1. RONAN

RONAN

ONE

PRESENT DAY

I 've never been one who fits into society's definition of "normal." Sometimes, I can't help but wonder what life could've been like if I had been like everyone else. To not have to work as hard as I do to "blend in". To have my life all figured out like everyone in my past had expected from me. It's been a constant struggle, balancing between the person I am and the person I need to pretend to be. From a young age, my thoughts and actions have always been just a little off-kilter from those around me.

My old shrinks would dismissively label it as an understatement, then rattle off my official diagnosis. My "disorders," they called them. Borderline Personality Disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Panic Disorder, a never-ending list of flaws and failures. Everything about me was deemed a fucking disorder, because according to them, I was a fucking disorder. "Oh, your son wants to burn down your house, Mrs. Kipling? Must be something wrong with him." They would tell my mother with their smug smiles and white coats. No one bothered to ask me why; to try to understand the twisted thoughts that consumed me. No, I was just another damaged case that needed to be fixed. I must be fucked in the head to want the things I did… I do. Poor little me wanted to burn down the very place where my father taught me that true faith meant blindly obeying his every command… even if it meant being abused and humiliated.

Honor. Thy. Father.

Whatever, maybe attempting to burn my father and childhood home to the ground because I was forced to orally repent for making my bed wrong is a bit extreme. Honestly, maybe he saw the evil in me long before the abuse started. It brings up that age old question—is evil born or made?

The urge to give in to my darkest impulses has always been present, a menacing voice whispering in my ear, goading me toward violence. From a young age, I found myself fantasizing about harming those who've wronged me, and when the opportunity presented itself, I couldn't resist. I remember being so consumed with rage as a child. There was a time in grade school I felt my best friend deserved punishment for cheating on a math test by looking at my sheet, and I nearly choked him until he turned blue. I didn't really think much about it other than it wasn't fair that he was using me.

And then at fourteen, I nearly killed my first girlfriend during our first sexual encounter. I'll admit, that one was unjustified. I couldn't help it, my hands were around her throat and it just… happened. The rush of power was intoxicating, but my punishment after she told her parents was so severe I had to be pulled from school.

That incident taught me to hide my true desires, to only let them surface in carefully calculated moments of control. The alternative meant being locked away in a padded cell, drugged and deemed insane by society. But deep down, I know that's where I belong. And if they were ever foolish enough to release me back into the world, I would unleash a storm of carnage unlike anything seen before. Which I did after I walked out of St. Dymphna's.

At nineteen years old, I found myself trapped in the sterile walls of the ward. My scarred arms throbbed with pain as I was forced to confront my self-harming habits. It was all bullshit—I got too fucked up at a party and the guy's house I was crashing at freaked out when he saw me cutting myself. Yeah, a couple were a little deep but nothing life-threatening. It was, however, enough for me to be deemed unstable and sent away, but not before calling my emergency contacts—my parents who I had been avoiding for nearly a year.

Imagine my surprise, coming out of my high, my body restrained to a hospital bed and two familiar figures looming over me. My mother, the perfect picture of a dutiful Christian wife, kept her head bowed and her eyes trained on the ground, afraid to bear witness to anything that may challenge her twisted faith. And then there was my father, the esteemed deacon of our church, revered leader of the boys' Bible camp and Sunday school. He preached about salvation on Sundays while fucking my mouth every other day of the week until I turned thirteen. But as soon as puberty hit and I became too much for him to control, the sexual abuse stopped and the physical abuse began. Strangely, I welcomed it with open arms—it was like a gift from the God who had been forced down my throat all these years. The bruises and cuts were a welcomed reprieve from the sexual abuse I had endured. After a while, I became addicted to the pain, craving more with each passing day. I would find any and every reason to get beat just so the pain could silence everything else, even for a moment. But like with any addiction, eventually it wasn't enough, I needed more.

So, as every dumb, broken teenager does when they're looking for a release, I turned to drugs for my escape. The sensation was alright, but it left me feeling empty and dull. I couldn't stand the sluggishness that seeped into my thoughts and movements. Maybe it was years of conditioning or trauma that made me crave a sharp mind, one that could go from zero to sixty in an instant. But none of the drugs provided that release while also allowing me the clarity to defend myself if needed. It was a delicate balance, and I constantly searched for something that could fulfill both needs.

Cutting has always been my go-to coping mechanism. The sharp sting of the blade and the sight of blood dripping down my skin provided a fast and effective release from the turmoil within me. But that night at my friend's house, I was high on whatever substance I had ingested and I made a rookie mistake. The blade slipped and cut deeper than intended, leaving a jagged gash on my arm.

