Adrian Brooks Redlight District

Adrian Brooks

135 Alcovy circle covington, ga 30014

678 651 6494

wenry02@aol.com

Synopsis: Redlight District follows the victims of a serial killer/rapist from the attackers point of view. After

his death it follows his successor, Drew's exploits as she delves deeper and deeper into his work and the secret

organization he was involved in. The organization is centered around a group of killers that meet and discuss

their methods and victims. Future victims are chosen for each annual event held and the one who's committed

the series of best crimes gets to reenact their murder on stage in front of their peers. The loser has to take the

fall for all the murders committed by the winner and the runner up. The next annual meeting is coming up

and will be held on the Redlight District in Japan and Drew has to decide whether or not she'll follow in her

successors footsteps and try and win the years honor of a stage performance.

Genre: Erotic/horror/comedy

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Victim one:

He liked it when they screamed.

It wasn't something he'd expected right off when he'd started. That blind lust, the skin tightening, breath

stealing pleasure.

There were folks, supposedly smart scientist types, who claimed that men who raped women did it not for the

sex but for the sense of power.

He did it for the sex, pure and simple. There was something about a woman clenching tight around the length

of his cock as he pounded into her and stared up at him with fear glazed eyes, always made his breath hitch in

his chest and his balls tighten.

He liked a woman's screams like some men liked the sight of their nipples peeking through the thin material

of their shirts or the way their clits tasted nestled between soft pink folds of flesh.

He loved women. Honest he did. It was just that most women didn't appreciate his...enthusiasm as much as he

thought they should.

Maybe he was sick.

Maybe he was twisted.

At the moment, while he was busy slipping his knee between the legs of the frightened, squirming girl

beneath him, he really didn't give a fuck.

“Please! Pleasepleaseplease…oh god--it--shit mister don‘t…”

Fuck she was young. And so tiny.

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But she was fast and quick and he’d had a time of it forcing her to the ground beneath him. When she’d

kicked him in the gut the lust that had flared through him had been a bright, burning thing.

He’d flipped her over onto her stomach and now his chest pressed flush against her back while his hand

stretched around her body to work at the buttons securing her jeans.

The smell of moldy leaves and the cool scent of the ocean cocooned them and he felt a spurt of pleasure at his

choice.

The girl had been walking along the path of the nature trail, a path he ran often in the early mornings. It had

just so happened that he had been bent over, sweating with exertion and trying to catch his breath when he

spotted her.

Tight black shirt that showed no visible breasts to speak of (that was alright though, he appreciated the little

things in life). The shirt was ripped in strategic parts, showing a flat, well muscled belly. The pants were a

dark blue and slung low on her hips. And when he’d seen the indentions that trailed down to disappear from

sight beneath the waistband of her pants his heart had damn near stalled.

He fucking loved women.

This one had red hair, worn long and cut in a style that he could honestly say he’d only ever seen on Myspace.

Her left ear had four or five pairings dancing along the outer lobes, the silver metal glinting under the early

morning light. Her eyes were heavily kohled, her cheeks were sharp, her lashes long and dark against the

golden hue of her skin. No lipstick, no need for any with a mouth like that.

He wanted that mouth. He wanted his hands gripping those hips as he forced her on hands and knees and

rammed inside that tight little ass, balls slapping against the folds of her pussy.

He’d wondered if she shaved, if when he took her would he look down to see soft red curls between her legs.

He’d resolved right then to find out.

Now, every time she bucked and screamed out in that sexy, hoarse, little voice of her he felt his erection

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twitch. As he finally slipped a strong blunt hand down the front of her underwear and cupped her, he rubbed

himself against her backside to show her how very much she pleased him.

Then he froze, his eyes widened in amazement and then amusement and he nudged his mouth against the side

of her neck as his hand stroked along the length of the cock in his hands.

His little red haired spitfire was a boy.

And she was hard.

“Sorry,” He growled against the young mans scented skin. “I don’t fuck little boys.” He gave him a final

regretful stroke and smiled a bit when the young man groaned and rocked his hips forward.

Then he slipped his hand from the heat and pre-cum wetness of the boys shorts. One hand slid along the boys

jaw, the other slipping into the thickness of his hair.

