Unhinged (Deranged and Obsessed #1)

Chapter 5

5

ROMAN

A fter I left her place, I had one thing on my mind.

To stalk and devour.

The hunt had been going on for two days now. I was prolonging this, playing with my prey, even if the fucker didn’t know it.

In between hunting the asshole who touched her, I visited the diner nightly, hoping to see her again and get that shot of feeling high. But I hadn’t seen her and had to assume her bitch-slapping that motherfucker had gotten her fired.

I had my hand in my jacket pocket, running my fingers along the smooth surface of her ID.

Her name was Isla Campbell. She was five-foot seven, weighed one-hundred and thirty pounds, had shoulder-length black hair, and hazel-colored eyes. She was also an organ donor, but if I decided to take her life—that she’d be my greatest kill—her organs would be useless to anyone.

But regardless of what I had planned for her, Isla fascinated me. The way she moved, the way she smiled to navigate the world. But I could see the truth of her strength and a hint of misery in the hazel depths of her eyes.

That fire inside her… it was something I hadn’t expected to… desire.

And when I left the diner, I immediately went to her apartment and broke in. I lay beside her nightly, barely touching her at first but always ending the night with me jerking off over her because my dark and twisted need was too ferocious to ignore.

Nothing would change the pull I felt, the way my obsession with her grew each day.

And I’d just left her apartment with one focus in mind… to cut off that motherfucker’s hands before I killed him. For her.

For the last two days—when I wasn't stalking Isla—I followed that asshole’s every step. Hell, I counted every breath he took.

His name was Zack Sherman. But it didn’t matter. The dead didn’t need names .

His routine was like clockwork. It wasn’t hard to slip into the shadows of his mundane life. He was as predictable as they came—work, home, sleep, repeat.

The hunt was intoxicating. The thrill of knowing that, at any second, I could be right behind him before he even knew it and slit his throat made my cock hard. Hell, I could snap his neck while he slept.

There was no point in killing impulsively. But I withheld killing his worthless ass until the time was just right.

And that time was tonight.

This kill was specifically for Isla. I wanted to give her something special—something that no one else could give her. And what better gift than taking a life for her? And as far as treasures went, giving her a bloody bouquet made up of the fingers from the hand of the bastard who touched her? Priceless.

I wanted to give her something personal, something I knew she'd appreciate once she saw it.

The thrill of anticipation coursed through my veins as I moved toward his house. I blended into the darkened street like a shadow. He lived in a shitty, rundown house on the edge of town, a place that reflected his existence.

It was three in the morning. The lights were off. I knew he was already passed out from downing half the contents of a plastic vodka bottle he got from the gas station.

His neighborhood was even worse off than the housing in the city. These houses had been converted into trap houses, and although there were people outside at this hour, they were high and drunk and couldn't tell their asshole from the sky.

I slipped inside, silent and unnoticed. Every movement was calculated because I'd done this many times. The thrill of the hunt—the kill—was the one thing that made me feel alive.

That and stalking Isla…and jerking off on her while she slept.

I reached to the small of my back and pulled out my weapon of choice for tonight. I walked past the window, and admired my knife as the moonlight grazed the weapon.

Zack lay in the center of his ratty mattress, snoring lightly, and completely unaware of the evil standing over him.

For a moment, I just basked in the knowledge I was about to kill him, about to feel his blood spray out of his jugular and cover my face and chest. My cock jerked in anticipation.

I leaned in and inhaled deeply. I didn’t scent the usual terror that poured off my victims. Instead, Zack gave off sweat, unwashed body, and booze. I would have prolonged this, but I wanted to get back to Isla before she woke up. I wanted to leave behind her presents so she could awaken to them.

And so, I did what I did best.

The first slash was clean, a deep cut to the throat, severing his windpipe. His lids snapped open, terror painting his face as we locked eyes. I slowly grinned and ran my hand over the gaping wound on his neck, gathering his blood and bringing it to my nose to inhale deeply.

