Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Story of my fucking life.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Damien
I hear footsteps above me and a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I’ve been waiting half an hour for Nolan to come home, lurking in the shadows of his basement like a predator stalking its prey.
His daily routine never varies. Wake up at six, go to work as a graphic artist for a small media company until five, then hang out with friends until he steps into his home gym at seven-fifteen.
I remember every detail, not by choice but by necessity. Each piece of information is a weapon in my arsenal, a tool to get closer to my target. I’ve studied Nolan for weeks, learning his habits, his weaknesses, the chinks in his armor. And now, as I hear him moving around above me, oblivious to the danger that awaits, a rush of adrenaline surges through my veins.
But patience is key. One wrong move and all my careful planning could be for nothing. So, I wait, my mind sharp and focused on the task at hand.
Nolan thinks he’s safe in his little suburban bubble, but he has no idea what a monster yours truly really is.
The footsteps grow louder and closer. I hear the creak of the door and the soft thud of Nolan’s feet on the stairs. My heart races with excitement, but my hands are steady.
His brown eyes go wide with shock at his first sight of me, and he takes a step back, toppling over one of his many weight benches. “Who the fuck are you?”
I push off the wall, a slight smile playing on my lips. “I am your worst fucking nightmare, Nolan Petrovic.”
He scoffs, taking another step forward. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you picked the wrong house to rob, asshole.”
In one swift motion, I unsheathe my blade. Nolan’s body stiffens, his eyes growing large as he realizes I mean business.
“I’m not here to rob you,” I say, spinning the blade between my fingers. “You’re all I want.”
Nolan swallows hard, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. He steps back, glancing around the room for something. “Look, man, I don’t want any trouble. Just take what you want and go.”
“Nope.” I chuckle darkly, advancing slowly. “You don’t get it, do you? The only thing I want is to watch the life drain from your eyes.”
Nolan lunges for a nearby dumbbell, and my blade slices across his outstretched arm. He cries out in pain and stumbles back, clutching the bleeding gash. Sometimes, I wish I didn’t love this so much. A bullet in the head is so much easier. But this is more fun.
“My wife—” he begins but I interrupt.
“Your wife is out of town visiting her sister. No doubt a precursor to divorce.” I nod when his eyes get wide to let him know that I know everything. All the little insignificant details of his life are mine.
“Ah, ah, ah,” I tut, waving the knife. “Let’s not make this any messier than it needs to be. Now, be a good boy and sit down on that bench. We have a lot to discuss, you and I.”
His brow furrows. “Discuss what? Who are you?”
“I ask the questions.” I let a slow, chilling smile spread across my face. “Down.”
I watch as Nolan’s eyes dart to the bench near the stairs, calculating his chances. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
And then he bolts, legs pumping like a cornered rabbit. Idiot. I let him reach the top, then watch him fumble with the door handle like a drowning man clutching at straws. Petrovich doesn’t know I removed a few key components. He could get out if he’d calm down, but he doesn’t.
He returns, stomping down the stairs, fury and terror etched into his features. “What kind of sick game is this?”
“Not a game. If it was, you might have a chance of winning. But you don’t. Lie down.”
He crosses his arms defiantly. “And if I don’t?”
This time, my smile is genuine. “Then you’ll find out just how creative I can get.”
He tries to stare me down, relying on his gym physique to intimidate me. Doesn’t work. When it sinks in there’s no escape, his shoulders sag as he drops onto the incline bench. “Why are you doing this? What do you want?”
“I ask the questions.” I reach into my backpack and pull out a roll of water-soluble tape, waving it in front of his face to add a dash of dramatic flair. “But since you mention it, there’s something I’m curious about.” Slowly, I unroll a long strip of tape, watching the flash of fear ignite in his eyes.
“Wait! What’s the tape for?” He inches back on the bench.
“You, of course.” With surgical precision, I slice his tank top from hem to collar, exposing his chest. Pressing a hand against his sternum to steady him, I wrap the tape around him haphazardly but securely. “Much better. Now tell me, Nolan, do you still like fucking women and girls against their will? Is that why your wife is at her sister’s house? Did she find out you’re a shit bag?”