I watch the little bitch as she strips to take her shower. If I had any sense at all I'd do her right now. I'd just shoot her and be done with it. But I'm worried that it wouldn't work. I want her dead, not maimed. I need to be closer to be sure of it. Maybe a little bit of poison gas in her room. She wouldn't even notice it and it'd dissipate before anyone got up to check on her. I saw the bruises on Remy's arm when he was working on his bike. He used to look around anytime I looked at him, but he's stopped. Maybe he's content to have me watch him.

He thinks I’m back in New Orleans. I don't want him to think any differently. I keep a spy on him at all times. Even when they go flying out of town, as long as it's in this universe, I know where he is at all times. I know when he's had a major fight with the bitch. I know when he's gone out and found himself a girl to make himself feel better. And I know even more when he's gotten himself a boy. My thief is bent. He knows it, I know it. Maybe even the little bitch knows it. But I don't think she understands it.

She's never seen him arching up between her legs. She's never seen the sweet look of concentration on his face when he's deciding what to do next to make her feel good. She's never seen him straining against a pair of handcuffs that wouldn't hold him but a few seconds if he hadn't chosen to let them. He's never screamed her name as he comes. I know that too. I have good spies. He doesn't say a word when he jerks off, just bites his lower lip like he does when he's too nervous to keep his poker face in place.

It took me years to tame him to touch. Longer, to get him to be rough. Now, we play games or not as the mood takes us. It's been nearly ten years since we met. He's all of twenty-two now. Me, I'm a year older. And I'm a hell of a lot meaner than he is. Look at her. She's laying in the bed now with the door closed and her vibrator in hand. Bitch. She has him wrapped around her little finger and she's probably getting off on that fact right now.

I switch feeds to keep from getting too pissed off. Remy's sitting on the windowsill, smoking. I'm surprised he's not on the roof. He's stripped to the waist and I can see my wound over his heart. His fingers run over it, savoring the pain. Damn, I want him right now. I want to taste him on my lips and leave my own bruises on his arms while I kiss him. I should have chosen someone else to watch. But he's mine, not hers and I won't let him go to her. I will have a chat with the whore soon enough. Right now I'm not even sure which one I mean. I'm too far away to talk to either of them.

I'm a sick bitch to get turned on by watching a man smoke, but it just does something to me when he puts that little tube up to his lips and sucks on it. It's like watching him eat. He gets such pleasure out of the tiniest nuances that I just want to sweep away the dishes and have him for dinner instead. I've done that a couple of times and gotten applauded for the show. The maitre de wasn't impressed, but he's never refused us. Now his hand is in his lap. Come on, boy, do something I want to see. His fingers are working at the seam of his jeans, pulling on the frays to make them just a little bit worse. With my luck he'll go to bed in those things.

I change views. She getting closer to completion. I wonder what she sees when she closes her eyes. Does she remember me and him in the graveyard. Or does she see him with one of his beaus? Or does she see me with one of mine? Or does she think about someone else completely? I don't know but I want to. I want to know if she's using my pleasure for her own. Two thieves. They're perfectly suited to destroy each other.

Remy's picked the scab on his chest enough to let one trickle of blood run down. I want to lick it up. I close my eyes to remember the taste. When I open them, he's picking up the blood with a finger. He puts it into his mouth to lick off the blood and I know he's thinking about me when he looks out into the yard. He waves to someone in the yard then throws his cigarette butt out of the window with a pop.

The little bitch is shivering on the bed like she's just had the best ride in the world. I hate her. I want her dead. I want her away from my boy. And I'm going to have to let her know that. But there's a little voice in my head that wants to watch her torturing him with her presence. I want to watch him trying to placate her and draw her close. The thief with his ultimate heist. Of course, she's not a virgin. I've watched her with Joseph. But my thief can't touch her.

That's what turns him on, having what he's not allowed to have. He's in bed now. His eyes are closed and he's smiling that sweet, little-boy smile that makes me remember why I chased him. He was wearing that smile when he helped me up and then helped me get rid of the bodies we'd created. Dieu, if they only knew what they had living in their house they'd freak out.

One bent little slut and one bent little psycho.

Serves them right.

FINIS

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