Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Do you know her name?” His head shakes, eyes still entranced with the plastic baggie.
“Nope.” His jaw works again. “But it won’t stop me from tasting her one of these days.”
“You think she’d go for that?” He grunts. “She didn’t seem too interested a few minutes ago.”
“They all want it,” he confesses with an enthusiastic squeal when I lower the product into his dirty gloved hands. “They may fight a little at first, but that’s what makes it so much fun.”
Another predator mere blocks from Kaci’s front door. Protecting her will be impossible.
“You got a light?”
“Sure, buddy.” The light of the moon glints off the blade I pull from my waist rather than the flame he’s hoping for. He mustn’t register the difference because he doesn’t so much as make a peep when my hand surges upward, the metal piercing the bottom of his chin before reappearing out of the top of his head.
Unblinking eyes glaze over as his brain finally tells everything else that the game is over and it’s time to shut the factory down. Getting him off my knife and into the dumpster we’re standing beside is easier than I’d expected. The numerous layers of clothing contribute to my wrong assumption about his size. I have no clue when the trash runs around here, but it’s cold enough still that he won’t start stinking for at least a few days.
I don’t believe in God. Hell, I don’t believe in right and wrong most days. I believe in my club. Plain and simple.
But, there’s something mystical or paranormal that, if you’re paying close enough attention, you’ll notice surrounding someone who dies. The air either charges or loses all energy. It’s really hard to tell, but tonight is no different. Other than the rusty squeal of the dumpster lid when I entomb the dead guy, not another sound can be heard. The mice that scampered away when I lured him down this alley are silent, as are the natural noises of the neighborhood. Even the constant drone of the dryers at the laundromat a block over halt. It’s as if the universe is having an unscheduled moment of silence for the piece of shit predator I just cleaned from the streets.
Drawn back toward the street, I lurk in the shadows, making it to the mouth of the alley just in time to see Kaci walking back by, her face lit by the bright light of a passing car. She’s a gorgeous, pixie-like creature. She’s going to be the death of me, a siren singing her song of seduction without having to open her mouth with the effort.
“Kaci,” I pant, my lips moving without my brain engaging.
I trail her, the rest of her trip taking much longer than it actually should. She seems nervous or scared, her back tense with the emotions, but they only serve to slow her down rather than make her walk faster to the false sense of security behind her wafer-thin front door.
I smile, reveling in her new self-preservation when she doesn’t bend at the middle to retrieve her door key. The smile immediately slides away when, without pulling a key from somewhere, she turns the knob and steps inside of her apartment.
She hasn’t learned a fucking thing. I’ve killed four people in the last day to protect her, and she relentlessly continues to channel trouble, repeatedly exposes herself to threats as if she’s seeking them out. She’d be better off putting a gun to her head and pulling the trigger. At least the death would be quick and almost painless, something better than this long drawn out hobby of testing fate.
A dog barks in the distance, but my eyes never leave her apartment. My weight doesn’t shift even when my feet begin to hurt about an hour into my observations. Adding to her growing list of infractions, I notice she has only a sheer curtain hanging over her single window. Each and every time she gets off her bed to cross the room, her hazy form is easily recognizable. I both love and hate the easy view into her privacy.
Hate will be the winning emotion tonight, because it merely means that I’m not the only one who would be rewarded by simply walking down the street. Hate because she shouldn’t be giving away for free what I’m willing to work so hard for.
I don’t reach into my pocket to grab my phone until after the sixth or seventh text rings out.
Briar: We have trouble.
I huff a humorless laugh because trouble follows the Ravens Ruin MC like the fucking black plague. There isn’t a week that goes by without incident. We never get a break. Someone always fucks up. Someone is constantly needing a reminder of who is in charge. We run fucking drugs in the majority of the northeastern United States, and yet we spend most of our damn time babysitting people.