screamed.
Gaby stood the best she could, walked over to Oren, and with all the strength in her body, she stomped her wrist. The blow was hard enough to break all the delicate bones.
Oren cried out, tried to curl in on himself, and Gaby stomped the other arm, shattering an elbow.
The shrieks escalated to a cacophony of human terror from multiple sources.
It affected Gaby not a whit.
But it did cause Luther to stir. He was the type of man that, even drugged, couldn’t be immune to the panicked cries of humanity.
He twitched, mumbled quietly to himself.
Well hell. Not yet, Gaby prayed. Rushing now, she pivoted and slammed the chair into the wall, nearly rattling her brain loose. The chair held so she did it again, then once more. The force of the repetitive impacts would leave her spine and limbs bruised, but that beat the alternative. At last, with one more crash to the wall, the wooden seat and arms detached, still tied to her, but no longer hindering her.
Oh yeah. Gaby looked down at the wooden chair arms strapped to her from elbow to wrist. This would work. The wood served as the perfect blunt weapon.
She looked up at the aunt and uncle—and could smell their fear.
“No!”
“Yes.” With the uncle trying his best to flee, Gaby clubbed him in the head. He buckled, and fell to the dirty floor, out cold.
The aunt was too scared to move, and Gaby whacked her right across the forehead.
They were now unconscious, but that didn’t suffice. Not by a long shot.
None of them could leave here. Not ever. She wouldn’t trust the faulty judicial system to keep them away from gentler, more innocent society.
Luther moaned, tried to lift his head but couldn’t. “Gaby . . .”
Damn. He needed her, but she couldn’t go to him, not yet.
Urgency propelled Gaby to the concrete wall of the basement. In furious haste, she slammed her back against it, further splintering the broken pieces of the chair. With the rope on her throat loosened, she cracked the wooden arms against the wall until the wood broke away.
Please, Gaby prayed, let me finish this before Luther awakens. Please don’t make this one more wall between us. Knowing what had to be done, Gabe freed up the use of her hands. She needed to be able to flex her fingers.
She had to pull a trigger.
Groaning and grunting with pain, both arms broken and useless, Oren struggled into a sitting position. Blood oozed from his lip, and his jaw swelled enough that Gaby figured she’d broken it.
He looked at Gaby’s knife lying on the floor a few feet away.
“I don’t think so,” Gaby told him. Even knowing Oren couldn’t lift it, not with his smashed arms, she picked up the knife. It felt good in her hands—but she couldn’t use it. Not for this.
In a pain-filled mumble, Oren said, “You are a demon.”
“Yeah, I am. And you’re too stupid to accept that you’re a young lady, not a boy. What is it, Oren? A mean mommy? An abusive daddy? What happened to fuck you up so bad?”
“I was meant to be a man, that’s all. Women are only useless whores. All of them.”
Gaby shook her head. “You’re wrong, Oren.”
“My mother was a whore,” he spat. “After she died, my father had whores over all the time. Mean whores.”
“They were cruel to you?”
“What do you care?”
She cared. She hated to see society feasting on itself. Unfortunately, it happened all too often. The wicked begat more wickedness, and the cycle never ended.
“I’m omnipotent,” Oren bragged, splaying blood her way. The outburst depleted him, and he swayed, eyes drooping. “I’m powerful. Powerful enough that I decided to be a male years ago, right after I killed my father. No one knew. No one even suspected me.” His laugh sounded pained. “I fooled everyone.”
“You didn’t fool me.”
“You’re still calling me Oren,” he pointed out, with absurd, giddy delight. “You’re calling me by my male name.”
“Consider it a small concession to your insanity. I feel a little bit sorry for the criminally deranged.” Picking up Luther’s gun, Gaby took aim. “Unfortunately, you were too cruel to satisfy your sick yearnings with harmless fantasy, and that makes you too evil . . . to live.”
Seeing that barrel pointed at his chest, Oren blinked hard and fast. “No wait.”
But she couldn’t. Luther might awaken at any moment. “Sorry, time’s up.”
“Please!” Panicked, Oren again tried to stand, but his crushed arms offered no leverage, and he fell back down. “Please, no.”
Gaby drew in a breath. She took no pleasure in saying, “Told you that you’d beg.”
Tears fell. Blood gurgled from his mouth. “Please.”
With deadly accuracy, Gaby shot Oren in the heart.
The force of the gunshot drove him to his back again. His mangled arms flailed wide. He whined, gargled . . . and died.
The aunt and uncle hadn’t moved. Things needed to look authentic, believable, so Gaby walked back to the table. With one quick flick of the razor-sharp blade on her knife, she freed Luther’s hands from the restraints. The tight bindings had chafed his skin, leaving behind angry red welts—and destroying any regrets Gaby might have felt with her decision.