Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

TYRANT

Here’s what I know and what I don’t know.

What I know is that Bridgette is definitely a cunt of a stepmother. She has stripped the entire house of anything that reflects the existence of Serafina or her father. Mind you, it was her father who bought the fucking house.

This is one giant item to Bridgette. She’s obsessed with how much the house is worth. What it’ll appraise for. If there are any prospective buyers, and if so, how will they purchase the house? She’s obsessed with looking at other properties across the country, and even globally.

She wants nothing to do with Serafina. Her only care in life is money, her personal net worth and how to grow it. And to grow that personal net worth, she wants it done fast and with little effort.

When Duncan died in a car accident, things were already set in place for such a tragic event. Life insurance and whatnot, which kicked right in, ensuring Bridgette a very lucrative life without a care in the world. Other than to grieve her dead husband, which I’m not so sure she’s ever actually done.

Fuck, for all I can assume, she probably killed Duncan. Which means she would have had no issue trying to kill her stepdaughter.

I run into an issue though. When Serafina was attacked, Bridgette was at a party. I know this from looking at her phone. Going through pictures and texts.

It looks like Bridgette likes to fuck men and women and likes to attend parties where everyone just hangs out, gets drunk, and then everyone fucks everyone else. I’m not sure if it’s exactly an orgy or not, but it seems damn close.

There are pictures of Bridgette naked. Getting fucked. Sucking cock. Playfully chewing on another woman’s nipple. Some really wild and raunchy shit on her phone.

I think about stealing the pictures, but they won’t do any good. At the end of day Brigette is just a useless cunt. She has no power. Nothing. Her money is just a pretend asset in a bank account managed by someone higher up. Throw her a few scraps of coins and tell her she’s pretty and she’s the happiest person in the world.

Plus, she got what she wanted. She got both Serafina and Olivia out of her life. There are text message of that too.

It’s not my business to turn into a snitch but it looks as though Bridgette set something up for Olivia to think she’s falling in love with some guy. To get her out of the country. To ease the pain of being tricked, there will be money waiting for Olivia. A chance to start over in another country.

This cunt is insane. I can only imagine what it must have been like for Serafina growing up.

It also tells me that Serafina isn’t the kind of person that belongs at Sinners Academy . She’s never truly hurt anyone. So torturing her, punishing her and setting her up to be broken and left for a life with someone else feels way too cruel and evil. Even for a guy like me.

So Bridgette obviously wasn’t the one who attacked Serafina. At least not personally. There’s the variable of this situation.

If Bridgette hired someone to attack Serafina, there’s no proof of it that I can find. And this woman has no issue letting her life be known. I mean, there’s a picture of her on her knees with some guy’s cum on her face, and she’s smiling, eyes open, posing for the fucking picture.

That brings me to my current state. Standing with a large knife in my hand, next to Bridgette’s gigantic bed. She’s on her back, sound asleep, like I knew she would be. Still in her clothes, looking like a fucking drunk mess.

Part of me wishes I would have given her more than what I did, to kill her. But then that would have resulted in an investigation and pathology and all that bullshit.

You know, in some other fake hopeful fucking world, Bridgette will wake up and not remember a thing and then decide a path of sobriety is necessary because she doesn’t want to mess up and hurt or kill herself. And then she’ll realize that she doesn’t want to be alone and she’ll call Serafina and—

“Yeah, fucking right,” I growl out loud.

Life is dark, evil and mean and an awful experience. Money or not. Power or not.

I grip the knife tighter and I want nothing more than to cut this cunt’s throat. I want to go ear to ear and watch her fucking bleed out. Can’t do that right now. But I can… fuck around a little.

I grab for Bridgette’s right wrist and I lift it up. I hold her hand and place the tip of the knife to her wrist. Of course I have to be careful here. I can’t cut too deep or else she’ll bleed the fuck out.

If that happens, it’ll look like a suicide…

Now that’s tempting.

I touch the tip of the knife to the cunt’s wrist. I apply pressure, watching her skin tear open. Blood runs freely but not squirting as though I’ve gone too deep. Bridgette groans and stirs in bed. She can still feel pain. She just can’t wake up. At least not yet.

I slide the knife from her wrist up along the inside of her forearm. It’s just a surface cut, but I go all the way to the bend of her elbow. Enough that she won’t be able to hide the cut with a simple bandage.

I clean the end of the knife from my fingerprints and leave it on the nightstand. She’s going to wake up, be covered in blood, find the knife, and freak the fuck out. No choice but to assume she did it to herself. And then what?

