Page 3 of No Mercy In Red

“This place is nice,” he muttered, glancing around. “A little old-fashioned, but cozy.”

I smiled, the irony of his words twisting deep in my gut. If only he knew the history soaked into these walls, the whispers that still lingered in the air, the ghosts that never left.

He followed me into the living room, reaching for his belt. “So, baby, where’s the bedroom?”

Jesus, he wasn’t even attempting foreplay, boring bastard. I laughed softly, stepping closer whilst running my fingers down his arms. “Not yet,” I whispered, “I have a surprise for you first.”

His grin widened, “I love surprises.”

Oh, I doubt he would love this one very much. I reached for his hand and led him toward the basement door, my heart steady and my mind clear, settling myself into the lethal calm I needed for nights like these. The descent down the stairs was slow, each step echoing through the silence. The moment his foot hit the concrete floor, I released his hand and took a step back, reaching for the chain hanging from the ceiling. With a flick of my wrist, the single bulb illuminated the room in a harsh yellow glow. Craigs eyes swept over the space, confusion flickering across his face. The chair, the restraints, the neatly arranged tools lining the workbench.

He turned to me, brow furrowing. “What the hell is this?”

I tilted my head, allowing the mask to slip away, the warmth in my smile vanishing, replaced with something colder, more sinister.

“Sit.” I instructed.

He chuckled, but there was an edge to it now. “You’re into some freaky shit, huh? Are you a filthy slut?”

I said nothing, just watched with animalistic intent, and then he saw it.

The files that were neatly on the metal shelves against the far wall. Folders, names, dates—each one carefully recorded. The confusion etched across his face was priceless.

My mouth kicked up at the corner, “No, I’m not a filthy slut Craig, but I am about to become your living nightmare.”

He spun to face me, his voice raising, “What the fuck—”

I moved quickly, years of practice making me efficient as the needle slid into his neck before he could react, his body seizing as the tranquilliser took hold. He stumbled, grabbing at his throat, eyes wide with realisation.

“You—bitch—”

I watched as his body crumpled, hitting the floor with a heavythudand silence followed. I exhaled slowly, crouching beside him, brushing a lock of sweat-dampened hair from his forehead.

“Welcome to your final night, Craig.” I murmured, my voice soft, almost tender. “Let’s make it one to remember.”

When he woke, the confusion was instant. His head lolled forward, groggy from the drug, and then the moment of clarity hit, his eyes widened, darting around, body jerking against the restraints. Panic. I always felt slightly smug at this part, the way they looked trying to piece things together, not believing a woman could put them in this predicament.

“What the fuck is this?” His voice was hoarse, thick with leftover sedative. He pulled hard against the leather cuffs, his breath growing ragged. “Untie me, you crazy bitch!”

I didn’t respond at first. Instead, I moved over toward my workbench, fingers trailing over my tools with deliberate slowness. The anticipation,the fear, this part was everything. Knowing I was eliciting the same fear in him that I knew his victim felt. Something else twisted uncomfortably deep inside of me, just like it did every damn time, but I ignored it, pushing it down.

He swallowed hard, sweat dripping down his temple, “Please – look, I don’t know what you think I did, but—”

I cut him off with a sharp laugh, “Oh, Craig, I know exactly what you did.” Swiping up a hammer I moved in closer, crouching so we were at eye level. “The thing is Mr. Smith, you don’t get to lie to me, and you sure as shit don’t get to pretend to be innocent.”

Standing straight, I quickly swung the hammer at his kneecap, hearing a distinct crunch before his scream pierced the air. “You don’t get to do any of that, not when I havethis.”

I dropped the hammer and grabbed his file from the shelf and held it up to his face, “Your entire history, the girls. The ones who tried to fight you off, the ones you made sure couldn’t!” I spat.

His lips trembled. “That’s not—”

I picked the hammer back up and swung it at his other knee. The crunch was muffled beneath his scream, the sound reverberating all around me.

“Try again.”

The rush was there, the satisfaction of watching him crumble, but beneath it, something gnawed at me. A subtle voice in the back of mind that whispered,he should be my fathers kill, not mine.I tired my best to ignore it, because wether I liked it or not, this was my legacy now, and I wasn’t going to stop.

Craigs confidence cracked, just a little. “You don’t have to do this. We can talk; I have money.”

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