I do it every time I’m working, mostly because it pumps me up, but it also helps block out the screams when needed.
Smiling, I step forward and off the beam, falling gracefully toward the ground with my arms spread out, kind of being a show off, but hey, I have to let it out at some point. And since I never let anyone but my victims see me in my true form, this is basically my only chance.
“What the …?” Zitty Zane trails off as I land in front of him with a soft thud.
“Pretty awesome, right?” I grin as I dust off some dirt from the front of my black pants. My shoes are black, too, and so are the fingerless gloves and hoodie I’m wearing. All black, like the effing grim reaper, except for this pink mask.
I really need to get a new one.
“What are you?” Chubby Bubby breathes out as he staggers back.
“You know, while I was watching you, I guessed you would be the runner.” My grin turns dark as my hunger surfaces, begging to chase him. “Guess I was right.”
His eyes snap wide, then he spins around to run but ends up tripping over his own feet and falls face-first onto the concrete, hitting his head and knocking himself out.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I gripe. “You just took some of the fun out of this.” I kick him in the foot, hoping to wake him up. Nothing.
Click.
Zitty Zane cocks his gun.
“Who are you?” he asks, his voice slightly trembling. “And how the hell did you jump from that beam without hurting yourself?”
I hold my finger up and tsk him. “Now, now, Zitty Zane, you’re not the one who gets to ask the questions. I, however, will be asking you a total of two. If you answer them without being a pain in the ass, I’ll try to make this as quick and painless as possible.” Lies, but he doesn’t know that. “If you don’t, however …” I fix my gaze on him, letting my hunger unleash from my body, my veins blazing with desire and my eyes darkening to pits of hollow blackness.
Zane’s eyes widen and his hand shakes so badly he can barely hold the gun steady. I don’t blame him for being scared out of his damn mind. The first time I saw what my eyes looked like when I got this hungry, I nearly pissed myself.
“I know. The eye thing is totally creepy,” I say in agreement. “I’ve heard it helps if you don’t look directly at them. Although, it still won’t save your soul from me.”
Bang.
He fires the gun.
I slant to the side, moving out of the way of the bullet, but it still grazes the sleeve of my shirt.
“Wow, I didn’t think you were going to shoot that quickly. Usually, there’s a lot of stammering and shock before that happens.” I clap my hands. “Bravo, Zitty Zane, you’ve managed to catch me off guard.”
He cocks his gun again. “Th-this time, I-I won’t miss.”
“Actually, there won’t be a this time.” I snap my leg up and deliver a super speedy roundhouse kick, kicking the gun out of his hand.
He curses and rushes to pick it up, but I swing around and jump-kick him straight in the face. Blood gushes from his mouth as he falls to the floor and bangs his head against the ground. His phone falls out of his pocket and cracks apart as he blinks a few times then moves to roll over, but I position my foot on top of his chest, pinning him down.
“Time for my questions. And remember, if you answer them easily, what happens next won’t hurt a bit,” I spout off a bunch of bullshit at him. The truth is, getting your soul devoured hurts like a bitch. I know this from firsthand experience. When my soul was drunk the night I turned into … well, whatever the hell I am now, the pain is one of the few things I can remember. I’m not sure I even have a soul anymore; if the hooded figure that stood over me and fed off my soul drank me dry or not.
“Get the hell off me, you crazy bitch!” Zitty Zane cries out, gripping my leg.
“Hey, don’t call me a cunt. Ever. If you need to use names, I prefer evil bitch, crazy lunatic, or my personal favorite, a soulless monster,” I growl out, mostly for dramatic effect. “Now, shut the hell up and let me ask my questions so I can get this over with, because you’re really starting to annoy the hell out of me and it’s getting late.” I press my weight down on him. “Question one: who’s your boss?”
When he only wheezes in response, I put more weight down on him.
“Trust me; it’ll be much easier if you just answer the question before your ribs break. Broken ribs hurt like a bitch.”
