King
H
is screams of pain rend the air, filling the warm summer night with a haunting symphony that makes me smile. His chest is red, the rivulets rising from each cut and flowing down his stomach, disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.
The man is bound by his hands and feet to the floor of an empty building not far from Gabriella’s home and the heart of Seattle. It’s an empty space that I own and have soundproofed, dedicated each of its twenty floors to a different kind of torture, reminiscent of my home back in Italy.
I’ll bleed him dry here.
Drain him drop by drop until he talks, and still grant no mercy when he does.
This is his fault. Not mine. Not my pretty girl’s.
“Speak up, Mr. Hall.” His response is more unintelligible gibberish, his bodily functions failing him when the front of his pants become piss stained. Filthy animal. “You disgust me.”
“Please, I haven’t done anything wrong. I was there to—” I cut off his bullshit with a backhand, the force behind the blow to his face breaking the cheekbone and his nose.
“I’m going to ask you again.” I snap my fingers and two special creatures slither into the room, watching the man with spiteful eyes. One constricts. One is venomous. “Who sent you?”
“I-I didn’t.” That’s all he manages to get out as the white albino coils at striking distance from his feet. The cobra stands with a regal position, her hood expanded and forked tongue flicking in and out languidly.
I command them both.
The male is mine.
The female is my gift to Miss Moore.
“Last chance.” Then, I whistle and the cobra strikes as she knows to do, two puncture wounds on his abdomen that immediately make him tense, a curdling scream escaping his throat. Then again, another dry bite, just because he’s pissed me off. Both serpents watch and wait, my hand gestures the only communication we need at the moment. “Are you ready to talk now?”
“Don’t kill me.”
“You should’ve thought about that beforehand. No?” I trail a sharp metal nail over the two small punctures at the center and scratch the skin—stretching it while watching it widen. Because the skin’s elasticity does give under pressure if the right amount is exerted and right now, I’m slicing up from just below his belly button to his sternum. “Preying on a defenseless woman? Following her around for the past few days?”
His eyes widen, the blood quickly draining from his face. This is a new fear. Nothing to do with the damage already inflicted. “She made me do it.”
“She who?” I ask, yet the pieces haven’t been hard to put together. The past has a way of finding the present and mixing together in ways that no one predicts, but I’m enjoying the idiocy of some. My beast has been caged for too long. My thirst unsatiated. When he doesn’t answer, his limbs shaking, I undo his bindings while the animals watch.
I don’t let him fall. I don’t hurt him and without exertion carry him to a chair I’d placed where he’d face the night sky. It’s an old, ornate chair fit for a king, one that’s seen better days and whose stains all reveal a haunting past. Each mark is a drop of my enemies blood, a sign of death.
“I’ll tell you everything,” David begins the moment I sit him in the chair, tone a little more cooperative. Idiot. But then again, that’s human nature, to fake complacency until you can lash out and run. It’s that fight or flight instinct that pushes one toward survival at all costs; words meant to explain a person’s reaction to a certain situation, and yet, all it does is try and hide the truth from a predator weakly. Because fear is a dominating emotion, near crippling, and with enough coercion, any man will crumble. I feed off his dread. Smile down at him. “Just don’t kill me.”
“That depends on you.” Stepping to his left, I crouch down beside him and place a hand on his shoulder. My nails dig in, the skin breaking where the sharp metal tips rip through. Not that I need them to inflict damage, but it entertains me to watch confusion and terror fill my victims’ eyes when they see them, a prop given to me years ago by someone I lost as a gag gift. “Tell me who, Mr. Hall. I need a name.”
“She goes by Veltross and—” I remove the claws from his shoulder and place the bloody tip over his mouth, smearing his life’s essence across his lips. Hall swallows hard, shuddering on a gag he swallows back while with the sharpness of a scalpel, the center of his lips split open. The skin is so fragile there, filets open like a steak would under a butcher’s blade, the skin pink and red—tender.
“Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Will you let me go?”
I don’t answer him, but instead hold up my hand while standing and both animals come near at my silent command. They watch me, heads tilted as if they were twins who shared one soul. There’s understanding in each pair of eyes. They’re faithful to their master and his chosen.
Always will be.
There’s a comforting release when I give in to my nature, the demon that is a part of me and has no remorse. His whimpers once again fill the room, and the heavy scent of blood fills my senses. Death surrounds him, a rotten stench that comes from men like him. Pigs. Pathetic.
A sexual predator.
“You made a grave mistake.”
“I didn’t do—”
“Silence.” My voice thunders throughout the open space. It reverberates as a bolt of lightning flashes across the large windows we face, him in a chair while I take a stand beside him. Not looking. Not talking.
The Seattle sky opens then as the first drops of rain descend, the night turning as black as my heart. Another flash of lightning and the windowpane is assaulted by sharp drops of angry water that batter the glass while no one moves.
I have no idea how long we stay that way. Time has no meaning for me.
Beside me, though, Mr. Hall seems to have calmed down. His bleeding has slowed down a bit, the coagulated drops over the wound providing a barrier.
First rule of survival: never drop your guard.
Second rule: keep your eyes open.
The second those drooping eyes close, I land a blow to the side of his skull that sends him falling, the hard concrete cushioning his head and side. Did he really think I’d let him walk out of these doors?
“Why?” Pathetic. Nothing angers me more than a man who can’t accept death with some dignity. But worse than that is one who tries to touch someone forbidden and then lies. “It’s all that woman. Go find her.”
