The Serial Killer

This chapter contains dark content.

Lucas POV

Sighing, I look down at him—Paul—watching the tears run down his swollen, bloodied face. He’s trying to beg, I think, though I can’t hear it anymore. Probably because I cut out his tongue a while ago. The sound is just a sickening gargle, thick with blood and desperation. He’s begging for his life, but it’s too late for that now.

The thing is… I wasn’t planning to kill Paul. There was no meticulous plot, no months of stalking or calculating every move. Hell, I barely know him. We’ve spoken a few times, shared a few thoughts on the dark web. I sometimes get hired to kill, but usually, I pick my own victims—ones that spark something inside me.

Unlucky for Paul, today he said the wrong thing. Mentioned the wrong name.

Nova.

And here we are.

I sigh, patting his shoulder like we’re old friends. “I’m sorry, Paul. Maybe I overreacted slightly,” I whisper, my voice soft, almost apologetic. “But it doesn’t mean you can live, you understand? I’ve already started, and you know how much I hate to stop before finishing a masterpiece, don’t you?”

He gargles again, blood dribbling from his mouth, his eyes wild with fear. The look in them is begging for mercy, for any hint that I might change my mind. But I don’t. Not once I’ve started.

I lean back in my chair, frowning at the mess I’ve made. “I reacted,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head in disbelief. “And that’s so unlike me, right?” I glance at him, his head bobbing in agreement, the fear making him eager to please.

“Exactly. You know me, Paul. I don’t react. Not to anything. I plan, I execute, but I don’t react. So what the fuck does this mean, huh?”

His eyes flicker, trying to keep up with my words. He’s probably hoping for some kind of reprieve, but he won’t get one. Still, I ask the question, mostly for myself. “Why did I react?”

I tilt my head, considering him. It wasn’t his fault, not really. What he said wasn’t even the worst thing I’ve heard. Hell, the replies to Nova’s post were far worse, but Paul… he just happened to be standing in front of me when he said it. And I reacted. Took his tongue before I even realized what I was doing.

I sigh again, scratching my head, trying to make sense of it. I never lose control like this. I’m always precise, methodical. This? This was sloppy.

“Let me explain it to you, Paul.” My voice is calm now, detached. “I saw her post the moment it went live. Spent a good ten minutes typing out a reply, rewriting it, then rewriting it again. I was... thoughtful, you know? And then I sent it.” I glance at him. “But she didn’t reply. Two days later, and nothing. I wouldn’t usually care about shit like that, but I do. I care.”

I lean forward, my eyes narrowing. “Why do you think I reacted, Paul? I don’t react.”

Paul’s eyes widen, his bloody mouth twitching as he tries to speak. He gargles, but it’s useless. I grab a pen and a notepad, shoving them toward him. “Go ahead. Write it down. Why did I lose control?”

His hand trembles as he scribbles something, and when he hands the paper back, I read the words.

You have an obsession. She’s your obsession.

I freeze, staring at the words. Obsession? Could Nova be my obsession? I’ve never had one before, never needed one. But what does that even mean? What is an obsession, anyway?

Paul scribbles something else, shoving the paper toward me again. I snatch it up.

You’re angry she hasn’t agreed to your proposal. Jealous she picked someone else.

Jealous? Picked someone else? My chest tightens. “You think she’s meeting someone else?” My voice is sharp, and I don’t miss the way Paul flinches. Who else would agree to her insane request? No one, right? I hope not.

I take the paper from him again, my mind racing.

She tagged the mafia. He untagged himself within seconds.

Shit. That, I didn’t know. That, I didn’t see. Is that why she hasn’t replied? Has she already been snatched up by someone worse? Or… is she already dead?

The thought sends a ripple of rage through me, something unfamiliar, something dangerous. If someone else has gotten to her first…

I pull my phone out of my pocket as it beeps, and there it is—her reply. I smirk, a slow, creeping satisfaction curling in my chest. “She replied, Paul,” I whisper, glancing at the bloody mess behind me. “You hear that? She actually fucking replied.”

Paul, still gurgling, gives me a pathetic nod, blood spilling out of his ruined mouth. I peer at him, amused. “Want a drink?” He nods again, desperate. “I’ll bring you one,” I say, walking into the kitchen. I pour two drinks, my eyes glued to her message as I read it, over and over.

Darkness is in everyone’s lives. Do you think I’m too sweet, too light to live in the darkness? Try me. If you’re serious, let me shadow you for a week. Let me see how you work. Show me the truth behind who you are.

