Thorned Vengeance (Saints Purgatory MC #6)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

ARIZONA, 2014…

“Watch where you’re going.”

I stumble after colliding with Kyle, and beer sloshes over the rim of my red Solo cup and onto my shirt.

“Sorry,” I mutter under my breath.

He doesn’t hear me because the music is so loud, but it doesn’t matter. After this graduation party, I’ll never have to see his smug face again.

I don’t know why I accepted the invitation to the party in the first place. Well, I wasn’t invited so much as I was listed on the class roster which means I was informed by default.

Taking a long gulp of my warm beer, I make my way toward the corner of the living room where I can watch everyone else having the time of their lives.

Fucking idiots.

For the last four years, I’ve bided my time and gone through the motions to appear normal. But I’m not normal. Far from it, actually. I’m the only one who knows it, though.

“Ready to go?”

I slowly turn toward my left and smirk at Jared, the one person who didn’t treat me like a pariah in high school.

“What do you think?”

He shrugs. “I’m guessing you’re bored out of your mind, but you haven’t had a chance to talk to Tamara yet, so you’re staying.”

It took me the entire summer before senior year, but I managed to lose weight and gain muscle. My acne cleared up, and my voice dropped. Everything fell into place during those months, but it didn’t change a damn thing.

Tamara still hasn’t given me the time of day. She’s too focused on Kyle Gruber.

Altering my physical appearance also didn’t do me any good in the social skills department. I’m still awkward as hell with girls.

“I’m not bored,” I insist before chugging the last of my beer and pushing off the wall.

Jared follows me into the kitchen where there are several kegs and numerous bottles of liquor on the island. I toss my cup in the overflowing trash before grabbing the half-empty bottle of tequila.

“Whatever you say, dude.”

Jared fills his Solo cup and heads into the dining room where Kyle’s playing beer pong against one of the jocks. Tamara is standing next to the table, her eyes focused on Kyle, and she’s cheering him on.

If only she were in her cheerleading uniform.

I don’t know how much time passes, but light starts to filter through the windows, and there are only a handful of us left.

Jared went home a while ago, but I remained because I still haven’t worked up the courage to talk to Tamara.

“You can’t be serious!”

I turn toward her high-pitched voice and spot her and Kyle arguing at the front door. She’s very animated, and it’s clear by her tone and glare that she’s pissed.

“I’ve gotta get home, babe,” Kyle says, trying to grab her hand. “You know I work tonight and need to get some sleep.”

“And my parents will be home in a few hours,” she counters. “How the hell am I supposed to clean this place up in time without your help?”

As they continue to argue, more of the partygoers leave, keeping their gazes averted as they walk by the couple. I, however, remain where I am, a plan formulating in my mind.

After several more minutes of fighting, Kyle storms out the front door, and Tamara slams it shut behind him. She turns to survey the house before leaning against the door and sliding down to the floor.

It’s now or never.

I close the distance between us, and the tears running down Tamara’s face make my dick twitch.

“I can stay and help you clean up,” I say, my voice calmer than the nerves swimming inside of me.

She lifts her head and narrows her eyes. “And you are?”

I stiffen at the question but mask my anger. I’ve only been this chick’s classmate since kindergarten. How the hell does she not know who I am?

Her eyes widen, and she scrambles to her feet. “Wait a sec… You’re that kid who the football team used to pick on our junior year.”

One and the same.

“My name is?—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she bites out. “If you can help me clean, that’s all I care about.”

I bite my tongue so hard that blood pools in my mouth. After swallowing it down, I force a smile. “I can help.”

Tamara rushes to the kitchen and returns with several trash bags in her hand. “Here,” she says, shoving them into my chest. “You start down here, and I’ll take upstairs.”

With that, she races up the steps while I start picking up empty plastic cups and beer cans. We’re alone in the house, and I want nothing more than to go upstairs and fuck her but helping her first seems like the right thing to do.

An hour passes, and I’ve managed to fill up three trash bags although that barely makes a dent in the mess my fellow graduates made. Knowing that time is running short, I retrace my steps to the staircase and make my way to the second floor.

“Tamara,” I call out when I reach the last step.

Annoyance washes over me at the trash still scattered on the floor. I’ve been downstairs busting my ass, and she’s been… what?

I don’t get a response, so I start poking my head in each room, and when I spot her sleeping in a bedroom decorated in the ugliest pale pink, my anger flares. Stomping toward her, I take a deep breath to calm down, but it does no good.

“Tamara,” I snap as I shake her by the shoulder. “Wake the hell up!”

She mutters in her sleep but doesn’t wake up. As I stare at her, I let my gaze travel from her peaceful face to the way her tits flow over the top hem of her low-cut, skin-tight shirt. Then my eyes drift to her short denim skirt, and my dick hardens at how the material has inched up her thighs to expose the black lace of her thong resting on her hip.

“Tamara,” I say, a little more softly as I shake her shoulder again.

When she still doesn’t stir, an idea pops into my head.

I know how to wake her up.

I quickly, but quietly, tear off my clothes and drop them to the floor. Resting one knee on the mattress, I throw the other leg over Tamara so I’m straddling her, and then I drag my finger up the inside of her leg.

She’s so soft.

“Mmm,” she murmurs. “Kyle, you came back.”

Rage burns through my veins, and I reach out to wrap my hand around her throat. Leaning forward, I snarl in her ear. “Wake up, bitch.”

