Justicia Divina

There was only one rule: don’t open the door.

Funny how the simplest instructions were the most difficult to follow. Humans were predictable creatures. Hell, I used to be one before she and I became two. It made my job more fun, really, knowing how they would react before they did – guiding them where I wanted.

Silky heat slid up my spine and I paused the rhythmic shhhwish shhhwish of my favorite boning knife against the leather strop to roll my neck. She was rising. Mmmmm, yes. The salty fear of a hunter turned prey was delicious.

“P…please. Please, let me go. I’ll do anything!” he whined.

“The door isn’t locked, darling,” I drawled, testing the edge of the knife with my thumb. She cooed with approval behind my left ear.

“But you said! You said don’t open the door!”

“Yes, that is the rule.” I paused, “But you like to break things, don’t you?” He preferred fragile, innocent things - things she protected. That wasn't unacceptable, was it?

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do anything!” The lie was all the invitation she needed. I felt her stretch across the concrete and slip beneath the crack of the door.

His garbled wails could’ve curdled milk. My head fell back as my laugh echoed hers. So damn good!

The door burst open, and he tumbled out, his nasty little man parts jiggling as he scrambled away from the darkness. My naked body towered over his as he met my excited eyes with horrified recognition.

“Oh, well hello, darling. We meet again.” I tapped his chest with my booted foot – I didn’t fancy getting my feet wet when I worked. “Shall we get started?” I gestured to his shriveled wittle weapon. “With the tip, maybe?”