Then with a practiced turn of his wrist, and an easy grace that spoke of a hidden strength he snapped the kids

neck.

The snap of the spinal cord, the soft cry the boy emitted had his dick jerking in response and he closed his

eyes as pleasure rocked through him.

He was blinded by the force of it, the strength that it took him to fight back his orgasm and get to his feet to

button his pants back up.

After all. He loved women…honest he did. He liked it when they screamed.

But boys…he especially liked them.

He raped women for the sex.

He killed men for the power.

Maybe that’s where those fancy smansy scientists had screwed up with him.

He tsked sadly as he turned away.

A shame. Just a fucking shame.

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Victims two and three:

“Hold the fuck still.”

The young woman (the child really as she was only thirteen or fourteen by his estimates) who had his cock

stuffed between her lips whimpered and tried to jerk away.

Since that was the complete opposite of what he’d just told her to do, he decided to punish her by

tightening his grip on the back of her head and holding her still as he pushed himself deep into her mouth. The

head of his cock brushed the back of her throat and she gagged.

He grinned down at her and she screamed around him.

God, he loved it when they screamed.

When he felt the slice of teeth and tongue he grunted and his head fell back from the pleasure of it.

He liked the sharp slice of pain that shot up and down his spine.

He liked her tiny little hands beating and pushing at his hips as he held her still over his dick.

She couldn’t breath, and that delighted him almost as much as her teeth in his flesh.

He liked the mixture of panic, disgust, and fear that flushed her dark face. But most especially he liked the

horror and impotent rage on the face of her mother. A plump woman with dark rich skin like her daughters and

breasts like melons. She was trussed up like a pig at the moment, stripped bare and struggling against the tree

he’d tied her to.

Some men of his profession liked indoor accommodations, but then they weren’t as clever as he was.

Mother nature was an accommodating little bitch in that she cleaned up his messes with no real complaint.

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By the time the cops found what he’d left behind the elements had compromised most, if not all, of the

evidence and nothing, absolutely nothing was certain.

Uncertainty was a gift from the gods, the lack of control, the slow burn of fear and helplessness. It was

proof that one was human. And was that not the greatest of miracles? Proof that one was human, that one was

alive?

He gifted these women with his presence. Nothing made a person appreciate the simple act of breathing

until such a small thing was taken from him.

“Touch yourself.” The girl who’s mouth was still encased around the width of him looked up at him with

the wild, panicked glazed eyes.

He took his eyes from the mother’s dark nipples (shit those suckers were huge. Wonder what she tastes

like. Wonder if everything is so big) long enough to cock his head down at the daughter.

Strangely enough he was pleased with her. She’d learned to breath through her nose but her teeth had eased

up and that irritated him. Irritated him enough that he pulled his hips back and thrust back into her mouth hard

and fast, flanks flexing as he fucked her mouth.

She cried out and he repeated the command with a feral smile of pleasure breaking across his face.

“Touch yourself. Reach between your legs and slip those pretty little fingers in that pretty little pussy. I’ll

bet its hot, I bet it‘s plump and wet.” He said and grinned as he watched her face pale to an unhealthy grayish

color.

Jeez this was fun.

He took a deep breath, savoring the stink of pine, clean night air, fear, and female musk.

An aphrodisiac is what it was.

Except that the girl wasn’t following instructions. Put out, he sighed and shifted the barrel of the gun from

the girls temple to aim at the mother instead. Then he released the grip on her hair with his other hand and

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grabbed her nose before she could fall back.

He squeezed her nostrils shut and held her over him, his cock throbbing and jerking as the rough, wet,

tomb of her mouth spasmed around him.

“Oh pet yes, right there. Do that again.” The girl jerked on him wildly putting her entire body into the

movement and the sight of her thrashing like that, perky little tits jiggling and brushing across the jean clad

length of his pants had his breath catching in his chest. He released her nose and pulled from her mouth, hips

jerking forward in ecstasy as the cold night air whipped around his spit coated penis.

The pleasure of that distracted him for a bit until he shook it off and gripped the back of the girls neck,

stepping in close and using his hold on her to force her to slide up and down his legs. He could feel her

nipples through the cloth, feel the heat of her pussy across the top of his boot. She was all heat, and soft

quivering caramel skin.

