Slowly straightening herself, she pulled the dagger from its holding place in her pocket. Sliding the blade from its sheath, she grinned at the comfortable feel of the cool steel in her hand. His day of judgment had come and he had been found sorely lacking.

 ~*~

            She whipped the small vehicle into traffic, her music drowning out any other noise around her. The dream had been so sweet, so tempting. Crimson coating the side of her car and dripping on to the pavement below. A limp body crumpled at an odd angle, half leaning against the car, and half lying on the cement. It was him and he was dead. The joy, the sheer thrill of no longer having to look at those traitorous eyes had been her undoing.

            Fitting the car into the stream of traffic, she began to picture the many different locations and methods with which she could kill him. Each one returned back to her favorite of all weapons, her dagger. Guns were messy and loud. Blunt objects required physical strength. Knives and daggers only required a stealthy ability to get close enough to one’s enemy before striking and that was something she was sure she could do.

            Her hands gripped the steering wheel tight enough to turn her knuckles white. Anger made her body vibrate and the beat of the music energized her, her mind constantly going back to the crimson puddle in her dream. He had wrecked her for the last time and now she would make sure he could break no one else.
            Finding his location wasn’t difficult. A few calls where all it took to discover that he was home alone at a friend’s place. She knew the place like the back of her hand. They had shared intimacies there. He had shattered her there with the news of his engagement, then again when he said he was pursuing yet another woman she had made the mistake of allowing him to meet. What a fitting place from him to meet his end, she thought with a chuckle.

            Slowing her car down, she began to play through the scene in her mind. It shouldn’t be all that difficult to get close; that bastard had a one track mind after all.

 ~*~

            Guiding her car into the small drive way, she stared up at the sorry excuse for a home. Paint peeling, old furniture on the porch, and a dog’s leash tied to the stairs, consequently adding to the mounds of canine feces: it was disgusting and the interior not much better. Picking her way carefully to the stairs, she began the ascent; each step made her giddy. It would all be ending tonight. Her pain, her humiliation: it would all be gone in one slice.

            Standing at the door, she palmed the dagger in her pocket, feeling comforted by the metal that seemed to have become part of her in the last few days. She had practiced relentlessly in the forest where she had fallen apart, practiced every thrust, slash, and attack she could think of. Of course, she would need only one perfect strike. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the poor excuse for a door.

            He answered. It took her every bit of will power she had not to slice him there and then as he smiled at her. What nerve he had! She smiled back, using her years-long perfected mask of happiness. “Hey,” she said, “may I come in?”

            “Yeah, sure.” He nodded, stepping back. Jeans and a t-shirt, did he own anything else? He was taller by a half foot and bulkier too, but she didn’t let that deter her. One track mind, once she had him where she wanted he would be defenseless. “And to what do I owe this honor?” That voice grated on her nerves; of course, it was just what she needed. The mix of friendliness and hidden suggestion meant that he would be willing. Such a fool, she thought.

            “I was in the area, thought I’d stop by. Do I need any other reason?” She had moved to the center of the kitchen area, looking over her shoulder at him. He thought she was easy, which wasn’t all that far from the truth.

            He grinned, shutting the door and moving to stand behind her, slowly wrapping his arms around her. Those arms where always her undoing, making her feel safe and secure before tearing her apart. “No one’s home. Let’s play.”

            Gotcha, she thought, turning his arms to wrap hers around his neck. “Not here.” She looked off to her right at the bedroom where he seemed to enjoy his life as a male whore and bastard. “In there.”

Slipping from his arms, but catching a hold of his hand, she led him into the dirty room. Typical male, clutter and dirty clothes every where. She turned, pushing him down on the bed. Climbing on after him, straddling his lap, she framed his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. A little play before the main course couldn’t hurt anything. It didn’t take him long to start reciprocating, his own hands going to her back and pulling her closer.

She gave his lower lip one final nip before pushing him back on the bed so he was now lying. With both hands pressed to his broad chest she smiled, “Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” was his response. She couldn’t help the grin. Wrong answer, she thought.

“Put your hands underneath you, behind your back.” He did as he was told. For once he was being a good boy. “Now, close your eyes.”

“But, I want to watch,” he pouted.

Shaking her head, she moved her fingers over his eyelids, making him shut his eyes. “If you want to play, you do as I say.” He sighed, but gave in. She kissed his lips, his chin, his neck. Then she lifted his shirt and kissed his chest, flicking a tongue over one nipple then the other. He was biting his lower lip, indicating to her he was fully distracted. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she pulled the dagger out. Sitting up straight, she stared at his vulnerable form for a moment. He shifted his hips upwards, rubbing himself against her for the last time.

With a single swipe of her arm, his eyes flew open and his hands to his neck. She watched as he feebly attempted to staunch the blood flow. She had severed his throat down to the bone; he wouldn’t be living no matter how hard he tried. She remained straddling him despite his attempts at removing her until his last breath shuddered from his lips.

“No more. Now you are the broken one.” She stood, heading into the bathroom and began cleaning her blade of the crimson stain. She paused, staring as his life’s blood flowed down the drain. “No more.”

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