Wednesday's Three Word Wednesday

The words over at Three Word Wednesday at effortless, thrash and vindictive. Some short fiction for a weary world.

Lady Killer
She liked when they thrashed against the plastic handcuffs, the duct tape, the black silk hood. It reminded her of the time her brother had captured the a giant silkmoth and put it in a peanut butter jar with some grass.
She watched, enthralled, as it beat itself to death against the cold, curved glass.
Her passion for destruction, the thirst for death grew from there.
She hunted within her own ethnic group, and because she was pretty – long and lean – she was able to attract the attentions of men who tended to be older. As she became, the minivan became part of the ploy, part of the trap. She attracted her prey as her brother had captured the helpless, slow-moving moth – effortless.
The acreage she bought offered room to work, the quiet of the orchard, where bugs flit and screams went to be buried. A barn where she had a neighbor bring in a backhoe and dig a “root cellar,” but where she had hung acoustical tiles on the walls, the ceiling.
In the end, there was nothing vindictive in her kills, at least that’s what she told the profiler. She sat on her cot in isolation, flipped her auburn hair that had now begun to show streaks of silver, and recounted the day her brother took the moth from its delicate perch from the underside of the branch of a pear tree.
Where he had grown tired of its feeble attempts to escape.
And she became enthralled in its arc toward death as it desperately tried to escape.
“It’s the same feeling I get, when I hold a still-beating heart.”