His face contorts in pain and his eyes bulge as the cartilage of his ribs begins to bend. “Fine …” he grits out. “His name is Axel M.”
Wow. Okay. I so did not expect him to cave that quickly.
But maybe he’s lying …
“And what does the M. stand for?”
“I don’t know,” he cries out in pain.
I dig the heel of my boot into his chest. “Are you sure you don’t know? Because it seems awfully weird that you have no idea what your boss’s last name is.”
“I swear I’m not lying.” The color has drained from his face and his breathing is turning into soft gasps. “No one knows his last name. He’s not even the one who directly hired me. His second-hand man did.”
“So, what’s his name?” I ask, stifling a yawn that creeps up on me.
“He likes to call himself Bloody Hands, but his real name is Jerry B. Again, I don’t know his last name.” His body quivers as one of his ribs breaks.
“I find it odd that you supposedly don’t know anyone’s last names,” I tell him. “And I’m wondering if maybe you’re lying to me.”
“Why would they tell me their last names?” he wheezes out. “They own the biggest trafficking ring in the country. Or, well, Axel does. Jerry is just the one who oversees everything and makes sure everyone stays in line and does their jobs properly, but each warehouse has their own boss. Ours is Colt, and he should be arriving here any moment, so maybe you can ask him your questions and just let me go.”
He’s lying. Colt never comes here. But I’m not sure if he’s lying about knowing who the boss is. All my undead sensors are telling me he’s not lying. Not that I can always trust my sensors when I’m this hungry.
“I really hope you’re telling the truth,” I say with my head tilted to the side.
“I-I s-swear I-I a-am,” he stammers. “P-Please j-just l-let m-me g-go.”
“Let you go?” Keeping my foot propped on his chest, I crouch down and pat his cheek. “Your easy outing on who your bosses are has made this pretty simple for me, and maybe I could let you go because of that, but the truth is, I don’t like simple. Simple is kind of boring. Seriously, this might be the most boring job I’ve ever done.” I tap my finger against my lips. “Although, I could always just let you go and chase you? That sounds pretty fun.”
Fear pours through his eyes, but then his lips suddenly twitch up into a small grin. “Actually, you’re the one who’s about to be chased.”
A series of gun clicks floods the air.
I don’t have to turn around to know the other guys who work here have arrived from wherever the hell they were tonight.
“Step away from him now, little girl,” a guy with a thick accent calls out.
A smile pulls at my lips as my song of choice reaches the intense part. Perfect timing.
“And let the fun begin.” I spin around, drawing my leg up, and kick the guy standing right behind me.
His gun sails from his hand and smacks the guy standing beside him in the face. As he cries out and moves to pull the trigger of his gun, I use my superspeed to rush over to him and slam my knuckles into his jaw. The impact sends his teeth clattering together, and he drops his gun. It somehow goes off and the bullet pierces another guy’s foot. He screams out in pain, dropping his weapon.
Lovely. At this point, they’re going to take each other out.
Not wanting that to happen, I spin around and disarm the only guy left with a gun. There are three of them total, along with Chubby Bubby, who’s still lying uncons
cious on the floor, and Zitty Zane, who’s running toward the back door to escape. Or, well, I should say hobbling since he can barely stand upright due to his cracked ribs. Honestly, it’s kind of funny to watch, especially when he trips and slams his face into the concrete.
Deciding to let him run for a moment so I can end this battle with a little chase, I reel around and slam my boot into the nearest guy’s throat. He trips back, clutching his neck while another guy barrels toward me. I move lightning quick, delivering a series of punches and kicks to faces, knees, and my personal favorite, right between the legs. That always gets the men to drop to their knees. Although, I have kicked a few females in the same area and they go down just as hard.
Time seems to stand still as I toy with them, moving easily and swiftly like a gust of breeze dancing in the air.
As I continue to play around with them, my hunger starts to simmer, begging to be fed.
“All right, I think it’s time for me to stop playing with my food,” I announce as I slow to a stop and put my hands on my hips, taking in the scene before me.
