10. Nine

I crouched in the thick shadows that clung to the edge of the McHappy's parking lot. The heat from the pavement lingered, radiating up in waves even at three in the morning. The moon sat high and cold in the sky, casting a silvery glow on empty spaces. It was perfect hunting weather.

Brett Mayson, shift manager and coward, fumbled with his keys as he locked the restaurant’s back door, each movement sluggish and uncertain. Sweat beaded on his balding head, leaving dark, sticky stains down his uniform shirt. The heavy stench of stale grease clung to him, mixed with a thick, acrid sweat that soured the air.

I remembered seeing Eli through Shepherd’s eyes, vulnerable and alone, curled up on the office couch. His platinum hair was matted to his face, tear-streaked and red-eyed after this pathetic excuse for a man had fired him.

Eli was mine. Or ours, I supposed, since Shepherd was interested too, but I wasn’t civilized like him. I didn’t need his plans and patience. I needed vengeance.

Starting with this animal who’d made my mate cry.

A feral snarl built low in my chest as I watched Brett turn to waddle toward his car, completely oblivious to my presence mere feet away. Did he think he could hurt what was mine without consequences?

My muscles coiled, every sense heightened, adrenaline spiking in my veins like an electric current. I waited for the perfect moment as Brett fumbled in his pockets for his car keys.

Without warning, every light on the block cut out, leaving the parking lot in pitch darkness. Brett froze, his hand halfway to his pocket, and for a second, even his breathing stopped. Then, the toe of his shoe caught on a crack in the asphalt, and he stumbled, his keys clattering to the ground in the silence.

“Shit,” he muttered, with a soft grunt of effort.

Now . I lunged forward, a shadow made flesh. Before he could even process what was happening, I had him pinned against the car, one hand clamped like a vice around his neck, the other twisting his arm up behind his back until he yelped in pain.

“Hello, Brett,” I murmured, letting the words crawl up his spine. I could smell the sharp tang of his fear, feel the wild beat of his pulse under my fingertips. It was…intoxicating.

“Wh-who are you? What do you want?” A dark stain spread across the front of his khakis as his bladder released. The pungent odor of urine mingled with his fear. I inhaled deeply, savoring it.

“Who am I? It doesn’t matter, Brett.” I let the words curl out slowly, savoring his quickening pulse. “But what I am? That should worry you. Go on… ask me.”

“Wh-what are you?”

I tightened my grip on his throat. “I’m the consequences of your actions.”

My grip tightened, fingernails digging into the flesh of his neck until rivulets of blood trickled down to stain his collar. He made a strangled, gurgling sound, feet kicking uselessly against the car door.

“P-please,” he rasped out. “Take my money!”

“I don’t want your filthy money,” I snarled.

“Girls,” he choked out. “I…I know where to get them. You want dope? Pills? Anything you want—I can get it!” He was desperate now, his voice thin and pleading, his sweat mixing with the reek of urine.

I leaned in closer. “Too late for that, Brett. You see, you hurt someone that belongs to me. Now, you’re going to pay for it.”

He started to scream for help, but I closed a hand around his throat, cutting off the sound. “None of that, now. No one’s coming to help you. And do you know why? Because you’re a cockroach, Brett, a skittering vile insect that runs from the light. Well, here’s the thing, tarakanchik. There are hungry things like me waiting in the dark to eat you up.”

My words were punctuated by harsh breaths as I fought to maintain some semblance of control. It would be so easy to end him right here, to crush his windpipe or twist his neck and break it. But no. There were cameras on the lot and I’d only been able to shut them off for a short time. Soon, the power would come back on and with it, the security cameras. I needed to have him somewhere else by then.

I released my grip on his neck just enough for him to suck in a ragged breath. Then I slammed his face into the roof of the car. Once. Twice. Three times. Until he went limp in my grasp, unconscious.

I zip-tied his wrists and ankles, then hefted his dead weight over my shoulder in a fireman's carry. His bulk was unwieldy, but I moved swiftly, hauling him into the back of my SUV, which I’d covered in a plastic tarp to keep evidence to a minimum. By the time the power came back on, I was already speeding away.

I drove through the night, the hum of the tires on the blacktop almost hypnotic. Brett's unconscious form was slumped in the back, jostling with every bump and turn. The sweet, cloying scent of his fear still lingered, now tinged with the coppery notes of drying blood.

My mind drifted to thoughts of Eli, of his gentle soul and how fiercely I wanted to protect him. He had already suffered so much. Too much. And now this pitiful excuse for a man had dared to cast him aside like garbage.

This wasn’t just for Eli. It was for every kid who’d been stepped on by someone who thought power made them untouchable. For every one of us who’d been told we didn’t belong, who’d been hurt and silenced. This was justice for them, too.

I thought of the underage girls at McHappy's, their eyes dulled and spirits broken from his constant harassment and groping. The boys, humiliated and emasculated by his ceaseless bullying and homophobic slurs. He was supposed to be their manager, their protector. Instead, he was their tormentor, secure in the knowledge that they were too poor, too powerless to stop him.

I’d spent several hours watching Brett through the windows since McHappy’s closed for the night, but I didn’t need to see more. I knew his kind. They used their meager positions of power like cudgels, beating down anyone they perceived as weaker or lesser. He would never change, never get better, never learn from his mistakes.

But he could still be useful.

In death, Brett would serve a higher purpose.

My lip curled in disgust. Brett had starved people's souls, denying them the essential nutrients of respect, dignity, and hope. He was a blight, a parasite sucking the marrow from the bones of all those who had the misfortune to cross his path. He gorged himself on the misery of others, so now it was time for someone else to feed on him.

Someone like me.

Someone who would take the meat and turn it into positive energy fed back into the world.

I would never be a force for good, but I shared a body with those who might be, with those who wanted to be. People like Dex and Bryce and Shepherd who would make the world a better place simply by being in it.

Cockroaches like Brett had no place in their world except to serve as nourishment to bigger, better predators.

A low, broken moan drifted from the backseat as Brett began to stir, his lips swollen and split. Soon, he’d be awake, and he’d try to beg. Try to bargain. But I already knew how this would end. By morning, Brett would be just one more reminder of what happens when you harm what’s mine. He was nothing more than meat for his betters.