Chapter 1
Patch
“One, two, Patch is comin’ for you,” I taunt as I drag the blood-tipped knife along the bay door, causing it to screech.
“Three, four, I’m guardin’ every door. Five, six, I’m about to get my fix. Seven, eight, it’s gettin’ late. Nine, ten, I’m about to kill again.” The urge is there, the need for blood, add that it’s a trafficker, and that just doubles the anticipation. We’ve worked hard to find these assholes and bring them down. When one resurfaced in the Gainesville area, we were on it.
Now I’ve been handed the job of killing them. Two are already dead, and one is loose in the warehouse. What he didn’t realize was that I like the chase. I like the game of cat and mouse.
I slip silently around the warehouse. I know where he is, but I wanted to let him sweat a little. What fun would it be just to go in and kill him? I like to tease my prey, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.
I climb the stairs to the second level, knowing he’s there. I can practically feel his heart beating from here.
Thud thud.
Thud thud.
It’s beating so quickly now, knowing I’m inching closer to him. I bet his eyes are closed, begging God to save him. I bet he’s praying to anyone who will listen, but there is no one. Only me, and I will not let him live. I will not be his saving grace. I will bethe one who puts him to rest. He should thank me, bow down to me.
I move around the wall and see him in the corner, cowering like the baby that he is. You can take a woman, a child, and ruin their lives, but you can’t face your own death. What kind of man does that make you? What kind of sick fuck do you have to be?
“You like little boys?” I ask him as I walk closer, seeing the tears on his cheeks. “Little girls?” I ask him. He shakes his head, his body trembling as he realizes what comes next.
“Please,” he begs, his voice shaking. Please? I bet those kids begged. I bet those women begged.
“There is no please here. You’re gonna scream for me.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I do have to do this. What you are disgusts me. What you do haunts me. Don’t you get that?” I ask him cocking my head to the side to study the piece of shit in front of me.
“I’ll stop! I won’t do it again!” This begging shit gets on my nerves. I hate it when they beg for something they don’t deserve. I hate it when they beg for a life, just like the women and kids did.
“A life for a life. Isn’t that the old sayin’?” I ask him, taunt him. “Although you’ve taken more than one life, haven’t you?”
“Please,” he begs once more before I step into his space. I’ve heard enough. I know enough. Six children went missing, and by his hand. Luckily, we found them before they were unable to be saved, and they are now home with their families, where they belonged to begin with.
“Please. Oh, please don’t kill me,” I mock him as I grab his hair and pull him to his feet. He stands on trembling legs as I smirk at him. Storm would be proud of me right now.
“I’m begging you,” he cries.
“I know you are. Do you know why that pisses me off?” I ask him. He doesn’t respond. I didn’t figure he would. He has nothing to say to me.
“I’ll do anything,” he pleads.
“So will I.” I press the tip of the knife to his throat and drag the blade along his flesh. Blood surfaces as he sobs, but I didn’t cut deep enough to kill him. No. I won’t do that just yet. He needs to feel the pain. He needs to feel what those poor kids felt inside. The fear.
I shove him to the floor as he grabs at his throat, trying to stop the flow of blood, before I kick him in the ribs. He huffs out a breath and gasps for air as I smile and climb over him. I shove the bloody knife back into the sheath and kneel over the asshole before punching him in the face. I feel a bone crack, blood bursting from the wound.
But I don’t stop. I can’t. I keep punching as he screams and gags on his own blood. I keep punching until he goes limp beneath me. I know he’s dead. I can feel the life slowly slip away from him, but that doesn’t mean I’m finished.
When I finally get myself under control, I stand up and look at what I’ve done. Most people would be disgusted or regret what they’ve done, but not me. I don’t think I’ve ever regretted anything in my fucked up life, so why would this be any different?
I step over his body and walk toward the steps, taking them quickly as I smile and whistle the song I was singing for him earlier.
When I step outside, I inhale the night air and grin. That’s three more motherfuckers off the streets. That’s three more that people don’t have to worry about. I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it, blowing smoke into the calm night.
As I walk over to my bike, I think about what I just did. It makes me happy. Killing people who deserve it. I know some people will say leave it to God, but I can’t do that. I like taking matters into my own hands.
