Page 16 of Psycho Killers

The sounds of his whimpers are muffled by the thick foliage, but the fear is palpable, a tangible thing hanging heavy in the air. Killian’s laughter is chilling, devoid of humor, a sound born of years of suppressed rage and the slow, agonizing drip of revenge. He’s enjoying this, savoring the moment and the power he wields over this man who thought himself untouchable. I, however, feel a strange detachment, a cold calm that settles over me as I watch. The adrenaline is fading, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. The fire in my veins has dwindled to embers, leaving behind a hollow ache.

The man’s pleas become more desperate, more frantic. He begs for mercy, for forgiveness, but his words are lost in the rustling leaves and the night’s symphony of crickets and distant city sounds. Killian doesn’t respond, his movements precise and efficient as he begins to make deep gashes methodically all over his body. He stabs him slowly, knowing where to cut that willcause the most pain but won't make him bleed out right away. He wants him to suffer, and he's doing exactly that.

I watch, my gun still pressed against the man’s back, a silent sentinel guarding our grim ritual. The darkness swallows us whole, a cloak of anonymity in which we become something else entirely—something primal, something unforgiving.

"Step back, Dom," Killian says, giving me a nod as he plunges his knife in the meaty flesh of the man's upper thigh, brutally twisting it even slower.

I move back to watch, keeping my gun in my hand in case the man wants to try something. I watch with hunger in my eyes, intrigue in my heart, and a smile on my face as Kill rips the man's pants down, puts a condom on, and viciously slams into his ass while thrusting the knife in and out of his back, soaked in the man's blood as he fucks him, taking back the power that was stolen from him.

"How does it feel? How does it feel to be fucked in the ass when you don't want it?" He growls in anger into the man's ear, continuing to stab him while he fucks him with absolutely no mercy.

The sounds that follow are muted, swallowed by the night. There’s a brief struggle, a choked gasp, then silence, as Kill drops the knife, grabs the man's head, and gives it a hard twist, the sound of his neck snapping echoing in my ears. He pushes the man down and tucks his cock away, crouching beside him with his knife clutched tightly in his hand again. And then he grabs the man's hair, lifting his head, swiftly slicing his throat open from ear to ear just to make sure he's actually dead. And then he throws him to the ground like trash, using leaves and discarded branches to cover his mutilated body from whoever might walk by.

The only evidence of the violence is the lingering scent of fear and the dampness clinging to the air. Killian straightens, wipinghis knife clean on the man’s shirt, his face impassive. He tosses the bloodied garment into the undergrowth.

We stand here for a long moment, the silence broken only by the rhythmic chirping of crickets. The weight of what we’ve done settles upon us, heavy and inescapable. It’s a burden we share, a bond forged in blood and shadowed by the ghosts of our pasts. We don’t speak, not yet. There’s no need for words. The understanding passes between us, unspoken, a silent acknowledgment of the darkness we inhabit and the price we pay for our vengeance.

As we walk back towards the Mustang, the city lights seem brighter, the night air colder. The thrill is gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness. The engine roars to life, a jarring sound in the quiet aftermath of violence. We drive in silence, the city lights blurring into streaks of color as we navigate the familiar streets. The wind whips through the open windows, carrying with it the scent of blood and the lingering echo of another worthless, undeserving life extinguished.

We are fucking ghosts, moving through the night, forever bound by the darkness we embrace. The taste of mint is long gone, replaced by the metallic tang of blood and the bitter taste of revenge. And in the quiet of the car, the unbearable pain returns, a constant reminder of Ash, still trapped in his hospital bed, a silent testament to the price of our war.

NINE

ANIMALISTIC

CREATURE: TECH N9NE

CALISTA

My blood rushes through my veins, feeling like fire, burning me up on the inside. My feet slap against the pavement, echoing in the dead of night even over the sound of heavy traffic and commotion from the strip lined with bars, clubs, and some of Boston's most popular restaurants. All of that becomes a giant blur, even the bright, flashing lights flickering in my eyes.

My main focus: Gunnar.

I didn't want the guys to know my secret—that I've had a plan all along to take him and bring him to the secluded spot I found just to torture him as much as I can before I finally lose it and kill him. Although he is really the least of my problems, he had a part in the ruining of my life, and for that very reason, I'm going to ruin every fucking bit of his.

"I saw you do it," Addy says, making me jump as she appears from out of nowhere, smirking but with sadness in her eyes.

I pull my sleeves down and grip the fabric in my hands, pretending I have no fucking clue what she's talking about. ButI do. I could feel her watching me earlier when I cut myself, but I didn't care. I still did it, mutilating my arms worse than I ever did before. I gave up on cutting in places people couldn't see and started doing it where they could.

"I have no idea what?—”

"Drop the fucking act, Cali. I can see the dried blood on the inside of your sleeves. I fucking watched you open a brand new pack of razor blades and cut yourself while you cried about Ash."

In the blink of an eye, I have my hand wrapped around Addy's throat and her back slammed against the side of a laundromat, our noses touching as my lip curls, quivering in rage. But as I squeeze her throat tighter, my airflow begins to get cut off, and a smirk appears on her face.

"You're choking yourself, Cali. How many times do we have to go over that I am you? Whatever happens to me, happens to you, and vice versa." She winks, and I drop her, letting my grip off her throat and watching as she collapses onto the cold ground.

"What the fuck do I have to do to get you to just... go away?" I ask, sad and annoyed, ready to let go of the only person who's had my back through all of the hell I've been through.

But I know that for me to move on and live my life freely, I have to get rid of her. I can't have imaginary friends. I can't be seen talking to anyone; people think I'm crazier than I really am. But the problem is that I have no idea how to get rid of her. I've tried not taking my medicine, but she still shows up. I've tried faithfully taking my medicine, but she still shows up even then.

She laughs, "Nothing. You'll never be able to get rid of me, Calista. I am you, and you are me. You get rid of me, then you get rid of yourself. Are you ready to die just to make me disappear?"

"Right now, yeah, I'm ready to fucking die just to get rid of you," I snap, feeling a twist in my heart that's more painful than ever.

I blink and then close my eyes, trying to hold the tears in, and when I open my eyes, she's gone. I know she's only gone because she's throwing some kind of fucking temper tantrum. She'll be back to fucking annoy me; she always comes back.

Taking advantage of being alone, I pull out my phone and bring up the app that I downloaded to track Gunnar's movements, noticing his location puts him at the bar just a few blocks ahead. Tucking my phone in my pocket, I light a cigarette, pull my hood over my head, and quicken the pace of my steps, trying to hurry up and get to the bar before he leaves.

---