Show a little skin, give them a coy smile and they become putty in your hands. The problem with thinking with your dick is it leaves the rest of your anatomy vulnerable to any form of attack.
Something Harold here had to learn the hard way.
“I love it when you scream, baby.” Digging my knife deeper into his cheekbone, I carve my own little design on the big boy’s skull, “Keep it going.”
Chunks of flesh litter the forest floor as I finish off a rather productive evening. Vector got his pussy quota for the week and I added another few kills to the list.
I don’t actually keep count of the number of rapists I hunt down. It’s more of an estimate, a sense of justice finally beingserved to those who deserve to be punished. Karma is a living breathing force, but sometimes she moves a bit too slow.
So I take care of the rest for her.
“Do you want to know the best part?” Sheering off what’s left of his hair, I start picking away at his brain tissue, “When I finally leave this wretched place, you’re going to find me waiting for you in hell.”
He lets out a gurgled cry, one that doesn’t sound quite right thanks to the tongue I removed from his mouth.
Leaning in close, I brush my lips over the blood stained ear that’s going to be the next thing to go.
“And then we’ll do this all over again.”
The scent of tattered flesh and torn brain matter gets picked up and carried through the forest, an offering for the beasts to come out and play. Wolves howl and crows start to circle overhead, the scavengers eagerly waiting to help me finish off the torment this man brought on himself.
But I don’t kill him. Oh, no.
I leave him just enough intact that his last few minutes will be spent being torn apart by predators much stronger than him. Harold will get to experience the same helplessness as his victims, the same incapacitation that will destroy any sense of power and privilege this man once thought he had.
“See you on the other side.”
Letting the promise slip from my lips, I snag his tongue from the ground and start the long trek home. My runners are dense and soggy, my spandex shorts and matching sports bra equallysoaked with human remains. It keeps my pace fast and light, pushing my legs to a harder tempo until there’s nothing but memories staining my skin.
Memories that force me to keep going.
The forest becomes a blur as I run from the past. I run from the sleepless nights that continue to haunt me, the whispers of men who no longer roam this earth.
I run from the blood dripping between my legs. The phantom ache of degradation that has never gone away.
As if sensing my darkening mood, the sky opens up and lets out my tears. Fat raindrops splash down on me, plastering my blood-soaked hair to my face and letting another man’s blood wash off my hands.
But most importantly, it offers an excuse for the chills screaming through my body.
A twig snaps me out of my stupor. The blurry forest blinks back into focus as I flick my blade into my palm, casting my eyes over the familiar foliage.
There.
Crouching down, I slither closer to the silhouette tucked behind the bolder. The sound of my steps are smothered by the falling rain, the droplets running down my face stained pink instead of red.
That might be about to change.
Reversing my grip, I flip the knife so it’s pointed towards my elbow, edge out. The hidden figure moves slightly, their position behind the oversized rock the perfect place for an ambush.
Amateur.
I lunge, sweeping my legs out and knocking the person to the mud-covered floor. Slashing my blade down, I catch the inside of his bicep and lock his legs between mine, making sure to leave a nice trail of blood before making myself comfortable on top.
“Miss Drache.”
Dark eyelashes glitter with raindrops, the amused curve of his lips pulling into a troublesome smile.
“Devil.” My lips tilt to greet his own, and I watch his pitch black eyes roam the space carelessly, “Looks like you fell into the wrong trap.”
