Page 3 of Guarded By the Phantom

We were step to step, and it was like a dance. My footsteps echoed his, and as soon as his foot lifted off the ground, mine fell in the same place. We almost touched with every move, air hissing between our bodies. It was beautiful. The symmetry delighted me, and even though I could easily grab him, I let myself enjoy this a bit longer.

Terror poured off him in waves, whetting my appetite.

“Think of me as a cleaner,” I said with a laugh. “I’m the one who takes out the trash.”

Jordan stumbled with a gasp, falling forward. Before he hit the ground, I grabbed him around the middle, pressing his overheated, sweaty flesh to me. I dragged him into a dark alley, putting my hand over his mouth as he fought to get free.

“And unfortunately, it’s time. Don’t worry, I’ll talk you through it. The true art lies in making every slash look necessary and quick while I take my sweet, sweet time with you. And I will. I’m in a huge book slump right now. You’re my only entertainment tonight.”

He screamed and begged against my palm, slobbering all over my intricate carapace, but I had a gag ready at my belt. I pulled it free and stuck the lump of fabric in his mouth so quickly, he didn’t even gasp.

“This stays in, or I’ll start with your balls,” I told him evenly when he tried to work the gag out with his tongue. I turned him, still restraining his hands.

His wide, gray eyes focused on my face and he whimpered, the sound muffled. I was no longer grinning. The bone of my face stayed in place, immovable as ever, but there were small muscles in the hollows and gaps in my skull, and I put them to good use, changing my expression as much as my physiology allowed.

Right now, I was deadly serious. Playtime was over.

“Good boy,” I praised him when he sobbed but didn’t move. “Now… Let’s say you broke free and I got you with my first slash in the back. Go on. Run.”

I turned him in the direction of the far alley mouth. When he didn’t move, I pushed him hard, and he stumbled into a lurching jog. I gave him a few seconds and pounced, slashing a long, beautiful line diagonally across his back.

He howled into the gag, falling to his knees in a shivering, pitiful heap. Blood oozed out of the slash in his hoodie .

“Good!” I said, coming leisurely over. Blood dripped from the black edge of my knife, and I flung it off, glancing at the pretty arc of droplets it made on the nearest wall. They glistened, red and fresh. The sight gave me a rush of giddy joy.

“Crawl away, Jordan. Now’s a good time. I’ll give you a minute.”

He sobbed, obeying clumsily. I cut him deep enough to hurt real good, and he moved with reluctance, slowing everything down. I was tempted to light another cigarette, but at this point, it would dilute my excitement. I’d have one after.

Jordan shook, his arm almost giving out while blood soaked deeper into his clothes. I lost my patience.

“Let’s say you somehow got to your feet. Go on. Stand.”

He struggled but did as I told him. It was remarkable, really. Humans obeyed so well once you broke them in.

This time, I cut as soon as he took a step. I slashed his arm, making blood gush down his hand until it dripped from his clenched fist. Jordan cried out but kept going, which was exactly what I wanted.

The alley mouth was much closer now. I had to wrap it up.

“And then, you got a burst of adrenaline. You felt cornered, so you decided to fight.”

He stopped, heaving and shaking, and I prowled closer.

“Go on, Jordan. Turn around,” I purred. “Face your destiny.”

He did. I took him in, his terrified face, slack mouth, wide eyes, and the tears wetting his cheeks. He was a sight. He also towered above me, but that only made it all the sweeter.

Just shy under six feet, I was often underestimated in fights. People thought height mattered, but when you were a killer since the age of nine years old, you quickly learned that size had nothing to do with it.

Take Jordan. Even faced with a girl in a coma, he still trembled and hesitated, talking himself into ending her. His size didn’t make him more dangerous than me, because he was a pussy.

“What are you waiting for?” I asked, folding my arms, the flat blade of my knife snug against my ribs as I held it loosely. “Come on. Take a swing. Make it a good one.”

He blinked at me, sweat pouring into his eyes and mixing with the snot running down his face. I huffed with impatience.

“Today, Jordan. Come on. Hit me. If you make me fall, I’ll let you live.”

That caught his attention. He tried to straighten, hissing when the movement hurt his wounds. He pulled his good arm back, shaking, and I stifled the urge to yawn. I already knew it would be a pathetic swing.

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