Page 272 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

I know him.

Not a stranger pulled off the street.

Not some faceless monster from the underbelly.

No. This is worse.

A courthouse regular.

Someone who blended into the edges of my days like background noise.

Hank. The security officer from the courthouse.

The same one Sebastian used to flirt with shamelessly every Friday, grinning and elbowing me, whispering he’d “come out eventually.”

I guess he did. Just not the way any of us thought.

The look he gives me now isn’t friendly. It’s predatory. Appraising.

The door creaks open, heavy on rusted hinges, and Hank steps inside like he owns the place.

Hands in his pockets. Gun strapped carelessly at his side.

He smiles wide, eyes gleaming.

“Well, look at you,” he drawls, voice casual, like we’re running into each other in the coffee line and not a torture dungeon. “Awake and lookin’ real pretty for the boss.”

I don’t move. Don’t speak.

I just breathe and wait.

Hank saunters closer, glancing around like he’s making sure no one’s watching—like someone might care about what happens in here.

“You’re gonna sell for a fortune,” he says, crouching a little, voice dropping low like he’s sharing a dirty secret.

“Every man you ever put behind bars? Every one you pissed off? They got friends, sugar. Friends who want to see you scream.”

He steps right into my space, and I lower my head slightly, making my body small, my shoulders curve inward.

I let him think it’s fear. That I’m helpless.

It makes him vulnerable.

He reaches for my restraints—maybe to check them, maybe just to gloat.

And that’s when I strike.

The scalpel flashes and buries deep into his throat.

The sound he makes isn’t a scream. It’s a wet, gurgling gasp.

Confusion blooms in his eyes before they cloud over.

I twist the blade sharply, dragging it to the side with brutal precision.

I push him backward as he stumbles, blood gushing in thick ribbons down his uniform.

He crumples onto the floor like a broken puppet, his hands grasping at nothing.

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