Chapter 21 Hunter
TWENTY-ONE
HUNTER
I was twenty-four the first time I killed someone, and I threw up for days after.
I was never violent growing up. My mom called me a sensitive soul, a kid with big feelings who latched onto things he loved fiercely and didn’t let go. Hyperfixation, my therapist told her. But there’s no cause for concern unless it progresses to erratic behavior.
I wonder if pulling a knife from Darren Blimka’s neck and staring down at the rapist bleeding out on the asphalt of a deserted parking lot would be classified as erratic behavior. I should probably give her a call and set up an appointment.
I give his shoulder a nudge with my boot and he twitches, covering his face.
Still alive, I guess, and I sigh, knowing I’m going to be here longer than I want.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” he sobs. “My brain isn’t right. I didn’t see her as a child.”
“She’s four.” I squat and hold the knife in front of him. A drop of his own blood falls onto his nose, and he wails. “When I chop your dick off and feed it to the alligators in the lake across the way, it’s because my brain isn’t right either.”
“Please. Please. I’ll do anything. Anything you want.”
“Really?” I flip the knife and grin, catching it by the handle with ease. “Tell ya what. If you chop off your own dick, I promise I’ll get you medical assistance. That wound on your neck won’t kill you. Not yet.”
“Y-you want me to…” His eyes widen and he starts to convulse. “No. No. I can’t. I—”
“Punishment fits the crime, don’t you think? You had no problem tormenting a child. It’s only fair you’re tormented too.”
“It will never happen again. I swear. Please. I-I’ll go back to the judge and ask them for a life sentence. I’ll never touch another person. I’ve changed. You have to see that.”
“The only thing I see is a coward too afraid to face the consequences of his actions.” I spit in his face, not listening to his whimper when I touch the knife to his cheek.
“And someone who is going to make me late for my dinner plans because they won’t shut the fuck up.
Last chance, Blimka. If you want to live, you’ll do what you have to do. ”
Darren’s eyes move from me to the knife. A drop of blood rolls down his neck, and his lip quivers.
Men always look so pathetic right before they die.
With a gasping breath, he snatches the weapon out of my hold. I expect him to try to stab me—that’s what these assholes usually try and do—but he slowly brings his hand to his jeans and unzips the fly. He sniffs as he pulls out his small, unimpressive dick, another sob overtaking him.
There’s a moment of hesitation, as if he thinks I’m going to laugh and say this is all a joke. A big prank to see how far he’d go to attempt to rid himself of his sins, but when I fold my arms over my chest, patience wearing thin, he brings the blade to his genitalia and starts to slice.
The scream he lets out isn’t human. I grin as blood starts to spurt from the incision, each laceration bringing another shriek that’s music to my ears. Darren’s face has gone chalk white, shock from the loss of blood setting while the copper smell of torture and pain tickles my nose.
Watching his suffering, the way he writhes and stains the asphalt with the sacrifice that doesn’t begin to offer him redemption brings me peace. I stand and step back, not an ounce of remorse in my veins as he reaches for me, begging with his last breaths to helped, assistance I refuse to grant.
When he’s on the cusp of mortality, toeing the thin, fine line where lucidity starts to fade away and the body shuts down, I wrangle the knife out of his hand. I clean the blade with the hem of my shirt, scowling at the mess he made on the handle.
Lack of respect for other people’s things always pisses me off.
“I’m going to tell you a secret, Darren,” I whisper, crouching low so I’m the last thing he sees before his heart stops beating.
“I was very mad at you for what you did before, but taking your sweet ass time to die after we both know your fate inevitable means it’s going to take longer to get to my girl than I wanted it to.
Because of that—and because you’re the foulest, ugliest, most disgusting specimen I’ve had the horror of being around—I think I should leave you with a parting gift. It’s the least I can do.”
Blimka’s pupils dilate. He’s less unalert, the lack of recognition of his surroundings causing a blank, unfocused stare. I grab his wrist and the hand holding his penis, directing it to his face. I pry apart his jaw and shove the bloody, severed extremity to his mouth, wedging it between his lips.
“There.” I pat his cheek and take my knife, stabbing his stomach.
