Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

LEO

My favorite scent is blood. My favorite sound? The screams of my victims. The warm, coppery aroma burrows into my sinuses as it drips onto the chipped linoleum floor of the abandoned building. The sound of my marks screams is like adrenaline through my veins, pumping furiously and making my limbs tingle.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it. I can't be bothered with anyone right now. I'm in my true element.

A grin spreads across my face as I stare down at the man that's tied to the chair in front of me.

My victim's mouth is cranked open wide as I yank on one of his molars. I'm none too gentle as I rock the pliers back and forth to pull the tooth from the root. I tried with a few others but broke the crowns off before the tooth would come free. I'm determined to get the root with this one.

My free hand grasps under my victim's chin, holding him still so I can get my prize. Pulling teeth that don't want to be pulled is hard work.

"Yes!" I exclaim when the tooth comes free, the root intact. I hold it up, turning it in the meager light. Three perfect roots, whole and bloodied with chunks of gum tissue surrounding it. If I kept trophies, I'd take this one in a heartbeat.

But my work necessitates me being as discreet as possible, even if I cut off body parts and appendages as I work.

Head lolling, my victim, Ralph, cries softly, wrenching at his binds to try to bring his hands to his sore and bleeding mouth. That won't do him any good. My grandfather taught me how to tie those knots. No one can get out of them once they're in. His eye are nearly swollen shut, but they bulge wide in pain and fear. He's an unassuming man; neither big nor small. Average-sized, if a little doughy around the middle.

He's very plain, honestly. Lank, brown hair, a small nose, a wide mouth that reminds me of a fish, and pasty white skin. He gives me the impression of someone you'd trust because he looks so unassuming and doesn't draw attention to himself. How very wrong everyone was about this piece of shit.

He coughs, spitting out blood that has filled his mouth from the three molars I pulled, along with a few enamel shards from when I broke them while trying to get my perfect tooth.

"Please," he implores, voice muffled from pain and the ever-flowing, lifesaving sustenance dripping down his chin.

"Please, what?" I ask, head tilted as I size him up. They always beg. It's pointless that they attempt to sway me since I've already been paid—and I would never cancel a job just because my victim begged—but I like to hear the pleas. I relish in knowing that they believe they can persuade me. They try with their last breaths.

It's been a while—four months, two weeks and six days to be exact—since I've been able to torture someone. The last time was when I was with Blu and June. Even then, I didn't go all out. I didn't want June to see me like that. Even though he knows I'm a killer and a psychopath, I don't think he could have handled the injuries I really wanted to inflict. But on my own, I can get a creative as I'd like.

My cousin, Blu, is also a serial killer, though he doesn't get paid for what he does. He's driven by something he calls his beast, murdering whoever it directs him to. As Blu's boyfriend, June goes with him on his kills. The one I tagged along with them on, I got to do a little bleach torture. But I wanted so much more.

While training with my Grandpa Ivan in Russia, he taught me different torture techniques. A lot of them are my favorites, and I wish I could use them as often as I'd like. But unfortunately, not everyone that hires me calls for their marks to be tortured. For this kill, fortune shined down on me. When I read what the client wanted, I accepted the contract without hesitation.

Ralph swallows thickly, starting his begging anew. "Please, I need a doctor."

A light laugh burst free from my lips, reverberating against the walls of this shitty building. "You need chemical castration since you like touching children. But we can't always get what we want."

From the email I received along with the first half of my payment when I accepted the contract, this piece of shit was a counselor at a local youth center and has too many victims to count.

The person that hired me asked me if I could cut his fingers off first, then his dick, then slit his throat to end him. He gave me free rein for what I did in between.

Ralph wiggles his finger stumps, looking at his missing phalanges as he cries softly. "I'll apologize. I'll confess. I'll do whatever you want me to do. Just let me go."

Getting down on my haunches, I meets Ralph's eyes with my most serious expression. I'm not sure I pull it off, since he starts sobbing again. "If I let you go, you'll tell the police what you did? What you've been doing for the past fifteen years? You expect me to believe that?"

He nods vigorously. "Yes! Yes, I'll go. You can drop me off after I'm seen by a doctor. Please!" he shouts, crying louder. "I don't want to die."

"And you won't tell them what happened here? You won't tell them how you got carved up and how I practiced being a dentist on you?"

"No! I won't breathe a word! I swear it!" He gives me an earnest expression, like he believes every word and is trying to use his swollen eyes to implore me to do the same.

"Oh, Ralph." I pat his cheek and stand, sliding on a new pair of gloves and grabbing my machete. It's perfect to slice off his cock but is maybe overkill to cut this throat. I walk back over to him and pat his cheek again in a patronizing way. "That won't work. I'm paid to kill you, not negotiate with you. My deal is already made."

