I bet she’s so soft and smells so good. I want to get close enough where I can find out. Something tells me she smells as warm as she makes me feel.
Her eyes search in the alleyway again, and they fall on me. I know she can’t see me, but she can feel me. Daphne takes a step outside, and the muscular cop stands in front of her, blocking my view of the only object in the universe that’s found a way to ground me.
Sneering, I almost launch myself across the street and slit all their throats and throw her over my shoulder to take her away. I dig my nails into the brick to stop myself, and my breathing becomes harsh and ragged. Sweat beads across my brows and rage fills my veins. I knew I shouldn’t have used both of the knives that I had on me to throw against the door.
Damn it.
I wait for him to move out of my way, but he doesn’t. I can’t leave because I parked my bike in the alley, and if I speed out of here, I’ll look guilty, even though I am. So I have to wait and watch as he gets closer and closer to her.
I slide down the wall and sit on the filthy ground, tangling my hands in my hair. I start to rock. The urge to kill is humming through my body. I’m coming unhinged. I need to see Daphne. She soothes the killer beneath my skin.
Turning my head, I see her again as she steps to the side, away from him, and I hold back the beast I know she wouldn’t love. I want to kill those cops. I want to kill the man who touched her. I want her to only be mine.
Her eyes search the darkness for me again, and when those big blues land on me, I let out a huge breath, sagging against the brick wall.
I can breathe again.
I’m obsessed with her.
It’s dangerous.
I know what it means when I’m obsessed with someone, and usually they end up dead.
Not this time.
I want to possess her. I want her to be dependent on me. I can protect her. I know that is something I will be able to do. Anyone who dares come close to her, I’ll slice out their tongues.
If she accepts that part of me.
Part.
Who am I kidding? Cutting is who I am.
My cock starts to come to life when I notice her push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Fuck, she’s pretty. I rub the growing erection in my jeans and groan. I don’t ever get hard unless I’m spilling blood.
Sexually, I haven’t gotten hard. I’ve never been interested in sex after what my uncle did, but Daphne makes me interested.
Very interested.
And that scares me. I’m not a man to be scared of anything, but having sex with a woman is something I don’t know how to do.
Need someone tortured? I’m the guy to do it.
Need someone’s tongue cut out? Fucking pick me. I love that shit.
Love?
I don’t know how to do that, but after meeting Daphne, I know I want to learn how.
If I can even be taught. I might be a lost cause, a hopeless case, a stupid person for the rest of my life. I’m incapable.
I’m trained to shed blood.
I was born to inflict hate.
That’s who I am.
I am hate.
But I don’t hate her, and that’s a new feeling for me to process.
The tattooed cop hands Daphne a small business card, and I’ll bet anything it has his number on it. I watch her narrow face for any sort of reaction, but she seems disinterested, sliding it into her cardigan pocket.
Good girl.
The cops get into their car, turn off their blue lights, and drive down the road.
Fucking finally.
Now I can kill the man in the bookstore. There’s one thing I always carry, just in case I don’t have my knives on me.
I pull out my nine-millimeter and aim directly at his head. My finger rubs against the trigger. His hands drop to his hips, and he says something out of the side of his mouth to Daphne, which has me lowering the gun and hesitating to shoot.
I do not hesitate.
I lift the gun again, but I can’t seem to make myself pull the trigger. Daphne might be upset if I kill her friend.
She can always make new friends, right?
Trying again, I hold the weapon between my hands and lay my finger on the trigger. Come on, why can’t I do it? This isn’t like me. I need to get this guy out of my way. He wants Daphne. Daphne will want him. He is better than me. Everyone is. If that means I need to take out everyone, then that is what it means. I will kill everyone on this goddamn planet making us the last two people on earth if I have to.
Damn, that actually sounds kind of nice.
It’s a long list. It will take me a while, but it can be done. My swamp kitties will be nice and well-fed too. The idea is something to consider. It’s on my list.
She nods at him after he speaks to her. I wish I could read lips. Hell, I wish I could read, but I can’t, so I’m stuck wondering what the hell he’s saying to her. Is he admitting his love? That thought has my finger twitching on the trigger. I need to be smart about this. I could stage his death.
He could die in a horrible car accident, and then I can finally have Daphne all to myself.
It sounds selfish because it is.
I want to be selfish when it comes to Daphne.
The fucking walking dead man gives her a hug, but she doesn’t seem to reciprocate it in the same enthusiasm. She turns her head toward me and lays her cheek on his chest, arms to her side, and her eyes are staring down this dark alley again.
All I can hear is my breathing. My heartbeat. It’s deafening, and after spending a few hours in a box in the ground because of some killer on the loose, my heartbeat sounds pretty fucking good right about now.
Shit.
That reminds me, I’m supposed to be at the clubhouse helping the club clean up Skirt’s old house so they can break ground on a new property.
I can’t leave Daphne just yet.
He finally releases her, and she vanishes inside the bookstore, then comes outside a second later when she has her purse. It’s a nice green color. I can see why she likes it. It can go with all the clothes she wears and still look fashionable and bright. She gives him a wave and walks down the street.
By herself.
Fuck no.
She’s not ever going anywhere by herself ever again.
I wait for the shitbag who works with her to disappear. I watch as he locks up the shop, then trots over to his fucking Prius. What a pussy.
What man drives a car like that?
No man does, which means he’s a bitch. Daphne doesn’t need a man like that. She needs someone who is strong, a protector, someone who isn’t worried about needing to charge his car before they go out on a date.
I should have brought my silencer. This mess could have been dealt with already and one less Prius loving, plant-fucking guy would be off the map. Damn it.
He rolls down the windows and—oh dear, all the blades in the world—is that a saxophone? He’s listening to jazz! I’m too baffled to shoot him as his car hums like a honeybee before driving down the road in the opposite direction.
Inching out from the alleyway, the sun is high in the sky, and the cool morning is now a thing of the past. I run across the street and then throw the hood I have attached to my cut over my head, staying close to the quaint brick buildings. They look old, like they have been here awhile.
Keeping my head down, I count the cracks in the sidewalk, smiling when I remember when Sarah taught me how to count over ten. Sometimes, I count for the hell of it just because I know how. People don’t know how good they have it. Life is easy for others because counting, writing, and reading is something people learn so early, and they really can’t remember when it started to flow so easily that it has been embedded in their minds.