Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Damien

I hear footsteps above me and a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I've been waiting half an hour for Nolan to come home, lurking in the shadows of his basement like a predator stalking its prey.

His daily routine never varies. Wake up at six, go to work as a graphic artist for a small media company until five, then hang out with friends until he steps into his home gym at seven-fifteen.

I remember every detail, not by choice but by necessity. Each piece of information is a weapon in my arsenal, a tool to get closer to my target. I've studied Nolan for weeks, learning his habits, his weaknesses, the chinks in his armor. And now, as I hear him moving around above me, oblivious to the danger that awaits, a rush of adrenaline surges through my veins.

But patience is key. One wrong move and all my careful planning could be for nothing. So, I wait, my mind sharp and focused on the task at hand.

Nolan thinks he's safe in his little suburban bubble, but he has no idea what a monster yours truly really is.

The footsteps grow louder and closer. I hear the creak of the door and the soft thud of Nolan's feet on the stairs. My heart races with excitement, but my hands are steady.

His brown eyes go wide with shock at his first sight of me, and he takes a step back, toppling over one of his many weight benches. "Who the fuck are you?"

I push off the wall, a slight smile playing on my lips. "I am your worst fucking nightmare, Nolan Petrovic."

He scoffs, taking another step forward. "I don't know who you think you are, but you picked the wrong house to rob, asshole."

In one swift motion, I unsheathe my blade. Nolan's body stiffens, his eyes growing large as he realizes I mean business.

"I'm not here to rob you," I say, spinning the blade between my fingers. "You're all I want."

Nolan swallows hard, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. He steps back, glancing around the room for something. "Look, man, I don't want any trouble. Just take what you want and go."

"Nope." I chuckle darkly, advancing slowly. "You don't get it, do you? The only thing I want is to watch the life drain from your eyes."

Nolan lunges for a nearby dumbbell, and my blade slices across his outstretched arm. He cries out in pain and stumbles back, clutching the bleeding gash. Sometimes, I wish I didn't love this so much. A bullet in the head is so much easier. But this is more fun.

"My wife—" he begins but I interrupt.

"Your wife is out of town visiting her sister. No doubt a precursor to divorce." I nod when his eyes get wide to let him know that I know everything. All the little insignificant details of his life are mine.

"Ah, ah, ah," I tut, waving the knife. "Let's not make this any messier than it needs to be. Now, be a good boy and sit down on that bench. We have a lot to discuss, you and I."

His brow furrows. "Discuss what? Who are you?"

"I ask the questions." I let a slow, chilling smile spread across my face. "Down."

I watch as Nolan's eyes dart to the bench near the stairs, calculating his chances. "I wouldn't if I were you."

And then he bolts, legs pumping like a cornered rabbit. Idiot. I let him reach the top, then watch him fumble with the door handle like a drowning man clutching at straws. Petrovich doesn't know I removed a few key components. He could get out if he'd calm down, but he doesn't.

He returns, stomping down the stairs, fury and terror etched into his features. "What kind of sick game is this?"

"Not a game. If it was, you might have a chance of winning. But you don't. Lie down."

He crosses his arms defiantly. "And if I don't?"

This time, my smile is genuine. "Then you'll find out just how creative I can get."

He tries to stare me down, relying on his gym physique to intimidate me. Doesn't work. When it sinks in there's no escape, his shoulders sag as he drops onto the incline bench. "Why are you doing this? What do you want?"

"I ask the questions." I reach into my backpack and pull out a roll of water-soluble tape, waving it in front of his face to add a dash of dramatic flair. "But since you mention it, there's something I'm curious about." Slowly, I unroll a long strip of tape, watching the flash of fear ignite in his eyes.

"Wait! What's the tape for?" He inches back on the bench.

"You, of course." With surgical precision, I slice his tank top from hem to collar, exposing his chest. Pressing a hand against his sternum to steady him, I wrap the tape around him haphazardly but securely. "Much better. Now tell me, Nolan, do you still like fucking women and girls against their will? Is that why your wife is at her sister's house? Did she find out you're a shit bag?"

"You don't know what you're talking about." A cocky smirk twists his lips. "I don't need to force anyone. I get plenty of pussy. Who the fuck are you?"

