Page 5 of Darkest Kiss

"I know that once you decide that someone has crossed the line, it's hard to pull back from wanting to skin them alive and hang them from the closest bridge. But I'm starting to worry about you." His expression tenses. "Are you okay?"

I raise my eyebrows, grating out, "Fine." His face doesn't change, so I gather I haven't said the magic words yet. "This one hurt Noemi."

Zack came into Poor Yorick Books three weeks ago. He was charming. She smiled at him. He came back four more times after that, and last Wednesday he followed her home.

That was enough for me to put him on my to-kill list.

“So this guy threatened the girl you’re stalking. That’s why you’re killing him?” Ransom asks. Instead of the hoped-for effect, my words seem to puzzle him more. "But he's not a made man, right? Because that would be bringing a lot of shit down on our heads."

Chuckling humorlessly, I look out the window. It's raining today in New York City, perfectly gray and drab, the skies dark with it. It fits my mood quite well.

"Can I go?" I force out. I'm still clenching the door handle, my body throbbing with the need for release.

Rather than answer my question, he simply says, "Call if you need backup." Then he hits the door unlock button. I press against the door as I tumble out onto the street, my blood rushing so loud in my ears that I can't hear Ransom call after me.

I slam the car door and start moving. My target is a sleazy photographer named Zack. And he happens to have a loft three blocks from here, in the seedy Hunts Point district.

It takes everything in me not to grin like a fucking psycho as I head toward Zack's loft at a trot. This is going to be such fun. And then the fucking idiot who put his hands on my girl will know without a doubt that he should've kept his filthy hands to himself.

Getting into Zack's loft is shockingly easy. The downstairs door is locked but I open it anyway by simply twisting very hard, snapping the lock. His loft is on the second floor and I take the dirty, dimly-illuminated stairs two at a time. I pause before I exit the stairwell. I pull a black skull balaclava out of my back pocket and slide it on, then tug my hoodie up over it. Then I pull out a simple pair of black latex gloves. Better safe than sorry.

And if I happen to scare the shit out of this fucking twat, so much the better.

His door is one of those big rolling doors, which looks noisy as fuck. I try to be aware that as a 6'4 guy, I don't exactly move through the world in stealth mode; I take up a lot of space and break a lot of shit. But I'm not worried about the door right now because Zack has death metal blaring. It's loud enough that the bass notes rattle the wall as I ease the door open. It protests loudly, but I'm not too concerned.

Excitement thrums through my veins as I step in the darkened loft. A freestanding wall gives me the perfect vantage point to hide behind as I sweep the whole place. Bedroom and kitchen to the left, bathroom dead ahead, and the bulk of the space is taken up by his studio. I pause, taking it in.

"Well, well," I murmur to myself. Zack has the large industrial windows mostly covered with cardboard. And below, there are three sets. A St. Andrew's Cross, a bed with dark satin sheets, and a suspension rig with hanging chains and leather cuffs. Each set is about five feet apart with a setup to record video pointed at each. And right now?

Zack is leaning over a girl that's strapped to the bed, screaming bloody murder, bleeding from several shallow cuts.

"Let me go!" she wails.

He leans over her body, brushes back his dark brown hair, and whispers something to her. I can't hear it over the music but she shudders.

Tsking, I wait until Zack starts to cut the girl again before I make my move. Distracted, he doesn't sense my presence as I steal up behind him. Normally I like to complete my kills without using knives or guns. But he's already armed with one weapon that I can see. Better to fight fire with fire.

Drawing a wicked looking blade from my waist, I steal up behind him, heart hammering, and grab him. I press the tip of my blade into his neck a hair below the carotid.

"Wha—" He resists and I dig the blade in, nicking his neck. I plan on killing him anyway, but I'd rather let our witness go first.

"Shut the fuck up," I whisper. "Step back."

Yanking him off the bed, I loop my trusty cord around both of his wrists and quickly tie it so tight that he cries out.

The voice inside my head, the animal that I’m caged with, has notes.

Just kill him, Beast whispers. He deserves to bleed. What if he had tricked Noemi into visiting his loft?

"Not now," I snap. I'm talking to myself, but my words serve to silence Zack. He cries out as I drop him down on the floor beside the bed. I shove my knife in my waistband, then loop the rope around his ankles, hogtying him.

The girl he was about to carve a piece out of moans, reminding me to free her before I start cutting little pieces off of Zack instead. I stand and walk over to the bed, where the girl stares up at me, her eyes wide and afraid.

"I'm going to cut you free. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

She nods. I can tell she's shaking.

I sit down on the bed and look at her. "You won't go to the cops, will you?"