Bitterness coats my tongue, heavy and thick as I locate my prey for the night. The taste doesn’t linger because everyone here tonight deserves to live in endless torment. It’s the innocents lost that make me angry.
Channeling my rage, I glance at my screen. The blonde bitch is not even close to coherent, but her will to survive has her running at an unimaginable speed. It doesn’t matter, though, because she’s heading in the direction I need her to.
Snickering, I mentally high-five my past self for the intuition to chart a path that would lure one of these asshole into believing they’re free. “That’s right, cunt, waltz right into my trap,” I mutter loud enough that only I can hear.
“I got Sonja,” Mikah hisses. But he’s heading the wrong way.
He never did have a good sense of direction.
Giggling, I veer right, cutting down a back route that will get me to my destination in half the time.
Another scream bellowsinto the abyss.
“Enjoy your night, boys. I’ve got who I wanted,” Fredrick croons, churning my stomach as I’m once again reminded that whoever he’s cornered will be violated until he’s satisfied. He’ll take you alive and dead.
No distractions.
Shaking my head, I clear my thoughts. I’m more than halfway to my target.
Ready to taste blood, I hook left at the fork in the road before whipping right as the small clearing comes into view. I stop just short of the opening, tucking myself behind the tree trunk.
Crouching, I pull a Shuriken from its sheath on my thigh and watch Sonja creep closer and closer.
“YA ub'yu etikh ublyudkov, kogda vyberus' otsyuda.”
Amused by Sonja’s stammered promise for retribution once she escapes from here in Russian while she passes me, I arch a brow and wait.
I count her steps…
One…
Two…
I contemplate giving more time, but I’m getting bored.
The moonlight illuminates her swollen face. One eye is completely shut, and her left cheekbone sits at an unnatural angle. I’d offer her the contact information for a few top-tier plastic surgeons if I weren’t about to turn her into Picasso’s Weeping Woman.
Smirking, I feel the weight of the blade on my fingers, perfectly seated. If I wasn’t in the mood to play, I could deliver a kill shot from here. However, tonight I plan to make some Barry Bonds-level home runs.
I release the blade, ravenous for the fun to begin. Gaze glued, I watch in smug satisfaction when it lodges into the back of her neck, piercing her spinal cord. Sonja slumps to the ground with a thud. The action, reminding me of the riddle, ‘If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around, does it still make a sound?’
This one did.
Shrugging, I slide my mask in place, eager for it to be the last she ever sees. I want the neon red stitch-like Xs to haunt her in the afterlife.
More than ready to cause chaos, I grab my Guilie, pausing long enough to admire the shine of the barbed wire wrapped around the barrel of her.
“Tupaya ty suka. YA sderu s tebya zhiv'yom kozhu i zazharyu na uzhin,” she slurs. “Vytashchi menya otsyuda.”
I snicker at her empty threats to grill me like a steak if I don’t get her out of here. “Vash zhnets zdes', chtoby sobrat,” I retort as I two-hand grip my bat.
Sonja’s face scrunches in confusion. She’s a tough bitch, I know grown men who would’ve died from fright alone. Not her. She glares, no fear in sight. “Phhh-F-f-f-uck y-y-you an-d-d-d you-your re-reap-p-p-p-er.”
“Stubborn until the end,” I sneer. “I could respect it, but you’re fucking scum. Human-trafficking vile scum.”
Her expression turns smug, “Were you one of the bitches I sold, or was it someone in your family?” The clarity in her words almost surprises me as she spits at me.
Jumping back, I angle my body, twisting and taking aim.