I walk out of the master bedroom and walk through the massive hallway toward Serafina’s old bedroom. I’m surprised it’s been left untouched.

I’ve already gone through the entire room, top to bottom. I’ve looked at every piece of clothing. I’ve gone through her drawer of panties and touched, smelled, and smiled at each pair. I found a couple questionable thongs that made me want to burn the fucking house down.

One other thing I managed to find were some old love letters, handwritten, from a guy named Calvin. I also found pictures of Serafina and Calvin. Young love. Teenage love. Dressed up for parties and then in a dress and tux for a prom or some stupid shit like that.

This is the guy though. The first love guy. The one that she hurt. A few more letters reveal that maybe things weren’t exactly one sided. Turns out Calvin may have gotten himself into a bit of trouble on a ski trip.

It’s almost comical to read letters from when they were in high school, the torrid affair of Calvin fingering some girl that lives in Denver. Just a rumor.

Yeah. Okay.

Then there’s a letter from Calvin that intrigues me very much. He claims it’s the last letter he’ll ever write to her, which as far as I can see has proven true. But the contents of the letter. Calling my claimed one a slut. A bitch. Saying she deserves to get hurt. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but someday she will get hurt.

To me, that’s a threat. I don’t care how long ago the letter was written. If Calvin wants revenge on Serafina, he’s going to have to go through me.

I don’t know who the fuck this guy is in real life. He could be a goddamn humanitarian that saves the lives of starving children across the world.

But guess what? You fuck with my claimed one , you fuck with me. I have no heart. I have no care. I don’t give a fuck who starves. I want violence, revenge, blood, death. I want it on my hands, dripping as freely as Serafina’s sticky, honey cum that pours from her cunt when I fuck her with my tongue or my cock.

As far as I give a fuck, this Calvin is as good as dead already.

“Calvin,” I growl. “You with me, old friend?”

I’m in my black robe, with my mask on, and I’m using a voice changer. I mean, if I’m going to do this, why not do it right?

Calvin lives alone in a large house at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. No real security measures because he doesn’t need them. He’s an environmental lawyer. One of the good guys apparently. He’s dating a woman named Lisa. They’ve been fucking for a year and she really loves him but he’s not sure how he feels. Hence the reason he has a secret online dating account and has been talking to two other women. Brooke is a schoolteacher and they talk about books a lot. Now Heather, she’s a wild one. She loves to get naked and send pictures of her perfect tits to Calvin. And pictures of her soaking wet cunt.

Only issue there is if you take one second and run a cross reference search, those images all pop up online from various porn sites. Meaning this Heather person is sending Calvin fake images. Part of me wonders and hopes that Heather is really Lisa, and she’s catching him in the act.

Then again, all this personal drama means dick to me. It’s just good to know as much as possible about someone before you attack them. Calvin made it way too easy though. Sitting at his dining room table, drinking wine, working on some fucking paper.

He made it too easy to sneak into the house. And the guy is made of fucking paper. I barely hit him and he was out cold.

Now he’s tied to his bed, slowly starting to come back to life. When he sees me, he freaks the fuck out, as expected. I look like something that crawled out of hell and here I am ready to claim his mortal soul.

I have a few knives from his kitchen on the bed. And a hammer I found in a toolbox in the pantry closet. Oh, and an electric drill. That’s what I’m holding in my right hand.

“Shut the fuck up, Calvin,” I say. “You yell, you get hurt.”

He screams again.

I have a small screw in my left hand and I place it just above his knee. I put the drill to the screw and treat him like a piece of cheap wood. Having the screw drilled into his leg makes him scream more. I then take the drill and smash it down onto his mouth, battery end first. Teeth crunch, some breaking, others moving, and blood sprays into the air.

I reach for another screw and hold it just in front of his right eye.

“One more fucking yell and I’m going to drill this into your eye,” I warn.

He finally finds the strength to shut the fuck up. His mouth is a bloody mess.

“Can you talk?” I ask. “Say something.”

“I can talk,” his voice is weak, terrified.

“Listen, teeth can be fixed and replaced. But you dead? That can’t be fixed. You die and that’s it. Do you want to fucking die, Calvin?”

“No,” he says. “Who are you?”

“I’m a nightmare that crawled out of your head and came to life. Fucking sucks, I know. But you did something bad, Calvin. Something really bad.”

“Oh, fuck, are you here about the port report I made? It’s my job, man.”

