I told her to go stand next to her husband. She slowly walked and stood beside him. I placed the gun on the bed. I faced them as I unfolded the metal chair at the foot of their bed. I lifted the weapon and aimed it at her husband.
“Melanie, come here,” I commanded. She approached me with an innocent smile and stopped inches in front of me. She made eye contact. I fought with my own fluster.
I said, “With both hands, lift up your shirt above your hip.”
Brent’s wife did as I instructed. Her husband shuffled awkwardly on his knees to the camcorder and looked at its screen. He spoke, “Rotate clockwise.”
We both complied.
He said, “Right there. Good. That’s a good angle. Please continue, Jordi.”
Angrily I said, “No names! Edit that shit out! I am fucking serious. We discussed this, dude. No names and no non-BrenMel faces will be seen in this video.”
Brent was genuinely apologetic when he responded, “One hundred. My error.”
I lifted the scissors and began to cut the fabric of her night shirt. She closed her eyes in a display of pleasure as she heard the metal slicing through the material.