Chubby Bubby is sprawled across the ground while the other three are struggling to get up. I move to the closest one, crouch down, and grab him by the collar, drawing his face toward mine.
“Please don’t,” he pleads, blood dripping from his nose.
I angle my head to the side. “I’ll tell you what. If I start to drink your soul and can taste some good in you, I promise to let you go.”
I mean what I say. But there won’t be any good in his soul. The kinds of things he’s done, the hurt and darkness he’s marked the girls in the van with, tainted his soul with scars of evil that suffocate any good inside him.
His bottom lip quivers as I lower my lips to his. “No …”
His words are ripped from his tongue as I devour his soul from his lips, the taste of evil and darkness singeing my taste buds. I don’t let up, feeding off every little inch until his body goes slack—empty. Then I let go of his shirt, and he falls limply to the floor. He’s not dead, though. No, he’s in a comatose state that he’ll remain in for who knows how long—I haven’t figured that out yet. Doesn’t matter, though. He’ll basically be dead soon after I bury him.
When I first started drinking souls, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with the bodies after I finished. I tried to kill one of them once, but apparently, their bodies become nearly indestructible after their soul is gone. Still, I knew I couldn’t just leave the bodies lying around for the police to find—their mysterious comatose states would draw too much attention—so I decided to bury the bodies in a field out by the mountains where no one can find them, and I put enough dirt on them that even a vampire couldn’t dig their way out.
While their bodies remain frozen in time, I’ve often wondered where their minds go. I have a theory that maybe they end up in the underworld where they spend all of time and eternity being tortured. But that might just be my overactive imagination and twisted mind making me wonder that.
Licking my lips, I move on to the next guy. The next dude puts up quite the fuss, even going as far as bitch-slapping me across the face.
“Dude, you hit like a kitten. Seriously, if you do end up in the underworld, please work on your right hook, okay?” I pat his cheek then grin and seal my lips to his, consuming every drop of his soul.
After I’m done, I kick the next guy in the stomach. He drops to the ground easily and doesn’t put up much of a fight. After I’m done devouring his soul, I wipe my lips off and rise to my feet, preparing to move on to Chubby Bubby, even though he’s still passed out and will make for a boring meal. But, if I want to get home in time to reach my sleep goal, I need to leave in approximately ten minutes, and I still need to chase down Zitty Zane and bury the bodies—
Bang.
A bullet tears through my arm, putting a tiny hole in it. A bit of my black blood—or whatever the hell pumps through my veins now—oozes out.
“Dude, I really liked this shirt.” I crinkle my nose as I turn toward the culprit who shot me. “Chubby Bubby? Man, I totally didn’t think you had it in you.”
His hands tremble as he struggles to keep the gun aimed at me. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot you.”
“You already shot me,” I remind him. “Which means you owe me one step.” My boots scuff against the floor as I take a step toward him.
His shaky finger hovers over the trigger. “I said don’t come any closer.”
“No, you said don’t come any closer or you’ll shoot,” I correct, taking another step toward him.
“Stop!” he warns then pulls the trigger.
The bullet whizzes out, but I easily duck out of the way. Then I lick my lips, my eyes darkening with hunger again. “I’m going to have a lot of fun eating your chubby, little soul.”
He pisses himself. Yep, right there on the floor, soaking his pants and everything.
I pull a disgusted face. “Dammit, why did you have to go and do that? Do you know how gross you just made this? Not that I’m not going to eat your soul. But it still makes it a bit gross.” Reaching forward, I wrap my hands around the sides of his head and drag him toward me.
He quivers, quite possibly pissing himself again, and drops the gun.
“P-please don’t do this. P-please don’t h-hurt me,” he stammers, tears spilling from his eyes.
His words strike a nerve deep inside me; a memory connected to that night briefly surfacing.
“Please don’t do this,” I beg, tears spilling down my eyes as I lie on the ground, rain pouring down on me. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Laughter fills the air …
Anger simmers under my flesh.