"But that wasn't always the case, was it?"

"No idea what you mean. Did I fuck your girl? Is that it?"

I smile at his false bravado, his belief this is mere revenge. He's not entirely wrong, but there's no tomorrow for him. "In a sense, yes."

He laughs like the idiot he is. "Forget it, man. These hoes ain't worth all this. Move on and find another one."

"No, I don't think I will." Pressing the blade tip into his shoulder, I apply the smallest amount of pressure. "Did you know the slower the knife goes in, the worse it hurts?"

His chest heaves, a trickle of blood running down his shoulder. "Hey man! What the fuck?"

"Do you get off on it? Pinning women down, forcing yourself inside them? Is that your thing?"

"I'm into whatever she's into."

"Is that why your wife left? Because you're a sick rapist fuck?"

Outrage flashes in his eyes. "I've never raped anyone!"

"Never?" I slide the knife into his flesh again. "Not once have you fucked an unwilling woman?" I pull the blade out and force it back into the muscle of his shoulder, and he screams. "Be honest, Nolan."

Our gazes lock for a moment. Recognition dawns in his eyes, but he lifts his chin defiantly. "Never," he pants.

"Okay." I jab the blade into his sternum, pushing deep and fast before dragging it down to his navel. "Let's try again. This time, be truthful."

Agonizing screams echo off the walls, the metal weights amplifying his suffering. Nolan is breathing heavier know, alternating between shallow breaths and deep ones, unsure which is the best way to save his life or at the very least, stop the pain. "Fuck!"

Yanking out the knife, I savor his tortured grunts. "Never?"

"Look, whatever I did, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry…" Tears stream down his face, fear and pain intermingling.

"Answer me, Nolan."

"No," he pleads. "Stop. Please stop. I don't want to die."

Digging the blade back into his chest wound, I rip through his navel. "Still lying."

"No, I'm not." Nolan starts to gurgle, blood spilling from his mouth. "It was the others…please…"

"Then surely you recall Hope House. We lived there together for years." I watch the realization click into place. Now, he remembers. He knows who I am. Pulling out the blade, I wipe it across his chest. "You really fucked up, Nolan."

Not waiting for a response, I raise the knife overhead and plunge it into his chest, carving down to his pelvis. "You see, Nolan, there is no forgetting. No forgiving."

His body slackens as I withdraw the blade.

"You had years of freedom. A life. Love. A career. You had it all. It ends tonight." I slash from kidney to kidney, slicing through his pancreas. The gush of blood and viscera brings immense satisfaction; his gurgling quiets the monster inside me a bit.

Leaning in close so he's staring into my eyes, I fight the urge to grin. I want his last memory to be my face, but I think it's too late. "I gave you so many chances to be honest. A chance to make amends. You shouldn't have lied, Nolan. You did this to yourself."

Gasping, he spits more blood, red pooling beneath him, painting the floor with the evidence of his demise. His eyes finally close, accepting the inevitable.

"I'm showing you far more mercy than you gave her." My voice is devoid of emotion, cold and unyielding as I stab out his eyes and stuff them in his mouth. He deserves none of my empathy.

And all of hell's wrath.

One less scumbag in the world. I look at his body, intestines spilling onto the bloody floor, a grotesque display of his sins. His death came quicker than he deserved, but he's dead.

Another name crossed off The List.

Good luck, Frankie. Let's see what you make of this.

The tape dissolves as I meticulously wipe every surface, leaving not a single trace of my presence. Each swipe of the cloth is methodical, precise. A spotless crime scene will stump forensics, but that's just child's play.

Fixing the door, I ensure it looks untouched, wiping the knobs until they gleam.

Exiting through the side door, I hop the back fence, landing in a CCTV-free alley, courtesy of my tech know how. My movements are swift and silent, just a shadow slipping through the night.

When I get home, I shower with a smile on my face, the hot water washing away the day's sins. I think about Francesca, her sharp mind working overtime as she tries to piece together this puzzle. Oh, the field day she'll have trying to figure this one out.

Maybe I'll fuck her again before she finds him.

After my shower, I sit in my easy chair and watch Francesca concentrating on crime scene photos in her kitchen.

She's thinking about me.

And she doesn't even know it.