Julian

I review the file Ry sent one more time, struggling to understand why the fuck he would send me the file of some 50-year-old white man that has no relation to any of the goddamn Columbians I'm hunting. I look a little closer at the loose paper all over my mahogany desk. The more I read, the angrier I get. This mother fucker is the worst type of white trash there is, one that rapes his fucking daughter. There is no part of me that should feel this angry, maybe it's the fact that I can't help but think of the little witch struggling to remove the assholes who abused her. And there I go again. Thinking of her . Again.

Well, there must be a reason Ry sent me this shit. So, the only logical thing to do is go out there, find this asshole and fucking slit his throat. I glance through the documents once more, Franklin Green, 52 years old and living in Pasadena, with his daughter Ann who just turned 11 years old. Wife, Katie Green, deceased. Now, how do I get a child away from her home in order to kill her dear old dad. I tap on the desk a few times, thinking of every way I can get a child out on a school night; shrugging, I tap three more times. Fuck it. I'll figure it out when I get there.

There's a level of annoyance as I gather the papers and place them inside the file. I open up the drawer of my desk and place them all the way at the bottom of the folders stacked neatly inside. Reaching into the inside chest pocket of my suit jacket I take out a small key that goes to this specific drawer, the silver key looks like it could be part of a dollhouse like the one Catalina had when we were kids. Closing the drawer, I insert the key and make sure that the drawer is completely locked before I head out to my garage and prepare myself for the impending chaos I'll bring to Mr. Green.

My fingers twitch as I close the door to our office, I have yet to see Rafa. He's no doubt sleeping away yet another hangover. I truly don't understand how my brothers and I are all related. Rafa seems to be like me, doesn't feel emotions the way I do, but he appears more broken so I can't tell if that's just a facade or if he truly doesn't care about his well-being. Marcelo has always felt too much and hidden it behind a wall within himself. The day that wall breaks down, I fear he'll be even more vicious than our father.

As if I conjured a demon, Marcelo ringtone blares as I slowly stride to my black Mercedes while I contemplate whether or not I want to even answer him. The call stops before starting up once more. Well fuck.

"You know, if I don't answer the first time that does not make it a welcome to continue calling," I say as soon as I push the green button.

"Well, you should have just answered the first time, hermano." I can hear the amusement in his voice. It's a rarity that I've learned to take notice.

"Where are you?" His tone goes cold and unconcerning. It only took him 3 seconds to get back to mute-like state. Wonderful.

"No te preocupes. Don't worry, hermano. I'll be safe on my hunt. I'm just grabbing Betty and a few toys for my prey to enjoy." I don't wait a single second discussing my plans, I hang up the phone and continue on my path.

Turning the corner, I head straight for the garage of our mansion. Twelve rows of keys hang in small hooks on the left of the door, right around the corner are rows of different types of vehicles that match each set. Each brand of SUV is sported with bullet proof windows, each of them are either black or red, my favorite color. They are also each packed with every possible weapon imaginable.

It's not like the police are going to stop me.

Quickly swiping the keys of my blood red Lexus, clicking the unlock button as I get closer to the beauty with an engine of gold. Betty, the only lady I need in my life or so she was. Tapping Betty on the roof, I open the door and slowly put my seat belt on while feeling the smooth leather of the steering wheel. Breathing in her scent of apple cinnamon, it brings me back to that fucking bar.

I growl in anger and fucking frustration, and now I'm just glad that I'll be letting out all these pent-up feelings. A shiver crawls down my spine, and extends all the way to my fingers currently twitching to have some sort of weapon in them. Reeving up the engine, the car vibrates to life making the most beautiful sound. I made sure to leave my guards, because well they can't stomach the depraved shit I plan to do to this scumbag.

I usually love a quick kill, just for the simple act of committing the murder and to watch their life disappear from their eyes. It's therapeutic, although most therapists would not agree. While that has been the case for a long time, the abduction shifted something inside me and now I just want to draw out the pain. I want them to feel defeated, worthless and with the knowledge that they are destined to die no matter fucking what.

That's what we did to fucking Anderson, the man who betrayed our family. He had worked for us for years, and had watched over my fucking sister some days that I couldn't or I didn't really care to, so dragging out his death was the icing on the fucking cake. Since it was my sister and… her , who was hurt for his stupid decision.