“It sucks, doesn’t it? Feeling so helpless and there’s nothing you can do about it unless the person or, in your case, creature that’s about to hurt you shows you mercy. I imagine it’s how those girls you have locked up in that van have felt every single day since you stole them from their lives and ripped their souls apart, over and over again, night after night.” I slant closer to him. “Don’t worry, though; I’m not going to rip your soul apart.” My grip on him tightens as my anger emerges through the hunger inside me, creating a furious combination. “I’m going to devour it, and then your soulless, lifeless, and yet somehow still thriving body is going to spend the rest of its days rotting away under the ground.”
Tears spill from his eyes as I tighten my grip on him and lift him until his feet no longer touch the floor.
“Please,” he tries one last time. “I’ll do anything.”
“Come on, Chubby Bubby; really? Is this really how you want to go out? Begging for your life and pissing yourself?”
“I don’t want to die,” he sobs out, his chest heaving.
“If it makes you feel any better, you technically won’t be dead. Although, your soul might end up in the underworld, so there is that.” I shrug. “Not that I don’t think you deserve it.”
“I know where the boss is,” he tries again. “And he has hundreds of warehouses just like this. I can take you to him if you let me go.”
“You’re lying. I’ve been studying you for long enough that I know if Zitty Zane doesn’t know where the boss is, you sure as hell don’t.” He parts his mouth again, but I reach up and line my finger across his lips. “Enough. I’m getting bored of this, and the stench of your piss is really starting to make me nauseated. Plus, I’m like two minutes behind schedule, so …” I fuse my lips to his and begin to drink his soul.
“So, so good,” I moan after I’m finished. Then I toss Chubby Bubby’s body aside and stride toward the van door.
My original plan was to chase down Zitty Zane before I let the girls go, but since I’m on a time crunch, I’ll take care of him on my way out of here.
Wheeling open the door, I jump into the van and start untying the girls. There are eight of them total, and they all look under the age of eighteen, but their eyes are haunted with a shadowy pain well beyond their years.
&nb
sp; Tears begin to stain their cheeks as I free them, some collapsing the floor and falling apart. One even throws her arms around me and starts to sob uncontrollably onto my shoulder.
Crap. I need to calm them down so they can get themselves out of the warehouse while I go chase down Zitty Zane. Plus, I don’t really do well with the whole weepy thing.
I skim my gaze across the eight of them, searching for one who seems to be holding their shit together. When I spot a girl with dry eyes and a hollow look on her face, I figure she’ll do.
“You, the girl in the pink dress.” I point to her as I hop out of the van. “I need you to get everyone out of this warehouse. Use that door right there”—I point to the side door of the warehouse—“and head down the dirt road. Once you reach the end, there’s an old shed. Wait in there until a cab shows up.” I pause. “Crap. There’re eight of you. I’m probably going to have to request a van cab, aren’t I?” Sighing, I dig my burner phone out of my pocket while the girl in the pink dress just gapes at me. “Go.” I shoo her toward the door.
She blinks at me, still dry-eyed, making me question if she’s in shock.
“Okay, never mind.” I point at the second less weepy of the group, a girl wearing a red, glittery dress. “You’re going to be the leader. Make sure everyone gets to that shed, okay? And don’t leave it until the cab shows up.” When she stares at me with wide eyes, I add, “Do you understand?”
She finally nods then ushers the rest of the girls toward the door, taking what looks like the youngest of the group by the hand.
Letting out an exhale, I spin toward the door Zitty Zane ran out of. “All right, Zitty Zane, let the chase begin.” I let out my best evil villain laugh then stride toward the door.
“Wait!” one of the girls calls out.
I pause then hesitantly turn around.
The girl in the red dress steps toward me. “Who are you?”
Huh? No one has ever asked me that. Not that I can tell her my real name.
Dammit, why haven’t I come up with an alias yet?
Grim Page 2
