Page 6 of Unhinged

My pulse quickened when I saw a familiar look in his eyes, one directed at the small waitress as she spun and rounded the counter. Male aggression, calculation, and dark need. Strangely enough, it took everything in me not to go up to him and snap his neck.

He’d just singled her out as his prey.

An icy calm settled over me. I already knew who my next victim would be. I’d follow him, wait until he was alone, and then I’d take care of him before he hurt her—which he eventually would if I didn’t stop him. I could smell the stench of his resolve as it reached my nose.

I’d carve both of his offending hands from his arms—not just the one he used to slap her ass with.It would be just like when I cut Brandon’s off an hour before. Only this time, I’d remove it fully, bones be damned. I’d wrap it up nicely, slap a bow on it, and give it to her. My little gift.

I noticed the cook, a larger man with a potbelly, came out from the kitchen, a greasy rag—once white but now oil-stained—thrown over his shoulder. He went up to the man, said something low and menacing, and then pointed at the front door.

The man was only a few stools away from me, so when he stood, I did, too, and I purposely stepped into his path. My shoulder brushed against his, and in that split second, my hand slipped into his coat pocket, my deft fingers finding his wallet with ease.

“Watch it,” he snapped, irritation flaring in his eyes… until he looked at me and took in my height and the breadth of my shoulders. He reeked of body odor and booze, but now I could also smell a note of “oh shit.”

Internally, I smirked at the way his anger fizzled as quickly as it originally sparked at our contact.

He muttered something under his breath before backing up and moving around me, heading for the door. I watched him until he left then tucked the wallet into my jacket and took my seat at the counter once more.

I was already planning my next kill.

The waitress glanced at me, and there was an emotion behind those blue depths that made me even more curious, one I couldn’t identify, even with all my years of studying human emotions so I could mimic them. She watched me like she knew something.

It might have been only a flicker of… thatsomething… in her eyes as she stared at me, but it was enough. Enough to make me want more. Of her. From her.

Everything. I needed to know everything about her—what she liked, what made her smile, what she felt like, what made her scream. The need filled me instantly, aggressively. Violently.

I needed to figure out what in the fuck I was experiencing.

Was this something I could control? Or would this consume me the way the need for death did? But I knew what I had to do to figure out what the hell was going on with me.

Just like the prey who just hurried out the door, I’d stalkher, follow her, and watch her every move. I’d know everything there was to know about her because there was no other option for me. This need was already taking over my every thought.

She would soon be my next target. She’d soon be my next victim.

But what confused me was… I didn't think I wanted to kill her.

Either way, she’d be a new tick mark on my scorecard. But maybe in a new column of her own.

3

ISLA

Ialways controlled myself. It came naturally, but it was also for survival. In this shitty world I lived in, starting crap with someone could get a person killed.

Dammit, I thought, taking a breather in the alley at the back of the diner.This might actually get me fired.

I could handle rude customers, handle the long hours, and my douchebag of a boss. I’d been doing it for years. I dealt with assholes daily, smiling through the frustration of it all, because I needed this job.

But tonight...something in me snapped. I hadn’t even given it a thought. I just reacted, and before I knew it, I felt all that anger rise to the surface as my hand connected with the pig’s face.

And God… that had felt incredible.

I leaned back against the cold brick wall, closing my eyes and trying to steady my breathing. The world around me was dark and quiet—literally and figuratively.

City life wasn’t for everyone. You had to be built a certain way to live in the slums covered in dirt and grime.

The wind rushed through the narrow passage, carrying the faint smell of garbage from the dumpster a few feet away. God… my life was filthy in so many ways.

I lifted a hand and undid my messy bun before running my fingers through the strands, finger-combing them. My scalp throbbed where I’d tied the ponytail holder too tight, and it had finally gotten to me, giving me a headache.

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