Vicious Little Darling (Love So Cruel #3)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

JAXTON

W hat kind of woman leaves her door unlocked in this city? I nearly roll my eyes as I turn the knob, before slipping in through the only entrance to the shabby apartment. Don’t get me wrong. I like it when they make it easy—but good God, just leaving your door unlocked? Come on.

I step inside and stand in the dark entryway. Melody, my newest obsession, is oblivious to everything I’ve done so far. I’ve moved her things and followed her home, but not once has she noticed that anything in her world is off. In a way, I guess that’s a good thing.

“Oh my God! You should’ve seen the look on his face when I broke up with him,” Melody’s voice drones from the living room, as I softly close the door. “He was so butthurt. I swear he just wanted my parents’ money.”

What money, Melody? I have to stifle a laugh. I know everyone has their secrets, but Melody’s lying about her parents being something other than useless addicts might really be top tier.

“If he comes crawling back, I’m not even going to give him the time of day,” she continues, as I creep along the entryway wall. I peer past it to see her sitting on the couch. Her back is to me and she’s twirling one of her strands of long, blonde hair. My hands begin to sweat as I imagine her hair tangled in my fingers, wrapped tightly as I choke the life right out of her.

I run my tongue along my bottom lip, ready to pounce. I’ve only been tracking Melody for a couple weeks, but honestly, it’s enough. I’m bored of her already. Something’s been missing lately and the thrill just isn’t quite what it was.

Maybe I’ll shake things up after this.

My steps are silent as Melody hangs up the phone, tossing it onto a cushion beside her. Even when I loom just six inches behind her, my six-foot-four frame towering over her, she doesn’t notice me. My eyes drift from her to the phone, lying on the couch. With black gloved hands, I pluck it up…

And finally she notices my presence.

She starts and jumps sideways, her head jerking back in my direction.

“Wh-who are you…”

Aw, Melody can’t find her words.

I tilt my head, peering down at her from behind my skeleton-faced mask. Terror riddles her conventionally pretty face; her blue eyes are wide and her button nose is scrunched. Her chest heaves, which causes her big, natural tits to rise and fall as she does. I’ll enjoy seeing them, I guess.

Damn, something is missing these days.

I spring over the back of the red, velvet couch in one swoop, as she jumps away, but she’s not fast enough. In mere seconds, I have her in my hands and pinned to the floor beneath my body. I glare down at her. The scent of her highly floral perfume makes my stomach ill. There’s something too familiar about it.

It reminds me of her.

“This isn’t funny Jared.” Melody tries to swat at me, her hand colliding with my arm like a meek child. “Stop it.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” I growl as I wrap my hands around her neck, not even remotely turned on by the moment. Usually, I’m bricked up and, sometimes, depending on the situation, I take what I want.

But this…

This whole scenario has left my dick limp and my irritation-level high, while Melody gurgles with pleas for her life the entire time. I roll my eyes and tighten my grip on her neck, listening for the snap of her hyoid bone beneath my fingers.

Almost done.

Melody’s eyes stay wide and grow bulgy as I finish snuffing the life right out of her. Then, I sit there for a few minutes, staring down at the dead woman.

Fuck, what a disappointment.

A grim sigh escapes my lips, and I climb off her, opting to just leave her on the floor. Sometimes I move them. Sometimes I stage them.

But Melody? Nah, she can stay where she is. Stupid, oblivious bitch.

My stomach feels nauseous as I flip through her phone, my urge unfulfilled. It makes me angry that there’s nothing interesting to see on her phone. I toss it down onto her body. Hopefully, her newly ex -boyfriend will be the first suspect on the police’s list.

I’ve never made it onto a suspect list—unfortunately.

I’ve always wanted to test the waters and see if I could pass a polygraph test. They say the darkest psychos can manipulate the results, making it look as if they’re telling the truth when they’re really lying. I have a hunch I would pass the test.

“Maybe you’ll be the one,” I mutter to Melody and I kick her limp body with the toe of my combat boot, before I spin on my heels to exit the place, disdain taking hold. I should’ve kept hunting for a woman more my type—someone who would at least fight for their life. Fucking Melody was too easy.

I need a drink.

I leave her apartment and hurry down the steps, heading back out into the evening. No one will notice Melody’s gone for a few days. She doesn’t have another shift at the salon for three days, and that’s assuming someone gets onto the missing person’s report right out of the gate… And they never do that. The cops have enough on their plate. I’ve been hunting this city for years, and they’ve never put it together.

Idiots.