The bond my sister and I share has been unbreakable since she came running into my room a day after our mother was killed. She knows me, there's no pretending that I care, although I pretend anyway. I've been hiding myself in plain sight for as long as I can remember.

Sometimes it's just too hard to put the mask down.

Every time our father made decisions, I wanted to slit his throat, but I didn't. My self-restraint is impeccable. But I also knew that it would devastate my sister. Catalina allows me to pretend I have a little more humanity in me, even though sometimes I don't believe it's possible. I shake my head, willing my thoughts to focus on the matter at hand. The roar of the engine only fuels my need for blood as I continue to Mr. Green's address, 34 Main Street.

The drive to Pasadena felt shorter than it was, probably because my mind drifted between the excitement to kill and thoughts of a certain blonde, that just won't go away. I'm just a few minutes from arriving near the house, so I decide to park my car on the street before just to make sure my car doesn't look out of place in this shitty looking neighborhood.

I'm not really sure why the fuck Ry gave me this man's information, but he usually does things for a reason. I don't normally question him since I know I can trust him with my life.

Parking the car on Elm Street, which looks just as shitty. I look at my reflection in the mirror as I park my car on the street and turn off the lights. The street lights shining through the windows allows me to see the crazed look in my eyes. The crazed look seems to be a permanent one, at least I've had it since as long as I can remember.

Turning the key on the ignition and pulling it out, the sound of the engine is no longer a silent purr. Looking back at the mirror, I see the smirk on my face that was not there a moment ago, my demon has come out ready to play.

The cool night breeze causes my skin to break out in goosebumps as I step outside of my car. I strip off the black suit jacket that I normally wear along with the white blouse. I've wasted too many good suits. I grab the extra T-shirt from the gym bag I usually keep in my car and a black hoodie. Slowly putting one on and then the other on my body before I grab my mask, just in case. I still haven't figured out a way to get his kid out of the house so I may need to hide my identity.

The streets are completely abandoned, and lined with garbage in every direction. It's quiet, maybe a little too quiet as I continue walking down Elm Street and turning right onto Main Street until I reach the house that reads 34.

The home is completely dark, which is a given this time of night. The only lights are the ones on the street showcasing my shadow as I slowly make my way around the building. I need to be sure that no one can see me going in and out. This run down, dirty white house looks practically abandoned, the grass is unkept, the fence around the property looks like it's rotting and the mailbox seems to be overflowing with mail.

Not only is he a shitty father, but a shitty human being.

Oh, Franklin. What am I going to do with you, buddy?

Pulling out the leather pouch from my pocket, I unwrap the leather strap from around it and open it just enough to remove the brass piece from its pocket. Inserting the sharp end of two very thin pieces of metal into the lock of the back door, I wiggle them around a few times before the click of the door fills the silence I've grown attached to. With a slow creak, I make my way inside. The house is completely silent almost as if no one were home. I slowly make my way around every room, making sure that no one else is here, or at least to be sure that kid isn't anywhere around here.

Room after room I come up empty, as I finally reach the bottom of the stairs, I can see the pictures decorating the stairwell with fake images that resemble happiness. You can see the uncomfortable look in the little girls' eyes as her father grips her shoulder, forcing her to freeze a moment in time that is filled with so much pain as a constant reminder of the brutality he has enforced on her. Each image leading up the stairs tells a story behind the assault. It helps ignite the rage I've been carrying all the way up to Franklin's bedroom. I don't bother checking the other bedrooms, I just want to shove my blade down his throat before he finally wakes drowning in his own blood.

The door seems to be open, Franklin lays on the bed completely still. His chest rising up and down as he sleeps peacefully, no doubt dreaming of his fucking daughter. Quickly, I grab the knife from its hiding spot, the black handle in my grip allows it to become an extension of myself. The blade is part of my arm as I fling it from side to side, admiring the way the light shimmers on the silver.