Well, shit. She agreed. After two fucking days of silence, she agreed. The satisfaction that floods through me is deep, but it’s mixed with something else—a twisted urge to make her wait, to leave her hanging just like she did to me. I could ignore her now, let her feel that gnawing, uncomfortable itch of uncertainty, but...

No. I have better plans.

As I consider what to say, I hear the door creak. My head snaps up. Shit! I rush out of the kitchen just in time to catch Paul, his bloodied, mutilated body dragging itself toward the door. “Come on, man. You know me,” I growl, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him back with a firm grip. “Don’t be a fucking fool.” I throw him down roughly, my patience gone. “To think I poured you a whiskey, and you were planning to run.”

I ignore his whimpering as I sit back down and reread her message. Over and over, I dissect her words, trying to see what she’s really asking. She’s trying to hide herself, but she’s slipped—subtle clues have told me she’s in the same city. I couldn’t get any deeper than that, not yet, but it’s enough. She’s close. Close enough.

I smirk again, and my fingers hover over the screen as I consider my reply. Finally, I start typing.

ObsidianShade:

You’re wrong if you think the darkness can be worn like a costume. It consumes you. It’s not about being sweet or light—it’s about being willing to burn everything inside you to ashes. Think you’re ready for that?

If you want to shadow me, fine. But you’ll follow my rules. First, prove you can follow orders. Click the link below. It expires in two minutes. Enter the city where you live and nothing else. We’ll talk directly. I don’t work through forums.

Tick-tock, Nova. I hope you’re quick with more than just your words.

I attach a link, a secure one that’ll take her to an encrypted chat. The moment she clicks it, I’ll know. And the moment she enters her city, she’ll be mine. No more games.

I send the message and lean back, sipping my drink. Now we wait. Let’s see how brave she really is. I keep my eyes on the clock, watching the seconds tick by. A part of me wonders if she’s changed her mind, if reality has finally set in. But just as that thought crosses my mind, the chat pops up.

Fuck, I think, smirking. She’s got a death wish, hasn’t she? I chuckle, shaking my head in disbelief.

You have a death wish, don’t you, little one? You have no idea who I am, what I do, and yet, you clicked the link and agreed to speak with me in private.

I watch the screen as her typing indicator—those little dots—flashes, then stops, then flashes again. I can almost picture her, hesitating, probably second-guessing herself. Good. She should be.

But then her reply comes, and it’s almost laughable in its audacity.

I fear those who don’t message me more than those who do. If you were going to hunt me down and hurt me, you wouldn’t message me first, would you?

God, she is brazen. I laugh out loud, the sound echoing in the dim room. This girl has no idea who she’s dealing with. Does she think she’s untouchable because I’m playing this game with her?

Maybe I like to toy with my victims first. Make them think they’re safe, then I pounce when they least expect it. Makes them scream so much louder.

I type it out, smiling as I hit send. I can almost feel her tension through the screen. She has no idea who I am, what I’m capable of, yet she’s still playing. Foolish.

Her reply comes in quick, like she’s unphased.

Well, we’ll see if I live long enough to write this book, won’t we? So, was your offer genuine, or are you afraid to let me into your darkness?

Oh, it’s genuine

I reply, my fingers hovering over the keys as I add the next line.

Are you free tomorrow? I’ll only give you one chance. One mistake, and I won’t hesitate to strike. I’ll get pleasure from watching you beg me to save you as you bleed out.

I wait, wondering if that’ll rattle her. If this is where she backs off.

Her response comes in, steady and unshaken.

Is that meant to scare me? Yes, I’m free tomorrow. Pick a time and place.

She’s fucking insane.

My smirk widens, and I lean back in my chair, considering how reckless she is.

Eleven. Meet me by the canal, Richmond Street entrance.

Her next message comes fast.

How will we know who we are?

I laugh. This is almost too easy.

I’ll look for the woman faking bravery while shaking with fear. Don’t worry, I’ll know who you are.

Her reply is a simple, bold ☺ followed by disconnection.

I sit there for a moment, staring at the screen, wondering if she’s really going to show up.

Is she really going to fucking meet me?

A complete stranger, a criminal? She didn’t even ask what I do, or who I am. For all she knows, I could be a serial rapist, luring her to the canal for an isolated, picturesque setting where I can take my time with her. She didn’t even care.

Fuck.

I stand, the adrenaline from the exchange still coursing through me as I look over at Paul. He’s bled out on the floor, his lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. Well, shit. I totally botched this kill, didn’t I? There goes my flawless tally. Thanks for that, Nova.

Shaking my head, I walk toward Paul’s body, nudging him with my boot.

“I’ll get payback for you fucking up my perfect streak, Nova. Just you wait, it will be so sweet, so delicious. I can almost taste it.”