by K. L. Savage
He pushes me away, and another knife lands in the door with another hard knock.
I scream as Andrew tackles me to the ground, pushing me inside the store. My head hits the floor causing my ears to ring, but other than that, I’m okay. Andrew cups my face and whispers harshly, “Stay back, Daphne. Stay away from the door. I’m going to go call 911.” He kicks the door shut from where we’re laying, and he pushes himself to his feet. He locks the door, then grabs a chair and pushes it under the knob. “No wonder you hurried back here. What if that would have hit you? Oh my God, you could have been killed, Daphne.”
Yeah, but it wasn’t my head the knife landed by.
I don’t think I was the target. But do I know that for sure? No.
I creep toward the bay windows and sit on the bench and stare outside, trying to find the source of where the knives were coming from. The familiar feeling of someone watching me takes over again, and something moves across the street in the alley between the candy store and the laundry shop. The alley is dark. I can’t see anything, but I look straight ahead.
I feel the moment we lock eyes because my breath gets taken away, and my heart stutters. I get to my knees, the cushions providing support against my legs, and lay my hands against the window.
Someone is there.
The shadow moves and when he steps forward, the light glistens off his dark hair, but I can’t see his face.
“What are you doing?” Andrew yanks me from the window and drags me between the bookshelves until I’m behind the front desk, safe.
Is it odd that I felt safer locked in a stranger’s eyes than I do right now?
I’m going to kill him.
I don’t like that guy being all over Daphne like that. I intentionally missed his head. I didn’t want to scare Daphne, but I wanted to scare him.
She’s mine.
I don’t know how I can make her mine. I’ve never been interested in a woman before, so I don’t know what goes into convincing a woman to date. No, not date. I don’t want to date.
I want to be submerged, and I’m already obsessed.
And when I set my eyes on a target, I never change direction. I hunt until I get what I came for. The problem with Daphne is I’m not sure what I’m hunting for. I don’t want to hurt her. I want… I want…
Damn it, I don’t know how to put it into words. All I know is when I stare at my hands, then look across the street from the alley into the bookstore window, I don’t want to hold a blade. I don’t have the urge to kill when I look at her. I don’t have the need to cut out tongues.
I think—no, I know—when I see my murderous hands, all I can see them doing is holding her now.
I ache for the solitude I know she can give me.
I’m not sure what to make of that. I love my blade. I love cutting out tongues. It’s something I need to do in order to survive. No one knows my story. No one knows what I’ve been through, not even Reaper. I’m fucked in the head after what my uncle did to me. I’m as good as I’m going to get, and people either need to take me or leave me.
I want Daphne to take me.
No one knows what to do with me, so I’m ignored. I know I’m different and misunderstood, but part of me wants to come out of the dark. I live in the corners, in the shadows, and it’s where I feel most comfortable and safe. But Daphne is all light, a bright sun rising on my nighttime soul.
She makes me crawl out of my hole because her light feels good. It’s warm. I’m always so damn cold, and I’ve never met someone who thaws the frozen blood pumping through my veins in the matter of an instant. Part of me is brought back to life from the quick moment we shared those few weeks ago.
It scares me.
I’ve only been this type of man.
A killer. A fucked in the head murderer. A sadist.
I’m not the kind of man a woman like Daphne wants. She’s supposed to be with men like the guy in the bookstore. All pretty and normal.
Yeah, but I don’t want her to be.
So she won’t be.
If I knew what is good for her, I’d let her go. Lucky me, I don’t know the definition of ‘good’ too well.
I step into the darkness of the alley again, and my heart pounds from our eye contact. She knows I’m here. She felt me until that fucking guy pulled her away from the window.
I sneer, curling my lip when I think of his face and perfectly parted hair. Is that what she likes? Does she like short hair? I reach up and grab the ends of my straggly mane and grunt. It’s just hair.
But would she like it?
I run my palm over my head, debating if I need to cut it for her. Maybe Sarah can cut it for me. She’s my friend. She’ll understand.
Sarah is great. She’s Reaper’s ol’ lady. We’ve connected in ways I haven’t ever connected with anyone before. I think it’s because she’s kind of like a mother hen to me. She cares about me, and I soak it up because I’ve never been cared for. It’s nice to feel love.
I flatten my hand on the brick wall, letting the rough stone rub against my callouses. Feels good. I need to leave before the cops get here, but I can’t seem to move. I need to watch her to make she’s okay.
Police sirens whirl in the distance and quickly come closer. Red and blue lights reflect in the window of the bookstore, bringing back a memory I wish would stay gone forever. The night I killed my uncle. I don’t regret it. If I had to turn back time, the only thing I would change is killing him sooner.
Two cop cars park right in front of the store. A big guy steps out of one, and he has a huge round stomach and a turkey neck. My fingers itch to cut all the extra fat off and send it to my swamp kitties, but I think it will be frowned upon if I killed a cop. Reaper can only be tolerant about so much, and becoming a cop killer is stretching it.
Maybe.
Maybe no one needs to know about it.
It’s something to keep in mind.
The other cop is in shape with tattoos down his arms. His uniform is a bit too tight, and he puffs out his chest when he sees Daphne through the window.
