Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 24966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Truth was… I didn’t care about his wife or daughter. Not really. I wasn’t here to protect them. I picked Brandon simply because he did shitty things to innocent people, so my actions, like what I was about to do, might be justifiable in others’ eyes if I was ever caught. Not because I needed to justify it to myself to kill a fucker.
But men like Brandon deserved to be reminded that the world was full of monsters worse than them.
And I was one of those monsters.
Hurting him wasn’t just something I wanted to do—it was something that I had to do. It was a necessity for my survival because the compulsion and sick and twisted desire was a never-ending cycle within me.
Tonight, Brandon would feel truly powerless.
I couldn’t wait to look into his eyes and watch as he realized he was about to die, my cock hard and leaking precum while watching the life fade from them.
“Hello, Brandon.”
Although my voice was low and deep, he heard me, felt my breath on his nape, and spun around, nearly falling as he hurried backward. He reached into his jacket, and I knew he carried a small knife with him. But no weapon would save him, not from the likes of me.
I let him pull the weapon out, and as he pointed it at me, I could see in his expression that he was trying to place where he’d seen me, whether or not he knew me, and what the hell was going to happen.
I kept enough distance so his blade couldn’t touch me, but it wouldn’t matter if he cut me. The pain meant nothing to me when the result was his death.
I looked at his hand that was wrapped tightly around the handle, knowing he probably did the same thing to his wife’s wrists or neck as he hurt her.
My dark beast rose close to the surface, clawing to get out, my deranged and twisted need to kill intensifying.
I was sure—for just a moment—he thought he might get out of this. His fight-or-flight instincts were working overtime. But behind that façade, as I looked deep into his eyes, I could see he knew the truth. His eyes were wide and frantic as he gripped the knife like it could save him.
It was almost funny, really. I tilted my head, a smirk tugging at my lips. “You plan on cutting me with that, Brandon?” I asked, my voice laced with a casual indifference.
I stepped forward, watching his panic spike. That amused me. In one fluid motion, I caught his wrist and twisted hard enough that he yelped and dropped the weapon. The blade hit the ground with a small clang against the pavement, and I stooped just long enough to pick it up.
His gasp of fear was satisfying when I pulled him close with the hand still wrapped around his wrist, our faces barely an inch apart. “I’ve been anticipating this for weeks,” I whispered, knowing I no-doubt looked and sounded like the psycho I was.
In a split second, my grip switched from his wrist to his throat, and I shoved him against the brick building, feeling the impact reverberate through him. He struggled in my hold, but I was stronger. I had his knife in my hand and wrapped my fingers tighter around his throat, leaving my grip barely loose enough so he could swallow, which I felt against my palm.
Not even the stench of the garbage a few feet away could mask the scent of his fear.
I leaned my full weight into his body and squeezed my hand even tighter around his neck until I cut off his airflow. His survival instinct kicked in, and he clawed at my hand, desperate to get away.
For long seconds, I just stared into his face, seeing blood vessels break in the whites of his eyes, watching as his face turned red then purple. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to breathe.
All while my cock throbbed.
I was so fucking hard.
Watching the life fade from another human and me being the one who took it gave me the greatest fucking high.
I knew he felt the evil intent around me because his fear turned into something else. His eyes grew impossibly wider, and he shook his head. I leaned in and made sure he felt my erection. He struggled harder, maybe thinking I was really a sick motherfucker and would fuck him before I killed him… or after.
I was fucked up but not that much.
I squeezed his throat tighter until I knew with just a little more pressure I'd break his trachea. Brandon’s struggling was getting weaker, asphyxiation claiming him with its dark, unbreakable hold on him.
With his knife in my other hand, I lifted the blade and looked at it for a second, the muted streetlamp catching the metal and causing it to gleam.