My hospital stay didn't improve much; between the drug screening, the multiple scars and cuts and different stages of healing and in my delirium, I may have confessed to some unsavory things about my father, but they were nothing more than fabricated lies as he and my mother tearfully argued. As always, I was just another frequent flier at the hospital, constantly shuttled between therapist offices and psych wards. My reputation preceded me—a damaged soul with no ability to speak the truth or feel remorse for my actions .

The venomous words dripped from their mouths, painting a distorted picture of innocence and victimhood. But I refused to be seen as a victim, to be pitied or underestimated. Surviving the hellhole that was St. Dymphna's was a brutal awakening, one that I didn't know I needed. It revealed to me that I wasn't alone in my darkness, that others also harbored secrets and desires deemed taboo by society. And though I would emerge from that ward a changed man, I first had to endure the wrath of Sister Agatha and Father Martin—two formidable figures who ruled with an iron fist and unshakeable faith.

During that stay, I had the same standing appointment with the Father and his psychotic nun. Every fucking day without fail. She was a devilish woman if there ever was one. She would slip into my room, drown me with holy water and try to choke me with a rosary, all while calling me a demon. She could see it in me then, the evil I was trying so hard to hide. She recommended a permanent place in the facility to the priest, stating society would never be safe if I was out there on the loose. She was partially right and as much as I hated the holy cunt, and fuck… I hated her, I appreciated her being so open with her recommendations as it showed me I had to become better at masking.

I had just slaughtered Martin; my hands coated in his still-warm blood; I turned from his lifeless body to see Agatha and, well, she was an honest mistake. Listen, don't be going around spitting nonsense about demons if you have a heart condition. I didn't expect her to come in while I was finishing off Father Martin, the old bat collapsed right then and there.

Anyhow, after their deaths, I learned quickly how to cover it up. Mind you it wasn't my best work and I'm sure I should feel some semblance of guilt for laying the blame on another patient but let's be honest, the patient was a lifer anyway and I had shit to do outside those walls.

The other thing I learned was that I can't go around killing everybody I want. I know, it should be a no brainer right? Well not for me, the itch is always there, begging to be scratched. And I had to learn that if I wanted to be on the outside, I would have to refrain from emotional outbursts that cause cardiac arrest in elderly nuns.

Like a tightrope walker, I constantly teeter on the delicate line between control and release. The slightest misstep could result in catastrophic consequences. That's why I meticulously plan and execute every move, leaving no room for error. But even in my calculated existence, I allow myself fleeting moments of liberation before quickly retreating back into my carefully constructed facade. It's a never-ending dance, this balancing act between restraint and abandon.

For nearly two damn decades, I've tirelessly honed and perfected this craft, never veering from my carefully constructed plan. It is my lifeline, keeping me afloat in a world of chaos. Without it, I would surely lose my grip on sanity and end up behind bars, or worse, dead. It is my one constant, the anchor that prevents me from being swept away by the tides of life.

That is, until now.

"Please!" she pleads for my mercy, her soft whimpers escaping those trembling lips while I revel in her agony, savoring the sight of her shivering, flawless form. Fuck, she's too beautiful for this world. Too pure for the darkness that consumes us all. I mean, who would allow an actual, literal angel to walk among us depraved sinners? And so vulnerable? It's almost laughable. But as I stare at her now, I can't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. Her fiery locks cling to her pale, rain-soaked skin, highlighting every delicate curve and angle of her body. I smirk in satisfaction knowing she is mine to do with as I please, bound and exposed before me. Her once-perfect skin is marred by bruises and cuts from her struggles against the restraints, only adding to the twisted pleasure I derive from watching her suffer.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, trying to resist the urge to run over and lick her skin clean of blood droplets, my arousal growing with each passing second. The thought alone is enough to make my cock ache as it grows harder. I'm not usually one to draw sexual pleasure from my captives. It's not my scene and taking women is definitely not my M.O. In fact, the only woman's death I'm responsible for is Agatha, and I still fight that one.

But this sweet angel, she captivates me. She's bewitched me with her ethereal beauty and delicate nature. How could I ever leave her alone? My heart races with worry at the mere thought of her being in harm's way. What if I had just walked away and something had happened to her? The thought alone sends shivers down my spine. I can picture myself driving back north and suddenly hearing on the radio about a beautiful, otherworldly woman being hurt, and then finding out it was her. And had I taken her with me, I could have prevented such a tragedy from befalling her.

