The last man.
The one who licked Kimber like she was a meal waiting to happen.
His eyes dart to the door, to the bodies, back to me. He finally sees the truth in the way I stand, the way my breathing evens, the way my smile curls slow and sharp.
He whispers, trembling, “What… who… what are you?”
I straighten, stepping through the blood-slick floor toward him, my voice dropping into a cold calm now that no one is left to fool.
“A nightmare,” I tell him softly. “Yours.”
I move toward him slowly, letting the weight of each step sink into the stained concrete. He mirrors me, inch for inch, until we’re circling each other in the dim, windowless room. Blood smears under my boots, the metallic scent climbing into the air like steam.
He tries to play confident, tries to pretend he’s not standing ankle-deep in the evidence of my abilities. “The door is locked from the outside,” he says, smirking like he’s holding the winning hand. “How do you plan on getting out of here?”
I match his expression with a grin far too wide, far too bright, and let a giggle slip free. It echoes off the walls in a way that makes his smirk falter. “You act like I care if I make it out of here.” I tilt my head slowly, letting the motion stretch, letting him see every inch of the unhinged calm I’m allowing him towitness. If he were smarter, he’d run. If he were braver, he’d attack. He does neither.
And there was a time—not so long ago—when that sentence would have been true. When my survival was a distant, fragile concept. But now? I have my guys. I have Kimber. And for the first time in six years, I want a life. A real one. A life free of monsters.
Which is exactly why this one has to die.
His smile drops completely, confusion pulling at his features. He didn’t expect that answer. He expected fear. Begging. Maybe that broken girl from years ago.
He really should have done his homework.
“You ready to dance, big guy?” I ask softly as I take another step, the knife glinting in my grip. “You were so eager earlier. All that touching. All that bragging.” I pause, letting my eyes lock on his. “Remember when I warned you?”
Silence coils between us.
His Adam’s apple bobs hard.
He remembers.
The pulse in his neck is beating so violently I can see it from across the room, a frantic, rhythmic flutter beneath his skin that tells me everything I need to know. He’s nervous. Outmatched. And already bleeding fear into the air.
Finally, the realization hits him—the same truth his friends learned too late.
He isn’t the predator in this room.
I am.
Talking is done. The moment settles into my bones—cold, steady—like a blade fitting cleanly in my palm. My breath evens out. My pulse slows. And my smile widens.
Then I lunge.
I pump-fake left, then right, darting in and out of his reach, laughing in a way that vibrates through the room likebroken glass. He flinches each time, unsure which movement is real, and which is smoke. I let him believe every single one is a threat, even as I fill the air with another ragged, desperate scream.
“Please! Stop! Please, I’m begging you!”
The sound rips out of me perfectly. Panicked. Wild. Helpless.
Exactly what anyone listening outside the door expects to hear.
He blinks, thrown off, and snaps, “What the fuck iswrongwith you?”
What a dumbass.
I slow my steps, shoulders shaking with false sobs, letting tears drip down my chin even as my grip tightens on the hilt of my blade. “If they think I’m in here suffering,” I say sweetly through the tremble in my voice, “they’re not going to interrupt… now, are they?”