Call Me | American Psycho Reader Insert

Chapter 17

The detective's eyes narrowed, his hand resting on the gun at his side. "Mr. Bateman," he said, his tone a warning. "Don't try anything stupid."

But Y/N had already made his decision. In a lightning-quick move, he stepped closer, feigning a friendly gesture before his hand shot out like a viper's strike. He wrapped his arm around the detective's arm, his forearm pressing into his throat, cutting off his air supply. The detective's eyes bulged, his hand fumbling for his gun, but Y/N's grip was too tight, too precise.

The room grew silent except for the detective's choking gasps and the muffled sound of his fingernails scraping against the fabric of Y/N's suit. Y/N's smile never faltered, his eyes locked onto the detective's, watching the life drain from them. It was a strange sort of intimacy, a dance of power and dominance that thrilled him to the core.

With a sudden burst of strength, the detective managed to break free, his hand reaching for the gun at his side. But Y/N was quicker, slamming the man's hand against the desk and pinning it down with the bagel, the bread smearing the polished wood with cream cheese. The detective's eyes widened in shock, his breathing ragged and desperate.

Y/N took advantage of the moment, his other hand reaching into the drawer for the letter opener he had used on Paul Allen. He brought it up swiftly, the sharp edge glinting in the fluorescent light. With a cold, calculated precision, he plunged it into the detective's throat, the man's eyes going wide with shock and pain. The detective's hand grasped at the wound, blood spurting out like a macabre fountain.

The struggle was brief and vicious. The detective's chair toppled over, the two of them crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and fabric. Y/N straddled him, his hands around the man's throat, squeezing until the detective's eyes rolled back in his head. The letter opener was still lodged in his neck, a grisly reminder of the power dynamics at play.

The room was filled with the scent of blood and fear, a symphony of gurgling and the wet smack of skin on skin as Y/N's grip tightened. The detective's legs kicked out in a final, desperate attempt at survival, but it was no match for the iron control Y/N had over his own body. With a final, savage twist, he watched the light go out in the detective's eyes, the fight draining from his body like the crimson pool spreading beneath them.

For a moment, Y/N just sat there, the adrenaline pumping through his veins like a drug. He felt alive, invincible. The letter opener was still embedded in the detective's throat, a grim testament to the strength of his own will. He took a deep breath, the metallic tang of blood filling his nose.

But the silence didn't last long. The door to his office swung open, and Christy stumbled in, her eyes wide with horror at the sight before her. "Oh my God," she whispered, her hand flying to her mouth. "What did you do?"

Y/N looked up from the lifeless body beneath him, his eyes cold and calculating. He had anticipated this moment, had planned for it even as he killed the detective. "It was self-defense," he said calmly, wiping the blood from his hands onto the detective's shirt. "He was going to hurt me."

Christy's eyes darted from the body to Y/N, her fear palpable. She took a shaky step back, her hand still over her mouth. "You...you can't just..."

Y/N didn't give her a chance to finish. He was on his feet in a heartbeat, his movements fluid and predatory as he closed the distance between them. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the office and slammed the door behind them. The click of the lock echoed through the room, a final nail in the coffin of their fragile normalcy.

Christy's eyes grew wide with terror as she stared at the dead detective, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Y/N knew he had to act fast, had to regain control of the situation before she could run to the cops, before she could ruin everything he had worked so hard to maintain. "Christy," he murmured, his voice a sultry serenade of control. "You know how much I care about you, don't you?"

Her eyes darted to the letter opener in his hand, the blood still glistening on the tip. She nodded frantically, her voice a strangled whisper. "Yes," she said, her eyes never leaving the weapon. "You know I'd do anything for you, Y/N."

Y/N's smile grew colder, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous delight. "Good," he murmured, his grip on her wrist tightening. "Because I'm going to need you to keep another little secret for me, darling."

Christy's eyes darted around the room, her mind racing. She knew what he was asking of her, knew the depths of his depravity. But fear held her in place, her voice trembling as she nodded. "Okay," she whispered. "I won't tell anyone."

Y/N's smile grew colder, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. "That's my girl," he murmured, his grip on her wrist tightening slightly. "Now, let's make sure there's no evidence to tie us to this...misunderstanding." He glanced at the clock on the wall, the hands ticking away the hours until nightfall. "We'll wait until it's dark," he said, his voice a serene mask over the chaos in his mind. "Then we'll take care of the body and tidy up."

Christy's eyes were wide with terror, but she nodded, her voice a whisper. "Okay," she said, her breathing shallow and rapid. "But what about the cameras?"

Y/N's smile grew colder, his eyes never leaving hers. "Don't worry about the cameras," he murmured, his voice a seductive purr. "I've taken care of them."

Christy's eyes searched his, looking for a hint of sanity, a glimmer of humanity in the monster before her. But all she saw was cold, calculated control. "What do you mean?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Y/N's smile grew colder, his eyes never leaving hers. "The building's security is quite...antiquated," he said, his voice a silky lie. "It's a simple matter of waiting for the right moment." He glanced at the clock again, the seconds ticking away like a countdown to their impending escape. "Once the sun goes down, the cameras are useless. They won't be able to see us."

Christy swallowed hard, her eyes never leaving the letter opener still clutched in his hand. "But what if someone comes looking for him?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Y/N's smile grew wider, his grip on her wrist unyielding. "They won't," he assured her, his voice as smooth as silk. "He's just another faceless detective in a sea of bureaucracy. He won't be missed until it's too late."

Christy nodded, her eyes glazed with fear. "Okay," she murmured, her voice a trembling whisper. "We'll stay quiet."

Y/N's grip on her wrist loosened slightly, his smile growing more genuine. "That's my girl," he said, his voice a caress. "We'll just wait here, pretending we're at home, watching a movie or something. They'll never suspect a thing."