Page 15 of Psycho Killers

The ride through the city is quiet, both of us plotting how the night will unfold. We don’t have a target, but we know what to do when we find one. Killian remains silent, chain-smoking like he’s nervous, while I sit here as calm as can be.

After some joyriding, I pull into the lot of one of the clubs we know our fathers frequent. Though my father used to hang out here, he’s dead now; Killian’s father is the only one left. With his friends being murdered left and right, he’s been laying low—at least, that’s what he thinks. We’ve been keeping a close watch on him, ensuring we know his every move for when the time comes for Kill to exact his revenge.

Once we park, we step out, inhaling the crisp night air, the scent of liquor, and the sound of music spilling onto the street, drawing us in. We walk side by side, hearts racing and eyes sharp. We both know there’s a good chance we’ll encounter someone we recognize tonight. Whether it’s one of our fathers' acquaintances or someone from the underground, it’s inevitable. But tonight might be our lucky night while also being the worst night for them—their last night.

As soon as we step through the club's doors, Killian freezes, his gaze locked on something in the back. The color drains from his face. I follow his line of sight and immediately understand his reaction. Gently, I take his arm, guiding him to the bar, where the last two empty stools sit, slightly out of sight from the man in the back.

I recognize him too—a mutual business associate of our fathers. When I say "associate," I use the term loosely. He's a predator, a rapist, yet he holds the title of city congressman, deeply fucking corrupted.

As I scan the crowd, my stomach drops; nausea rises as I down a shot of tequila, barely noticing the burn. Killian whispers something, but his words are too soft, drowned out by the thumping music and the cheering crowd. He nudges me, even snapping his fingers in front of my face, finally pulling my focus back to him.

"Okay, I know you see him, but what’s wrong? You were so hyped for this." His concern is evident as he tosses back his shot without flinching.

"It’s not him, Kill," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pulsating beats that reverberate through the crowd.

Killian scans the bar, attempting to discern what has me so anxious, so fucking furious. I take another shot as he continues searching until he finally discovers the source of my distress. His hands clench into fists, his jaw tightening.

"What the hell is he doing here?" he seethes, signaling for another round.

I look across the room at Calista's father, slumped alone in a booth, staring at the strippers blankly while gripping a triple whiskey that sits untouched. If I didn’t care for Cali, if closure wasn’t important to her, he’d be our target tonight. We’d fucking tear him apart and savor every moment. But looking at Killian,I can tell he feels the same yet understands the limits—we can’t touch him. It’s fucking infuriating.

"He's lucky I care about his daughter too much to off him right here, right now," Killian growls, throwing Thomas a look that could kill.

"I know. Trust me, I want him dead tonight too, but if we touch him, Cali would disappear on us again—and this time, she might never come back. She'd never forgive us." I shake my head, shivering at the thought of losing her forever.

A heavy silence settles between us, our eyes tracking Thomas's every movement, Cali’s name echoing in our minds. After a few songs, Killian turns to me, his gaze darker than I’ve ever seen it—a depth of anguish that threatens to pull me under.

"You know who we can touch, though?" he asks, a mischievous tone slipping from his lips, illuminated by the light that glints off the tequila with his chilling smirk.

"Yeah, the bastard sitting two booths behind him," I growl, raising an eyebrow, a sadistic smile curling my lips.

Kill winks, licking his lips as he glances at me over the brim of his glass and takes another shot slowly, seductively. I wink back, my heart fluttering in my chest.

"Well, we both know how much he loved me," Killian says with a smirk, masking the pain of his resurfacing memories.

I see the anguish, the terror, the scared little boy who reminds me of myself—the hidden, ashamed child lost in darkness. We allow it to consume us while also forging an impenetrable barrier around our hearts, promising to take our secrets to the grave. I don’t know what shifted, but people began to find out, and we chose to take action—thanks to Calista, the mastermind behind this downfall, exposing their pedophilia and revealing to the world their true, grotesque nature.

We move with practiced ease, a silent understanding passing between us, fueled by shared trauma and a thirst for vengeance.We don't need words; a glance, a subtle shift in weight, is enough to communicate our intentions. The target, a man whose name is whispered only in hushed tones, even amongst the city's darkest circles, sits oblivious, lost in his own depravity. He's surrounded by sycophants, their laughter a jarring contrast to the cold fury simmering within us.

Killian guides our approach. He weaves through the sea of bodies, his movements fluid and precise, a predator stalking its prey. I follow close behind, a shadow mirroring his every move, my senses heightened, alert to any sign of danger. The music thumps, a relentless beat against the backdrop of our silent hunt. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, cheap perfume, and the metallic tang of blood—a scent we both know intimately.

We reach the target's booth, the air around him thick with the stench of stale alcohol and desperation. He's surrounded by a gaggle of equally repulsive individuals; their faces slack with indulgence. Killian subtly signals, a barely perceptible nod, and I slip out the backdoor, waiting for the two of them to emerge.

I light up, my foot flat against the brick building, watching the smoke as it swirls up into the pitch-black sky. My gun digs into my hip, tucked into my waistband, ready to use as needed. I embrace the pain, for it keeps my mind off my best friend laid up in a hospital bed in a coma all alone. I feel like shit, but this needs to happen.

It doesn't take long for Kill and our target to slip out the back door, bumping right into me, getting met with the deadliest of smirks I've ever flaunted. The man's face pales when he sees me, obviously knowing that he isn't getting whatever Killian promised him. No, he's getting so much more... and so much fucking worse.

"Uh, I changed my mind. I think I'll head home. I have a big day tomorrow," he says nervously, looking at Killian and refusing to look at me.

"Sorry, Fucker. You're ours tonight," I inform him, pulling out my gun and putting it against the small of his back, forcing him to walk.

Killian walks beside him, his arm looped around his shoulders, hiding the knife he has pressed against the side of his neck. Nervously, he begins to walk, Killian and me smirking the way down the dark alley, looking for the perfect place to carry out our plan.

"You thought you could get away with everything? You thought we were only coming after our fathers? Fuck no, pretty boy," Killian laughs, a sadistic tone echoing in the night.

"I won't hurt anyone ever again, I promise," he begs, holding back tears.

"We don't believe in promises, as you might know." I shove the gun harder into his tailbone, making him jump as Killian drags him into a row of trees completely out of sight.

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