“Do what I told you, or I blow mommy’s brains out.” Mommy meanwhile screamed and cursed at him

through the panties that gagged her mouth. He looked down at the little girl who was panting against his thigh,

his cock brushing against her cheek.

“Uh oh. Your momma’s mad at me. She might even spank me. You think she’ll spank me?” his voice

turning dreamy and hopeful. “I like spankings.” he said to the mother, “Spank me hard. Spank me long. Make

it hurt.” he laughed as he shoved the kid to the ground with a thrust of his leg. “Make it bleed.”

He didn’t have too much time to play anymore. The kid wasn’t touching herself like he’d asked (rather

politely he’d thought) and he couldn’t afford the time it would take for her to redeem the mistake. He’d have

to leave before people began to wonder where they’d gone off to.

Shame though.

He wouldn’t get to play half the games he’d wanted to.

Mommy was weeping now, her body sagging against the ropes that held her still, while the kid was holding

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herself in a tight ball and staring at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck. A fucking shame.

“You wanna kill me sweetheart?” he asked gently, his voice a deep rumble that blended into the night air

like dark wine rather than pierced it as the screams from earlier had done.

The girl gave a shaky nod, the dead light in her eyes suddenly blazing with life and hatred.

He liked her.

Honest he did. Fucking shame he couldn’t keep her, but then, eating on the go was a sure way to spill

something.

He’d be damned if he’d end up in jail just because he wanted another taste of this little twat.

But still…

He got to his knees and reaching out grabbed her legs. She struggled and kicked, but she was a little thing

and, after twelve years of practice, he knew what he was doing. Now he used his weapon free hand and slid it

under her ass. Then he used one finger to slide it between her ass cheeks. When his finger not only brushed,

but pushed at the tight rose of her anus the girl squealed and lifted her hips trying to get away from his touch.

He took advantage of the lapse and used his body to force her legs apart so she could cradle him between

her legs. The head of his cock brushed against the soft folds of her cunt and he shuddered hard, his balls

tightening as electricity shot up his body and made his stomach clench.

Then he did something that had both women’s eyes widening in disbelief.

He handed the kid the gun just as he thrust into her.

She screamed, back arching and entire body clenching and bucking from pain and shock. He was half

convinced she would pull the trigger before he wanted her to but she held back, controlled herself, even as the

gentle slide of virgin’s blood slid across his cock. The blood felt like cum, felt like a woman’s excitement,

only the sharp metallic scent drifting to his nose telling a different tale.

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It excited him.

He didn’t give her time to gain her breath, didn’t give her time to think, instead he angled his knees so that

they rested beneath her a bit. Then he lifted with thighs and shins so that her hips were at an angle with his

thrusts and the cold ground. He gripped one of her forearms tight so he could use the leverage to force her

back and forth along his cock, her back and head scrapping harshly across the ground each time he entered

her.

She was tight, she was hot, and she was so very pissed off. He watched with heavy lidded eyes as she

struggled for concentration. He increased his pace. The force of his thrusts hard and fast enough that her body

would have slid along the ground with the rhythm of his hips had he not had a grip on one of her arms.

He concentrated on the feel of her clenching around him, even as he noted the barrel of the gun rising to

point at his face.

Her hand trembled but that didn’t stop her from pulling the trigger.

He laughed at the look on her face when only the sound of an empty click awarded her efforts.

Then he grabbed her wrist and angled the gun away from him as he leaned into her. He wasn’t moving

anymore, wasn’t playing anymore. Her next decision could save her life against his better judgment.

If she made the right choice he could fuck her until he came inside of these heat soaked walls, come inside

of her even as he strangled the life out of her before moving on to the mother.

If she made the wrong choice…well. If she made the wrong choice he couldn’t come inside of her and

therefore he had no reason to kill her as there would be no DNA evidence to link him to her. The blood in her

mouth from when she’d bit him earlier wasn’t enough for a proper lab test, he knew that.

He watched CSI just like everyone else.

His tongue slid across her nipple and she whimpered and cried out for him. Her body jerked beneath him

and he recognized the signs of it. If he worked on her for another day or two, she’d respond to him. Lift her

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hips for him, scream for him in something other than fear.

And wouldn’t that be a hoot?