So, here we are.

Is my current situation ideal? No. I'd rather not have this beauty tied up in the woods, but I'm at a crossroads, it's a pivotal moment for me. I have a choice to make and it's not an easy one. I have to get back home, I need to get back across the border and head back to Canada. These are the rules. I have these rules for a fucking reason and deviating from said rules will end in my demise. Then again, I've moved so far away from my rules… what is a little more, right? Plus, I need to either kill this Angel… or take her with me. Both seem like terrible options. I don't want to kill her, which I know, I'm a serial killer. This should be like a typical day—walk over with a ‘Hi, how are ya,' and slit her throat. But I don't want to, and not just because she's a woman. Yeah, I don't kill women, nun excluded, but if push came to shove, I would. No, this is different. She was so sweet when she bumped into me, too fucking sweet. No one is that nice, not to me. I'm a massive man with tattoos and a face that screams "fuck off". Yet she looked at me and smiled, and continued to look. No, I can't kill her.

But leaving her out here isn't an option either. If I walk away, some fucking deranged psycho could stumble upon her and do… No, don't even think about it. It'll just put you into a blinding rage and that's not helpful in this situation.

All I know is, her soul must be protected, either by me or I need to release it from her body. I can't allow her to continue on for one more day without protection.

"Please!" she screams again and I release a sigh while leaning against the tree, watching her petite body fight the restraints. It's fascinating how much fight she has in her. I would find it irritating in most victims, but not her. I like it when she screams. I like the thought of breaking her into submission, of silencing that fucking mouth of hers with my cock down her throat.

Jabbing my blade into the trunk of the tree beside me, I unzip the fly of my jeans, releasing my painfully stiff cock with a moan of relief. She gasps and whips around, her blindfold still tightly secured around her eyes and her arms still taught above her head. Her feet barely touch the earth while the rope creaks along the thick branch it's wrapped around.

"Please," she whispers again, and I smirk while running my hand over the length of my shaft. That's it, keep begging. "I-I don't have money but… I-I will give you anything, whatever it is, just please, don't do this."

Fuck her whimpers hit me in my dick as a grunt releases from inside me. It would be so easy to slip those tattered leggings down her shivering little body and bury myself in her warm cunt. My hand finds its way to that delicate throat of hers as my knife and cock compete for dominance over her quivering frame. I wonder which would claim her first? The anticipation drives me mad with lust as I revel in the thought of being the last thing she gets to experience before watching the light leave her eyes. I wonder what color they are. Are they blue like the ocean? Brown like the earth under our feet? No, none of those seem to fit this beauty before me.

"Fuck," I growl through a pant, throwing my head back as my balls tighten.

"Please! Sir! Help me!" She cries in pain as she stumbles, causing her shoulder to jerk because of the rope. Fuck, I bet that hurt.

"Ohhh god," I whimper at her panicked cries. "You're doing so good, keep… fuck keep struggling." My fist clenches with a tightness that borders on pain—but it only fuels my pleasure—as I grip my knife in my other hand and viciously stab it into the tree with each forceful thrust. In my mind, it's her soft skin I'm carving into, creating a masterpiece of agony.

"I-is that what you want?" She pants out the words through her shakes. "You need to live out some sick fucking fantasy? Fine!" She screams while shaking her wrists.

"HELP ME!" she screams, the sound tearing from her throat with desperation. This fucking asshole. Can't just let me jerk off in peace, can she?

I drive my knife into the tree and stalk toward her, seizing her by the neck and squeezing until her cries are muffled and choked. But as I feel the softness of her delicate skin on my palm, a surge of twisted pleasure courses through me. Oh my god, her throat is perfection under my hand — soft as silk, slender and delicate. At this moment, we're connected in a sickeningly perfect way. My grip tightens as I tear off her blindfold, wanting to see the terror in her eyes as I savor the feeling of power I have over her. But as her blindfold falls and her eyes meet mine for the first time, I'm left speechless and I feel myself go weak at the sight before me.

"My god, you really are an angel," I whisper in astonishment. Her eyes—I've never seen anything like them. They're pools of shifting color, one a piercing blue that glows like frozen fire and the other, a warm amber with a single streak of her cool blue essence. The combination is mesmerizing, sending shivers down my spine as I struggle to comprehend the otherworldly beauty before me.