The lack of reaction to the blade sinking into his body tells me everything I need to know, and I turn the knife clockwise as his chest lifts one time, a final breath exhaled before he goes completely still.
“Now everyone in hell will know how to welcome you when you arrive. I hope your soul stays stuck in purgatory until the end of time.”
I wait, counting to two hundred before I carve the knife out of his flesh and stand, satisfied with another job done.
No one will miss this man. No one is going to come looking for him, but if they do, they won’t tell anyone what they find.
Disposing his body will be easy and so will the cleanup, the murky waters of a Florida pond on the other side of a little trafficked road the perfect dumping ground for the evidence law enforcement won’t care to search for.
I don’t like killing people. Is there a rush when you stab someone who deserves to feel insurmountable pain?
Fuck, yeah. Is it fun to watch a predator plead for mercy when they had none of their own to give to their victims?
Undoubtedly. But I hate that any of this exists in the first place.
I hate that there are humans out there who are so cruel, extreme measures must be taken to prevent them from ever hurting someone again.
For as fucking cliché as it is, if it were up to me, my one wish would be world peace.
A timeline where no one suffered, where everyone could exist without worry of feeling safe and protected.
I won’t be able to get rid of every terrible shitbag like Darren Blimka, but tonight, the world can go to sleep knowing one less demon walks among them.
Stretching my back, I zip my jacket up to my neck. I slide my arms under Blimka’s body, groaning at his heavy weight. I sway on my feet, grinding my teeth together as I cross the road and heave his body into the alligator-infested water with the tiniest splash known to man.
A quick pour of bleach and scrub of the stained asphalt later, I hum on the walk to my car.
I fire off a quick text to my boss to let him know the job is complete and he wires me the other half of my payment, an excited smirk pulling at the corners of my mouth as I think about what gift I’m going to buy Max with the large deposit.
There’s a message from her waiting in my inbox, and I grin when I read her text.
Max the Angel
See you tonight. I’ll bring over dinner!
Me
Can’t wait, angel. Missed your cute face.
The drive home is quick, and I wave to hello sitting in the kitchen.
“Thought you might’ve had someone fight back a little too aggressively,” he says, holding a glass of wine. He lifts the bottle my way and I shake my head. “That one took you longer than usual.”
“He needed some extra attention.” I wash my hands, watching Blimka’s blood disappear down the drain. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Some of the people from the house are going to the bar.” Leo yawns and jumps off his barstool. “I’d invite you to come, but I know you’re busy with someone more important than me.”
“So much more important than you. Call me if you need a DD?”
“Aye, aye, captain.”
“And let Max in when she gets here? I’m going to rinse off really quick.”
“I live to serve you.” He bows and I throw the dish towel at his head, hustling down the hall.
I don’t like running late for things. When my mom was alive, she was a ten-minutes-early kind of woman.
I hated it as a kid, the first in the parking lot for sports and school, but the older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve appreciated her dedication to punctuality.
Time is precious, especially when you spend it with people you care about, and I’m pissed Blimka put me behind schedule.
In my room, I play music from my phone, bopping along to an artist Max sent me to listen to. She’s some popstar I haven’t heard of before, but her music is good. A fun beat, and I’m too busy dancing and taking my knife from its holster to hear my door open behind me.
“Hi,” Max sings out, and I spin, smiling at her.
She freezes in the threshold of my bedroom, gaze darting to the weapon in my hand.
Her eyes widen at the blood on the tip and she steps forward, grabs a paperback off my nightstand—one of hers, she’d be happy to know—and holds it above her head.
“Why the fuck are you holding your knife? And why is it covered in blood?” She inhales sharply, dropping the bag of food she’s holding. “Who the fuck are you, Hunter?”
“This thing? Whoops.” I flash her a grin. “Let’s calm down for a second, Maxxy baby. Angel, I’m—”
The book hits me square in the forehead. I grin at her perfect shot.
“Do not Maxxy baby me. I validated you breaking into my home. Repeatedly. I validated you watching me from cameras you installed. But a bloody knife? You’re a psychopath.”
“That’s a little offensive. I’m in full control of my emotions and behavior. I’m well aware of my what I’m doing. In fact, I’m making a conscious decision to do so.”
