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The knife burns my palm as I breathe a little faster. Lowering my duffel onto the floor, I wonder why it suddenly feels heavier now.
I swallow down the anxiety while he saunters behind me, his body too close. And when he moves into me, I can feel the thickness of his cock pushing into the small of my back.
Is this turning him on? The anticipation of seeing me kill someone?
“You’re hard.” My voice comes out small, sheepish, yet every inch of me feels braver now that he’s right here, as though sewn into my skin, giving me the courage.
“Does that bother you? Does the fact that you make me hard scare you?” he whispers into the crook of my neck.
All the hairs on my arms rise to attention.
“No…” I shake my head lightly. “I’ve been to hell and back. Nothing scares me anymore. And I…”
A’s hand draws out, fingers tracing up my arm, leaving my flesh wicked and wanton.
“And you what?” The timbre of his voice strokes me in placeslong forgotten.
My core grows tight and uncomfortable, and I hate the feeling, yet I want it too. A conundrum of sensations I don’t fully comprehend. Not with this stranger, who could be anyone. Hell, he could be the Midnight Murderer himself. But I want him. More than I’ve wanted anyone ever.
“I like that you want me.”
He growls deep in his chest. “Don’t tempt the devil. He may come out to play.”
“I’m every bit the devil you are.”
With a groan, he takes my hands in his, the knife perched within our evil palms. “Maybe it’s why I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The confession sends a ripple of heat down my curves. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”
“Fuck, you are a tempting little devil.” That deep pitch has my skin prickling.
He arches into me as he lifts our hands in the air, the tip of the blade staring downward onto its victim.
“Shall we do this together?” he asks. “Shall I show you how to slice his throat?”
The man groans, but we both have long ignored him, our souls marked by the foulness of our making, the life that made us who we are.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Do it.”
“No, you’re gonna do it. You will take the blade across the right side of his throat.”
The nerves begin to dissipate, and instead I see the cunning men and their faces, so many of them. The way they grabbed me, ripped off the little amount of clothes I was allowed to wear. Watched as they took everything. Used every inch of my body like I was a toy built for their enjoyment.
I don’t notice the tear fall from my eye until another comes. And behind me, he swallows a sharp pull of an inhale, his grip tightening around my hands like he saw what I didn’t want him to see: the weakness there, the vulnerability when the pain comes. And it comes more often than I’d like.
My heart races with unfathomable rage. And with a roar, I jam the knife into the man’s throat, over and over, until my tears mingle with my wrath, until blood pours out of him like all the years I’ve lost. All the agony I’ve endured. It’s there, staining my fingers, turning my soul black.
But it’s been black for a while, hasn’t it? Even before I was saved from that place. I was just afraid to expose that part of myself. Because what would my friends and family think about precious little Kayla turning into this?
Oh my God. Kayla? You need help. Let us help you.
They’d stare at me with horror, the eyes of a killer. The Kayla they once knew no longer there at all.
But I don’t need help. I needthis.
I need to kill them all—the monsters who roam the streets looking for their next victim. And if I can save one of them, even one, then I have done good. My evil has served a purpose.
I stab him again and again, and I realize A is no longer holding my hands. No longer there to release the rage with me. But I’m too far gone to even care.
