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By any means necessary.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Steppingoverthepileof bodies that I've created, I grin at the beautiful sounds of carnage that surround me. Ah, the way blood pools in a dying man's throat causing him to sputter and choke is like music to my ears. A particularly loud gurgle hardens my cock and makes me groan.
It's an odd thing to enjoy, I suppose, but honestly, I don't give a fuck. To each his own. Don't kink shame me.
WHERE IS MY MIND- SAFARI RIOT
I roll my neck side to side and breathe deeply as I try to come back into the present. I've learned over the years that when presented with conflict, it's best to just let my instincts take over, especially when said conflict involves blood, guns, and death. If I try and focus, really try and pay attention, things get sloppy. My brain plays tricks on me, and I flit back and forth between the past and the present.
Occasionally when that happens, I get stuck in another time and place. Memories roll through my brain like a macabre slideshow rendering me useless. No, I'd rather just allow the bloodlust to take me over, shutting off my brain completely and allowing instinct to take over.
It works.
No one needs to watch my back, making sure that poor, sad, broken Eli isn't falling apart, caught in some sort of trauma response. When I let go of that part of myself, everyone knows they just need to get the fuck out of my way and make sure they are around to bring me back when all is said and done. Like now.
Leaning against the cold metal of a shipping container, I survey the scene around me as my vision begins to normalize. The red haze ebbs, leaving me slightly dazed and dizzy. I have no recollection of the last however many minutes and no proof of what occurred, other than my slightly aching muscles and the cold liquid that I can feel coating my body.
I don't need to inspect myself to know what it is. Blood. Lots and lots of blood. Hopefully, none of it's mine but the fact that I am still standing and feeling otherwise well, I would say it's safe to wager that I made it out of the warfare unscathed.
The moon covers the area in a light, white glow, illuminating everything including the puddles of blood that surround the bodies like rapidly growing lakes. The bodies. My eyes dart from one to the next, counting and taking inventory. Six. There are six bodies, barely recognizable amongst the slaughter.
Though I don't know what happened minute by minute, I have a pretty good guess. They made the mistake of attacking the Cosa Nostra and they paid the maximum price. As far as I'm concerned, it's nothing that they didn't deserve. However, as I take in the absolute destruction, I know I've fucked up. I went too far. It's not the first time it's happened but I am well aware of how vital my mistake was this time.
We need answers. We need a survivor, and I don't need to check the men individually to know that there are definitely no survivors here for the taking. Worst case scenario, there is some sort of identifying features on their bodies. Tattoos, wallets, cell phones even. It's unlikely but possible.
Best case scenario; either Renz or Isaac were more successful than me in keeping one of their targets alive. They are both massively more well-behaved and level-headed than me so I would say there is a good chance of that being the case. One can only hope, otherwise, I will be in for an incredibly painful lecture that will likely resemble that of the ones I used to receive as a small child.
Sighing, I crack my neck and stretch my shoulders, shaking off the last of the trance-like state. Once I feel more like myself, I begin to check over each of the bodies. I'm unsurprised to find the brutality the men suffered as they each met their maker. What I am surprised by, however, is the accuracy in which I ended them. Kill shots. Perfect kill shots.
One straight to the heart followed by another to the head. Yes, that is how I was trained, but to be able to be so accurate while not even having awareness, boggles my mind. I suppose it's similar to driving while thinking about what you'll make for dinner and then not even recalling how you got home. Our brain is an amazing thing but also, it's scary as fuck.
Not for the first time, I find myself afraid. Afraid of what I am capable of. Afraid of what I might do on accident without even being aware. I never know what or when I will be set off, or what may trigger me. Though Renz and Zac would say that I have more control over my inner demon than I think I do, I struggle to believe it.
The majority of the time I lose myself, it's in the midst of a situation like this one. Where my life or my friend's lives are being threatened. When an enemy has been clearly and obviously identified and they are hellbent on inflicting damage. But, occasionally, I have found myself waking from these trance-like states with no known trigger and no recollection of what carnage I inflicted while being unaware.
These are the times that truly terrify me. What if I killed someone that was innocent? What if I hurt someone that I love? What if I hurt Renz or Zac or fuck, even Leo?
What if I hurt Violet?
The sick thought has me double over and dry-heaving onto the gravel and blood-coated dirt. I would never recover if I hurt any innocent person or someone that I love but the idea of hurting Violet is abhorrent. Sweet, perfect, sexy-as-hell, Violet, who unknowingly waltzed into our lives, dug her claws in and refuses to retract them.
She has no idea who we are,whatwe are. She may have allowed us a night of debauchery and depravity, but she is innocent. Pure, untainted, good,clean. She has no idea that the men she met and allowed into her body are stained beyond recognition. Filthy and broken beyond repair. Though I have absolutely no intention of ever allowing her to see this side of me, to know what lurks behind the smiles and sweet words, I also don't know how to forget her.
Thinking back on the earlier events of tonight, I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it won't be an easy task. When I first saw her, my body, my head, my damn heart, responded in ways that it never had before. She has this presence, an aura almost, that affects me on a cellular level. It's ridiculous. Stupid and impossible, but true, nonetheless. There is something about her that calls to me.
But then, I saw the men at the club with her. I saw their hands, their bodies melding with hers. The way they touched, caressed, and practically fucked her on that dancefloor and all I saw wasred.It consumed me like a disease. Festered like a wound. Infected me. It was all-consuming.
So, I turned it off.
I shoved that shit down. Deep down into the recesses of my soul where all the rest of the hurt that I have endured gathers. Where all of my emotions decay and rot like cancer, eating away at what makes me human. In all honestly, that right there is probably the reason that I am the way that I am. The reason that I black out, slip from my body and wreak havoc like a mindless drone.
My mind was already fucked up about Violet, then I saw her at the club and everything inside of me went to shit. Quickly followed by once again, being under attack from some nameless, faceless prick. All of that combined, resulted in me butchering these men and even though I'm aware this behavior is not out of the ordinary for me, I know that what happened with Violet made me particularly stabby tonight. Not only did each man receive two bullets to their body, but then I went a step further and tore them apart.
How? I have no idea. It doesn't matter. All that does is the realization that Violet holds the capability to either heal me, or destroy me, in the palm of her tiny, perfect hand, and she has no fucking idea.
The sound of gravel crunching beneath boot-clad feet pulls me from my thoughts and has me effortlessly spinning toward the newcomer, gun in hand. It's dark, but the small amount of light allows me to see the darkened shape of a body as it draws near. He is medium height and build giving nothing away, but the second figure following directly behind him on silent feet has me dropping my weapon.
