“I fucking hate hunting in crowds,” he continues. “You know that. And now this is the second time tonight.”
I glance back over my shoulder at the body we left behind—the first girl. The one who thought a warehouse full of drunk and doped-up idiots would somehow save her.
Of course it didn’t. We’re not fucking amateurs.
Shit, it took Kade less than ten minutes to spot her again. Screaming and shouting for help while she pushed through the crowd. Ranting about Cupid Killers while everyone around her stayed glued to the beat, too fucked up to notice anything but themselves.
I won’t lie, unlike my brother, I kind of loved it. It was messy, loud, but it was over too quickly. Shit, even with a whole fucking playground full of hiding spots, the bitch was easy prey.
Once we caught her and dragged her back out here, she changed her tune. Little track star shut up real fast once her eyes caught the glint of the blades in our hands. Once the cool metal kissed her sweat-coated skin, she went back to begging.
Again.
There’s nothing I fucking hate more than begging.
It’s boring as shit. Predictable. Like a bad re-run you didn’t even like the first time.
They all do it. Every single one.
They cry. They plead, and swear they’ll do anything. Then comes the bargaining—throwing out whatever pathetic little offerings they think might buy them mercy. Mouth. Body.Promises they can’t keep. Like sucking a dick or spreading their legs is some kind of universal currency.
Because, you know, that’s all a couple of guys like us could possibly want, right?
Fuck no.
It’s not the fucking. It never was.
It’s the moment before.
That sweet, microscopic second when it finally clicks. When their eyes flicker and you can see the exact instant they realize this is it. No loopholes or miracles. No last-minute save. Just the understanding that they’re already dead and their body just hasn’t caught up yet.
That’s the shit we crave.
That’s the shit that makes my pulse jump, makes my hands itch, and my cock hard.
I don’t want to fuck them. I want to fuck myself, replaying that look in my head over and over until it’s burned in permanently. That look never lies. That look is honest.
After enough bodies, the begging turns into background noise. Static. Same words, different mouths. Nothing new or exciting. Just meat filling space.
And then there was her.
No begging or tears.
Not even a fucking tremble.
She laughed.
Stood there staring us down with that cocky, sarcastic little smirk, like she was in on the joke. Like this was all just some twisted show and she’d grabbed popcorn. Like we were entertainment.
And that?
That fucked me up.
She looked like she was having the time of her goddamn life.
“Oh, come on,” I say, grinning like this isn’t already my favorite part of the night. “Why you gotta be such a negative fucking Nancy about everything? Shit, tonight is our lucky night. She’s the second one who’s actually made tonight interesting.” I tilt my head, amused. “Don’t you ever get bored of the routine bullshit? Same basic chicks, same pathetic endings.”
Kade’s shoulders tense beneath his jacket. I can practically feel his patience cracking, one frayed nerve at a time.
