Page 2 of The Wraith & Her Killer

I’m innocent.

I didn’t know.

It wasn’t me.

They were asking for it.

Joe continues to spit a string of mixed curses and pleads for his life. He doesn’t even know why I’m here yet, but he’s clearly guilty because he’s trying to cover his ass already. Probably has something to do with the dead wife at his bedside.

Thatwasn’t me, though shewassupposed to be one of my marks. Judging by the bruising around her throat, I’d say old Joe here beat me to it.Why?My guess is that she found out the shit he’s been up to, outside of the black market drugs he’s been pushing under the table at his bait shop.

Selling anything in Volkov territory without the say-so of its Pakhan is a no-no. I was sent here to Washington by Kuznetsov when I couldn’t keep my hands clean. I’d practically turned the state of Illinois into a bloodbath while searching for a ghost.

Joke’s on that depressed, old bastard because I’m finding all kinds of creative ways to paint Washington red, too.

Joe and his corpse of a wife were in on the underground, forbidden drug trade. Their dealings cost the lives of fifteen young adults, from ages sixteen to twenty-three, all disappearing over the last three months. It’s enough to piss me the fuck off, and that’s just unacceptable.

What put the final nail in their proverbial coffins, though, were the four women who have disappeared within the last year. All upstanding citizens that just vanished seemingly into thin air? Suspicious as fuck. Their bodies were never recovered, but you’d have to have the mind of a killer to know where to find a hidden body.

So naturally, finding them was fairly easy. Joe here had taken them to a string of cabins on Lake Mana that he and his wife rent out in the summer months. Except he’d used these buildings as a hiding place for his sick and twisted fantasies. Four women were hurt beyond recognition and their lives were claimed long before their time.

This world is in need of a fucking cosmic cleansing of the filth that pollutes its terrain, and I’mthe man tasked to clean it up.

I continue to whistle “Rollercoaster of Love” whilst taking my time in sharpening the point of the broadhead arrow that’s gripped between my leather-clad fingers. I’m not one to play with my food before devouring it, but sometimes it’s fun to drag out the inevitable. The metallicshingof each pass is like music to my ears. The sharper the point, the quicker the job. I hate it when it gets stuck and I have to use more muscle than necessary to shove the fucker through my target’s heart.

Testing the point with the tip of my finger, a sinister smile takes over as I turn to face the piece of shit tied to the bed behind me. Of course he doesn’t see it, though. The mask that covers my face and the hood of my black jacket pulled up over my head completely conceal my identity from him. I may take pride in my killing habits, but I’m not dumb enough to get caught.

The sight of my glowing mask in combination with the arrow twirling between my thumb and forefinger has Joe writhing and wailing like a banshee from his side of the bed.

Ah, he finally realizes who I am.

The world has so affectionately named me theCupid Killer.Why? I have not a fucking clue since I don’t solely target couples, nor do I wait for Valentine’s Day to strike. I’m more of a year-round heart-stopper kind of guy. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I leave my targets with an arrow through their heart, and when I’m feeling “extra,” some conversation hearts on their eyelids in lieu of coins when sending their asses down for an eternal ride on the River Styx.

“P-please,” he stutters through a mouthful of saliva and blood, the concoction spraying out and peppering his chest. “I didn’t know…”

I roll my eyes behind the mask. “Didn’t know what, Joe? I haven’t even asked you a question yet.” I keep my voice low, not that he’d recognize it.

His lips flubber but no intelligible words come out. I tilt my head to the side when I reach him, studying his pathetic demeanor. “I’msorry,” I murmur, sarcasm oozing through my tone as I bend down to his face, cupping my hand behind my ear. “Couldn’t quite hear you there, Joe. But you know what? I don’tcare.Whatever bullshit that is quiteliterallyspewing from your flaccid lips, I don’t want to hear it. So I’m just gonna get right down to it, yeah?”

He opens his mouth to berate me or curse my name to hell and back, I’m sure, or maybe even plead for his life. Before he can utter a syllable, I pick up a dirty sock from his bedside and stuff it in his mouth, making sure to shove it far enough back that he gags multiple times before I remove my fingers.

He tries to headbutt me but misses, his reach too short. His wrists are bound to the headboard with the feathered handcuffs I found in his nightstand, so he’s completely at my mercy. Him using these is an unpleasant mental image that I’d rather not see. I shiver, trying to rid myself of that particular thought.

Joe’s muffled shouts around the cotton and polyester blend are giving me a headache right between my eyes. I’m bored and I’ve fucking had it. Time to wrap this shit up so I can get the fuck out of here and go blow off some steam. His cries quiet the moment I lift the arrow to his eye, holding it just millimeters away.

“I usually like playing this little game of back and forth with my marks, where you beg and cry “Why me?”and then I tell you to take a wild guess, and then you beg and cry some more, but you’ve been a real fucking thorn in my side, Joe,” I taunt, dragging the arrow from his face, down his cheek, and over his sweaty chest until I reach the space within his ribcage that houses his rotten heart. “I’ll just cut to the chase so I can get on with my night.”

He thrashes and bucks wildly against me, which isn’t the smartest move since the tip of the arrow is now digging into his skin, causing blood to bubble up and trickle down. He shouts something that sounds an awful lot likewaitandplease.

Boo-hoo, motherfucker.

“You and wifey-poo here are responsible for the death of fifteen people, thanks to your drugdealings. Add the lives of the four women you assaulted and murdered. You’ve been a dead man walking for some time and now the devil’s caught you. It’s time to drag your ass to hell, motherfucker.”

I press the arrow deeper into his chest, the sharpened tip now about halfway through his skin. I rip the sock from his mouth and lean in, angling my head toward him. “Any last words?”

“Fuck y—” His eyes round to saucers in shock and pain when I slowly push the arrow the rest of the way down, giving it a little shove to get it between his ribs.

I grin, a dark chuckle echoing behind the material covering my face. “Fuck me?” I shake my head, straightening. “Nah. Not in this life or the next, asshole.”

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