Chapter 2

Cyrus

The relief and pleasure of sliding my knife across my victim's face was like no other. It had been too long. My knife parted the skin so easily, like a hot knife going through cold butter. The blood gushed out, staining my silver blade.

"Now, do you know what it feels like to be helpless?" I whispered into his ear.

He tried to shake his strapped head but with little success.

"Please, what do you want?"

I loved this part, the questions, the begging and the bargaining, but nothing would help him. I'd had someone begin to quote the Bible once. That had been fucking weird.

"I want you dead and off the streets, but I want to make you suffer first. You should know what it felt like for your victims," I said as I slapped his face.

"I-I won't do it again. Just let me go, please," he said as a tear rolled out of the corner of his eye.

"No. Do you know how long it took me to prep this room for you?"

He tried to shake his head again.

"A long fucking time. As much as I love seeing and playing with your blood, I don't want that shit on my floor or table."

"I can find you someone else to kill. I can help you," he cried out.

I scowled at his offer and reached out for some of the cotton cloth so I could stuff it into his mouth, but I paused because I wanted to fuck with him a little first.

How fucking dare he think that I was some sick fuck like him?

"How many women have you killed?" I asked casually, flicking my knife shut over his face.

He began to cry in relief as the panic vanished from his expression, and hope emerged. The man was an idiot, I couldn't believe the police hadn't caught him, but then again, I wouldn't have a hobby if the police were competent. Jake Clayton was a good-looking man in his forties, yet he had killed seven women and raped many more. He led a normal life like me, but I never murdered women. There had been a few times I'd wanted to choke the fuck out of some, but I'd resisted the urge.

"Two," Jake said.

I rolled my eyes at the blatant lie and stood upright.

"You dumb motherfucker, you took a patch of their skin each time. What did you do? Roast them off like strips of Wagyu beef and eat them?"

"No, I'm not a cannibal. I stretched them out and kept them in a book," he said between disgust and defensiveness.

I walked around so I could look him in the eye.

"And where did you learn that? It couldn't have been at the accountancy firm you work at."

"Uh, no it was the taxidermy forum and online videos," he said with his eyes wide with confusion. "How do you know about what I did?"

When Jake was reported missing, I wondered if the police would find his skin stash.

"I have my intel," I said. "Why didn't you kill them quickly? Why did you torture them?"

His eyes almost glazed over as he began to speak.

"Their pain and suffering was mine to take pleasure in. I loved to watch the final bit of life leave their tortured eyes. They were all so weak."

I'd read the reports about Jake Clayton, which ensured that I covered my room and ceilings accordingly with heavy-duty dust sheets. If it was a little blood spatter, I could reuse them, but since his brain matter would be on it, I would need to dispose of them properly in my incinerator.

"Jake, they were half the size of you. If anyone was weak, it was you," I said, flipping the clear plastic mask over my face because I hated getting blood on my face. I turned around to pick up my bone saw.

When he saw what I held in my hand his fear and panic was back. He was right. His pain and suffering would be pleasurable to watch. I hoped he kept his eyes open during the process.

"Don't worry, buddy. I will make sure to watch the final bit of life leave your eyes," I said before I began to saw through his knee.

I was glad I hadn't gagged him. Sometimes with the right pitch, the acoustics were good in my hidden kill room.