property and indulgence.
“My God,” he murmured. “Read this.”
He turned the laptop so Frank could see the screen. “The asshole’s sending me e-mail now.”
At the end, Emily’s struggles were pathetic, but her fear, her terror, was very real.
Anger clamped Mick’s jaw like a vise. The contemptuous bastard.
You understand the exhilaration of wielding authority over others.
What? Was this scumbag trying to draw a comparison with what the police did?
But you can’t imagine the bliss, the rapture, of holding the scales of life itself. Will Emily die today? Or tomorrow? Or should I show mercy to the vanquished? Why should I? Emily signed her own fate when she haughtily assumed random, genetically provided features afforded her special compensations.
What about the next one? Shall she die, as well? It is not her decision. It is up to you. It will be on your conscience, not mine.
Don’t lay that on me, you asshole. Even as he rejected it, Mick felt the taunt hit home.
How confident are you of your abilities? You stand at the fringes of my battles, my successes, looking manly and proud, but we know it is a charade. You follow my lead, waiting for any bread crumbs I deign to throw your way. I have the upper hand—and I’m laughing at you.
“Jesus,” Frank said.
“Amen,” Mick answered.
“My God,” he murmured. “Read this.”
He turned the laptop so Frank could see the screen. “The asshole’s sending me e-mail now.”
At the end, Emily’s struggles were pathetic, but her fear, her terror, was very real.
Anger clamped Mick’s jaw like a vise. The contemptuous bastard.
You understand the exhilaration of wielding authority over others.
What? Was this scumbag trying to draw a comparison with what the police did?
But you can’t imagine the bliss, the rapture, of holding the scales of life itself. Will Emily die today? Or tomorrow? Or should I show mercy to the vanquished? Why should I? Emily signed her own fate when she haughtily assumed random, genetically provided features afforded her special compensations.
What about the next one? Shall she die, as well? It is not her decision. It is up to you. It will be on your conscience, not mine.
Don’t lay that on me, you asshole. Even as he rejected it, Mick felt the taunt hit home.
How confident are you of your abilities? You stand at the fringes of my battles, my successes, looking manly and proud, but we know it is a charade. You follow my lead, waiting for any bread crumbs I deign to throw your way. I have the upper hand—and I’m laughing at you.
“Jesus,” Frank said.
“Amen,” Mick answered.
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