A gentle smile. A questioning look. A first innocent meeting. He was lucky. The knife had told him so. He had found his Purpose in life. A Purpose he ...as good at it. And better yet, he liked it. His attention was drawn back to the bloody, abused girl in his hands. He carried her by the throat back through the door and down the rickety basement steps. Her fingers were digging into his hands, nails drawing bloody furrows, her bare feet were kicking at his legs. He didn’t feel it. All he felt was. She could swear he was trying to keep a hard on under control so that it wouldn’t show and she decided to tease him a bit. “Don’t you like my bikini, Oscar?” she asked him in Spanish, cocking a hip at him flirtatiously. “Oh, yes, you look beautiful,” he gushed, sweat beading on his brow as his hand rustled vigorously in his pocket. “What have you got in your pocket, Oscar?” she asked innocently, still in Spanish. “Is it something for me?” He blanched when she said it, and she thought that she. More

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