2. Xavier
TWO
XAVIER
"Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who's the deadliest of them all?
" I question as I stare at my distorted reflection in the broken shards of glass, tainted with stunning drops of blood, surrounding my most recent plaything.
Before I rise and begin to spread gasoline from the plastic canister around the old, abandoned motel, I hum softly to myself.
Once I'm confident I've covered most of the surfaces, but not the body lying prone on the floor, I sigh with satisfaction.
"Perfect, it will be quite a sight." That should give the fire department a chance to put out most of the flames before they cause too much damage to my present.
I wouldn't want her not to be able to recognize my signature. What would be the fun in that?
You're behaving like an infatuated teenager, searching for ways to get your crush's attention.
I ignore the condescending voice since he's just trying to ruin my fun, and instead, I bend down and squeeze the man's fractured jaw tightly in my gloved hand.
"You did try your best to fight me off. It was a losing battle, but you'll make a beautiful gift.
Just one more small detail, and we can be parted. "
Hurry the fuck up. This is taking longer than it needs to, and you are putting us at risk, Xavier.
I allow my hand to trail down the cooling, rough abdomen, his cheap, patterned, nylon shirt offending my heightened senses, until I slip my covered fingers into the waistband of his soiled joggers, pushing them past his hips and displaying what I'm after.
"You really were a disgusting creature, Simon.
I've done this world a blessing by snuffing you out.
You won't be able to hurt anyone else now. "
I grab onto his small, pathetic, flaccid cock, yanking brutally, before my other hand joins me with a sharp piece of broken glass.
Excitement amplifies inside of me as my dick comes to attention, hardening and pressing against the zipper of my black, tactical pants, as I slice slowly through the thick flesh, dark, coarse hair, ropey tendons, and nerves.
I sever each layer with patience, and the precision of a prize-winning butcher, until I free the lumpy, grotesque flesh.
A groan escapes me, too loud in the loaded silence, but I'm confident the dead can't object to my moment of pleasure, especially after all the hard work I've already put in tonight.
Get on with it already... such unnecessary dramatics, the voice growls with malevolence.
"A snack for the road, Simon, you're bound to be hungry where you're heading, and I hear the devil is a shit host." I pry his ugly lips and yellowed teeth further apart, forcing my whole sheathed hand in his mouth until I hear the popping sound indicating I've snapped his jaw, and shove my fingers with their burden deep in his throat.
My only regret is that I didn't get to do this while this miscreant was still alive.
I would've loved to hear him gag. A shudder spirals down my body, my cock hard and weeping in my pants with all the sensations sprinting through me.
It's not him that I'm seeing anymore. It's a vision of long, dark hair plaited tightly against her skull, dark, fathomless ochre eyes, and sun-drenched skin encased in sleek black fabric.
"I shouldn't... the risk is too high." I force myself to take deep, calming breaths as I yank my fingers out of the cavity of his mouth and brace my elbows on my knees.
You don't have time to clear his body of DNA.
The voice attempts to reason with me, but I know, just like this asshole's struggle against me, this too is a losing battle.
"Fuck," I groan as I release my aching cock from its prison, and dip the head into the bloody mess I made of his crotch.
The cooling blood feels amazing against my hypersensitive, warm skin, and my cock jumps in my tight, punishing grip.
"I promise this won't hurt much," I groan as I violently flip him over, pulling down his pants to his knees and forcing his ass in the air.
I position my crown at his opening and don't hesitate to slam forward through the thick ring of nerves, bottoming out in one go.
"Fuck, you're still warm," I moan, my head tipping back in pleasure as the fantasy rips through my mind.
I use my hand to grip his waist as I fuck him ruthlessly and quickly, feeling an electric current surge up my spine.
"You feel so good, Scarlett, so fucking tight around me. You're taking me so well, baby."
Skin slaps loudly and aggressively against skin, the sound of my labored breathing loud to my own ears as my blood pounds in my veins.
I come with a roar, my breathing ragged, and my vision dimming, as I empty myself into his tight cavity.
