Standing, I kick his leg, and it rolls, hitting the annoying idiot who thought she was special.
Goal.
I laugh. I obviously missed my calling as a soccer player, though I’m much better at baseball.
Spinning, I look around the room. I know this fuck has to have gasoline in here somewhere. It takes three twirls before I notice it, a cabinet filled with axes, some medieval torture devices, and other shit I can’t identify.
I make a mental note to look up some of these tools. They’ll be perfect for my collection. Then, I stride back to where Fredrick lies.
Well, what’s left ofhim.
Uncapping the red gasoline container, I pour it all over him, enjoying the mush pile made of half of his body, laughing when remnants of his tissue dissolve and float away.
From the torso up, Freddy looks like he’s been through a meat grinder. The imagery that thought leaves when I recall the video of him grilling the breast of a girlfriend he’d murdered after she’d dyed her hair blonde.
“What the fuck, Patrica?” Freddy sneers, catapulting from the recliner in the living room.
“Don’t you like it, Freds?”
I remember shaking my head at the terrible nickname and gawking at her striking resemblance. She could easily have been my twin.
“No,” he snaps. “Now go dye it back.”
The command bounced off the walls, and the joy on Patrica’s face melted away. Her nostrils flared, and I knew what was coming. I begged the woman on the screen to dye it back and not barrel down the path of no return.She didn’t fucking listen.
“What?” Patrica shrieks, “I’m not dying shit back.”
The idiot couldn’t read the room. She couldn’t sense the danger breathing down her neck as it wrapped its hands around her throat.
They say trauma makes you vigilant, almost to an extreme point. I could easily tell when someone’s life hadn’t been touched by evil—never tainted by its rancid stench. They were always more carefree, unguarded, and gullible.
Freddy shot across the room, slamming her so hard into the door she just stepped through that she passed out. That didn’t stop him from banging her repeatedly until she went completely limp. She wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t truly alive either. One of the sick bastard’s favorite types of people to play with.
I cut the video once he stripped her of her clothes, tearing off her panties and cutting off her bra. I read the report and have seen his depravity enough times to know what happened next. Patrica was raped, gutted while he was still brutally slamming inside of her.
What I was less prepared for were the photos of him barbecuing parts of her on his custom grill. He was butt naked, blood still marringhis body, and his dick still hard and covered in her cum. A sign he waited until she came on his dick before ending her.
The saddest part is that what he did to Patrica wasn’t even close to the horrific things he’s done since then. It was like she became his gateway. After that day, the number of people he murdered and ate was too many to count.
Fucking scum.
If his mouth weren’t missing, I’d feed the cannibalistic fuck his own dick.
He’d enjoy that.
Tucking his mask into the belt, I peer into the room a final time. My only regret was how quick this kill was. If I weren’t working against time, I would’ve made his death take months.
He deserves it.
They all do.
Stepping through the side door I entered earlier, I spark up the blowtorch.
“May you burn in hell,” I hiss. “And don’t you worry, the last of the assholes will join you soon.” Then I toss it inside and walk away, enjoying the crackle of the fire tearing through the room. I wish I could watch the flames engulf the whole thing, but there’s an asshole “adopted big brother” I have to spend quality time with.
Tapping the earpiece, I gloat, wishing Brax could see my face as I say this. “That’s two for me. I get twenty points for creativity and thirty for execution. Pun definitely intended.”
“Just remember, little fox, if I catch you before you capture your brother, I’m going to fuck you while he watches,” Brax states, his gravelly tone sounding more of a promise than a threat before he cuts the line.
