Sean’s knife flicked out and softly kissed the woman’s right breast. It left a small crimson smile in its wake, and the woman twitched feebly in response, a barely audible moan trickling past the bloody rag filling her mouth.
She’s still alive, a voice offered from somewhere inside his head. It’s not too late to stop.
“Shut up,” Sean replied, his knife’s razored tongue snaking out to taste a tender pink nipple. Blood beaded along the shallow cut, but this time the woman did not stir.
She doesn’t deserve this, the voice admonished.
“Doesn’t she?” Sean asked, his knife tracing a slow, weeping curve down the inside of the woman’s left thigh.
You know she doesn’t.
“And since when…” Sean demanded angrily, his knife striking the woman again and again, blood spattering his bare arms and torso, “… does anyone in this world get what they deserve?”
The voice said nothing, but Sean could feel the pressure of its disapproval inside his skull.
“Fine,” he sulked. Reversing the grip on his knife, Sean raised his arm and slammed the steel sliver deep into the woman’s right eye. “Happy now?”
The voice, decidedly unhappy, withdrew, fleeing Sean’s satisfied smirk in silence.