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If she had been anyone else, claiming her would have been easy, but then I wouldn’t change anything.
Although I've seen it while growing up, I have no clue what love is, and my emotions cannot be called love anyway.
I’m obsessive and possessive. Madness consumes me at the thought of her, and I want to mark her body with my bites and cum so no man dares to touch what’s mine, but more importantly…it leaves no doubt in that scared head of hers that she belongs to me, and I’m hers.
There is no competition when it comes to me because no one but her exists for me.
Women have always been easily available to me, and while I showed them respect, I never got attached or slept with anyone twice.
Intimacy leads to relationships and disastrous consequences, so I avoided it like the plague, always staying honest. Anyone would do if the mood struck me.
However, I haven’t thought, touched, or looked at another woman since Jimena kissed me under the mistletoe.
She owned me with one kiss, and the ironic part about it…she doesn’t even know it was my first kiss as well. Among other things.
I’m wicked, but I managed to save something for her.
“I’ve only seen him once. He was around six years old. Very pretty blond kid who smiled a lot. Everything made him happy but especially other kids locked in cages.” Peter’s voice brings me back to the present, and I blink away, focusing on him while he breathes heavily and licks away the blood dripping down his lips. “I found him weird, but Death was proud of him. He called him a son who was always destined to become his and continue his legacy.”
My woman is mine, and I don’t have the privilege of claiming her because of Death, so it fuels my rage even further, spiking up my sadistic tendencies. I stab the pierced tip of the metallic cane into Peter’s foot, earning myself an agonized scream. I enjoy it for a few seconds while pondering all the information he has given me.
Despite hating our family and targeting us specifically for years, Death still kidnapped other children and kept them in special warehouses where he invited rich clients so they could do vile things to them for the right price. He preferred to watch or listen, always laughing whenever a kid begged for mercy.
And it seems among all these children, he found a born psychopath, and as a self-absorbed narcissist, for Death to notice anyone but himself is strange and concerning.
Usually, psychos are more attuned to emotions in a sense that they know how to manipulate their victims better. However, Death never used manipulation.
He threatened and then inflicted pain with no care in the world, so what possessed him to pick a kid and raise him as his own?
Was it just about his fucked-up legacy, or was there more to it?
“And the boy? He enjoyed all the attention?”
Peter nods, stepping away and wincing when he encounters the glass once again. “He thrived in it and even pointed at several kids, wanting to see them hurt first. According to him, they needed to learn a lesson, and Death approved of his methods.” He shudders. “It was fucking scary because his eyes were absolutely cold. I couldn’t stand it, so I grabbed my money and left.”
He says it with so much pride, and hope flashes in his gaze like his confession serves as absolution for all his sins.
My grip on the cane tightens, and I deliver a harsh hit to his stomach, making him whimper, his back connecting with the wall that has sharp thorns digging into his skin. “So different from all these other children, right? Who pleaded with you all only to be met with indifference and your endless greed that resulted in them losing their innocence and lives?” He pales again, and I wrap my hand around his throat, squeezing so hard he turns blue and struggles for breath. “Where is Death? You’ve operated all his dealings and connected him with rich clients willing to pay obscene amounts as long as you delivered on their kinks.” Peter has always been on my list, but the fucker got plastic surgery and opened a legitimate business, raising a family in the suburbs. “He had nothing without you handling his books. Where is he, Peter?”
“I have no idea. After he took in the kid, he called me once to tell me that he was closing up the business and moving to fuck knows where to raise his little psycho. He just ordered me to transfer the money to the account in Switzerland, and I did it so he wouldn’t threaten to expose me.” He coughs when I loosen my grip on him and step back. “Once we cut ties, I changed and moved on. I’m a law-abiding citizen and a good family man. I love my family and haven’t committed a crime for over twenty years.” He rests his head against the wall, holding my gaze. “Everyone deserves a second chance. Please forgive me and let me go.”
“Do you still remember the account number?” He frowns, clearly shocked at the question. “Think fast, Peter, because I’m getting bored.”
“Yes. I do.” He quickly recites it to me, and I memorize it, deciding to try tracking Death through this and building a clearer profile on the fucker in my head with all this information on the kid.
At least now I know for sure the person hunting me is around my age and has no limits, and those psychos who have no morals and limits…are the most dangerous of all.
As they indulge in their dark cravings to see how much suffering they can inflict on human beings, enjoying the torture on some deeper level that has no result.
His one goal is to make everyone suffer, and you can’t negotiate with such evil. The only option is to permanently extinguish it.
“You’ll forgive me then, Florian?” Peter gulps for breath. “I had no choice back then. I would have never done what I did otherwise. Please forgive me. My children…they love me. I’m a good father.”
“Please don’t,” I ask with a trembling voice, flipping on my back and pushing him away while his laughter echoes in my ears. “Please don’t, please.”
Instead of listening to me, he grips my hair so harsh he rips a few strands, and a painful cry slips past my lips while he forcefully drags me on my knees and turns me toward a monster. “Do as you’re told, boy.”
“I have a question for you, Peter. And if you answer it honestly, I might consider letting you live.” He straightens up, his whole body coming alive while he blinks several times, probably trying to really focus despite all the gushing wounds that must be affecting his concentration. “You have two daughters. Imagine someone doing to them what you’ve done to other children.” He stills. “And after they completely crushed your daughters’ spirits, they come to you and ask for forgiveness. What would you do, Peter? Would you forgive them?” I walk back to my table and grab a silver blade coated in poison that I acquired on one of the islands from a strange but interesting man.