I chuckle. “You’ve pissed off a lot of people with your job. Good news, I don’t give a fuck about your career. I don’t give a fuck if you save ten trees or burn down a forest. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says. “Then… oh, God, it hurts. My leg. My mouth… oh, God…”

He starts to cry. This man is now weeping. This is the guy who popped Serafina’s cherry?

“You threatened someone in a letter, Calvin,” I say.

“I wr-write a lot of letters.”

“A long time ago.” I get closer to him. “ Serafina .”

“W-what? Her? You’re here about h-her? That was high school.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Calvin. Don’t get mouthy with me either.”

I toss the drill to the floor and grab for a knife. His body jumps and he wants to scream but doesn’t. Instead, he pisses himself. All over his pants and his bed. I shake my head.

“I need proof of where you were a few nights ago, Calvin. I need to know the last time you spoke to Serafina. The last time you saw her. I need all of it.”

“Serafina Lockart? That’s what this is about?”

I grab at his well-kept hair and slash the knife through the air, taking off a nice chunk of hair.

“Next slice I make is your dick getting cut off,” I warn. “Now tell me!”

My voice booms throughout the room.

“I’ve been away for the last month,” Calvin says. “On vacation! You can look at my… I don’t know. My phone. My laptop. Anything you want.”

“I plan on it. So you were talking to other women while you were on vacation with Lisa?”

“Jesus, man, please. Not Lisa. Please don’t hurt her.”

“You’re already hurting her, Calvin. Time to set her free. Or else it’ll end up like Serafina. Right? You cheated on her. And then when she broke up with you, you made it seem like she was a whore. Didn’t you?”

“That was high school!”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

I stab the knife down into the bed, really close to hitting his dick. He screams and pisses a little bit more. I leave the knife in the bed and pick up a hammer and a nail.

“This is going into your heart,” I tell Calvin. “Unless you tell me what happened with Serafina.”

“It was fucking high school,” he whines.

I place the tip of the nail right over his heart.

“I cheated on her,” he says. “Okay? Is that what you want to hear? Huh? I cheated on her. With like six girls. I was seventeen!”

“Then you made her feel like a useless whore after,” I growl.

“I’m sorry. Okay? That was wrong to do. Please, man. Please. I didn’t do anything else to her. I haven’t seen her since we broke up.”

“You wrote a nasty letter to her.”

“I wanted her back and she rejected me. I was mad. Hurt. Confused. I was seventeen.”

He keeps saying that number like it should matter to me.

When I was seventeen, I took out my first target. I snuck up behind some millionaire executive and wrapped wire around his throat and pulled as hard as I could until I choked him out and snapped his neck.

I drop the hammer and nail and go find Calvin’s phone. Sure enough, the guy has been telling the truth. A month long vacation. With Lisa. Her bikinis did not reveal much at all. Maybe that’s why he talks to other women. Or maybe he’s just a piece of shit.

I check the timestamps on the pictures. Everything checks out for Calvin. I’m faced with a familiar dilemma however. Same with Serafina’s cunt of a stepmother. For all I know, Calvin hired someone to attack my claimed one . He purposely was out of town when it happened.

For almost a month in advance?

I zoom in on a picture of Lisa.

“Look at her,” I say and show Calvin the phone screen. “You cheat on that? Nonstop.”

“It’s not cheating,” Calvin says. “It’s just… she’s not… oh, fuck, are you going kill me, man?”

“I already have,” I say. “You’ll never recover from this. Years of therapy won’t do shit. You’ll never be able to tell the truth either. Do you know why?”

He slowly shakes his head.

“If you say one word about me or how I look, I will hunt Lisa down. I will cut off her limbs, starting with her toes. Then her fingers. And I’ll keep going. And each time I do that, I’ll deliver the severed body parts to you. It’s not worth it, Calvin. I just had to know you haven’t been fucking around with Serafina. So I guess we’re done here.”

I toss Calvin’s phone to the bed, right next to him. I don’t give a fuck how he gets himself untied. I don’t give a fuck if he bleeds out and dies. Or he panics and has a heart attack.

When I get to the bedroom door, I look back.

“Also, you fucking piece of shit,” I growl. “Make a decision. You want to be with Lisa, then stop talking to other people. Don’t make me find you again.”

I shut the bedroom door.

Calvin starts to weep loudly. Then he screams. I just ruined his life. For good. I just did Lisa a big favor too, as long as she’s smart enough to run. It’s a small offering if you ask me.

I’m going to burn this entire fucking world down until I find out who tried to kill my claimed one.