"Help! Hel—" I slap my hand over his mouth, squeezing tight so he feels the ache of his empty gum sockets. He thrashes, eyes watering as he tries to dislodge me. It's not like anyone can hear him—I staked this place out, and it's not near any open businesses or residential areas. I just don't want to hear the screams for help right now. His howls of pain are more welcome.

When he's had enough, I remove my hand but not before I give him one final hard squeeze. I'm glad I have on gloves. I hate the mixture of blood and spit. Terrible consistency. "I need one thing from you before we finish this."

"Anything," Ralph says on a sob. "Anything you want. Just let me go."

"Anything, huh? Are your cock and balls included in that?"

His head flies up, and he tries to thrash out of my grasp. Before he can wiggle away from me, I grab Ralph's dick and balls with one hand and slice them off in a jagged swipe with the other. There is no finesse with how I relieve him of his offending parts, and I don't give a fuck. As long as the appendage is gone, my job is complete.

Ralph's aborted scream makes my heart hammer, and a rush goes through my veins. Fucking yes . This is what I live for. The screams, the pain, the agony they suffer. I fucking love it.

"Time to finish this. I would ask if you had any last words, but I think you've said enough. Besides, you can't muster any, can you, champ?" I ask rhetorically. By now, Ralph is making ragged groaning sounds, not able to scream anymore. Tapping the machete against my thigh, I tell him, "Jeremy Koffer sends his regards."

Ralph's swollen eyes bulge again, and he twists more to break free since he knows there is no hope for him. Blood is gushing from between his legs, but he's still trying to get away. Even if he could break from the ropes binding his wrists, he wouldn't get very far from how much he's bleeding. He has some fight in him, I'll admit that.

From what I could dig up, Jeremy used to frequent a youth center in his neighborhood because his mom was always at work to support him and his siblings. His abuse started about a month after he met Ralph. Ralph was able to continue the abuse for a few years before Jeremy had the courage to tell someone. But Jeremy being from a low-income family and Ralph having a nearly spotless record, the authorities didn't do anything. Ralph was fired from his job but continued to work around kids, since he didn't have to disclose why he was let go from the community center.

Jeremy decided to stop him since the law didn't.

Ralph knows he fucked up because Jeremy was the only one who came forward. Jeremy vowed to get his revenge when nothing came of his report.

Avoiding stepping in the blood that accumulated under Ralph's naked and mutilated body, I pull his head back and place the machete against his skin, right over his Adam's apple. Smiling, I draw the machete slowly across his throat. I slice it open, cutting from ear to ear.

Ralph pulls against the ties and thrashes in the chair as if to dislodge himself, but there's no way he can. I watch, smiling down at him so he knows the Grim Reaper paid him a visit for all of his misdeeds.

When the light leaves his eyes and they drift closed, I let his hair go, and his head drops forward.

This is what I love about the kill. Watching that light dim from their eyes, their hearts ceasing to beat because of me. I fucking love it.

Letting my head fall back, I take a minute to revel in the kill, feeling more alive than I do on any given day. Taking life makes me feel invincible.

That voice inside me is finally quiet, though I haven't heard much of it since I had my date with Tyshawn. He's taken up most of my thoughts over the past few days.

It's odd, thinking about someone in more than a murderous way. He dominates my thoughts, and it's never because of what he could possibly do for me, but what I could do for him. I could take care of him, make sure he has everything he needs, since he's mine.

That's another thought I never dreamed would crop up in my head. As a psychopath, I don't have normal feelings, so I don't crave a relationship like most normal people. I'm fine being alone, and if I want company, it's only for the night or a week at most. But with Ty, I want him all the time. I've been trying to get him on another date, but he's been keeping me at arm's length.

Could have a lot to do with me choking his roommate, but he snuck up on me, calling Ty's name like he had the right. Ty is mine. No one has that right but me.

A shuffling sound pulls my head up, and I come face to face with the man I've spent countless days thinking about.

I blink, and blink again, trying to make sure he's actually in front of me, not my fantasies conjuring him up.

But nope, he's there, his expression contorted in a mask of horror as his eye ping-pong between me and Ralph's mutilated body. He must be in shock because he hasn't moved. He's barely breathing, his mouth open but no sound escaping.

"Ty," I whisper, taking a tentative step toward him. There's not much I can say, since he caught me with a machete in my hand and blood down my front.

I've never wanted to explain my behavior away from anyone. My parents caught me killing animals red-handed, and when they asked why, my only answer was because I want to . That's not what I want to tell Ty. He deserves to know everything, the entire truth. All I can hope is he's okay with it.

From how he's staring at me like he doesn't know who I am, he's not okay with it.

