Killer

CHAPTER 1





PHOENIX





Tonight’s the perfect night to kill.

I can feel it in my veins; that undeniable urge that flows through me on nights like these. Exciting like drugs; the murderous kind.

Clouds prevent the moonlight from bursting through and cover the land in perpetual darkness. There are plenty of lanterns lighting the road ahead, but not the alley where I’m headed. In front of me is a small puddle of water, so I walk past the side to avoid splashing my new leather shoes. You see, I just bought these, and I prefer to keep them clean for as long as possible. They will probably lose their shine after tonight’s killings.

Oh well, it’s not like I’ll need these shoes for anything other than entering the party ahead and pretending like I belong. Gotta be fancy enough for the big crowd because, of course, someone in dirty jeans couldn’t be nearly important enough as someone in a suit.

A bunch of fake fuckers. If I could, I’d burn the whole fucking place to the ground, but I’d rather not end up in jail if I can avoid it. Killing has to be done as inconspicuous as possible, so nobody knows I did it until I’ve already disappeared.

It’s my thing; it’s what I do, or rather what I’ve become. After all these years, I don’t even remember what it was like not to be a murderer. Not that I want to remember—hell, I prefer this life to any other. Especially over the lives of those people in that party who are about to witness death.

I have to admit, it’s a rush. I just love killing, especially when it’s for the right reasons. Those reasons are obviously always to benefit me. Why else would I fucking murder people if not for my own pleasure? And for the money that sustains me, of course.

What can I say? I’m the scum of the earth, the disgusting vile that creeps in the corners to jump you at night … and I don’t for a second regret being like this.

I turn into the alley and come face to face with a bulking, barely-fitting-in-his-suit bodyguard. I cock my head as he frowns at me, probably wondering what I’m doing here.

“Excuse me, you can’t come in here,” he says as I walk closer.

I smile. “Why not? This is where the party is.”

He folds his arms, making himself seem larger, but all it does for me is make it more laughable. “This is the rear entrance. If you want access, you have to use the front door. If you have a ticket, that is …”

He doesn’t believe me? Even in my fucking fancy suit? Well, fuck him. I wanted to spare his life but questioning my slickness isn’t something one can get away with.

“Oh, I have a ticket, all right,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “How dare you talk to a guest like that?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says, “but I’m not allowed to let anyone pass through this door. You’ll have to go to the front entrance where they can check your ticket. Sorry.”

Of course, they all think I’m not a guest because, let’s face it … I look like a guy you wouldn’t want your daughter to talk to, even if it was in broad daylight in your own fucking home. With my piercings, black hair, and merciless attitude, I usually scare people to death. I have the kind of face you’d see in your nightmares … except, when you see me in real life, you’re really dead.

Like this guy.

“Yeah, yeah … so, let me get this straight …” I shuffle around, looking at the floor to distract him. “You’re basically telling me that I can’t walk here, even though this is a public alley, just because this isn’t the ‘correct’ entrance to the party I’m supposed to be attending?”

“I’m only doing my job.”

I look up at him. “So am I.”

In a fraction of a second, I’ve grabbed his coat and flipped it over his head. I twist around, to his back, and wrap it around his neck. The fabric stuffed in his mouth quickly muffles his screams, choking him as I drag him back into the corner of the alley. He claws at the coat, desperate to free himself before time runs out. Stumbling backward, we fall to the ground, and I wrap my legs around his chest to prevent him from moving. His body fights for survival; his legs thrash and his hands punch the air. It’s no use. I will win this fight, as I always do. His energy is waning fast, and his muscles are burning through their adrenaline. It won’t be long now. With his fingers growing whiter every second, all the blood is rushing to his face, in a last attempt to breathe. But it’s already too late; there is no oxygen left and his lungs are shutting down.

His legs stop moving and his hands drop to the ground, the last groan slipping off his tongue like a ghost leaving his body.