She chuckles, bringing me out of the trance she's put me in. "You sweet talk all your dates like this or am I just that special?" Is she… is she being smart? With me? No one talks with me this way. I get the screams, the tears, the begging and bargaining, but never this. No one ever looks me dead in the eyes and gives me attitude. And for her to do so while I have her tied to a tree? I give her a small smirk.

"I liked you better when you were begging and calling me sir. "

"Yeah? Well, I liked you better when I was blindfolded." I reach out, snatching her by her jaw and pulling her face to mine. Our lips are a whisper apart as I chuckle darkly.

"Make no mistake, my sweet angel." I run my tongue over the outside of her lips and down her jawline. Fuck, she tastes forbidden. It's taking everything in my power to hold some semblance of composure. "Your beauty may dazzle and enchant, but it won't save you from your fate. In fact... it only makes me savor the thought of your demise even more. I will inhale every sweet final breath from your body, forcing your soul into me and claiming you as my own."

Her lip trembles but her deathly glare holds firm. Leaning in, I brush my lips against hers, but just barely. I want more, I need more but not like this. No, if I'm going to have her, I want her to have a running and fighting chance, and fuck, I know she'd fight. I can see it in those otherworldly eyes.

Red catches my attention and I look at her arms to see the stream of blood sliding down her forearm, over her small bicep and disappearing under the cuff of her T-shirt. Before I can administer any restraint, my tongue is on her arm, trailing upward as the coppery taste invades my mouth. Her breath shudders and I feel my dick hardening again, still angry over the lack of release from before.

"Oh my god," she whispers as I move myself so my cock doesn't touch her. I notice her gaze and stop feasting on her ruby droplets to give her a wicked smirk.

"I think I like ‘God' better than ‘sir'," I tease, causing her cheeks to redden. "You enjoy watching?" I whisper against her ear as I grip myself and a ragged breath escapes me. "Confess your dirty thoughts to your God, angel. Tell me, is your pussy wet for me right now? "

"No," she spits out, her eyes filling with shame as her neck turns pink.

"Uh uhhh," I tsk while giving my cock a pull. "No need to lie, angel, it's just us here. Confess to me and maybe you'll be rewarded. Is your cunt weeping?" Her eyes flicker as that soft little mouth opens and closes several times. I chuckle as her pupils dilate. Sweet girl, come on, confess.

"Yes," is her meek reply. Being a man of my word, I unravel the rope from the makeshift pulley system I have and give her enough slack to fall to her knees and for her arms to relax.

She groans while rolling her shoulders and looking up at me.

"Thank you," she whispers as I grunt, my orgasm building.

"Open that sinful mouth, let me cleanse you." Shocking me completely, she obeys, opening wide and sticking her tongue out. I steady myself in front of her and while I want nothing more than to bury myself down her throat and hold her nose while she suffocates on my cock, I'm not stupid enough to think she won't try to bite my dick off if given the chance. Instead, I grip her jaw roughly as my head lines up with that tongue of hers.

"Good girl." My grunts are nearly feral as I feel my muscles tighten. "You swallow all of it. Yes, oh god look at you." I marvel as my cum coats her pink tongue while filling her mouth. I move my dick, my load hitting her face and down her neck. Dropping to my knees, I take my thumb and rub the streams over her face and neck while looking at her in awe. She stares at me, her hypnotic eyes wild, before they narrow into slits and she spits my load onto my face.

Oh, my sweet, stupid angel, it didn't have to be this way. I wipe the cum onto my hand before letting out a cold chuckle. " Bad girls get punished," I warn as I snatch her throat and grip her jaw while shoving the cum back into her mouth. She gags and I snarl at her while roughly covering her mouth and nose.

"You will swallow it, even if it's the last thing you do." She looks from my eyes to my arm before I feel her throat bob as she swallows me. I release her mouth as she gags and shivers. "Fucking brat." A growl rises in my throat as I realize that this is precisely the reason I have no choice but to kill her. I can't leave her, nor can I take her with me. If I do, she will fight me at every fucking turn and while it's kind of cute… I think? I don't have the time for it. My plans have to stay exact, precise and it's already apparent that she thinks it's best to try and fuck with my plans. Angel or not, no one fucks with my plans. I'm about to grab my knife, turn my brain off and end this whole fucking thing when I hear it. Talking. It's far away but definitely someone talking.

