AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The pleasure that coursed through me was intoxicating, almost sexual in its intensity. I reveled in the power, the control. Each twist of the pliers, each muffled scream was a small piece of justice served. But it was never enough. Not when there was a bigger predator out there, one who dared to target my people—my community.
"Come on, you bastard," I growled, pressing harder. "Scream for them. Scream so the world knows that I serve justice cold and merciless."
And fuck, did he scream. The bastard squirmed, his body a canvas of wounds inflicted with precision and savagery. I leaned down to his ear, letting my breath fan over the sweat that beaded on his skin.
"Come on, you piece of shit," I snarled, my voice as cold as the steel instruments laid out on the tray beside us. "You run with the filth of this city, don't you? The same pits that spawned that butcher."
The rapist's lips trembled, spewing more lies. "I swear, I don't know anything!"
"Wrong answer," I gritted through clenched teeth, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back to meet my eyes. I wanted him to see the promise of pain in them. "I know you're knee-deep in the same muck where he crawls. And I'll tear through every last one of you motherfuckers to find him."
His cries were sweet, a symphony to my inner demon. But it wasn't enough—not when the killer was still out there, mocking me with those words... "Justice is Blind." I wondered if he found it as poetic as I did, or if it was just another sick game to him.
"Please," the man begged, his voice raw and broken. But mercy wasn't something I doled out—at least not to scum like him.
"Let's see what your insides look like, shall we?" I mused aloud, almost casually, as I selected a hooked blade from my collection. His eyes widened with horror, surely understanding what was coming next.
I slipped the blade beneath his grimy skin, watching as crimson blossomed like some ghastly flower. He screamed—a visceral, guttural sound that would haunt lesser men's dreams. Not mine, though. I've heard worse.
"Talk!" I commanded, my voice echoing against the walls as I tugged, pulling at the coils of his intestines. They unfurled like a grotesque ribbon, wet and glistening under the flickering light.
"Okay! Okay!" he wailed, thrashing against his restraints. "The killer—he thinks he's an artist! His murders... they're paintings! For a select audience!"
"An audience..." I echoed thoughtfully, pausing in my work. The pieces began clicking together, forming a picture more twisted than any I could have imagined. This changed the game—upped the ante. Whoever this fucker was, he was playing for keeps.
"Good boy," I said, a wicked grin pulling at my lips. "Now, was that so hard?"
His whimpers faded into soft, pleading moans, but I had no patience for them. I threw a contemptuous glance back on the human wreckage I'd created. Justice might be blind, but tonight, it had seen plenty.
His pitiful gaze lifted to mine, a cocktail of fear and hope swirling in those beady little eyes. He must've thought there was some shred of mercy left in me, some magic trick up my sleeve to undo the horrors I'd inflicted upon him.
"Please," he whimpered, "can't you... can't you fix this?"
"Fix this?" I scoffed, circling him like a shark scenting blood in the water. "Look at me, you pathetic fuck. I'm a vampire, not a goddamn magician." My tone was laced with venom, my disdain for the creature before me palpable in the dank air.
He winced as his mangled body protested even the slightest movement, but desperation fueled his next words. "Then... then at least feed on me. End it," he begged, a tear tracing a clean line through the filth on his cheek.
"Feed on you?" I let out a humorless chuckle. "You're not worth the dirt under my nails, let alone the taste of your tainted blood in my mouth." I leaned closer, relishing the way he recoiled from my cold breath. "I'd rather starve."
The plea that escaped him was barely human, a guttural sound of defeat. And as he sat there, spilling his guts in more ways than one, I felt that familiar dark thrill – the monster within me reveling in the power I held over life and death.
But no, I wouldn't give him the release he sought. Not tonight. Tonight, he would die slowly, just as his victims had suffered.
"Even I have standards," I sneered, my gaze raking over the mess of flesh and guts before me. "And your blood is about as appealing as a sewer rat's bathwater. Consider this your penance," I turned away from the grotesque scene. The information he'd provided gave me a thread to follow, a glimmer of hope to catch this twisted artist in his own sick game. But hope was a dangerous thing, especially for a monster like me.
He gurgled something incoherent, the stench of death already clinging to him. It would've been easy to drain him dry, end his misery with the finality of fangs sinking into flesh. But mercy? That wasn't my style. Not for scum like him.
"Sorry, pal, but this is where I leave you," I said, walking further away from the chair he was bound to. "Let the reaper come for you in his own damn time."
I left the warehouse with the echo of his whimpers trailing behind me, the image of his intestines spilling out like some sick modern art burned into my memory. Maybe it would serve as a warning to the others – Nash Rigby doesn't fuck around.
The streets were quiet as I made my way to Celeste's place. The city was oblivious, lost in dreams or nightmares, while I roamed its veins with purpose. My favorite pastime had morphed into an obsession, watching Celeste sleep through her window, touching myself to the rhythm of her breaths. It was fucked up, I knew that, but there was something about her – the restless shifts of her sheets spoke of turmoil I was aching to understand.
"Come on, Little Shadow, what's got you all twisted up inside?" I found myself once again outside Celeste's window—the one with the curtains that danced like ghosts in the breeze. The moonlight danced across her dark skin, her natural hair fanning out like a halo around her head, and I bit back a groan. She was a vision, even plagued by whatever demons chased her in her slumber.
Part of me wanted to break down the door, take her in my arms, and whisper away the terror that seemed to clutch at her heart. But no, I was a monster – not some knight in shining fucking armor. Besides, the vampire rules were clear; without an invitation, I was nothing but a spectator to her private hell.
So I stayed there, lurking like the predator I was, drawing pleasure from the voyeuristic thrill. Her gasps and muffled cries were a symphony to my ears, a perverse lullaby that stirred the darkness within me. And as the night wore on, I wondered if she could feel the weight of my gaze, the heat of my desire. Or maybe it was just the chill of the evening breeze that made her shiver.