After slipping out of her apartment and moving through the quiet streets, I finally step onto the pavement in front of Hidden Books, a small indie bookstore. I remove my mask and shove it into my hoodie pocket. I glance at the window displays, admiring the dark covers of a few of the novels on display. I’ve never once set foot in there, and it’s closed right now, its charming white doors locked up tight.

Maybe tomorrow.

I shrug in response to the thought and continue a few blocks further, until I reach the Mad Hatter pub. It’s a hole-in-the-wall bar that always hosts a mixture of rich and poor, rough and clean, making it the perfect place for me to blend in for a while. I go in and take a seat at one of the small corner tables. I drum my fingers on its sticky top as I wait for someone to come by and grab my order.

Maybe I should’ve toyed with Melody more. Chased her around her apartment. Something. I rub my jaw, running my perfectly trimmed fingernails along the stubble. Everything about the chase and the game has grown boring. It doesn’t hold my attention anymore. Maybe that’s because I’m too used to picking the easy ones, the bubbly, preppy, mean-girl ones. Maybe I need a challenge. Some sort of deviation from the norm.

Someone to keep me up at night again.

“What can I get you?” a light voice breaks into my thoughts.

I glance up at the waitress. Her blonde hair is up in a high ponytail, and her blue eyes are bright and flirty. Her big tits are out on display in a white tank top. I frown at the way they’re right in my face. Yeah, this is what I need to avoid.

“Sir?” she cocks a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’ll just have a coke and—”

“Let me guess, rum? Ole Captain Morgan your thing?” She cuts me off, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“No, I’ll have Jack Daniels, actually,” I correct her, my tone harsh.

She scurries back to the bar. I watch her as she goes, taking in her ass—one that she probably spends hours on at the gym. I need to find someone different this time. I always find myself going for the same women, those who are trying to be perfectionists, and that’s exactly what Betty-Lou-Who-is-taking-my-order is.

My gaze flickers across the crowd, searching for someone with a face that screams, my apartment is messy, while also being pretty. A group to my left bursts into laughter, and I whip my head around, catching sight of two women and two men. One of the women is immediately written off because of her fiery, red hair in pristine curls. She’s pretty, hiding behind a pair of dark-rimmed glasses—but she also looks like the type who would move home to mom and dad the moment something went wrong.

I chuckle to myself, straining to get a better look at the other woman, but her features are still hazy. She has blonde hair, and from what I can make out, a full sleeve of ink on one arm.

Probably means she’s a handful. The tatted ones always are feistier. I tend to avoid them for that reason. Then, she comes into view and I’m intrigued, but not in the way I usually am. She’s just… unreadable. Her hazel eyes are amused by her friends, but she’s not trying to be in on the conversation. Her slender shoulders are hidden beneath an old black T-shirt. The T-shirt is paired with dark-wash jeans and Converses that look like they need to be thrown into the garbage.

Yeah, no thanks.

“Your drink,” the waitress interrupts my thoughts. “You really shouldn’t stare, you know.” Her words are sharp, and as I look up, I start to wonder if she’s jealous.

That’s not a cute trait, honey.

“You shouldn’t stare either,” I comment, my eyes darting between the waitress and the shabby, tatted woman at the other table. My guess is she spent her grocery money on that sleeve of ink, but of course I can’t be sure.

“Ember isn’t going to be interested in a guy like you,” the waitress quips, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re way too much of a pretty boy for her.”

“Sorry?” I shift my attention to the waitress again. “Who are you talking about?”

“ Ember, ” she nods her head toward the tatted woman. “She’s my friend.”

Somehow, I can’t picture these two being friends. But okay. I’ll play along, just for the hell of it. It’s not as if I plan to choose either of these women.

“She looks easy,” I comment.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The waitress bursts into laughter. “Ember is far from easy. She usually doesn’t give men two seconds of her time. It takes a lot to get her to think about any man that’s not in one of her fucking books.”

I purse my lips. “Interesting.”

“Yeah, exactly,” she snorts. “You’re too much of a pretty boy for her, with your black hair, your green eyes and that annoyingly flawless jawline. You look as if you’re trying to be mysterious, but I bet you go home and spend hours on your Instagram photos.”

“Wow, really pegged me there,” I grunt, too intrigued by Ember to be worried about what Busty Betty has to say. I don’t have an Instagram account , let alone any social media. It makes me too accessible, and that’s the last thing you need when your hobby consists of stalking and murdering women.

“Asshole,” the waitress mutters under her breath as she finally walks away, leaving me there in my dark corner to watch Ember. What a fucking name. It sounds like something from some lame romcom. And the way she comes off unenthused by everyone, but confident as hell has me almost disgusted.

She’s nothing special.

But I still can’t seem to stop watching her.