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I really love being a monster.
My satisfied sigh bleeds out with my scent.
Alphas wheeze and whine, dripping snot.
I push to paralyze, but I don’t rush the kill.
The ghosts of oily paws burn my body everywhere the alphas looked or touched.
It’s their turn to suffer.
Nikolaj lands on his knees, one hand clutching his chest.
My mask isn’t the only facade that’s snapped.
His growl flies straight out of hell, lips twisting in a feral snarl that betrays the persona of a straight-faced cartel king.
Who’s in control now?
“What are you?” he chokes through foaming lips.
I bump up my scent another notch, grinding my pearly stiletto into the twitching palm of the downed enforcer with the mullet.
That’s for grabbing my ass.
The blast robs the last of my father’s air. “Whatever I am, I got it from you.”
Wind screams past my ears while his blood vessels pop. The super-familiar feeling of falling off a cliff is supposed to remind me to stop.
I would’ve stopped if Commander Fissure hadn’t screwed me over.
I would’ve refused every scrap of credit and let her drag my father to her favorite black site before helping her celebrate her inevitable promotion.
Then I would’ve testified, smiled, followed orders, and lied my way to freedom.
But here we are.
I finally feel like myself when I’m standing over the bodies.
The Sol I hide behind smiles and lies.
The Sol who kills assholes that need killing with zero remorse.
The Sol who doesn’t take shit and never pretends to be anyone she’s not.
This is the darkest, truest me, the one that no one else can ever see.
Because even if I love being the monster?
No one ever loves the monster back.
Now that she’s out, there’s no such thing as STOP.
Pheromones pulsing, I cover my father’s mouth to watch him die.
The scent of cigars fizzles.
He snaps to bite my fingers, but he’s too late.