I growl under my breath. I want her eyes only on me.
The guy who works at the bookstore opens the door and steps outside to talk to the cops. My eyes land on Daphne, who stands in the doorway, and her shoulder leans against the wall. Her cardigan is pulled tight around her, emphasizing the small swells of her tits. I wish I were her sweater, right up against her skin, cloaking her.
I bet she’s so soft and smells so good. I want to get close enough where I can find out. Something tells me she smells as warm as she makes me feel.
Her eyes search in the alleyway again, and they fall on me. I know she can’t see me, but she can feel me. Daphne takes a step outside, and the muscular cop stands in front of her, blocking my view of the only object in the universe that’s found a way to ground me.
Sneering, I almost launch myself across the street and slit all their throats and throw her over my shoulder to take her away. I dig my nails into the brick to stop myself, and my breathing becomes harsh and ragged. Sweat beads across my brows and rage fills my veins. I knew I shouldn’t have used both of the knives that I had on me to throw against the door.
Damn it.
I wait for him to move out of my way, but he doesn’t. I can’t leave because I parked my bike in the alley, and if I speed out of here, I’ll look guilty, even though I am. So I have to wait and watch as he gets closer and closer to her.
I slide down the wall and sit on the filthy ground, tangling my hands in my hair. I start to rock. The urge to kill is humming through my body. I’m coming unhinged. I need to see Daphne. She soothes the killer beneath my skin.
Turning my head, I see her again as she steps to the side, away from him, and I hold back the beast I know she wouldn’t love. I want to kill those cops. I want to kill the man who touched her. I want her to only be mine.
Her eyes search the darkness for me again, and when those big blues land on me, I let out a huge breath, sagging aga
inst the brick wall.
I can breathe again.
I’m obsessed with her.
It’s dangerous.
I know what it means when I’m obsessed with someone, and usually they end up dead.
Not this time.
I want to possess her. I want her to be dependent on me. I can protect her. I know that is something I will be able to do. Anyone who dares come close to her, I’ll slice out their tongues.
If she accepts that part of me.
Part.
Who am I kidding? Cutting is who I am.
My cock starts to come to life when I notice her push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Fuck, she’s pretty. I rub the growing erection in my jeans and groan. I don’t ever get hard unless I’m spilling blood.
Sexually, I haven’t gotten hard. I’ve never been interested in sex after what my uncle did, but Daphne makes me interested.
Very interested.
And that scares me. I’m not a man to be scared of anything, but having sex with a woman is something I don’t know how to do.
Need someone tortured? I’m the guy to do it.
Need someone’s tongue cut out? Fucking pick me. I love that shit.
Love?
I don’t know how to do that, but after meeting Daphne, I know I want to learn how.
If I can even be taught. I might be a lost cause, a hopeless case, a stupid person for the rest of my life. I’m incapable.
I’m trained to shed blood.
I was born to inflict hate.
That’s who I am.
I am hate.
But I don’t hate her, and that’s a new feeling for me to process.
The tattooed cop hands Daphne a small business card, and I’ll bet anything it has his number on it. I watch her narrow face for any sort of reaction, but she seems disinterested, sliding it into her cardigan pocket.
Good girl.
The cops get into their car, turn off their blue lights, and drive down the road.
Fucking finally.
Now I can kill the man in the bookstore. There’s one thing I always carry, just in case I don’t have my knives on me.
I pull out my nine-millimeter and aim directly at his head. My finger rubs against the trigger. His hands drop to his hips, and he says something out of the side of his mouth to Daphne, which has me lowering the gun and hesitating to shoot.
I do not hesitate.
I lift the gun again, but I can’t seem to make myself pull the trigger. Daphne might be upset if I kill her friend.
She can always make new friends, right?
Trying again, I hold the weapon between my hands and lay my finger on the trigger. Come on, why can’t I do it? This isn’t like me. I need to get this guy out of my way. He wants Daphne. Daphne will want him. He is better than me. Everyone is. If that means I need to take out everyone, then that is what it means. I will kill everyone on this goddamn planet making us the last two people on earth if I have to.
Damn, that actually sounds kind of nice.
It’s a long list. It will take me a while, but it can be done. My swamp kitties will be nice and well-fed too. The idea is something to consider. It’s on my list.
She nods at him after he speaks to her. I wish I could read lips. Hell, I wish I could read, but I can’t, so I’m stuck wondering what the hell he’s saying to her. Is he admitting his love? That thought has my finger twitching on the trigger. I need to be smart about this. I could stage his death.
He could die in a horrible car accident, and then I can finally have Daphne all to myself.
It sounds selfish because it is.
I want to be selfish when it comes to Daphne.
The fucking walking dead man gives her a hug, but she doesn’t seem to reciprocate it in the same enthusiasm. She turns her head toward me and lays her cheek on his chest, arms to her side, and her eyes are staring down this dark alley again.
All I can hear is my breathing. My heartbeat. It’s deafening, and after spending a few hours in a box in the ground because of some killer on the loose, my heartbeat sounds pretty fucking good right about now.
Shit.
