Hell doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know how deep this sickness runs. He kills because he has to most of the time. Yeah he gets a kick out of it, but I kill because I fuckingneedto. Because the moment I feel their body turn to nothing but coldness in my hands, I know, without a doubt, I was meant to do it.
I roll my shoulders, pushing his demand away, willing it to rot like everything else I don’t deal with.
“I want to hear you say it, Wrath.” He steps away from the body, wiping his hands on a rag. “I don’t ask for much, but this… I’m asking you for this.”
I yank the last thread tight with a sharp tug, snarling under my breath. He waits, eyes drilling into the side of my fucking skull, expecting me to give him what he needs. Reassurance.
Fuck’s sake. He’s serious.
“Fine,” I bite through my teeth just to get him off my back, tossing the bloodied needle onto the metal tray, the clang echoing through the room.
If he were anyone else, they’d already have my knife in their throat for thinking they can tell me what to do. But this is Hell, so I let it slide.
After he seems done and satisfied with my answer, he steps toward me, his hand finding my shoulder, squeezing hard. His way of saying thanks and probably making sure I heard him.
I don’t react and let him think he’s got what he wants. He turns, grabs his jacket, slings it over his shoulder, but when he stops at the door, his eye flicks back like he’s checking and making sure I won’t snap the second he’s gone. Then he leaves.
After I’m finished in The Dismembered Den for the night, I end up here. Rain soaks through my clothes, dripping from my dark hair and slides down the blade in my grip. My breathing is slow, steady, controlled, but inside? Inside, it’s fucking chaos.
Her trailer is dark. No lights or movement. She’s in there, sleeping and vulnerable.
My teeth bite down as my fingers twitch.
I need to see her.
Not just the fight in her eyes, not the disobedience, not the way she looked at me through that glass like she wasn’t already mine. No. I need this version. The quiet and softness. The moment before I decide what to do with her.
I groan, my eyes rolling back as I tilt my head, allowing the rain to drench my painted face.
Maybe I’ll touch her, feel the heat of her skin under my cold fingertips, trace the shape of her jaw, press my hand flat over her throat and feel the steady pulse of her life.
The need burns through me, sinking deep, tearing at my ribs, tightening around my lungs, making my balls throb.
My knife swiftly stabs forward before I can stop myself, the tip shoving into the flimsy lock with deadly precision and I twist.
Click.
With my other hand, I press the handle down, open the door slowly, my grip tightening around my knife and step inside.
I move down the short hallway silently, knowing exactly where I’m going. Carefully pushing the bedroom door open with my palm, my eyes lock onto her the second I see her.
I stop under the threshold, tilting my head as I take her in. She’s lying on her stomach, arms tucked under the pillow, face half-hidden by her shoulder.
Her long, black hair spills across the sheets and the dim light catches the side curve of her braless tit, soft and squashed against the mattress. The sheet clings low on her back, teasing the bare skin just above her ass.
I take steps forward before sliding my hood down and crouch beside the bed. My gaze sweeps over the length of her, tracing the gentle rise and fall of her breath. She’s warm. I can feel it radiating off her in waves. It calls to me, tempts me to reach out and press my fingers into her flesh.
My pulse kicks up, a slow, ark thrill twisting inside me. She has no idea I’m here. She doesn’t know a monster is right beside her. My gaze flicks to the bedside table, catching on the small bottle next to my note. My fingers close around it, lifting it into the faint light. I turn it in my palm, my eyes dragging over the label.
Sleeping meds.
Oh, little corpse. My silly, silly little fucking corpse. What the fuck have you done?
My jaw ticks as my focus snaps back to her. She’s out cold. She must have been so fucking unsettled that she drugged herself just to escape it. Just to escape me.
But the worse thing? I now know just how easy it would be to take full advantage of this moment. No fight. No fear. Just her lifeless body to fuck. The thought sinks deep and my hand tightens around the bottle before I force myself to set it back down.
Instead, I reach for her, the back of my cold fingers skimming her cheek and trailing down the side of her face.