Chapter 1

Easton

A wise man had once said that men were most vulnerable when they were cocky. They made mistakes. They acted as if their shit didn't stink.

I was here to tell the world who I considered the vilest of human beings.

That was saying a lot given I wasn't a decent man by anyone's standards.

Maybe that's why I'd become a crusader of innocent victims, something most people would call laughable. Perhaps it was my attempt at salvation.

I knew better of course. Monsters like me went straight to hell. There was no such thing as a ‘get out of jail free' card.

As I took a gulp of my drink, the rage I'd felt earlier was increasing, which didn't bode well for the person responsible for boosting my fury.

He and his buddies were laughing, encouraging and applauding the alpha pig's indecent actions. Fuck them all. If I had enough time, they'd all face punishment. However, I was a prudent man, careful in my actions. That's the reason I'd remained under the radar. But tonight? I was hungry to spill blood.

The useless piece of human flesh who was continually taunting a sweet cocktail waitress was a cockroach needing to be crushed. He was also an arrogant son of a bitch, laughing with his three buddies while they shot their second game of pool, sucking down enough cheap whiskey I was surprised they could function.

Their loud voices were enough to annoy the crowd, including a dozen rugged men who often came to the local watering hole to fight off demons or empower them after a hard day's work.

I watched the young men from the shadows from where I sat at the end of the aging wooden bar. Instead of indulging in cheap rotgut shit, I was enjoying my favorite Kentucky whiskey, the special edition ordered just for me since I was a very good customer. In fact, Roxie's was one of two bars I frequented on a somewhat regular basis. This one was located in an area of Chicago far removed from my estate or the opulent college where I worked.

The other was a stone's throw away from the illustrious school. Frequenting it with a buddy of mine allowed me to appear normal.

If there was such a thing in my world.

However, Roxie's allowed me privacy, moments of anonymity where I could feed the darkness lurking in my soul. Usually, I had two drinks and left, but tonight was entirely different, my violent needs requiring some attention. And I'd found the perfect opportunity and subject.

The stupid fucking asshole who couldn't keep his hands off the waitress.

By now, she was in a fit of tears, doing her best to remain strong.

I was angry, furious inside. Any man who assaulted a woman should be castrated. Maybe that's what I'd enjoy tonight. I hadn't allowed myself to engage in such dangerous activities in months, doing what I could to maintain and nurture my upper echelon aspect of the wealthy Chicago society.

I pulled the glass to my lips, darting my eyes toward the activity on the other side of the bar. I didn't want to draw any attention to my increasing anger, or that I was paying any attention to the jokers' activities, yet I had to admit tonight it was difficult to ignore. After a quick reminder that I was someone of importance, my family considered notorious as well as powerful, I polished off my third drink.

This was my escape, my way of feeding the ugly beast inside.

By the third liquid libation, I was usually a cranky son of a bitch. This time, I couldn't take my eyes off the fuckhead as he laughed and joked about what he could and would do with the pretty yet innocent girl.

"I'm going to rip off those clothes of yours, fucking you like the tramp you are."

His voice carried and the weak shitheads inside the bar were doing nothing to protect the innocent victim. No woman deserved to be called a tramp. Ever.

It burned me to the point I was seeing blood.

I hadn't realized how much so until I heard a crack, realizing I'd broken the dense crystal glass in my hand.

"Oh, my God. Are you okay?" the equally as pretty bartender asked. She'd had her hands full as well, the beads of sweat rolling down both sides of her face a clear indication of just how much stress she was under.

I shifted my attention toward her, trying to offer a nonchalant smile. "I'm fine. Sometimes I don't know my own strength."

"I guess not. Jesus. Let me grab you a towel. I can't have you suing the place, or my boss will be pissed."

The worthless boss who rarely slithered out of his office.

As I stared down at my hand, I took a series of ragged breaths. There was no pain. I was immune to any level of agony given everything I'd been through in my youth. Scars covered a portion of my body, a reminder of the brutality I was spawned from. Maybe that's why I had a taste for blood.

I returned my attention to the jerk. I'd memorized everything about him, including his gestures and nervous tics. He looked familiar. Usually those with the worst behavior had influential parents. It was like that alone gave them permission for their bad behavior. The fucker had a date with the Angel of Death.

I thoroughly enjoyed being judge and jury.

And executioner.

I smirked as I thought about the ridiculous moniker given to the man responsible for a half dozen murders in and around Chicago over the last two years. Me. The women he'd saved had called him an angel for protecting them while killing those abusing them. The stupid reporters had taken it from there.

"Here you go. I do have a first aid kit if you think you need it." She tried to take my hand to doctor it, but I fisted my fingers, enjoying the hint of pain. The feelings kept me very much alive, electrified in the only way that would ease the demons.

"Don't worry. I've experienced much worse. Thank you for the towel."

"Would you like another drink? On the house."

"Not necessary. Just some water."

