Chapter 3
SLADE
The best part about my day is always showering.
A rapist's blood fills the drain of the shower as I’m left alone with my thoughts and feelings. This is the time when the line of coke I took before the kill wears off.
I get to calm down and relax while also processing everything.
But lately it feels like my shower time has been consumed by Isabella Rossi.
It was pretty easy to find my little bookworm.
Since the night I first met her in the alleyway, I can’t stop thinking about her. All I can smell is her fucking vanilla and rose scent. All I can see is her big brown eyes and those stars that decorate her cheeks.
After she ran for her life, I went into Mitch’s office and did the kill. Once he saw me, he knew his life was over.
There are rumors all around the city of people going missing and about how it might be the shadow of New York.
But even if I were to ever get caught, nothing would happen because of who my family is. Being in the Bratva makes my life so easy, but people assume I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth even though it was the complete opposite.
Compared to my brothers, I got treated like shit. There were so many times I could have died and none of them even knew.
No one other than my mom knows the truth, but we swore never to speak about anything that happened.
I wash my hair and body to get rid of the blood and crimes I’ve committed. When my hands run down my chest, I can’t help but think about Isabella’s soft hands going closer and closer to my dick.
It’s weird wanting a girl, especially a girl like Isabella.
I’ve never liked relationships, boys or girls. They’ve never interested me because I never understood the point of them.
Even the sex.
If anything, sex repulses me. It has since I was a kid, but it got worse after my eighteenth birthday.
He ruined everything for me.
Maybe if it wasn’t for him, I would enjoy sex and be normal, but he made me into a monster.
Maybe that’s why he gave me the task he did, because he knows it'll be hard for me and not my brothers.
He knows exactly what he fucking did to me.
But from the moment I saw Isabella and she let out that scream for help and begged me to let her go, I became obsessed.
I haven’t figured her out as a person yet, but I want to know everything about her—learn what her favorite color is, what her family’s like, what foods she likes, what books she likes reading, and most of all, how she’ll feel against me.
I squeeze my dick and let out a soft groan. She’s in the room down the hall sleeping, but I wonder if she’ll hear me if I start masturbating.
I take a deep breath and let go of my dick and turn the shower off.
Not tonight.
I need to calm down.
I’ve only known her for about two weeks and I’ve had one real conversation with her.
I step out and grab my towel, wrapping it around my waist.
I stand in front of he mirror and my eyes go to my scar.
I remember the screams my mom let out when she saw the blood dripping from my eyebrow.
And my brothers begged me to tell them who hurt me.
My little sister Angela was scared of me for a month because of this scar, but she grew out of it.
Even now, people can’t stop staring at it. They seem curious about it.
After shaving my face and putting cream on the scar, I throw the towel in my laundry and go into my room where I put sweatpants on.
A book is on my side table next to my bed, but I need to do one thing first.
I make my way to Isabella’s room and slowly open the door.
There are two unpacked boxes, probably full of clothes, but she stacked all of her books on one side of the room and placed some stuff like makeup and jewelry on the top of her dresser. She has the window open and blankets wrapped around her.
I quietly move towards her and brush a strand of her hair from her face, making her stir.
She has no makeup on, and I swear she is one of the most beautiful and captivating people I’ve ever seen. I feel the need to lock her in my room so that no one but me can see or have her.
I want to hurt her, break her, and make her mine.
My finger grazes her cheek, but I move it away when she stirs again.
I stay in her room, watching her for god knows how long. I’m trapped—how can someone make me feel things like this?
I’ve never experienced this before, like something is bursting in my chest. Or the need to hurt anyone if they looked at her the wrong way or touched her.
The guy in the alleyway, I fucking slit every inch of his body and made him slowly bleed out while he was still conscious, just because he tried to kill her. I would have done worse but I was on a time crunch since I only allow myself time for one kill a night.
If I did more than one kill, I would need another line or just something to calm me down and level myself.
It’s not that I don’t like killing, because I do, I love the rush and adrenaline, but after all that wears off, guilt and disgust consume me since this is what he wanted me to be.
My eyes go to the journal on her side table, next to her charging phone.
I grab the notebook and flip through the pages, scanning everything she’s written down.
It’s mostly book ideas.
It wasn’t hard to find her. All I had to do was look through the street cameras. First, I found out where she worked, then I figure out what she did at her job, and from there, it was easy to find her picture on the back of a thriller book.
She writes psychological thriller books.
The fucking coincidence.
I read every single page of every single book she has ever written.
Even though I know what happens in her books I still read all of what’s in her journal so that I can get to know her and her mind a little more.
It takes me about thirty minutes, and I’m surprised she doesn’t wake up.
I’m sure she has more notebooks somewhere with more ideas or stories because this journal isn’t even halfway filled.
“What goes on in your head, avtor?” I look down at her and twirl a strand of her hair just so I can touch her.
I’d rather feel every inch of her body against mine but I know it’s too early. I need to play this smart and not rush.
All good things take time.