Page 3 of Lovers Fate

Fuck!

I don’t have to ask Kaden why. I already know.

“Do you five fucks know what you’ve done?” I pose this question, aware that they are unable to respond.

The individual on the far right attempts to move but stops due to the pain. His muffled screams, masked by the gag in his mouth, grate on my nerves.

I cast a glance behind him at Dahlia, who grips the bloody hammer, before turning my attention to Vega, who holds Roman-style crucifixion nails in each hand. The head measures one inch in diameter and it’s five inches long.

“You ladies can go,” I announce.

Dahlia glances at the men and then at me. “But we’re not finished,” she argues.

“You both are, but I’m not.”

“But…”

“Go,” I demand, cutting her off.

The Butcher’s eyes dart to me for instruction, but I wait until the door to the container we’re in shuts after Dahlia and Vega close us inside before I nod, giving him the signal.

The Butcher drags the large cadaver pouches for each man individually, causing muffled screams to be heard.

I look each man in the eyes. “How does it feel to know you’re going to die?” I let out a deranged laugh. “Oh, wait. You can’t tell me, can you?” I pick up the large knife and drag it across their knees, slicing each of their already blood-soaked pants like strings on a guitar.

The man with ginger hair persists in pleading with his gaze. I stop and lean close. “Didn’t your mom tell you it’s bad manners to talk with your mouth full?” He shakes his head frantically. Blood is oozing from all the cuts on his face.

“Please…” He tries to talk. He muffles it at first, and then it emerges as a whine.

“Please…”

I mock him, cupping my hand near my ear. “What was that? Are you pleading with me not to kill you?”

He stops, blinks, and then tries to move. The other men, tied to the chair, begin to struggle in panic, attempting to free themselves from their restraints.

“Rule number one of the serial killer handbook,” I say, walking in front of them like I’m teaching a class. “Don’t get caught unless you want to. Rule number two…”

“Don’t involve other people unless you plan to kill them,” Kaden finishes, standing behind me. All five sets of eyes flick in his direction. “Unless they know they’re already dead.”

“What’s rule number three?” I ask, watching the squall of fear cross their eyes, followed by tears when the Butcher rolls the metal cart under the red light.

Silence follows as they wonder what all the metal on the tray is for.

“If caught, don’t expect to live.” I pick up a scalpel, holding it in the light. ”You sick fucks think you’re all going to get away with raping and cutting up little girls as a sacrifice? Stuffing them in cages like animals.”

I turn to face them, the thrill of revenge beckoning me. The Butcher turns off the lights for a minute, allowing me to focus on the ginger-haired man. He grunts, followed by gurgling sounds, and then his insides smack against the aluminum floor.

When I’m done, I step back, giving the Butcher the signal to turn the lights back on. The man seated next to the ginger-haired man looks down and retches with the gag in his mouth, choking on his own puke when he sees his friend’s stomach cut open, the chewed-up flesh, and the intestines on the floor.

The other three men scream through the gag in their mouths. They’ll all soon look like a gruesome exhibit. Some will display bloody tears, splattered brain tissue, sliced flesh, and piled body parts. But one thing they will all have is the look of fear in theireyes before they die. The enlarged pupils right before they take their last breath.

When Kaden and the Butcher stand beside me, I adjust my top hat and look directly at my next victim. “Little girls belong with their mother and father. They don’t belong with sick men. They’re not animals. You cannot sacrifice them or use them for your sick pleasure.” My eyes harden as rage takes its toll, and I continue, “We won’t stop until we eradicate you all.”

The man on the left, standing next to what’s left of the ginger-haired man, stares at me with hatred, trying to conceal the fear in his eyes. He mumbles something, and then…I hear it.

“We will never… stop,” he says, struggling with his words. “You… can’t.”

I lean close, his ear hanging on a thread of flesh, and whisper near the blackened hole on the side of his head, “Who said?” With brutal force, I slide the knife into his mouth, causing his eyes to roll back as it slices his throat. Then I forcefully push the tip the rest of the way through his neck.

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