That reminds me, I’m supposed to be at the clubhouse helping the club clean up Skirt’s old house so they can break ground on a new property.
I can’t leave Daphne just yet.
He finally releases her, and she vanishes inside the bookstore, then comes outside a second later when she has her purse. It’s a nice green color. I can see why she likes it. It can go with all the clothes she wears and still look fashionable and bright. She gives him a wave and walks down the street.
By herself.
Fuck no.
She’s not ever going anywhere by herself ever again.
I wait for the shitbag who works with her to disappear. I watch as he locks up the shop, then trots over to his fucking Prius. What a pussy.
What man drives a car like that?
No man does, which means he’s a bitch. Daphne doesn’t need a man like that. She needs someone who is strong, a protector, someone who isn’t worried about needing to charge his car before they go out on a date.
I should have brought my silencer. This mess could have been dealt with already and one less Prius loving, plant-fucking guy would be off the map. Damn it.
He rolls down the windows and—oh dear, all the blades in the world—is that a saxophone? He’s listening to jazz! I’m too baffled to shoot him as his car hums like a honeybee before driving down the road in the opposite direction.
Inching out from the alleyway, the sun is high in the sky, and the cool morning is now a thing of the past. I run across the street and then throw the hood I have attached to my cut over my head, staying close to the quaint brick buildings. They look old, like they have been here awhile.
Keeping my head down, I count the cracks in the sidewalk, smiling when I remember when Sarah taught me how to count over ten. Sometimes, I count for the hell of it just because I know how. People don’t know how good they have it. Life is easy for others because counting, writing, and reading is something people learn so early, and they really can’t remember when it started to flow so easily that it has been embedded in their minds.
Sarah says she’s going to teach me how to read soon, right after I perfect writing my name. I’m close. My handwriting is sloppy, but it’s better than not writing at all. A man my age, I should know how to do all those things, I know that. I know I’m not smart, not like the rest of my friends. I guess I have my own strengths, but I haven’t figured them out yet. My insecurities are too strong.
I’m cruel when I need to be, but that’s all I am, and discovering Daphne makes me want to figure out if there is more of me. There has to be, right? I can’t be an empty vessel, and if it’s all I am, then I guess I’ll be living a life away from Daphne. I’ll have to settle for watching her from a distance for the rest of my life.
I won’t be happy about it, but I’m starting to think happiness is something learned, and if my history has proven anything to me, it’s I’m incapable of being taught.
Passing freshly black-painted parking meters, I round the corner of a local barbershop. Hey, maybe they can cut my hair if that’s what Daphne is into. I’ll become whoever she needs me to be, but will she do the same for me?
I tilt my head up and turn my body at the last second to miss running into a guy around my age smoking a joint. “Hey, fucking watching it, guy,” he dares to snap at me.
Right as I’m about to place my gun against his temple and blow his brains out, I catch Daphne up ahead, turning around, and I dip into the alley to hide.
“Fucking freak,” the guy sniffles, scratching his nose with his fingers. His hollow orbs don’t give me another glance, but he has no idea how close I am to shooting him in the chest for disrespecting and challenging me like he did. And he had done it in front of Daphne?
This fucker just made my kill list.
I count to thirty and peek around the edge of the alley and se
e the fashionable green purse bouncing on her hip as she walks down the sidewalk. Pushing off the wall, I slide my hands in my pockets and follow.
I’m far enough away where I’m not suspicious. I stare at her back, watching her hips sway, and she’s wearing those leggings again. I like them. They hug her ass just right, and all I want to do is watch my fingers sink into the flesh, then my teeth, and then—
“Ow.” I rub my forehead and scowl at the fucking pole I just ran into. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.” I point my finger at it just as an old lady dressed in a purple dress walks by, her chihuahua prancing in a matching sweater. She gasps, placing her laced-gloved hand against her chest and giving me a wide berth. “No, not you, ma’am. The pole.” I chuckle, rubbing the spot on my head.
She hurries away, her little yapper of a dog barking at me. I sneer at the tiny rat, and he whimpers, prancing away on his paws.
Stupid fucking dog. Stupid fucking pole.
Damn it, Daphne!
Panic has me running down the sidewalk when I don’t see her. She’s gone. All I see are trees lining the sidewalk. The roads are clean, unlike the Vegas strip, and there is a blue mailbox on the corner without posters of naked women taped to it. Something out of the corner of my eye has me turning in the other direction.
There she is.
Daphne is climbing the concrete steps to a duplex across the street. I dodge behind a red car when she tenses. Her brown hair blows as the desert wind kicks up a bit of sand, and the grains hiss against the buildings. A circle of sand swirls along the road before laying still as the breeze comes to a halt.
She feels me.
Oh, I feel you too, Daphne.
I watch her through the windows of the car I’m using as a shield, and she disappears inside, closing the door behind her. I’m nowhere near done following her. I can’t rest until I know she’s safe in her bed.
And maybe a little after too. I want to watch her for a little bit. I know how it sounds, but I want to watch her breathe. Knowing someone so beautiful exists is a rarity. She’s like seeing a comet for the first time or a double rainbow, and I have to stare for as long as possible because seeing something so extraordinary only comes around once in a lifetime.