The minute I'm done, I stare down at the body before me, and outrage and revulsion fill me that it's not my lithe, sexy Scarlett in my grasp, but a hairy, pudgy, broad back before me.
The urge to stab him over and over tries to overtake me, but I force the urge down.
You're so pathetic, Xavier.
I pull out with disgust, tuck myself away, and reach for the bottle of bleach I keep in my kit, shoving the narrow tip deep into where I just was, and pouring a generous amount into the cavity to taint what I've left behind.
I pull up his pants and flip him back over, my skin crawling now.
The stench of bleach mixed with urine causes my eyes to water.
"Fucking demon, you were a shit lay. You don't compare to my beautiful girl. "
I give the space one more thorough examination, ensuring everything is in place, and nothing will lead back to me having been here, except for the hidden clues I'm leaving my sweet Spitfire.
I climb out the motel window that leads to the back of the property with one final glance, and one of my cheap plastic lighters at the ready.
"Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say goodnight ‘til it be morrow.
" I chuckle at my Shakespearean attempt.
I throw the lighter, and watch for a moment as the decrepit exterior catches fire quickly, then dash carefully along the path I mapped out earlier, brushing away my footprints as I go, and produce my burner phone.
"911, what is your emergency?" A female voice questions.
"Fire. Old motel on Caithness and Fourth.
Hurry," I mumble, my thick sleeve pressed against my lips to distort my voice.
I disconnect, instantly snap the phone in two, pull out the SIM card, and burn the phone and the SIM card with my extra lighter before discarding them.
I make my way cautiously towards where I've left my vehicle, a mile away, hidden in the wooded area, while humming a soft tune under my breath.
The fresh air clears the stench of death away from me, and as I stare up at the bright stars in the sky, I wonder if tonight will be the night I get to be up close to my Spitfire.
"I can't wait to see what you think of my gift, Scarlett. "
The flashing red and blue lights paint the wet pavement in violent streaks of color, dizzying my senses as I stand beyond the crime-scene tape with the rest of the spectators.
The feeling of too many bodies in close proximity is making my hackles rise and skin crawl, yet I force myself to endure it.
At the moment, I'm just another face in the crowd.
Invisible. Forgettable. Exactly where and what I want to be.
Exactly where we shouldn't be, you mean. You're taking unnecessary risks, you prick.
I pull the bill of my ballcap lower, ensuring it covers my distinctive hair, and my gaze never leaves her as she steps beneath the yellow police tape, shoulders squared, expression composed.
The perfect federal agent. The woman everyone trusts to walk into nightmares and drag monsters into the light.
Her shoulders tense, and her cold gaze drags over those nearest to her, but I'm too far back to hear if one of those cocksuckers said anything reproachable to her.
I make a mental note to ensure I'm closer in the future.
Not that she needs my help, my Spitfire can hold her own, she's a power to be reckoned with, and only fools miss the signs.
Everyone else sees authority, power, the glacier mask she keeps herself confined behind.
I see the cracks beneath it. Small, so miniature that, to the unobservant eye, they are impossible to glimpse.
She isn't looking at the body. Not yet. She's studying the scene, the arrangement, the fine details I'd left her.
The story. She's already processing what those fools are missing.
Good. The sooner she sees it, the sooner we get the fuck out of here.
A slow smile tugs at my mouth as satisfaction soars through my veins.
That is exactly where she'll find me, not in the victim or in the blood.
No, in the pattern. The victim, if you can even call him that, is mostly irrelevant, a canvas, a dirty message board.
He is nothing more than a conversation starter between my pretty girl and me.
He is a bridge between Ashmaker, my Spitfire, and myself.
I watch her crouch beside the body in those trademark sexy shoes of hers.
Her dark eyes sparkle in the night as the lights' reflections wash over her.
Even from a distance, I catch the subtle shift in her posture.
The stillness, the tension that suddenly fills her frame, and the way her attention has sharpened, even as she attempts to hide it from that parasite partner of hers who too watches her intently, with undisguised hunger.
If he's not careful, he'll be my next message to her.
Kill him, carve him open, and leave his entrails for the rats of the city to consume.