Chapter 2
Cade
“ T he body of Robert Jones was found in an abandoned building, making him victim number seven in the last two years.”
“I don’t know if I would consider him a victim, Sally. He’s suspected of raping and killing at least a dozen women, but his family money has kept him out of police reach.”
I listen to the morning talk show hosts gab about the kill taken from me.
Grunting, I slam my fist into the punching bag for the hundredth time since news broke over the back channels that he was dead.
I’ve been hunting that twisted fuck for weeks now, and someone else killed him. The news lumping the reckless idiot in with my artistry is the icing on the preverbal cake. I should kill them for the offense .
Maybe I should be happy that they think this murder is linked to the others because it will throw them off my trail, but I’m not. I have a method, and the sloppy as fuck kill from the other night isn’t the same.
This is why the stupid Bronston Police can’t find shit. They’re toys for me to play with. I could leave a trail of blood leading straight to my door and be standing outside holding a sign saying, ‘I did it,’ and they’d still point the finger at someone else— incompetent fools .
“Take it easy. We can’t afford to replace another bag.”
I throw my last jab. My hands drop to my side as I turn to face Daxton.
“Better the bag than your face, you geriatric bastard,” I huff, catching my breath.
Chuckling as he punches me in the shoulder, he quips, “Your girl didn’t think I was old last night, asshole.” The cheeky prick .
“If she was satisfied by you, then her standards are low, and you can keep her,” I jest.
His chuckles turn into a full belly laugh, “Fuck you. My dick makes nuns question their vow of celibacy,” Dax says, grabbing his crotch before his look turns serious, “What has you in here before the sun’s even had its coffee?”
I watch the way his silver eyes narrow as his tanned, muscled arms cross over his broad chest.
“The demons are riding me hard today, is all,” I reply. It’s not technically a lie. They are riding me, but not for the reason I’m sure he’s thinking.
I haven’t killed in months—my meticulous planning for each kill has never been interrupted until now. Weeks of trailing and studying my prey are down the toilet.
“Then punch away, jackass. Better you kill the bag than a person,” he begins.
Then he leans his tall frame against the gym wall before nodding his head to the television.
“Unless it’s fucks like that piece of shit,” he quips, turning his attention back to me.
For a moment, I think he knows—there’s a look in his eyes before it’s gone.
I nearly miss my next strike to the bag, but recover. I know he’s joking, so I smile, hoping he doesn’t realize just how accurate his statement really is.
“I remember when news broke of all the women the rich, twisted fuck got away with raping and how his family’s deep pockets kept him from ever seeing a jail cell. If you ask me, whoever the dude is that did that to him should get a medal,” Daxton states.
“He was a blight to the community, and I can’t say I feel an ounce of remorse that he’s dead,” I say in agreement, but internally I’m seething that I didn’t get to saw off his dick and rape him with it.
Sighing, I reset my footing and return to hammering the bag. I need to think, and what better way to plan than pretending I’m punching whoever this bitch ass kill thief is.
After another two hours of running drills, my anger abated enough for me to shower and head to the office in time for the ten o’clock meeting. We’re meeting with a new client whose company is interested in branching out into acquisitions to diversify its portfolio.
I walk through my private entrance to the thirty-story high-rise in downtown Bronston. Only stopping once I’ve reached the elevator.
Raising my palm to the scanner, I wait for biometric reader to register.
The scanner lights green, the door open, and I step inside, punching the button for my office on the executive floor.
Then, I lean forward, positioning my eye in front of the scanner.
It’s only then that button leading me to my office lights up.
Once the door closes, my assistant’s image appears on the panel across the other side of the elevator.
“Good morning, sir,” Emma greets, “your ten o’clock has arrived early, and she’s waiting for you with her team in the Prescott conference room. You also have a call with our London office, and Stella wants to know when you’ll pick her up for dinner with her parents tonight.”
I groan. How the hell did I forget about Stella? It’s time to break up with her.
Anytime someone starts wanting me to meet the parents, it’s time to go. I don’t do parents, and I don’t do serious. Why is it so hard for people to understand that? The only woman I ever thought I could give my heart to is lost to me because of her mother’s betrayal.
My eyes close momentarily, warding off the thoughts of the girl who still owns my heart—the one whose entrance into my life destroyed my world in ways that can’t even be explained.
Shaking off the fog, I return my focus to Emma. “Please send refreshments for the Keres Group, and let them know I will be with them shortly. Also, send something expensive with some flowers to inform Stella I won’t be making it tonight or any other night,” I instruct.
Emma does an impeccable job of keeping a straight face, but her eyes never lie. She finds the way I dispose of women to be ridiculous and vile. I’m sure in her mind, she finds me abhorrent. It still doesn’t stop her from giving me bedroom eyes when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
“Yes, sir,” is her only reply before I cut off the screen as the elevator doors open to my private office.
The top floor is where all the higher-ups are, but as the owner of Theris, I have the entire corner to myself.
Taking a seat at my desk, I power on my computer and press the button on my watch, signaling for the private servers to activate. I need to find a replacement for Robert, and I need to do it soon. The fact that she’s on my mind means I’m close to the edge.
My fingers fly across the keyboard, entering the dark web. The list of potential replacements is long, but it’s largely a matter of timing. I have to find the right person at the right time.
I scan each name and each of their offenses.
This world is full of sick people. A perfect way to feed the monster that was born the day I watched the life slip from my mother’s eyes.
The day I realized how utterly enraptured I felt at the prospect of ending the light in someone’s eyes.
That was the day the old me slowly began to cease to exist.
The computer dings. Gotcha.