“Then why the hell are you holding a knife covered in blood?” she almost screams, and I have to hold back a laugh.
She’s so fucking cute when she gets fired up about something.
“I haven’t been honest with you.”
I hold up my hands in surrender then put the knife on my desk.
Realizing it’s going to make a mess, I strip off my jacket and shirt.
I wrap the stained white cotton around the dirty blade, carefully setting it next to my laptop.
When I face her, I don’t miss the way her gaze roams down my body.
How she admires my tattoos and muscles with lust.
“Start talking,” she damands.
“Hey. My eyes are up here, sweetheart.”
Max scowls and throws another book my way. This one hits my shoulder, and I rub the small red mark it leaves behind.
“Hunter.”
“Being a scare actor isn’t the only job I have.
I also dabble in extracurricular activities,” I start with, watching her eyebrows wrinkle.
“I have a friend who runs an unground organization. He’s a former cop who hated how corrupt the force became, and he took matters into his own hands.
He started getting rid of the horrible people who freely walked the streets after getting a pass from law enforcement. ”
“Were you a cop?” she asks, another book poised and ready to toss my way.
“Fuck, no. Do I look like I’d be a cop?”
“I don’t know anything about you.”
“Is this the fucking mob? Am I going to be followed for sleeping with you?”
“I’m flattered you think I’m special.” I flash her another smile and she flips me off.
“I wasn’t sure I was even going to join this group, but I started the process with them in case it all panned out.
I took a weapons handling class. Learned how to use a knife, an ax, and fifteen other tools I can use as weapons.
Then I discovered all the ways I could kill a man—a very, very, bad man—with a towel, and I was hooked.
I took out my first rapist six years ago, and I’ve done plenty more since. ”
“Hang on.” Max slowly lowers the book. The color drains from her face, and her chest rises and falls. “You’re… you’re a serial killer?”
“That’s offensive, Max.”
She digs her phone out of her pocket, types something on the screen, then tosses it my way. I catch it midair, reading what she’s looking up on the internet and chuckling.
“How to tell if the guy you’re seeing is a serial killer? Aw.” I put a hand on my bare chest. “How sweet.”
“Keep reading.”
“Okay.” I nod, because I’ll do anything she asks. “I guess since the dictionary defines a serial killer as someone who’s killed three or more people in a month, I technically am. But I’m a good serial killer. I promise.”
“There are good serial killers?” she shouts, another book raised to throw at my head. It’s alarming how much her feistiness turns me on.
“Of course there are, Max. We have tiers, sweetheart. The good ones get rid of the bad guys on the streets: murderers who have walked free after making a deal with someone in power. Rapists. Abusers. The bad ones kill without any reason because they like the thrill of it. They’re vile and deserve to go straight to hell. ”
Max stares at me. Her eyes flick to the knife, then back to me. “How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you’re not going to hurt me? We said no more secrets, and here you fucking are: telling me you’re a goddamn murderer.”
“You don’t know I’m not going to hurt you.” I shrug and unwrap the knife from the shirt keeping it safe. I walk toward her, glad when she doesn’t run away. “But if you want to hold onto this so you feel safer when I’m around, be my guest.”
She blinks. Her fingers close around the handle and she weighs it, getting used to the heaviness. Keeping her gaze on me, she draws it back behind her head. “What if I threw it at you right now?”
“Well, your grip is all wrong. It would probably fall about two feet shy of actually hitting me. In the off chance you did stab me? I’d get the mark tattooed. I’d add a heart and write property of Max under it.”
“You’re insane,” she mumbles.
“Not insane,” I murmur, bringing my mouth to hers. The hitch in her breathing makes my cock throb in my jeans. “Thoroughly obsessed, remember? There’s a big difference.”
“Yeah?” She lifts her chin, defiance behind her eyes when her gaze meets mine. “And what’s that?”
“If I were insane, you would’ve left by now.
But here you are.” I trace the line of her jaw, smiling when she shifts on her feet and squeezes her thighs together.
“Practically panting and begging me to touch you.” I dip my chin, pressing a kiss to her cheek then neck.
Her soft moan is sultry, and I lick along the line of her throat.
“Let me fuck you, baby. I’m all worked up, and only you can calm me down. ”