He looked up at her through dark lashes as he teased her nipple with teeth and tongue.

“Pull the trigger.”

Her face was pinched tight and wet with tears and she glared at him with muted rage.

“Do it now.” he cajoled, curious to see if she would. “Pull the trigger. What’s the worst that could happen?

It’s empty right?”

With a frustrated cry her finger clenched around the trigger. The sharp report of a gunshot cracked the night

open and birds took to the sky in alarm. Women’s screams filled the air and joyous, he thrust into her one final

time and slid his fingers inside of her. Playing and toying with her clit as he pulled out of her.

“Nicely done pet.”

He got to his feet and glanced with amused eyes at the mother slumped in her bonds, a neat round hole in

the middle of her forehead.

He hadn’t pulled that trick in a good long while. He was pleased it still worked.

He pushed his still painfully erect cock back into his pants. Fingers sliding across the head so that a river of

blood and salty precum stained his fingers. He licked himself clean as he stared down at the girl with greedy

eyes.

He’d come back for her, he liked her too much to simply leave her alone.

Right now though, her breath was coming in hard shallow pants as she stared at her mother with tear filled

hazel eyes. Her face was pale beneath the sleek cap of black hair, and that lovely body was still obviously

bruised and hurting from his treatment, because as she scrambled towards her mother she kept stumbling and

tripping on shaky doe-like legs.

He shook his head as he bent and retrieved his gun, sliding the weapon in the waistband at the back of his

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pants. He straightened his stolen Park Ranger jacket so that it covered the butt of the gun.

“You can tell the police what happened. You‘ll be my first survivor so they‘ll enjoy the information.” he

informed the child as he turned to leave. The trauma of murdering her mother would give him a few days head

start.

Fuck he loved a challenge.

“Just make sure that you don't tell them what I look like. If you do, I’ll have to come back and find you.

Carve out those pretty eyes of yours and keep them on my mantleplace.”

He needed new ones anyway and hers would do nicely.

As he strolled away he considered the events of the day. He didn’t normally go for children.

Too easy.

Too weak.

There was no challenge in capturing the young, as they were so easily broken.

But this one…there was something about her.

He liked her.

The grin that split his face just then was a frightening thing to see. Yes, he liked her very much.

Maybe this one would be the death of him.

Victim Four:

Her name was Rose. She was twenty-seven, 5’5 and a 135 pounds. The driver’s license he’d snatched from

her back pocket as his fingers dug into the tender skin of her neck showed a solemn faced woman with lovely

brown hair and hazel eyes.

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She’d spiked his hunger, had the violence rearing its ugly head until his nails had broken skin and blood

had flowed. She’d whimpered and bucked under his hold and because he was distracted, because his heart

didn’t seem to be in it tonight, he’d released her.

She was a pretty thing but not too smart. He didn't feel this way for any particular reason mind you. He was

sure that she made pretty good grades in school and everything. She was dumb in his mind in that, were he in

her position, he wouldn’t have gotten out of the car.

Christ, it was if people didn't watch horror movies anymore. Didn't they know better?

She was screaming now. her heels striking against the wet cement, exploding like gunshots in the night. he

was playing with her really, though he wouldn’t be able to play much longer.

The lights from the city were growing brighter which each stride he took and he could almost smell her

hope staining the air as she caught sight of the golden arch of McDonalds over a stand of trees.

It amused him that for this brief moment the McDonalds sign had become the symbol of her savior. Such a

stupid thing she was.

Then she made a mistake. Another one to add to all of her others. Dumber even than when she had gotten

out of the safety of her car to come and help him.

Rose looked over her shoulder to see how close he was.

When she saw that she really wasn’t making that much progress, his long legs eating up more distance than

her slim ones could ever hope to in heels, (Why the fuck was this bitch still wearing heels anyway?) she cried

out and tried to pick up the pace.

He'd liked the feel of her.

He'd liked the smell of her.

That was the only reason he continued after her, even as she came ever closer to the safety of civilization.

The hunger that had tightened his skin as he’d held her bent over the hood of her car had been sharp but his

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pleasure in her was fading fast.

He’d never chased someone down before. It was bothersome. It was annoying. It was, more than anything

else, a waste of time. he’d be damned if he’d ever had to chase pussy in his life and his steps were faltering,

slowing as boredom began to take hold and the sharp scent of fries and salt assaulted his nose.