Fuck, no goddamn it. This is what happens when you deviate from the plan you fucking moron. I come here, kill just one and go home. But I had to stop at that fucking coffee shop this morning, and I had to bump into her. She was so kind, so sweet to pay for me, a complete stranger, just to make my day a little happier. Obviously she's too good—too perfect for this world. I can't allow her to continue walking around this planet when she's destined for greater things. You don't accidentally bump into someone this perfect and walk away from them. I need to do it now, but… this is against my usual plans. I don't know this area on a Monday afternoon. I don't know about those who frequent the trails. And my previous victim, my scheduled victim will be discovered any time now on a separate trail several miles over.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I grit through clenched teeth while stuffing myself back into my pants and running my hands through my wet hair from the earlier rain. My angel must hear the talking. She looks at me, those perfectly mismatched eyes wide and wild. Realization hits me in the gut.

No. She wouldn't.

"HEL-mmmf!" I slap my hand over her mouth, silencing her scream.

"Are you insane?" I snarl while looking around, listening for any change in the surrounding. Silence… everything has gone silent. If I kill her now, I have no time to erase my footprint. "Fuck!" I cry out as burning pain runs through my hand. I yank it back, leaving her lips and chin smeared in my blood. She smiles, my blood covering her white teeth and… holy fuck she's insane. I'm insane, clinically, diagnosed, committed, medicated, blah, blah, blah. I know insanity, and I'm looking right the fuck at it.

"I. Will. Kill. You." I grit out, trying to regain some semblance of control of this situation.

"Promise?" She spits my blood at my feet while staring up at me. Her chest rising and falling with each labored breath.

I look around in confusion before my eyes connect with hers again. "Prom—Yes! Yes, you crazy ass! What part of this is not screaming serial killer to you?" I frantically gesture to myself and the ropes holding her.

"Well, you seem to be doing more talking than actual killing so…" Reaching up, I cut through the rope before jerking her toward me. "I prefer my kills to be a little more private. Looks like we're going on a trip." I smirk while lifting her petite frame over my shoulder.

"Put me down!" she yells while beating on my back.

"Hey!" I smack her ass as she continues to punch me with her bound fists. "Shut up and knock it off before I knock you out!"

"Fuck you!" she screams as I reach my car. I swear to fuck, she might be an angel, but she's acting like a fucking demon.

Opening my trunk, I toss my little hellion into the space before grabbing my syringe box out of my duffel bag and pulling out a preloaded syringe. The anesthetic is powerful enough to temporarily knock her out, but she'll still be able to breathe. I pull the cap from the needle with my teeth as she goes to scream. I cover her mouth with my still bleeding hand and growl as she bites my flesh again. Fuck, I just came and she's already stirring my cock again. This is dangerous, it's reckless and stupid, even still… it's all I can do not to climb into the trunk and consume her body and soul.

"You fucking temptress," I moan, pressing my palm into her bite as I push the needle into her neck. A tear spills from her amber eye, causing me to furrow my brows. "Shhh… don't cry, it's alright. Don't worry little angel," I coo as I push the drugs into her neck. "It's a clean needle, I would never do anything like that to hurt you. Now go to sleep, beautiful, I'll check on you soon." Her fighting begins to stop as her head lulls and her eyes begin to roll. "That's my good girl," I whisper, kissing the top of her head. Her body goes limp and starts to slump—quickly I go to catch her upper half, ensuring she doesn't hit her beautiful face. "That's my baby, sleep and have sweet dreams. I'll see you soon." Kissing her forehead again, I cap the needle before tossing it into my bag and grabbing the rope to bind her delicate wrists before shutting the trunk.

Getting into my driver's seat, I shut the car door and put my belt on while staring at my hand gripping the steering wheel, the tattoo of Sister Agatha's rosary wrapped around my wrist glaring back at me. Almost taunting me. She always told me it would happen, that the demon inside me would become too hungry and I would become consumed. And then there would be no saving me.

I would have to say, having a living, breathing angel in my trunk who has seen my face is definitely more than I ever planned to deal with. Flicking my lighter open and closed a few times, I absently pull a cigarette from my pack in the cup holder and chuckle to myself while lighting the stick and taking a deep inhale.

"What to do, Sister?" I exhale the smoke while leaning my head back.

You could let her go and move on.

"Oh could I?" I snap, rolling my eyes. "If you're not gonna help me out, you may as well fuck off." I chuckle to myself while pulling another satisfying drag from my stick. I wonder if someone looking in would think I'm insane. Sitting here, pretending to talk to that psychotic bitch.

The girl in your trunk is what will give you the insane title.

"Eh, I've had far worse in there." I watch the rain hit my windshield as I make my decision. Honestly, there wasn't ever another option, I'm going to have to take her home.