Taboo Unchained(7)

Neighbors are starting to stare, so I cut them to the chase and get out my cellphone to call the cops.

“Look into my eyes, Mark,” I growl at him. I generally try to hold those sounds back. They're too bestial, too feral for the world to hear. But I think that Mark needs them, desperately so. When he simply groans and tries to roll away, I grab him by the hair and drag his face over to mine. Weak. This man is so fucking weak that it makes me sick. If I am an alpha male in this world of wolves, Mark is an Omega. The lowest of the low. I resist my wild inner urge to simply kill him. I haven't killed anyone in public view – yet. I imagine that if I do, I won't be able to stop. That's how dark the demon is. I use sex instead. That is my outlet. “Look into my fucking eyes.” I keep my voice low but firm. When the dispatcher answers, I report an attempted assault and state quite clearly that the man in question has taken off on foot. I sincerely hope for his sake that Mark takes that hint. I hang up and help the man to his feet.

He stumbles against a nearby tree and casts me a look that's one part terror and one part anger. I understand the second part quite clearly, but I cannot even fathom the first. I haven't felt terror in years. Nothing frightens me. I wish it did. Believe it or not, fear is one of those emotions you don't miss until it's gone. It's a healthy feeling, at least in small doses.

“You will walk away from here quickly if you have any sense of self-preservation,” I say to Mark. I don't wait around to see if he'll listen. People have a tendency to do what I say – whether they're paying me for the privilege or not. I move back around the corner, hoping in some strange piece of my still dead heart that I'll see Audra. When I come in view of her house, I catch just a glimpse of the door slamming shut behind her.





The next morning, I am in a foul fucking mood, and the beast is hungry. I didn't eat last night, could hardly stop to think. I spent most of the evening in front of my computer, attempting to assuage the ache inside of me with my hand while I watched the darkest, dirtiest porn I could find. I didn't dare call any of my clients – I was afraid for their safety if I did.

Now, in this fog drenched morning, I can barely form coherent thoughts. I am out and driving, heading towards Leslie's house in the hope that she'll be home and willing. Or not. I shake off that sickening thought and tighten my hands into fists, curling my fingers around the steering wheel. Pamela calls me three times on my way over to Leslie's, but I don't answer. Fuck that fat bitch. The last thing I want right now is to have to listen to her wheedling little voice.

Three blocks south of my destination, I find a better outlet for my rage.

Mark.

I lick my lips and uncurl my fingers. The beast isn't particular – sex is not its sole source of sustenance. Oh, believe me, the beast likes sex. Loves it, even. That is, if the beast were capable of such emotions. But violence works just as well.

My green eyes follow Mark as he crosses the street directly in front of my car, oblivious to the seething rage that's burning through me, cutting an abrasive path of hunger that has to be soothed soon. If I don't tamp down on the emotion, somebody is going to get hurt. I'm certainly not in the business of hurting my clients – unless they want me too, of course – so perhaps Mark can lend me a helping hand.

I swipe my hand down my face. Rapist. Essentially human garbage. As far as I'm concerned, Mark is not worth the breath in his lungs. I flick on my blinker, my mind flashing back to that image of Audra Holiday laying on her back. Broken. Overwhelmed. Drenched in darkness. If my brain constructs an image with slightly redder hair, slightly paler skin, slightly fuller lips, how am I to know?

I decide to follow Mark for awhile, see where he's headed. The wonderful thing about my job is the flexibility. I have all day. The monster inside of me purrs, rubbing against my soul with pleasure. Just a matter of time, my pet. I park my Chrysler across the street from a gentlemen's club. It's not in the best part of town, so I toss my keys onto the passenger seat and leave the door unlocked. If some lowlife sack of scum wants to steal the car, I'd prefer they didn't break the windows. I have a tracking device installed, so if push comes to shove, I'll hunt down the thief and take care of him, Lucas Carter style. It wouldn't be the first time.

I step out of the car and shake out my sleeves, adjusting the cuff links at my wrists. I don't often splurge on expensive items, but everyone needs a slight indulgence now and again. These, are mine. Though I've chosen a less expensive pair to wear today – blue lapis pieces with a tasteful mixture of sterling silver and 18k gold accents – I'm going to stand out like a sore thumb in this seedy little joint. I force the scowl from my face as the beast rears its head in rage. The cuff links come off and go in my pocket and I lose the suit jacket, slinging it over my arm and running rigid fingers through my hair, tousling the darkness until I get the look I'm hoping for. I throw some swagger in my step and put a sloppy smile on my face.