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"You want me to fuck you right here?" Patrick grabbed her hips, grinding her against him. Beatrice nodded as she bit her lip — she kissed him sloppily as he groped her body — his large hands found the hem of her dress and soon tore it open in one rip — her breasts now exposed to him. "He ever fuck you like this?" In one moment, Patrick had Beatrice's face in the cushion. Lifting her dress up — Patrick felt himself straining against his pants — he breathed heavily as he took in the sight before him, "No panties, huh?" Beatrice chuckled as she arched into him. Patrick's hands were on her again, nails digging into her flesh, both pain and pleasure were coursing through Beatrice as she felt his nails puncture her. Blood soon dripped down from where Patrick's nails were — he pulled away, working at getting his erection out of his pants, which he quickly did.

Spitting on her cunt, Patrick grinned as he gave no warning, he thrusted inside of Beatrice — rough and fast, "Fucking hell Patrick! Fuck!" She exclaimed as her hands grabbed onto the cushion, "You want my dick huh?" Patrick seethed as he spanked her, spit dripped out of his mouth. "Yes, fuck yes Patrick." Beatrice moaned as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Patrick wasted no time in being fast and rough — "Paul's dick doesn't feel as good as mine, does it?" Beatrice didn't answer, "Does it?!" Patrick's hand went and grabbed a fistful of Beatrice's hair. He pulls her head back and she nods, drool coming down her chin, "No, no Patrick. You feel so much better." She answers and Patrick throws her head back to the cushion, "That's right, now you're gonna cum when I tell you to, you slut."

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After Patrick practically fucked Beatrice close to death, the two quickly disposed of Paul's body. Beatrice felt dead and she looked feral, Patrick looked fine. It had to be around one or so in the morning — and the two were in Paul's apartment, Patrick wore leather gloves, designer of course, as he grabbed one of Paul's suitcases and filled it up with a bunch of clothes. "You think the cops will really believe this? What if-what if they find out?" Beatrice seemed paranoid as she hugged herself. Patrick looked at her, "If they find out, they won't think it's us. If anything my dad can pay them off," he paused before quirking a brow, "why're you so nervous? You're making me nervous. Haven't you ever killed anyone before?" Beatrice rolled her eyes at the question, "Of course I have... only people that no one cares about."

"Well don't worry, no one will care about Paul." Patrick tried to comfort her but it came off more as a sarcastic retort. The man looked around Paul's apartment and quickly snagged a few things for himself, Beatrice stayed in one spot as she watched — Patrick seemed to be acting sloppy in her opinion. "Can we just go, this is enough evidence that he skipped town." Patrick looked at Beatrice, holding a finger up, "Hold. On." Finding Paul's answering machine, Patrick quickly recorded a new one — doing his best impression of the dead man, "Hi, this is Paul Allen. I'm being called to London for a few days." Before ending the voicemail, Patrick added one more thing, "Meredith, I'll call you when I get back. Hatsta la vista, baby." With that, Patrick was satisfied. "Who's Meredith?" Beatrice asked in a hushed voice making Patrick look at her, grabbing the suitcase and his new belongings, "Oh, he didn't mention his girlfriend?" Beatrice shook her head, "Aw, poor thing. Meredith hasn't been in town for a while, I guess he just wanted something else to distract him."

Beatrice scoffed, "Fuck you Bateman." Patrick chuckled, "We already did that Beau."

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Making their way back to Patrick's, Beatrice looked terrible — she wanted to get back at Patrick, "Do you have a gun?" The woman questioned as Patrick closed the door behind them, "Why, of course I do. Why wouldn't I?" Beatrice held her hand out, "Can I see it?" Patrick raised a brow, "Why? You better not go killing yourself, but if you do — that would be fine." Beatrice shoved his shoulder — her own strength surprising her as Patrick hit the door, "...ow." Beatrice crossed her arms, "Can I see the gun?" Patrick nodded as he went into his bedroom and placed all his belongings on the floor before grabbing a suitcase near his closet. Opening it, Patrick grabbed a Glock 17. Handing it to Beatrice — the woman grinned as she aimed it at Patrick, "Is the safety on?" Being on the other end of the barrel didn't feel nice for Patrick as he shook his head, "I don't know." Beatrice pretended to shoot him before putting the gun in her coat pocket — "Come on." She ordered as the two left the apartment one more time for that night.

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The two walked, arms intertwined, people walked by them — not paying any attention. "What're we doing?" Patrick hissed in a whisper — Beatrice grinned, "Just wait." Soon the two came across a couple walking, "Excuse me? I just love that coat. Where did you get it?" Beatrice stopped the woman and she quickly answered, "Oh thank you, my mom got it for me." The woman smiled before suddenly noticing Patrick — "You know, me and my boyfriend were just heading back to our place, if you want to — you and your boyfriend could join us." Beatrice shared a knowing glance with Patrick. "Swingers." Beatrice smirked, "You know what, we might just do that." The couple chuckled. "But on second thought." Suddenly, Beatrice took out the gun and shot the two point blank in the chest. The girlfriend went down easy but the boyfriend seemed to have a bit of fight in him. "What the fuck! Why?! Why'd you kill her!?" He cried making Patrick kick him — bones cracking as he did.

Beatrice cocked the gun back before aiming at the boyfriend's head, "Shut up." She demanded before pulling the trigger. The two killers then ran off — laughing and hollering like school children — "That, Patrick Bateman, is what I call fun."

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