Her eyes fly open, and terror shines in the blue depths. Tamara grabs my wrist, struggling to break free of my hold, but I’m stronger than she realizes.

“This could’ve been so special,” I say matter-of-factly. “Why’d you have to ruin it with his name?”

She violently shakes her head, and I squeeze harder, cutting off more oxygen. As she kicks and claws at any part of my body she can reach, I smirk.

“At least I’ll be the last face you’ll ever see.”

It takes longer for the life to drain from her body than I thought it would, and when she finally exhales for the last time, I drop back on my haunches and sigh.

I didn’t come to the party, or even upstairs, with the intention of killing Tamara. All I wanted was for her to notice me, to see that I’m a better catch than Kyle.

But that’s not what happened.

I arrived a recent high school graduate, and I’m leaving a murderer.

Alabama, 2019

“Last call!”

I lift my empty beer bottle, and when the bartender notices, he makes his way to my end of the bar.

“Another or do you wanna settle up your tab?” he asks as he tosses the bottle into the trash.

“One more.”

I’ve been sitting here at Blarney’s Bar, a little hole-in-the-wall joint on the outskirts of town, for several hours, watching, hunting. Five years have passed since my first kill, and it’s been five months since my most recent… It's time.

“Here ya go,” the bartender quips when he slides a cold beer across the bar toward me.

I tip the bottle to my lips and spin on the stool to continue surveying the room. It’s almost two in the morning, and the crowd has thinned a little but not so much that I worry I’ll be easy to remember when a body is found.

When I strangled Tamara five years ago, I never thought I’d end up where I am today. You see, I’m a serial killer. And I fucking love it.

A woman steps up to the bar, and I stare at her out of the corner of my eye.

She’s the one.

“Hey, Joe,” she calls out. “Can I get two more shots of tequila?”

“Coming right up, D,” he replies with a smile.

D? That could be so many things… Diane, Debbie, Devin, Darla, Demi, Danielle, Daisy ? —

“Daphne,” she says with a smirk. “I swear, you only use my initial because you can never tell me and my sister apart.”

“Not many people can, Daphne ,” Joe replies with a chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles. “Hey, I’m gonna run to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

It’s now or never.

As soon as Daphne rounds the corner, disappearing down the hall toward the restrooms, I slide off the stool and casually stroll after her. No one pays me any attention which is perfect.

I reach into my pocket and wrap my hand around the foil packet, assuring myself that I’m prepared. After Tamara, I spent time honing my craft, perfecting my skills. My first kill was unintended and sloppy. But as soon as I walked out of that house, I knew I’d be taking lives for as long as I was lucky to breathe. I found my purpose that night, the darkness within me that begged to be set free every once in a while.

I’ve had quite a bit of practice since Tamara, and I’m sure my victims were happy to donate themselves to my… studies .

“Someone’s in here,” Daphne snaps when I open the door to the women’s bathroom.

She’s standing at the sink, reapplying her lipstick like some whore who’s planning on getting some when she leaves here for the night.

“I know,” I say as I turn the lock.

“Hey, man, this is the wom?—”

Crack!

The back of my hand connects with her cheek, and her head whips to the side. Daphne’s eyes widen with fear, and my cock springs to life.

Without warning, I lunge toward her and shove her against the wall. She’s not wearing a skirt, and for a moment, I debate on whether or not to skip fucking her. That thought quickly fades as I grind my crotch against hers.

I need this, and she’s going to give it to me.

Pushing my forearm across her neck, I hold her in place while I use my free hand to trail my fingertips up her inner thigh. Most men in my position would worry about shit like fingerprints, but not me.

I paid a hefty price for my silicone fingertips, but not having prints to be identified with is necessary in my line of… work.

“Get away from me,” Daphne pleads as she struggles to break free.

“Not yet,” I breathe against her ear. “Not quite yet.”

It takes me less than a second to push my pants down over my hips, tear open the rubber with my teeth, and roll the condom on.

Daphne tries to scream, but my arm is cutting off her oxygen, and no sound escapes past her pretty lips as I roughly yank her jeans and panties down and enter her. A lone tear slides down her cheek which sends a jolt of electricity straight to my dick.

“It’ll be over soon,” I harshly whisper.

And it is… my pleasure and her death come quickly. I’m a man of my word, after all.

Before I can pull out, I’m startled by a bang.

“Daphne! Hurry up,” a female voice calls before giggling. “Our ride’s ready to take us home.” Obviously, there’s no response, and the woman sighs dramatically. “I’ll wait for you by the bar.”

As soon as I’m satisfied that her footsteps have disappeared, I pull out and stuff myself into my pants, making sure the condom remains in place. I unlock the door and peer around the doorframe, ensuring there is no one in sight, and then I pick up Daphne’s limp body and carry her out the back door of Blarney’s.

I’ve honed my craft so much that it takes me less than three minutes to pose her body next to the dumpster and take my trophy. I wait at the tree line behind the building, concealed by the pine branches, for the one thing that tells me it’s time to go.

“Aahhhhhhhhhh!”

The shrill scream enters my ears, and my blood simmers with ecstasy. I bend my knees so I can see through the branches, and if I hadn’t noticed that Daphne was with an identical woman, I’d swear I was staring at a ghost.

Knowing the place will be swarming with cops within minutes, I turn around and stroll through the woods, whistling as I walk. I might have to lay low for a while, which is to be expected, but the anticipation of next time swirls in my brain.

Daphne was number sixteen, and her twin will be number seventeen.