Then she made one more mistake.

Her most deadly so far and the last one she would make tonight.

She called him by name.

“Micheal! Come on Micheal!”

His sight disappeared under a haze of red and his steps quickened.

Bitch.

Fucking bitch.

How had she learned his name? When she glanced over her shoulder once more he began to run and she

screamed. Her heals slipping on the concrete so that she fell to her knees, soft skin scraping against the rough

ground. He could just catch the metallic scent of blood and her fear, a scent that was harder to catch but just as

intoxicating, stirred him up into a frenzy.

When he finally reached her and could hear the high pitched sounds of panic that exploded out of her

mouth he planted his foot in the middle of her back and pressed forward.

She collapsed on hands and knees and he kicked her forward so that she sprawled face down on the ground

breathing heavily. It was then, finally, finally that he felt that familiar heat of anticipation throbbing through

his blood.

“You stupid, stupid cunt. How the fuck do you know my name?”

He could feel her trembling through the souls of his foot and from behind them he heard the worried whine

of an animal. He turned his head enough that he caught the tiny body of a Pomeranian trembling not far away

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from the two of them. The mutt met his eyes and growled, even as it’s tail tucked between it’s legs and its ears

flattened against its head.

He ignored it. He didn’t like animals and the little bastards didn’t like him.

“Please…please don’t Micheal….please….please don’t hurt him.” Micheal’s head cocked to one side as he

regarded the woman. He wanted her true. He wanted a lot of things. But he wanted her dead more than he

wanted pleasure right now. So removing his foot he bent and grasped her by the hair.

“Please.” He looked down into her face as he drug her past the still trembling dog. Where in the hell had a

dog come from anyway? As he pondered this Rose, dear thing, continued to scream and cry. Her voice

growing hoarse as he dragged her past the still gaping door of her car and over into the ditch on the side of the

road. Once there he released her. She tried scrambling away but she slipped once more, sliding back down the

slight embankment to lay at his feet. Drawing one foot back, he kicked her in the gut with as much strength as

he could. She lifted a bit off the ground before landing on her back, a fact that Micheal was a bit proud of.

Stepping forward, he straddled her, sliding the knife in his back pocket free as he looked down into her eyes.

He twirled the small silver blade between agile fingers and watched the panic in her face be replaced with

raw, animal like fear. Before she’d had a chance, before she might have gotten away. Now there was no such

luck. She would die here tonight and there was nothing she could do about it.

“How do you know me?”

She disappointed him by screaming, enraged him by once again trying to get away. It wasn’t as if he

needed her alive, he thought much later as he sliced the knife deep into the tissue of that once pretty face and

slide the sharp edge to the side. After all, he could find out how she’d known his name any number of ways.

The little skank from his last adventure through the woods had seen his face after all. She might have told the

police. Given them a description and the police had down their police thing and put a name to the face. His

picture could be plastered all over the news right that second.

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“No matter though.” He assured the body beneath him. Somewhere in the background the dog was barking,

panicked at the thick scent of blood, and offal.

The scent of death.

The scent of ending.

He pulled the knife free with a grunt and watched with no small amount of satisfaction as the skinned face

of Rose Mcgomery smiled up at him with skeletal teeth and tendons.

He liked her like this.

Liked the sight of raw meat and blood so much in fact that he felt his cock twitch from where it pressed

against her stomach. His hips moved on their own accord and just for the hell of it he began to saw at her

again. Enjoying the smooth seductive glide of steel through flesh and the harsh friction as it scrapped against

bone.

Her lidless eyes stared vacantly into the sky and Micheal licked his lips as he slid the knife back and forth

into her flesh.

It was like fucking.

This thought was sharp and full of possibilities. It had him groaning aloud as he let go of the knife and ran

blood stained fingers over her neck and breasts, fingers tweaking nipples as he thrust his hips back and forth

against her stomach. Over and over again. Harder to the point of pain.

He reveled in it.

Next time he’d keep them alive when he brought out the knife…yeah that would be good.

