“Did you cheat on her first?” “That doesn’t matter,” he snaps back. “She’s the wife and I make the money. If I feel like buying a stripper for a night, that’s my goddamn right. All she ever did was sit at home on her lazy ass and spend my money.” I nod, accepting his answer for what it is. “Would you have hurt Addie?” I ask after a pregnant pause. He scoffs. “I would’ve fucked her how I like to fuck. If she ends up with a couple of bruises, so what? Bitches like that shit. They like it rough.” Renewed anger punches me in the chest. And it takes all my self-control not to plunge this screwdriver in his eye right then and there. Archie wouldn’t know how to have proper rough sex if he was given a fucking manual for it. He hurts women because he enjoys it. He doesn’t know how to push women to the edge of pain and pleasure, balancing between the two and making them desperate for more. He just hurts them. By the time he’s done, the girl is thoroughly bruised and traumatized—maybe even bleeding. And he’s walking away with a satisfied smirk on his face, as if he was the first man to prove a woman orgasming isn’t actually a myth. “You didn’t hurt Addie,” I observe, waiting for the answer I know he’ll give. He isn’t desperate enough yet—scared enough. He’s still attempting to put on a false bravado act and die with dignity. But that will change very soon. He smirks. “You gotta relax them first. The plans I had for her...” he trails off, licking his lips vulgarly. “Her cries would’ve been such a beautiful song.” Again, I nod my head in acceptance of the answer. I accept it because it fuels exactly what I have planned for him. And I’m very much going to embody his method for sex. I will enjoy hurting him and making him bleed, and him? He will wish he had never met Adeline Reilly.