He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t scream. He jerked violently, his whole body awakening as his hands instinctively went to his throat. He was a fucking mess with blood pouring out from between his fingers.

I thought about going in on his jugular with the blade, just sawing away at his neck, but I changed my mind and moved back, letting him drown in his own fluids.

I watched him die slowly, savoring the way his life ebbed out of him in sputtering gasps and sprays of blood. There was something beautiful, very poetic about a human dying. The way their body struggled to survive was something that never got old to observe.

Once his body stilled and he let out a wet, gurgled breath, I got to work.

I grabbed his left limp wrist, and although I thought about bringing my cleaver, I opted to travel light. I held up the bloody knife and smiled as the viscus liquid dripped off the blade.

The knife was sharp and went through skin and muscle easily. Getting through the bone was harder, but I sawed at it with the serrated edge.

The sound of bone cracking and the vibrations I felt through the weapon in my hand sent a rush of satisfaction and pleasure through me. Blood spattered, warm and thick, all over the goddamn place, and I fucking loved it.

I cut again, this time severing his other wrist with the same brutal and savage precision and force as I did before. Soon both of his hands were detached from his arms, grotesque trophies waiting to be repurposed. The body parts were roughly severed, a perfect and personal gift for Isla.

I came prepared. Pulling out a white satin ribbon, now stained from my bloodied fingers, I laid it aside for a moment as I reached into my back pocket. The brown paper bag I’d brought was flattened and sliced open, ready to hold the pieces of my art. I worked carefully, methodically cutting off each of his eight fingers and two thumbs, and arranging them on the paper with precision. I folded the paper over the grotesque bouquet of digits like I was a florist, tying it neatly with the ribbon.

Once the gift was secured, I stood back to admire my work. My heart beat steadily, almost too calm for the chaos I’d just caused. I’d never given anyone a trophy before, but this? This felt like the right time.

The perfect offering for her.

I crouched beside Zack’s limp, mutilated body, digging my finger into the gaping neck wound to gather fresh blood. And then I made even more art.

The crimson smeared thickly as it was already starting to clot. I painted a heart on the front of the package. I held up the grotesque gift, turning it in the light, and smiling like a fucking psycho at how perfect it was.

She didn’t yet understand the kind of craving my type of monster desired—the kind no one else could satisfy…until her.

But she would soon.

Satisfied with everything, I cleaned my blade off on Zack’s sheets, the metallic scent of blood that clung to the air having dark excitement move through me. There was nothing like it, nothing like the savage brutality and death that I wrought.

And this? This was my masterpiece.

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. Everything became quiet right after I just took a life, when the beast was sated for a moment in time.

I left the house and kept to the shadows. But as I put distance between me and my latest kill, something prickled along the back of my neck. A sensation I knew all too well.

I wasn’t alone. I was being watched.

I kept my pace normal, but once I rounded the corner and entered an alleyway, I stilled and pressed my back to the building. I scanned the alley then looked across the street. And although I saw nothing, the feeling of someone watching me didn’t go away.

Hair was standing along the back of my neck. That feeling of being hunted. If I were anyone else, I might have felt fear. Instead, I felt irritated.

The sensation was that of a predator recognizing another predator. And just as quickly as I sensed the presence of that other darkness-dwelling monster, it faded until it was gone. Whoever had been watching me left, and a sliver of disappointment filled me. I would have loved to kill again tonight .

I waited several moments, but there was no movement, no sound. There was nothing but the heavy beat of my heart as I stood in the alley, drenched in blood, clutching the grotesque bouquet.

The feeling of excitement slammed into me. Whoever followed me, they were good if I hadn’t been able to spot them. I left the alley and kept walking even though my instincts roared at me to hunt the one who'd been hunting me. I would have found them eventually.

With a low growl, I pushed down the unyielding sensation to stalk, burying it in the cold, soulless pit that was my heart. I had bigger things to focus on.

I had a gift to deliver.