The first jump was short, a shift of weight more than a leap. Gravel skidded under my shoes, but I was already running before it could unbalance me. The second gap required accuracy. I pushed off hard, clearing the dark slice of alley below and landed low, absorbing the impact through my knees. A metal vent rattled as I passed it, and I adjusted my route to avoid the loose piping near the edge.
The third building had no easy access across, so I descended halfway down the fire escape, cut across a narrow maintenance ledge, and hauled myself back up by the gutter of the adjacent block. My palms burned where the steel scraped skin, but I welcomed the sting, it kept me alert.
When I reached the fourth roof, I slowed, more out of stealth than fatigue. The abandoned office block loomed across the street from Remo’s building, its upper windows dark, the facade chipped and neglected. From here I could see the back entrancewhere he’d eventually step out, unaware that a crosshair might already be gauging the space between his lungs.
I hurried to the opposite edge of the roof, dropped down onto the narrow balcony one level below, landing quietly and scanned the floor inside. A window ahead of me was cracked open, just enough to allow the barrel of a rifle to extend through. The shooter lay prone, his attention focused, the scope aligned perfectly with the building opposite.
My shoes were purchased with intention, they never made a sound, not even on tiles. I stepped inside, sniffing dust and paper residue. Steps a prowl that would make a lion proud, I approached him. He heard me only when my shoe brushed a fragment of broken glass intentionally.
“I got this, man,” he grumbled, the Spanish accent already filed in my memory bank.
When I said nothing, he turned his head, irritation flickered across his face before recognition of a threat caught up. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded, one hand shifting toward the secondary weapon near his hip.
“I am the reason he survives long enough to become your problem.” I stepped closer until the faint streetlight traced the outline of my masked face.
His eyes widened. “¡Madre de Dios, eres tú!” Mother of God, it’s you. The shock on his face lasted less than a second.
Before his hand reached the pistol, mine closed around the back of his collar, wrenching him off balance. His body hit the floor hard, the rifle skidding sideways. He tried to roll, to reach for anything that would restore advantage, but I was on him in a second, knee braced against his shoulder, pinning him in place, my sword already in hand, slicing a cut along the other shoulder, immobilizing that hand.
Eyes closed, he cried out, body stiffening to fight the pain before his lids lifted again. “Who are you?” he repeated, this time it was not a demand.
Slowly, I rose, the tip of my sword pressing against his throat kept him in place. “Remo Rossi is mine. Touch him and you die.”
“What are you? A stalker?” he stuttered, panic eclipsing his arrogance.
“Much worse.” My sword slid down from his chest to cock, the flesh parting on impact, spilling his blood and guts. “I’mShinigami.”
Eyes glassy with debilitating fear I’d seen so often on the faces of men who believed they owned the world, he choked trying to talk until his blood, nothing but a glistening dark shadow around his jerking body, finally thickened.
Taking my time to wipe my blade, I sheathed it, crossed back to the window and lifted the rifle. My eye against the scope for a single, controlled breath, I surveyed the buildings around Remo’s searching for further threat then down to his building entrance. No movement yet.
Satisfied, I dismantled the rifle with military precision and left it in pieces on the dusty floor. When I stepped back out onto the balcony, I scaled my way up to the roof to find equilibrium.
I liked dancing in the dark, especially on rooftops where the night air swirled around me, cloaking me in its mysterious aura, asking no questions and providing no answers. Stretching my arms out, I twirled on the tips of my toes, my rubber shoes moaning softly against the concrete.
Somewhere between my rigorous training and my stalking, I’d learned to balance my body in a position suited to a proportioned ballerina. Even though I’d quit those lessons at the age of six, the human body was well-versed in muscle memory and my rigid pose held for another minute before I gave into the need to pirouette.
A series of jumps and twirls came to an end with my feet landing on the edge of the building, my eyes staring down at the road, ten stories below and teetering on the brink of a death any normal person would’ve sweated with anxiety or screamed for help.
When I began my foray into the devious dark world of the perfect serial killer, my brain to normality had misfired after my first kill, plunging straight into the depths of hell, secure in the knowledge I’d never return.
Not like I wanted to.
There was a deep sense of pride after taking the life of a person far more powerful in weight, height or strength and sometime status. A satisfaction that made me bolder to attack more than one at a time. Yet I never let it cloud my judgment, never allowed it to consume me and never permitted it to get in the way of my true goal.
Skillfully maintaining my balance, I crouched on the ledge and waited. This late or should I say early in the morning, where night and day bridged the divide, the sounds of the city were muted. Almost like a complete reversal of blaring horns, tailpipe fumes and the cacophony of human voices. I’d grown accustomed to the quiet, the calm singing to my soul, mentally preparing me for what would follow.
Finally, the door to the side of his building below me opened, holding my attention as four men stepped out. On cue, they scouted the area then positioned themselves next to two vehicles before Remo exited.
In a three-piece dark suit draped over a black button down and complimented by a matching tie, he oozed unmatched sexuality, yet it was the arrogance of a killer that made me smile.
My pussy gave a little jolt of appreciation. “Calm down, little one, you’ll get to taste him again.” I soothed.
His steps unerring confidence, he approached the blacked-out SUV and just as he was about to climb in, he paused. Like every other night I watched him, his chin tilted up and as though he detected my interest, eyes I knew were a distinct shade of cyan, found mine. It took a special brand of man to find something masked by darkness; someone others couldn’t sense even when I became their shadows. Either Remo Rossi was a class on his own or we shared an unusual kinship since the first day we met. He slanted his head to one side, intrigue bringing that usual smirk to his handsome face before one dark brow inched upward in a silent challenge.
A moment later, he entered the vehicle. I watched until the SUV rounded the corner of the alley followed closely by the other, before I rose to my full height, turned to face the rooftop once more and jumped off the ledge. With nimble steps, I ran, scaling rooftops and balconies with a light-footed ease brought on by my training. Keeping Remo’s vehicle in my line of sight down below, I continued my traipse over the buildings until I reached the end of the road and the last building. My breathing hardly a pant, I inhaled deeply and watched his SUV disappear around a bend.
A slow grin crawled across my lips. “See you soon, my dark prince.”
