Charles Wentworth the 3rd made his way through the room fingering some of the items that he had purchased for his precious Roxanne.
He had spent a lot of time on this room. After all: he wanted to be certain that his captive would feel right at home. Charles had gone to extreme measures to insure that he purchased everything that would be to Roxanne’s liking.
He knew what cologne that she wore, what size clothing that she donned, what brands of makeup that she used, what her shoe size was. He also knew that Roxanne would never succumb to any man completely. This made her even more delicious in his eyes, because though Charles could afford to buy anything and most times anyone that he wanted; Charles rather liked the idea of taking Roxanne!
The hunt of prey was always so delicious, but Roxanne wasn’t just ‘any prey;’ no, Roxanne was a keeper.
Not like the cunt that he had tied up his basement right now. All she was; was a means, to an end. She was just a messenger; something to relay the message that he so desperately needed to get to Roxanne. He needed for Roxanne to understand him. Charles needed for Roxanne to see him for the man that he truly was.
Charles did not just want Roxanne; Charles coveted Roxanne. He craved her; much like a junkie craves a fix. There were times, such as the day in the parking garage, when she had been so close that he could literally smell her; it had taken all of his mental fortitude to not reach out and grab her. This had to be done right. Roxanne was a prize; a woman to be treasured, not a woman to be squandered on the likes of Antonio Wayne Ramirez.
Enough thinking about Roxanne, Charles had work to do.
He made his way out of his precious Roxanne’s bedroom and through the massive hallway. He grabbed one of the black roses from the crystal vase that adorned the massive antique oblong table, which sat on the expensive marble flooring. He walked down the spiral staircase and made his way through the mansion’s foyer, into the formal dining area, through the chef’s commercial kitchen and to the door that would bring him to the basement: that now housed his next victim. The staff was gone for the day and Charles would have more than enough time to torture his prey, before the final kill.
Charles pulled the key from the small hook next to the door and unlocked the deadbolt, placing the key in his tailored pants pocket. He reached up and flipped the switch to his right and made his way down the steps.
He approached the woman that he had secured to the large wooden column with zip ties and held up the black rose as he eyed her.
“I’m going to kill you; I’m going to leave this black rose with your lifeless body and a note that will decree to the world that I am not a mindless serial killer. I have purpose; and that purpose is to rid this city of the dregs of society. The people like you; worthless whores who spread disease, the pimps that prey on society and the working class, the drug addicts that steal everything that is not nailed down. You know exactly what I am speaking of; users who prey on those of us that work; users who prey on those of us that are productive members of society. Your days of picking up men for your pimp and luring them to hotel rooms; so that you can rob them for drugs: are over. I bet that you did not know: that the last man that fell prey to the two of you, was in the Hospital for close to six weeks. He lost his job, his wife, his children, and ultimately his life; after he took it by jumping from the roof of a down town building, all so that you could get your next fix.
The terrified woman’s screams could be heard behind the gag: as Charles picked up the razor sharp knife, but there was no redemption in Charles’s eyes; only justice…
An excerpt from ‘The Black Rose’ available on Amazon.
©2013 Suzanne Steele