Quietly, I gently remove the blue comforter from his sleeping form; he's completely dressed, thank fuck, in a band T-shirt and a pair of what looks like basketball shorts. Very carefully, I decide it would be a good idea to make sure the fucker can't get away, so I slice each Achilles tendon. His cries fill the once silent home, as he brings his hands to the open wound and begins to rock back and forth in pain. I try to hold back the laugh that threatens to escape my lips. His tear-filled eyes go straight to my masked ones, I can sense the fear behind his green ones, his eyebrows crinkle in confusion which is understandable. He came out of a wet dream to his death. I would be confused too.

"Franklin, buddy. What am I going to do with you? Huh?" I chuckle, tapping the knife against his cheek. He's frozen in place. "I-I… What do you want?" he stutters as he holds back pain. He's trying to be brave, that's cute.

"Franklin, Franklin, Franklin. I don't think you comprehend the seriousness of your actions," I taunt, bringing the knife up to his neck. I press gently against his pressure point. Adding a little more pressure until my blade pierces the skin, small droplets of blood pour out as if a vampire would have taken a bite of his flesh. Just one small puncture wound.

"Who are you?" he screams, flinging himself back against the bed like I wouldn't go after him. The fucker can't run away from me. Deciding to have some fun with him I swing my knife back and forth making sure that I scratch his stomach multiple times as his cries continue.

"Oh, Franklin. It doesn't matter who I am. All that matters is that you will go to hell for the depraved shit you've done to your own blood." I seeth, I can tell when he understands my meaning, I can see the realization in his eyes. My laughter increases as he stutters a bunch of nonsense, I really don't care to understand. I know he's guilty and tonight, I shall be judge, jury and executioner.

"Y-y-you can have her. Is that it? You want her for yourself, fucking take her. I'm done with the little bitch," he screams.

He did not just offer me a child as payment.

"What the fuck kind of father are you? You're the worst type of human, fucking nasty piece of shit." I roar, grabbing the handle of my blade with both hands. I sink it inside his oversized stomach, letting the rage take me just a moment, as I stab over and over again until he has a gaping hole in his gut with his vital organs showing.

Well shit, and I wanted to take my time.

The sound of footsteps fading away breaks me out of my rage, I can only assume the kid was home.

Fuck. That's my cue.

Carefully, I wipe the blade on his blue comforter until there is no drop of blood left, and quietly walk out the door the way I came in. My mask is speckled with small drops of blood from the way I kept flinging the blade. I slip it off in the shadows before stepping into the light, pulling my hood over my head as I casually walk down the street, taking a left back to Betty.

I'm actually surprised when I find her in one piece, thank fuck I never have to come back to this shit hole. Taking my phone out from my pocket, I send a quick message over to my cleaners just to make sure that his body isn't found. Besides, I'd hate myself if that kid woke up to her father like that. Granted, she might be happy that he can't bother her anymore, but still, it's too gruesome for innocent eyes.

Once the text has gone through, I dial Ry; the phone rings a few times while I turn the key in the ignition and allow Betty to purr through the silence.

", miss me that much?" He chuckles as the sound of typing continues while he pauses.

"Why the random fucker?" I ask, pulling the car out of the parking spot and speeding away towards my house.

"Why not? He was a fucking monster. Someone had to. Any issues?" he questions, the movement on the keyboard falters for a moment.

"Nah, I think someone was home, but I assume it was the kid. I wasn't seen so…" I shrug, like it didn't bother me having been seen as I murdered a man in cold blood.

"So, you didn't see anyone?"

"No. Was I supposed to get the kid out?" I question, not really sure what the point of his question is. "So, did I just go after the dick for being a nasty fuck?"

"Pretty much, that was his daughter. I thought you'd appreciate the variety of scum." He chuckles. He's right.

"Yeah, I appreciate it. I needed to blow off some steam," I say, a smile covering my face as I think of the way his blood pooled his bed.

"You may need to hold back on the crazy for a bit, until we find Eduardo," he says flatly, and I laugh.

"There's no way I can hold back. I fucking live for the crazy. You know that."

His silence becomes deafening. "I should be back in about an hour. I'll head to the Diamond before taking my leave to the Temple. Want to join in on the escapades?"

"No," he says, the silence is then followed by the click of the phone and then a long dial tone. Mother fucker hung up on me.

I guess I'll just sit in my thoughts and hope it doesn't make me even more of a demon than I am. No matter how much I try to distract myself, my thoughts drift to that little bruja every single time.