The Feeder by Mandy White Page A

on made me feel like she was with me, as she well deserved to be. I wore stockings again because I felt kind of naked without them, and I felt they were a nice distraction from my face in case anyone was asked to describe me.
    I had my knife sheathed next to the small of my back and a set of handcuffs tucked into my belt, easily accessible if and when I needed them. I had purchased the handcuffs the day before, realizing I needed as many advantages as possible when dealing with someone like Vinnie. I had no intention of winding up like Cammie or the poor sap at the White Surf.
    I also had the pistol I had taken from Louie’s apartment. It was a 9mm Beretta with a full clip of ammo. The Beretta was one of the LAPD’s standard issue sidearms, though many cops preferred the lighter and more efficient Glock like the one I had at home. I wondered if the gun I carried had belonged to a cop.
    Like Vinnie, for example.
    What irony it would be if I gunned the asshole down with his own weapon! I knew I was going to need more than a knife with this asshole if he truly was a cop. He was trained and lethal, and not to be underestimated.
    I knocked on his hotel room door, holding the Beretta behind my back.
    “Yeah?” a muffled voice said from behind the door.
    “It’s me, baby. I need some,” I said in a soft, sweet voice.
    When he opened the door, I’m pretty sure he nearly shit his drawers. Who could blame him? I imagined it must have been pretty shocking to see the woman he had just slaughtered standing there alive and well. To my knowledge, Vinnie had not known Camille had a twin. I looked just as she had the day he killed her, before he sliced her to bits and stole her from me.
    “You!” was all he could seem to say.
    “Yes, me. Surprised to see me?”
    “But you’re dead!”
    “Correction. You’re the one who’s dead!”
    I stepped into the room and kicked the door shut behind me while he just stood and stared with his jaw hanging slack. I had the muzzle of the Beretta against his forehead before his little pea brain even registered that I was real.
    I had the element of surprise to my advantage, but that would get old really fast, once the asshole got over the shock of seeing me alive.
    I slapped one end of the handcuffs against his wrist as I shoved him backward into the bathroom, keeping him moving to keep him off balance. Moving quickly, I cuffed him to the handicap railing beside the toilet. He realized what was happening too late. He tried to defend himself by swinging at me with his free arm, but I ducked out of the way with ease.
    “I guess you thought you’d never see me again, you murdering fuck!” I taunted.
    He just stared at me, eyes bulging in terror.
    “When you chop a girl’s head off, it’s pretty much a given that she won’t come after you. But just answer me one thing, you sick piece of shit. Why’d you have to cut her tits off? What the fuck is wrong with you, anyway?”
    I struggled to keep my voice steady as rage boiled up inside me at the thought of what he’d done to Camille.
    He looked confused. “What?”
    “You fucking heard me. I want to know why you had to slice her tits off and feed them to her. For a cop, you’re one sick puppy.”
    “What’re you talking about? I’m no cop!”
    “And I suppose you’re going to tell me you didn’t kill Camille either.”
    “Who?”
    I drove my boot into his ribs out of sheer frustration. God, but he was stupid!
    “Me! You stupid fuck!” I leaned forward, pointing at my face. “Look at this face! Do you recognize it?”
    “Yeah, but I didn’t kill you.”
    “Of course not!” I screamed, “I’m alive! But my sister isn’t, thanks to you, and now I’m going to do to you what you did to her!” I was livid that he refused to admit what he’d done, even with his life being threatened.
    “I didn’t kill her!” he whined.
    “Yeah? Then how’d you know she was dead?”
    “I saw it on TV and someone told me it was