Page 6 of Claiming His Bunny
Killing is messy work, as I discovered during my first kill. At fifteen, I was careless—half-burying a body in the woods, leaving a blood trail for the cops. It’s a miracle I wasn’t caught.
Maybe there was a god protecting me. Or a goddess? My thoughts drift to Kayla again, and I curse myself. How can she be affecting me like that?! When I hunt, I’m always focused on the task at hand. Torture, kill, clean up, get rid of the body. It’s simple and efficient, and I never stray from that. Never. Until today.
The ice around my heart tightens its grip, battling against the fiery pull of Kayla in my mind. I need to focus, to let the cold take over completely—yet she lingers, a warmth I can’t afford.
For a brief moment, I hate Kayla Reynolds. I hate how she waltzed into my life and shattered my precariously kept balance. I hate that she’s making me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling. I hate that she’s so fucking perfect. I should kill her for messing me up like this. Except I’d rather kill myself than hurt my little bunny.
The stray thought finally brings me some clarity.Mylittle bunny. Not a goddess to rule over me, but a toy to play with. To posses. Because that’s what this fixation is about. I need to have Kayla Reynolds. I need to own every part of her. Her body, her mind, her soul. Her heart.
Gerardo’s pained groan interrupts my thoughts. I glare at him. “Dude, shut the fuck up. I’m having a revelation here,” I growl. I can growl here. I don’t have to pretend to be a normal person in front of a guy I’m about to kill.
He mumbles something, probably trying to call for help or ask for mercy. That’s what they usually go for at this point. I’ve heard it all before.
There’s a comfort in routine. The plastic sheets, the syringe, the blade—it’s all part of the ritual, a dance that keeps my monster satisfied. Keeps me in control.
I smile as I drag a faintly struggling Gerardo onto the large sheet of plastic. I’m excited to return home now, but I won’t rush the job because of that. Gerardo deserves my full attention and utmost care.
His struggles grow stronger when he sees the syringe in my hand, but I easily overpower him. Seconds after I depress the plunger into his thigh, his body goes limp, the only motions the slow rise and fall of his chest and frantic movement of his eyes.
“Don’t worry, it won’t knock you out,” I assure him in a voice that makes his eyes bulge out. “This drug will merely paralyze you. I think the effects are only temporary, but it doesn’t matter, anyway. Before it wears out, you’ll be dead.”
As the drug takes hold, Gerardo’s eyes betray the only freedom left to him—his mind, now trapped in a silent, paralyzed scream. He can’t move, can’t scream, but I see the terror clearly. It’s delicious.
“You don’t get to speak,” I say, the last vestiges of humanity vanishing from my voice as my monster takes over completely. “The victims never get to speak. They’re silenced, ignored. By the ones hurting them and by the ones supposed to be helping them. You’re a victim now, Gerardo. And there’s no one to help you.”
I bring more plastic sheets and soak pads, because there’s so much blood in a human body it’s simply ridiculous. I could paint this entire room with his blood and still have half a bucket to spare.
I pull on gloves. Not because of the prints and DNA traces, but because I’m about to cut off Gerardo’s cock, and there’s no fucking way I’m touching that disgusting thing without gloves.
“You know,” I start as I grab my knife and squeamishly reach for his limp organ. “You’re lucky I’m not a sadist. This”—I poke the tip of the blade into the base of his cock—“is the only thing I do. Aside from putting it into your mouth and sewing it shut, of course, but that’s hardly torture. You should be grateful. I could torture you for days straight. Cut a piece here”—I run the blade over his skin, just deep enough to draw blood—“and there.” I squeeze his balls, resting the tip of the knife against them. “Keep cutting until you’re nothing but a bleeding torso, still alive to feel the pain. But the truth is, my time is too valuable. I’m not about to waste it on such a piece of shit like you.”
Gerardo whimpers and makes an unintelligible sound in the back of his throat.
“Why am I cutting off your cock, you ask?” I continue. “Well, call me superstitious, but this way, you won’t be able to hurt anyone wherever you’re going after you die.”
Blood coats my gloves, making them slippery as I make more shallow cuts, my monster toying with its prey. Gerardo is making desperate noises, his muscles twitching occasionally as he tries to move, but there’s no fighting the paralytic drug. He’ll die here, unable to move, unable to scream, unable to beg.
I understand some killers love the begging, and I’m not about to yuck someone’s yum, but it’s just not for me. I tried it once, but I found the constant stream of “please, let me go” annoying. I just like to look into their eyes as life slowly leaves them. That’s what feeds my monster and helps me control it.
This time is no different. I make the cut, then hold Gerardo’s eyes open to feast on his terror. As his blood soaks the large absorbent pads, I watch his eyes grow dimmer until the last spark is gone.
I make quick work of stuffing his severed cock into his mouth and sewing it shut. I could skip this part. I’m not leaving bodies behind to be discovered. There’s no message, no “behave or end like this guy” threat to the rest of the pedophiles and child abusers in the world.
Gerardo’s body will disappear without a trace, never to be found again. Doing something like this to him when he’s already dead might seem pointless, but it’s a routine that soothes me. When you spend your days trying to keep your mind from falling apart, you appreciate every little thing that soothes you.
Cutting people’s cocks off. Sewing their mouths shut with their cocks inside. Playing with bunnies…
I smile as I look at my handiwork. I’ll spend a few more hours here to clean up the place, then drop the body for a dark web contractor to pick up. He’s precise, reliable, and never asks questions.
I don’t know what he does with the bodies. The rumor around the dark web bulletin boards is that he’s eating them. I hope he does. That way, dear Gerardo would truly become a piece of shit, and wouldn’t that be just poetic?
I wonder if my little bunny has a poetic soul, too. Perhaps I should bring her a gift. A heart? I grimace at the body at my feet. Gerardo’s heart?
No, that won’t do. It’s evidence. Besides, she wouldn’t like it.
I smile at the thought of Kayla receiving a gift from me. Definitely not a heart, but something just as intimate. Something to remind her that she’s mine—whether she knows it or not.
Chapter 5
