Unhinged (Deranged and Obsessed #1)

Chapter 2

2

ROMAN

T he air outside was sharp, like the blade I just used to kill Brandon. My dick still throbbed. It would stay that way for hours to come until I jerked off and relieved myself.

The rush of the kill still hummed through me, like I’d grabbed a live wire and let the electricity course through my veins.

The small, greasy-spoon diner was just a few blocks from where I fed my beast. Even though the rush of murdering a man still claimed me, I’d revisit the place once this feeling left me and I needed a jolt of remembrance, a rush of energy, to remind me of how I felt in this exact moment.

The old diner on the corner beckoned, its fluorescent lights flickering like a heartbeat .

The metallic stench of blood still clung to my hands, a permanent mark of who I was and what I’d done. I looked down at them to make sure I’d gotten it all off but saw some splatters along my wrist and my exposed forearm.

Oh well.

Although there was a chill in the air, my temple was damp with sweat. I entered the restaurant, and the door swung shut behind me with jangle of bells. I stood still for a moment, my body buzzing, my skin prickling, but not from the temperature inside.

It was because of my murderous aftermath.

My boots thudded against the cracked and discolored tile floor, each step measured, controlled. The place was nearly empty, just a few rough-looking souls scattered about. For many, this place was a place to spend the night, to sip on fifty-cent coffee with free refills, and eat day-old apple pie.

I took a seat at the counter, barely aware of my own movements as the adrenaline from the kill lessened. But that rush would hold me over for a while—until the beast set his sights on someone else and the urge to rid them from this plane of existence built all over again.

The sound of pots and pans clanging together coming from the kitchen broke up the few conversations filling the diner. I stared at my hands, at the spray of blood from Brandon’s jugular, and smirked as my cock throbbed because my dark beast got what he wanted tonight.

A coffee cup was placed in front of me, the ceramic making a dull thud on the chipped and yellowed counter. I wasn’t asked what I wanted to drink, but coffee was poured into the cup and a menu set in front of me.

I stared at the printed list of what food they offered. It was one-sided and laminated with greasy fingerprints smeared over the plastic. There were only four entrees and the same number of desserts.

I looked up, but the waitress had her back to me as she grabbed plates off the warmer.

And then she turned around.

My pulse began to hammer in my ears, louder than it ever had even after taking a life. She moved out from behind the counter and delivered the plates to a table. I tracked her with my gaze, never taking my eyes off of her, because truthfully… I couldn't.

I felt my muscles clench, tightening like those of a predator about to pounce on its prey. She wiped off empty tables before coming back to stand behind the counter and in front of me, her pad and pen in hand as she waited to take my order.

Her scent hit me like an inhaled drug, and it made me more curious and confused than anything else. Because it was… new.

I froze. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She smelled like green apple and something else, something that made me clench my hands into fists beneath the counter. The beast inside me stirred. But I didn’t feel the usual itch for violence, the gnawing hunger for death that always clawed at my insides. This was different. It was something primal, raw, and far more dangerous.

And I wanted even fucking more.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy knot, but the strands were short so little pieces escaped her bun, framing her face.

When I looked into her eyes, I couldn't stop the brutal sound that left me.

The color was a unique shade of blue, soft but with an amber flecks inside them. She ran the back of her hand along her cheek, wiping off a little smudge of what looked like flour.

When I said nothing and just stared at her, she pursed her lips as if irritated with me. God, why was I noticing these things about her ?

It hit me then like a blow to the chest, hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. The urge. Yet, not to kill, not to destroy… but something far worse. The urge to possess her was what claimed me. To own her, to make her mine in a way that went beyond blood and death.

“Can I get you something other than coffee?” There was a little snap of irritation in her voice, and it held an edge, like she didn’t put up with shit from anyone.

Interesting. But then again, working in a place like this, in a city like this, meant she’d have to be tough.

I pushed the menu toward her and ordered a burger and fries. She jotted it down on her pad, gave me a nod, and turned to put the order in. And the whole time, I watched her, my gaze tracking her every movement like the predator I was.

But this wasn’t like before. It wasn’t like when I stalked the next person I was going to kill.

