Page 12 of Deranged and Obsessed Omnibus: Vol 1

I wanted to give her something personal, something I knew she’d appreciate once she saw it.

The thrill of anticipation coursed through my veins as I moved toward his house. I blended into the darkened street like a shadow. He lived in a shitty, rundown house on the edge of town, a place that reflected his existence.

It was three in the morning. The lights were off—I knew he was already passed out from downing half the contents of a plastic vodka bottle he got from the gas station.

His neighborhood was even worse off than the housing in the city. These houses had been converted into trap houses, and although there were bodies outside at this hour, they were high and drunk and couldn’t tell their asshole from the sky.

I slipped inside, silent and unnoticed. Every movement was calculated, because I’d done this many times. The thrill of the hunt—the kill—was the one thing that made me feel alive.

That and stalking Isla… and jerking off on her while she slept.

I reached to the small of my back and pulled out my weapon of choice for tonight. I walked past the window, and my knife glinted in the moonlight shining in.

Zack lay in the center of his ratty mattress, snoring lightly, and completely unaware of the evil standing over him.

For a moment, I just basked in the knowledge I was about to kill him, about to feel his blood spray out of his jugular and cover my face and chest. My cock jerked in anticipation.

I leaned in and inhaled deeply. I didn’t scent the usual terror that poured off my victims. Instead, Zack gave off sweat, unwashed body, and booze. I would have prolonged this, but I wanted to get back to Isla before she woke up. I wanted to leave behind her presents so she could awaken to them.

And so I did what I did best.

The first slash was clean, a deep cut to the throat, severing his windpipe. His lids snapped open, terror painting his face as we locked eyes. I slowly grinned and ran my hand over the gaping wound on his neck, gathering his blood and bringing it to my nose to inhale deeply.

He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t scream. He jerked violently, his whole body awakening as his hands instinctively went to his throat. He was a fucking mess, with blood pouring out from between his fingers.

I thought about going in on his jugular, but I changed my mind and moved back, letting him drown in his own fluids.

I watched him die slowly, savoring the way his life ebbed out of him in sputtering gasps and sprays of blood. There was something beautiful, very poetic about a human dying. The way their body struggled to survive was something that never got old to observe.

Once his body stilled and he let out a wet, gurgled breath, I got to work.

I grabbed his limp wrist, and although I thought about bringing my cleaver, I opted to travel light. I held up the bloody knife and smiled as the viscous liquid dripped off the blade.

The knife was sharp and went through skin and muscle easily. Getting through the bone was harder, but I sawed at it with the serrated edge.

The sound of bone cracking and the vibrations I felt through the weapon in my hand sent a rush of satisfaction and pleasure through me. Blood was flung, warm and thick, all over the goddamn place, but I fucking loved it.

And then I got his hand free. The body part was impeccably severed and the perfect gift for Isla.

I came prepared, as I pulled out the white satin ribbon, which was now stained by my bloody fingers. Then I took the brown paper bag out of my back pocket—neatly folded into a compact square—and set it aside as I tied the ribbon around the hand. After that, I just stared at my masterpiece, my heart beating steadily, but this strange and twisted excitement coursing through me.

I’d never given anyone a trophy before.

I slid the hand into the paper bag, rolled the top over, and went back to Zack to stick my finger in his gaping neck wound to gather blood. Then I painted a heart on the front of the bag and admired my handiwork.

I held up the bag to see it in more light for a moment, checking over the grotesque gift I was about to leave for Isla.This was what would tell her just how much I craved her. She just didn’t know the craving my type of monster desired. The thing no one else could offer. It was personal. But she would soon.

I wiped the blade on Zack’s sheets, relishing the metallic scent of blood that clung to the air. There was nothing like it, nothing like the quiet right after I just took a life, when the beast was perfectly silent for a moment in time.

I left the house and kept to the shadows. But as I put distance between me and my latest kill, something prickled along the back of my neck. A sensation I knew all too well.

I wasn’t alone. I was being watched.

I kept my pace normal, but once I rounded the corner and entered an alleyway, I stilled and pressed my back to the building. I scanned the alley, then looked across the street. And although I saw nothing, the feeling of someone watchingmedidn’t go away.

Hair standing along the back of my neck. That feeling of being hunted. If I were anyone else, I might have felt fear. Instead, I felt irritated.

The sensation was that of a predator recognizing another predator. And just as quickly as I sensed the presence of that other darkness-dwelling monster, it faded until it was gone. Whoever had been watching me left, and a sliver of disappointment filled me. I would have loved to kill again tonight.

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