Page 18 of The Ripper

Fucking young people.

“What do you have on him?” I cut to the chase.

“Right. The car is registered to a Justin Fowler. He’s been in and out of jail for theft, attempted rape, aggravated assault, and breach of a restraining order…”

“Fucking bastard,” I interrupted him, “why is he out again?”

“He was released three months ago for good behavior due to overcrowding,” Hannibal replied, “is this about your lady friend?” he snickered.

~ Can we kill him, please?

“Shut up!”

The kid gasped on the other end, and I swore through my teeth for saying that out loud.

“Ripper? This guy is bad fucking news. There are photos of his ex-girlfriend on file, and she looks fucking disfigured. Shit, he’s so…”

“Dead,” I finished his sentence, “he’s dead, kid.”

“Good riddance,” he laughed, then I hung up, broke the phone in half and threw it out the window, grinning as I kept my eyes on the SUV driving in front of me.

~ Good riddance indeed.

Justin Fowler was about to meet the devil, but he would pass through my hands before burning for eternity.

He parked in front of a house with an unkempt front yard and a broken fence, in a questionable part of town, and I found it funny how he could afford the car but wasn’t able to fix his fucking fence.

How could she even date the guy? What kind of lies had he told her?

I wanted to punch myself for being away from her for so long and letting her fall into his hands.

It took him a while to get out of the car, but I had time because I knew Arella was home, safe, probably enjoying her dumplings at that moment.

She always ate them first, followed by the hot and sour soup, the kung pao chicken and finally a piece of chongyang cake, which she liked to eat fifteen or twenty minutes after the last dish, along with a cup of freshly brewed forest fruit tea.

~ She has you wrapped around her finger, and you haven’t even touched her yet.

The memory of her nails digging into my skin made my cock twitch, and I rolled up my sleeve to look at the marks. They were long healed, but I’d had them tattooed in red ink after the fact, to have her permanently inked into my veins, just like I had her inked into my mind and whatever was left of my soul.

I also had her name tattooed under the markings, using her writing from the notebook as a font, and I sometimes wondered what her reaction would be if she ever saw it.

Would she be frightened? Would she run for the hills, or would she love how much she affected me?

Thoughts of her faded into the background, but still very much present, when I saw the lights in the house go out one by one, until the only thing left on was the TV in the living room.

I got out of my car and circled the house a few times, blocking the back door in the process, even though I knew there was no escape from me. My senses were heightened, predatorial. I scanned everything, the anticipation making my skin burn.

When I returned to the front porch, I threw a calculated look around, checking for possible witnesses, but the lights were off inside the surrounding houses, so I calmly knocked on his door.

“Who is it?” he shouted from the living room.

I didn’t answer and knocked again, which earned me an insult, then I heard his heavy footsteps as he stomped to the door.

Confusion spread across his stupid face as he flung the door open and saw me.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as his eyes settled on my face, his mouth deforming in disgust as he took in my scar.

“A nightmare,” I grinned and grabbed his throat, not allowing him time to react as I shoved him back into the house and slammed the door closed with my foot.

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