This was… too much? It made me fucking uncomfortable, which wasn’t a feeling I experienced. This was a need that I didn’t know how to satisfy. And that terrified me, which was another emotion I’d never had before .

For the first time in my life, I had no idea what the hell was happening to me.

A man came in and sat at the counter a few spots down from me then called her over. I focused on the waitress again. I knew I had to know more about her. Who she was? How was she causing this sudden, visceral reaction in me?

I watched her from the corner of my eye as she worked behind the counter. She poured coffee for the newest customer, came out from behind it again to take care of her tables, and then I sensed her stop beside me. She took his order, and I really looked at her then. But it was the way he watched her that caught my attention.

His gaze was filthy, slimy, as he checked her out. He said something to her, but it was clear she couldn't hear his mumbled words when she leaned in closer.

He leaned toward her as well, saying something low enough that I couldn’t hear, but I saw the way the waitress’s shoulders tensed and the rest of her pulled in tight. Then it happened. His arm came around her hip, and he smacked her ass. I could see over her shoulder he wore a disgusting grin and said something crude that made her flinch and reel back.

And the waitress didn’t hesitate a moment longer. Her hand shot out, and the sharp crack of her slap reverberated through the diner as she connected with his cheek.

For a second, there was a heavy silence and tension that filled the bright, small interior, but then, as if people didn’t fucking care, everyone went back to what they were doing.

The man’s head had whipped to the side from the unexpected force, and he now rubbed his reddened cheek, his muttered curses reaching my ears.

My pulse quickened when I saw a familiar look in his eyes, one directed at the small waitress as she spun and rounded the counter. Male aggression, calculation, and dark need. Strangely enough, it took everything in me not to go up to him and snap his neck.

He’d just singled her out as his prey.

An icy calm settled over me. I already knew who my next victim would be. I’d follow him, wait until he was alone, and then I’d take care of him before he hurt her—which he eventually would if I didn’t stop him. I could smell the stench of his resolve as it reached my nose.

I’d carve both of his offending hands from his arms—not just the one he used to slap her ass with. It would be just like when I cut Brandon’s off an hour before. Only this time, I’d remove it fully, bones be damned. I’d wrap it up nicely, slap a bow on it, and give it to her. My little gift.

I noticed the cook, a larger man with a potbelly, came out from the kitchen, a greasy rag—once white but now oil-stained—thrown over his shoulder. He went up to the man, said something low and menacing, and then pointed at the front door.

The man was only a few stools away from me, so when he stood, I did, too, and I purposely stepped into his path. My shoulder brushed against his, and in that split second, my hand slipped into his coat pocket, my deft fingers finding his wallet with ease.

“Watch it,” he snapped, irritation flaring in his eyes… until he looked at me and took in my height and the breadth of my shoulders. He reeked of body odor and booze, but now I could also smell a note of “oh shit.”

Internally, I smirked at the way his anger fizzled as quickly as it originally sparked at our contact.

He muttered something under his breath before backing up and moving around me, heading for the door. I watched him until he left then tucked the wallet into my jacket and took my seat at the counter once more .

I was already planning my next kill.

The waitress glanced at me, and there was an emotion behind those blue depths that made me even more curious, one I couldn’t identify, even with all my years of studying human emotions so I could mimic them. She watched me like she knew something.

It might have been only a flicker of… that something … in her eyes as she stared at me, but it was enough. Enough to make me want more. Of her. From her.

Everything. I needed to know everything about her—what she liked, what made her smile, what she felt like, what made her scream. The need filled me instantly, aggressively. Violently.

I needed to figure out what in the fuck I was experiencing.

Was this something I could control? Or would this consume me the way the need for death did? But I knew what I had to do to figure out what the hell was going on with me.

Just like the prey who just hurried out the door, I’d stalk her , follow her, and watch her every move. I’d know everything there was to know about her because there was no other option for me. This need was already taking over my every thought .

She would soon be my next target. She’d soon be my next victim.

But what confused me was… I didn't think I wanted to kill her.

Either way, she’d be a new tick mark on my scorecard. But maybe in a new column of her own.