"Don't come near me," he whispers, then turns on his heels and starts running.

Knowing Ralph isn't going anywhere but pissed that I can't enjoy the kill in full, I take off in Ty's direction.

He glances over his shoulder at me, a look of abject fear crossing his features. I dig my feet harder into the ground, pounding after him before he's out of my reach. He makes a left around the corner, causing me to slow down a bit. He pulls ahead. His arms and legs are pumping furiously to get away from me. I can't have that.

Just before he reaches the exit, I throw my arm out, grip his collar, and pull him back.

Ty makes a choking noise as his collar digs into the soft flesh of his throat, and I slam him against the wall. His face is contorted from the effort of running and his terror at seeing my work.

A sharp pain slices across my belly and I look down to figure out what the fuck happened. He has a knife in his hand. Smart. He had some way to defend himself when walking into an abandoned building. My question though is why is he here ?

The cut isn't deep, but it will leave a scar. I smile because I have a token of Ty's I can keep with me forever.

I relieve him of his knife quickly. After I catch my breath, I ask, "Why are you here?"

The smart thing to do would be to kill Ty so I don't have any witnesses to my crimes, but that thought is so abhorrent that I physically recoil from it. I would no sooner cut off my own hand than hurt Ty. He belongs to me, not in the ground. I'll have to figure something out.

He whimpers, tears running down his face. "Leo, please. Please. I didn't see anything. Please don't kill me. Please!"

These aren't the screams I enjoy. He's not a victim on my table, and he's not someone I want to kill. Hearing his pleas make me feel remorse for the first time in my life.

I have to explain. I have to make him see reason some way. I slide my hand into my pocket, pull out one of the syringes that contain a tranquilizer, and bite the cap off. I let the cap drop to my feet so I can pick it up later. No need to leave any evidence behind.

This sends Ty into a tailspin. "Please, don't. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to … I was just … I won't tell anyone, I don't want to die. Leo, don't do this to me."

"Sshhh, kotenok." I shush him, pressing my forearm against his chest to keep his squirming body in place. Even though he's thrashing and trying to kick out at me, I jab the needle into his throat and depress the plunger about halfway. The dosage I had for this syringe was filled to kill someone Ralph's size—in case he got away from me and I had to dispatch him quickly. Ty can't be more than one hundred and fifty pounds.

After a few more seconds of crying, Ty's lids flutter, and he goes limp. Sighing, I gently lower his body to the floor, then pick up the cap of the needle when he's safely on the ground. Looking down at him, I notice blood from my shirt transferred onto him. I'll change his clothes before I let him go.

Blu told me he had to dose June to get him home the night he found him cornered by a serial killer. I guess I'm more like my cousin than I initially thought.

Taking my gloves off, I pull my phone from my pocket to check the time. I see a text from Ty and shake my head.

Ty: I know it's late, but are you free to check out this building with me? It's where I might have Tessa's. I have a good feeling about this place.

So that was what he was doing here. How strange he would want to view a property this late at night in this part of town. I chose this building specifically for its location. This would be a terrible place for him to open a bakery. I'll be sure to tell him that after he wakes up.

Since I dosed Ty with the tranquilizer, I can go finish cleaning up. He'll be out for at least six hours, so I have plenty of time. That doesn't mean I can delay. When I dump the body parts, I have about an hour drives to my destination. I need every minute I can spare to get Ty away from here, out of his bloodied clothes, and into bed so he can sleep off the drugs.

I stare down at Ty. He's fucking perfect. Gently, my hand passes over his face to wipe the wetness away. He truly is beautiful, more so with tears on his cheeks.

I only take a moment more to admire his beauty before I pick him up and take him to my car. After sliding him into the passenger seat and leaning it all the way back—rolling the window down so he won't overheat—I pull out my phone to make a call.

Blu answers on the fifth ring. His voice sounds thick with sleep, but whatever. I need his help. "Leo."

It's still odd for him to call me Leo instead of Brad, my birth name, but I hated that fucking name. Thankfully, Blu respects me enough to use the name I chose.

"I need your help." Quickly, I fill Blu in on everything that transpired tonight. "Can you and June come move his car back to his apartment? I wouldn't ask if?—"

"Yeah, we can take care of it." I hear shuffling and soft whispers on the other end of the phone. "Give us twenty minutes. You need me to take care of this Ty fellow, too?"

"No one touches him," I growl, making it known to my cousin that he's mine without saying the words.

"No problem. Need help with clean up?"

"Six hands are better than two," I answer.

"Be there is twenty," Blu says and hangs up.

Blowing out a long breath, I tilt my head to the heavens, gazing up at the infinite sky. I've already killed tonight. Let's see if I'm up for the job of keeping someone alive.