by Simon Harrak
He picked up the photo of Ida from the cocktail party and lay back on his bed, studying every inch of her. For a moment he grieved the loss of her innocence while his chest ached. He longed for the starry-eyed, ignorant little girl.
She was gone now. In her place was the new Ida; a goddess yearning to be fucked. Only it was clear by that little scuffle of theirs that he would need to earn the right. He knew from the countless whores he had left in his wake that a real woman did not come easily. And what a fight she had put up! Vidrik had no idea she had it in her. What a shame she had to push him over the edge like that. It was unnecessary. No one desired her like Vidrik. She had to know that. Vidrik would bet his life that nobody had ever seen her the way he did. Not even Abel. Especially not an inexperienced little boy like Abel.
As Vidrik began to focus more on his nemesis, the music reached its crescendo. The electric guitar was buzzing with the intensity of a formula-one car, and the beat was unrelenting. Vidrik felt his inner warrior come alive and consume him like fire. Manowar always did that for him. Although Abel had interrupted Vidrik’s quality time with Ida, Vidrik knew the last laugh had been his. That little game of cat and mouse through the streets of Paris had been fun. It had also revealed Abel’s weakness; his pathetic, predictable, overflowing pride.
Vidrik could not have planned a better ending to their game. He was amazed to see Abel go down with a gunshot wound, relieved that it had only struck his leg. Abel, killed by police? How dreadful. No, Abel’s life belonged to him, and only him. Just like nobody would get in the way of him and Ida, nothing would stop him from claiming Abel’s life. And who knew? Maybe when he finally had his man, he would still decide to cut off his ugly head and hold it to the sky, just like a warrior should when he vanquishes his enemy.