just when I find the perfect man he turns out to be a psycho with a torture chamber.
“You know,” he says.
I nod my head in agreement although I'm not sure what he thinks I've discovered. He can't know what I discovered in the bedroom, or in the almost underwater portigo . Does he know the police were here? That they took something away with them in an evidence bag? Can he know how close they are to catching us?
“What should I do?”
He's asking me. I don't even know what I should do for myself, how to even pull my own life back into a semblance of existence because some asshole I married decided I wasn't enough for his needs.
“It's always been this way, since he was born almost. I've never had a life of my own. I've lost every woman I've ever wanted to him. Because of the way he is. It's been impossible to be with any woman. Not like you. Not like this.”
My mind is twirling in manic circles. Is he trying to convince me that his son is the Venice Ripper? He's tricking me into another deception. Using his own son to throw me off the scent.
Poor Josh. So beautiful and golden. No one that perfect could be evil inside. Everyone adores him. I've seen the way every woman pants and flushes because her heart rate has kicked up when Josh appears. Mark's awesomely handsome and charismatic but Josh is just – luminescent.
Mark sinks to the floor to kneel beside me in the rubble of clothes. I half want to wrap my arms around his beautiful bulk of brokenness and half cringe away. But still I can't decide whether he's playing me. He deceived me once and I can bear anything at all except that. It's all coming back, rising in my chest like a freezing tide.
When I met father and son I was so impressed by and not a little envious of their allure and self-esteem.
What must it be like to have parents that endow you with that kind of confidence? To let you know as you grow that you're beautiful and perfect until you believe it without doubt. I loved Mark for giving his child what my mother was incapable of.
But right now Mark is bereft. Emotionally drained from what he's had to bear because of his son. Has that finally made him warped enough to kill?
And now the polizia closing in. I should tell him I buried the evidence that incriminates him. But then he'd know I don't believe him. That I know it's the father not the son committing the ripper murders. And if he's tired of me, bored enough to seek out another girl already, then my neck's at risk.
Chapter FOUR
He looks like he's about to snap and I'm more than slightly terrified for my own survival. His moods have been insane the last couple of days. And what does he mean it's always been this way, since he was born? Obviously a child hadn't been slitting women's throats. It has to be Mark. I'm not that stupid.
But he looks so broken and beautiful, the need to take him in my arms is overwhelming. He needs some support or he'll crack. He needs me. I can't bear how much he needs me.
I reach my arms around to comfort him. I love the broad strong curves of the back of his shoulders through the smooth cotton. He hauls me tight into his arms and I have to scramble on top of him until I'm sitting on his thighs with my legs wrapped around his hips.
We cling tight to each other, knowing this will probably be the last time and sit there like that for what seems like endless time. The boats sail into the picture windows and out the other side while we hang on, our chests pressed deep together until I can't tell which is my heart beat and which is his.
His breath is hot and ragged at the soft point where my neck meets my shoulder. My neck.
The killer lives in this palace.
I'm sitting in his lap.
As though reading my thoughts, Mark grips me tighter in his powerful embrace and his lips touch my skin which prickles instantly.
“I can't let you go,” he moans.
Every breath he exhales sends ripples down my core and I'm infinitely aware of my sex spread wide on his crotch. The
“You know,” he says.
I nod my head in agreement although I'm not sure what he thinks I've discovered. He can't know what I discovered in the bedroom, or in the almost underwater portigo . Does he know the police were here? That they took something away with them in an evidence bag? Can he know how close they are to catching us?
“What should I do?”
He's asking me. I don't even know what I should do for myself, how to even pull my own life back into a semblance of existence because some asshole I married decided I wasn't enough for his needs.
“It's always been this way, since he was born almost. I've never had a life of my own. I've lost every woman I've ever wanted to him. Because of the way he is. It's been impossible to be with any woman. Not like you. Not like this.”
My mind is twirling in manic circles. Is he trying to convince me that his son is the Venice Ripper? He's tricking me into another deception. Using his own son to throw me off the scent.
Poor Josh. So beautiful and golden. No one that perfect could be evil inside. Everyone adores him. I've seen the way every woman pants and flushes because her heart rate has kicked up when Josh appears. Mark's awesomely handsome and charismatic but Josh is just – luminescent.
Mark sinks to the floor to kneel beside me in the rubble of clothes. I half want to wrap my arms around his beautiful bulk of brokenness and half cringe away. But still I can't decide whether he's playing me. He deceived me once and I can bear anything at all except that. It's all coming back, rising in my chest like a freezing tide.
When I met father and son I was so impressed by and not a little envious of their allure and self-esteem.
What must it be like to have parents that endow you with that kind of confidence? To let you know as you grow that you're beautiful and perfect until you believe it without doubt. I loved Mark for giving his child what my mother was incapable of.
But right now Mark is bereft. Emotionally drained from what he's had to bear because of his son. Has that finally made him warped enough to kill?
And now the polizia closing in. I should tell him I buried the evidence that incriminates him. But then he'd know I don't believe him. That I know it's the father not the son committing the ripper murders. And if he's tired of me, bored enough to seek out another girl already, then my neck's at risk.
Chapter FOUR
He looks like he's about to snap and I'm more than slightly terrified for my own survival. His moods have been insane the last couple of days. And what does he mean it's always been this way, since he was born? Obviously a child hadn't been slitting women's throats. It has to be Mark. I'm not that stupid.
But he looks so broken and beautiful, the need to take him in my arms is overwhelming. He needs some support or he'll crack. He needs me. I can't bear how much he needs me.
I reach my arms around to comfort him. I love the broad strong curves of the back of his shoulders through the smooth cotton. He hauls me tight into his arms and I have to scramble on top of him until I'm sitting on his thighs with my legs wrapped around his hips.
We cling tight to each other, knowing this will probably be the last time and sit there like that for what seems like endless time. The boats sail into the picture windows and out the other side while we hang on, our chests pressed deep together until I can't tell which is my heart beat and which is his.
His breath is hot and ragged at the soft point where my neck meets my shoulder. My neck.
The killer lives in this palace.
I'm sitting in his lap.
As though reading my thoughts, Mark grips me tighter in his powerful embrace and his lips touch my skin which prickles instantly.
“I can't let you go,” he moans.
Every breath he exhales sends ripples down my core and I'm infinitely aware of my sex spread wide on his crotch. The
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