Page 14 of Depraved

No one needed to tell me what a bad motherfucker I was. I already knew. But when I crouched down in front of her, witnessing the fear in her eyes as she watched me, I wanted to rip through those goddamn tights she wore and fist her hair while shoving my dick so far up her pussy she would taste the head of my cock on her tongue.

There was something about the scent of fear on a woman. Sweet, yet thrilling. Innocent, yet so fucking forbidden. It turned me the fuck on. Always had. But smelling it on her, seeing it in her eyes, it was different. It wasn’t just something I had to have. It was something I needed. Something I craved more than just the pleasure of a release. It was stronger than that. It fucking possessed my soul ever since I knew of her existence—which was why I had to get the fuck out of that room before I lost myself to the craving. She wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

I rounded the corner and saw Ink, our sergeant-at-arms, waiting for me by the stairs. “Have someone here at all times. Understood?”

“Already on it.” He leaned over the rail. “Yo, Manic. Get your Hispanic ass up here, pronto.” Then he turned back to face me. “So, the prospect ain’t giving us anything we don’t already know.”

“Of course, he ain’t. Where’s the fucker now?”

“Waiting in the back. Fucker pissed himself…twice.”

I stomped down the stairs and lit a cigarette while Ink hauled his tattooed ass behind me. His name was pretty much self-explanatory. “I’ll take care of him.”

I inhaled a big breath of smoke before pulling out the knife I had hidden beneath my cut. “I got this.”

“Wait. What?”

I was down those stairs and across the bar to the other side of the building within seconds. My fury was fueling me, and every goddamn member I passed could see I no longer saw any other color but red.

“Yo, Granite. Wait, man. What the fuck is up?”

When I reached the door, I kicked it down instead of turning the lock. God, I was a savage, one with psychopathic tendencies. Basically, I was one giant shit-storm.

The door fell to the ground, breaking in half. I didn’t slow down when I spotted the son of a bitch across the room tied to a chair. There wasn’t a single goddamn person in this entire universe who would have been able to stop me.

I rushed forward, and without pause swung the knife, jabbing it right into his motherfucking skull, blood instantly pouring down his face.

“Granite! What the fuck, man?”

I pushed the blade deeper for good measure, feeling bone crack. The fucker’s mouth was still open as he tried to say something two seconds before I sliced through his tiny fuck-wit brain.

“Jesus.” I heard Dutch behind me. “What the fuck is going on?”

I snarled then pulled the knife out of the dead man’s skull. “Just taking care of loose ends.”

“By leaving a mess?”

I turned to face him. “By spilling blood.”

“Well, fuck,” Ink commented behind me. “Who’s going to clean all this?”

Dutch placed his hands on his sides. “Really, Ink? That’s the only thing you’re worried about?”

“Well…yeah.”

I almost smiled. Almost.

“What the fuck happened here?”

I glanced over Dutch’s shoulder at Onyx standing by the door. “The Python prospect got acquainted with my knife.”

Onyx glanced at the corpse in the chair. “Yeah, no shit.”

My priorities shifted, the dead Python behind me easing the initial reason for my anger. “Tell me, brother. What does your tag say on your cut?”

The look in his eyes told me he knew where I was going with this.