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“Get the fuck out of my car. You’re not my type. I want the twink.”
Something about his energy unsettles me, and a quick peek in his backseat tells me why. On the floor, I spot a bit of rope and a plastic bag.
“If I were you, I would do as I asked.” I hold his gaze, smiling as his resistance falls away.
He puts the car in drive.
“Take us to the empty spot at the end of the bridge.”
The driver nods, completely under my compulsion. It’s a short drive, but far enough away to hide my actions.
“Cut the engine.” He does. “What is your name?”
“James,” the man answers, looking dazed.
“Tell me, James, what were your intentions tonight?”
“Fucking,” he answers easily, but the smile on his lips turns dark. “Then hurting.”
I bristle. Dammit. My instincts were right. “What kind of hurt?”
“I just like to make them bleed a little.” He turns his mean gaze to me. “Make them cry and beg me to stop.”
“Do you ever kill your victims?”
He shakes his head. “Almost one time, but he got away.”
I exhale slowly, barely able to force my next sentence out. “Do you want to kill them?”
“Yeah.” He laughs. “I haven’t got the nerve yet, but someday.”
His answer stirs the hatred I carry in my heart. He stalks people simply trying to survive and hurts them, knowing one day he’ll go too far.
I grab his chin, washing away my compulsion. “No, not someday, James. You fucked up and let me see you. Now you’ll never hurt Charlie or anyone else again.”
His eyes go wild with fear and he tries to push me away, kicking until his back is against the door. “The fuck? Get away from me.”
“Maybe you should beg. Or cry. You like it when your victims do that, don’t you, James?”
“I-I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do.” I blow out a breath, twitching slightly as my fangs drop.
“Fucking shit.” James scrambles for the door handle, but he’s unable to find it in his panic. “I won’t do it again.”
“I know you won’t. Tonight is your last night, James.”
“You’re gonna kill me?”
I nod. “Yes, and I’m going to enjoy it.”
James finally finds the handle, pushing the door open and running for his life. I chuckle, exiting the car calmly, before catching up to him without so much as taking a breath. I grab the back of his shirt and toss him against a stone column. He slumps to the ground, but gets back to his feet, screaming and running.
I appear in front of him again, laughing at his screams, before clutching the front of his polo shirt. He’s a clean-cut guy. Probably goes to church and has a nice job. Typical. “Is this how you treat your victims? Laughing as they fear for their lives? It’s not very nice, James. Not very nice at all.”
I drag him across the ground before lifting us both up to the roof of a vacant apartment building. James tries to scream again, so I cover his mouth, tearing his shirt from his body with my free hand.
“How many, James? How many have you hurt?”