The last thing I wanted was to be remotely intoxicated when I performed my act. I was precise in my methods, although tonight was about making an example instead of creating beautiful art as I usually did.

I'd wait until the perfect opportune time. After all, I was a very patient man. That had been beaten into me early on.

Chuckling, I grabbed a peanut, popping it open and tossing it into my mouth. Life was good.

Even if I was restless.

My patience paid off, although it took almost two additional hours.

Now, after one in the morning, as the last customers walked out, I paid my tab as well, leaving a hefty tip.

"Come on, baby. You know you want it." the guy asked the waitress for the third time, fondling his junk before shoving her against the back wall while she was trying to clean off a table.

"Get off me," she hissed, finally showing some chutzpa. Sadly, she had no idea what the punk was likely capable of.

When he tried to kiss her, she hauled off and knocked him halfway across the room and into one of the pool tables.

"You bitch!"

"Just get out," she exclaimed to her credit.

"Fine, you little slut. I will be back. Watch your back."

As the guy finally stormed out of the bar, I took my time following him, remaining in the shadows. At least the two employees left in the bar hadn't paid any attention to the fact that I'd slipped out right after the jerk.

I preferred having a secure location where I could take my time with the abuser, helping educate him on the reasons why preying on young women to get his jollies wasn't in his best interest.

But often, desperate times called for desperate measures, something my father used to say. I almost laughed realizing I'd allowed myself to utilize anything my savage, violent father had ever said.

Even though one of the last things he'd said before succumbing to the evil demons who'd waited in the shadows for the sick fuck to take his last breath was something that had haunted my brothers and me for almost two decades.

"Like father, like sons. I'm proud of what all three of you have become."Then he'd laughed moments before he'd been cut to ribbons like the bastardized monster he truly was. I could no longer remember who'd make the first strike. It no longer mattered given the length of time that had gone by.

Proud?

It had taken us hunting him down like he'd done to dozens of people for him to tell us he was proud. If the fucker wasn't already being broiled in the flames of hell, I'd enjoy slaughtering him all over again.

I shook off the memories, concentrating on the moment.

"Ah, fuck," the kid said when he realized one of his buddies had taken his car keys, which was a good thing. Drinking and driving was another horrible offense. I loathed anything to do with overindulgence.

After searching his pockets several more times, he grumbled and cursed, finally taking off on foot.

I followed closely behind, getting a little closer every few blocks. He'd headed home via a dangerous part of town, which fit into my method of eliminating a problem. No one would suspect anything, but the kid was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I was only a few feet behind him, still in the shadows, when he obviously had a sense he was being followed. He stopped short, slowly shifting his head over his shoulder. Of course he saw nothing yet he picked up his pace significantly.

There was something so indulgent about tormenting the assholes, pushing them to the point of spiraling out of control. Tonight was no exception. After a little while, I softly whistled a slightly ominous tune, which in turn prompted him to stop walking altogether. This time he turned around, scanning the darkness as if I'd consider allowing him to see me until I was ready to strike.

When I dared to run my pinky ring across a chain-link fence, he didn't bother looking back, instead taking off running. I'd allow him the belief he'd gotten away, finally slowing to an exhausted walk before making a wrong turn.

At least for him.

The few abandoned buildings were the perfect backdrop of a horror movie.

Or a slaughter.

I shook my head as I pulled out my favorite hunting knife. It had been one of the only birthday gifts my father had bothered to give to me, telling me to use it wisely. Oh, I'd learned to alright.

Chuckling, I flicked the blade open, ensuring no unsuspected bystanders were walking the ugly streets this late at night.

With the quietness of the predator I'd been trained to become, I advanced, wrapping one arm around the jerk's throat and yanking him further into the ominous shadows.

"No. Please," he managed before I nearly crushed his windpipe while he tried to struggle. I was too big and too muscular, no one able to best me.

"Please what? Spare your worthless life?"

"I… have… money," he rasped out.

"Money? I don't want money. I want your soul burning in hell."

"You're going to… kill me." He was already whimpering, still fighting even as I continued squeezing his life out of him.

"I'm afraid so, fuckhead. Didn't your mama ever teach you to treat women like they were golden angels? Tsk. Tsk. What a shame."

I allowed him to see the jagged edges of the blade in the slight illumination from the single dirty streetlight before I laughed softly. I preferred seeing the fear of God slide into their eyes, but I had papers to grade, a final lecture to prepare. However, summer was almost here, my favorite time to go hunting.

It was definitely the right time for a change in careers, leaving my academia world far behind me.

Exhaling, I felt a sense of peace as I sliced the sharp blade from ear to ear, the remaining anger allowing the weapon to go in deep as I twisted it. He gurgled only briefly before floating away into the dark abyss, waiting for the devil's creatures to crawl out of the dirt to take him to where he belonged.

As I tossed the body, lowering the blade and sliding it back into my jacket pocket, a smile crossed my face. My personal demon had been appeased.

For now.

But he was very hungry…