Page 80 of A Wild Darkness

The man stands immediately. His short, stocky stature and beady eyes send a chill up my spine. “I guess I’ll go next then. I’m affectionately called The Lurker by my local media in Las Vegas, but you all can call me Larry.” He stares off into the distance as if reliving something, then turns back to the group with a weary smile on his face. “The police have known about me for decades, but since I choose my victims without family, friends, or anyone who loves them…basically, the case files always grow cold,” he explains proudly.

They are all fucking demented.

“And?” Silas presses, insinuating there’s more Larry needs to tell.

“Of course you bastards want to know my secrets,” he plays as a collective low chuckle vibrates the room. “I hang out in alleyways searching for the hottest prostitutes.” He pauses. “Or the one who looks the most desperate to make a quick buck.”

“You pay for your kills?” Pete asks in disgust. “That sucks.”

Larry shoots him a sharp look. “I don’t pay for them, you asshole. I kill them before they’re able to collect the money.”

“Still, so sad,” Pete replies, his words filled with arrogance. He clearly feels on top of his game, like he’s untouchable because he’s young and attractive. Using his looks to hunt and trap young women makes my blood boil.

“Fuck you,” Larry spits. “One day you’re not going to be⁠—”

“All right.” Silas raises his hands, calming the two men. “Let’s move on.” Then he turns to the quiet man with his head hanging low at the end of the table. “Bob?”

The man lifts his head, looking in my direction, but says nothing at first.

The hairs spanning my body stand straight up the moment my eyes land on his. A different sort of evil lies within this man. I can feel it. Without realizing it, I suck in a breath and keep it tightly in my lungs—my body preparing for what I’ll hear from him.

“You can call me The Butcher.” His raspy voice slips through a thick, dark beard. “I have been killing for as long as I can remember. Starting with my fascination with the dead as a young boy.” He strokes his beard. “I have no clear direction or preference when I hunt. I will go after whomever whenever I want. No one is safe.”

Then, if nothing else could have halted my breath, that stops it before I suck in to get my fill of precious air. My senses fire off like internal alarm bells, thickly pulsing through my veins.

Sebastian’s hand finds the top of my thigh—he strokes it, soothing me. He recognizes this man’s level of evil, too. Then I capture something I wasn’t expecting to see—the woman with the fiery red hair glances at Sebastian from across the table while a small smile grows across her face the longer she stares at him.

I don’t like the way she’s looking at him.

“Well, in this room we’re all safe, Bob,” Silas states with a side-eye.

I push my feelings aside as a light rumble of laughter moves through the room. My eyes bounce from one person to another before the woman peels her incongruous gaze from Sebastian and stands.

“All right, all right. My turn.”

“Ma’am.” Silas smiles, gesturing for her to begin.

“We can’t let the men have all the fun, can we?” she purrs, glancing at me. “Now, let me introduce myself, as this is only my third year attending the glorious killing season.” She pushes her chair back and walks around the table. Her long hair bounces against her back as her heels click on the stone floor. “I’m the Red Widow, or Wendy. Call me whatever you choose, but do not call me a serial killer.”

The table laughs.

“Oh, but aren’t we all in love with that term?” Silas quips sarcastically.

Wendy rounds the table, touching the shoulders of each man she passes. Instinctively, I wrap my arm around Sebastian before she has the chance to do the same with him. As she walks by us, I narrow my eyes in her direction—a glare that shows her she needs to stay away.

“I love to spend my time with men who believe they’re better than women. The ones who need a bit of a reality check.” Wendy’s finally back at her chair, ignoring Silas’s comment. But before she sits, her wide eyes find Sebastian once again. A smirk appears on her face, and now I’m pissed. Like, does she not see me sitting right here? “They take me home, thinking they’ll get their dick wet, but then I flip the script on them. And soon they’re begging for their lives as I chop off their cocks—while they’re still alive.”

“We fucked last year, and you didn’t chop my dick off,” Pete remarks with a smirk.

She scoffs at his comment. “Because we’re not allowed to kill each other. But if you were an average guy, I’d kill you for the lousy lay.”

Pete’s eyes lower. “You say that now, but you didn’t when you were screaming my n⁠—”

“All right. Enough,” Silas interjects. “Go on, Wendy.”

“You could say I’m getting back at my husband, the unfortunate soul who cheated on me with our housekeeper.” Wendy glances upward. “Poor Bill died without his dick.”

Fear has run through my veins since the moment the group began speaking. But the moment Wendy’s eye landed on Sebastian, a lustful look that I, as a woman, recognize—the fear I feel is immediately replaced with possessiveness. He’s my fake boyfriend, not hers. Not hers to fuck and certainly not hers to hurt.