His attention was snatched by the sound of crackling leaves. He turned his head and watched as the

Pomeranian lost it’s balance and toppled down the incline of the embankment from the main road. It’s little

body collided with his leg and as it tried to scramble away Micheal reached for the knife once again. The glint

of silver caught his eyes, and instead of gutting the little runt as he’d intended, he picked it up with one grimy

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hand by the collar. Turning it this way and that so that he could read the engraved letters on the silver collar.

Michal

“Ah.” Micheal murmured, then looked into the beasts large brown eyes and chuckled. Then he released the

animal and straightened to his feet, his dick still painfully hard. It wasn’t like him to be so messy, wasn’t like

him to lose control. But then again it wasn’t as if someone called him by his real name these days. It had been

years since he’d heard it and it had been a shock to his system to have it uttered once again.

Shaking his head, he wiped bloody hands down the sides of his pants.

“Well, time to clean up.” He glanced at the whimpering dog as it tried to scramble up the incline and to

safety. Then he thought of the abandoned car still on the side of the road with the driver’s door open, and the

golden arch of McDonalds glowing eerily not so very far away.

“Fuck, what a mess.”

Victims five and six:

They’d found him.

He hadn’t expected them to, though he supposed he should have.

He understood where his mistakes had been, in his mind he could go back and see the exact moments in

which he should have stopped himself. Should have paused and said, “Hm, maybe I should kill her, or put this

body somewhere else.”

Logically he understood that this was all his fault, but that didn’t stop him from being pissed.

Now he had a dead cop on his hands and a screaming woman in the back of a cop cruiser.

Not just any woman though.

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No, woman is the wrong word to use with this one. Girl would be better. The girl to be more specific.

He dropped the garrote he held onto the road, not bothering to wipe the blood from his hands as he turned

his attention to those still flashing blue lights.

He liked the hoarse screams that kept coming from her, liked the way he could see the whites of her eyes

even from this distance. He remembered the sound of her voice screaming at him, the feel of her fingers

digging into him, the tight heat of her insides clenching around his cock.

It surprised him that he’d actually missed her.

That’s another thing that shouldn’t have shocked him. After all, wasn’t it that exact nostalgia that had had

him searching for her?

Wasn’t it that…craving for her that had almost forced him to let poor sweet Rose go?

He should have killed her when he’d had the chance.

When he’d realized his obsession, when he’d noticed himself doing the same stupid things that most other

killers did that always always led to an arrest, he’d decided to take action.

Rose had been a mistake. A nasty one that he’d regretted ( a new concept, the whole regret thing) almost as

soon as he was done with her.

He’d never bothered to learn their names before, nor had he ever resorted to claiming keepsakes from

assorted victims. The simple fact that he now had some shitty ass dog yapping around his house like a cocaine

addict and pissing on his stuff was a decision that haunted him more than anything he’d ever done.

Things were going down hill, falling apart and he wouldn’t stand for it anymore.

The dog was going into the food dispenser, the cop who now lay dead in the road was going to be found

swinging from his closet with an electrical wire around his neck. Cops were safe candidates for suicide after

all, Michael thought. What with psychos like him running around free.

Michael recognized the guy as being the one who'd been trailing him these past few weeks. Ever since his

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fingerprints had come up as a match to the ones found in Rose's car. Either no one made lighter fluid and gas

tanks like they used to anymore or the local crime lab had gotten a nice chunk of change back for taxes.

Musings concerning the state of the sherrif's budget would have to wait.

For now, before he stuffed the cop into the trunk of the patrol car and drove to his house where the man's

wife and kids were most likely sound asleep, he would have to take care of her.

The one with the caramel skin, and big dark eyes.

Yes, he would have to take care of her.

He didn't understand how a cop, a man who's life depended on his instincts, could be such an ignorant fuck.

It was dark outside, Michael would grant that much, and he did look pretty shabby, not as clean cut as usual,

but you'd think that the cop would recognize something about him since he'd been following him for so long.

Michael didn't understand people sometimes, and right now he didn't really care to. All he knew was that he’d

been hearing all sorts of interesting things about her and her nightmare on the news these past few weeks.

A rather menacing, but totally unflattering depiction of his face was being plastered all over the television.

The media showed it whenever they could. Every night when his picture popped up on the screen he would

grab a beer and toast himself. First night it happened Michael had nearly chocked to death on the Budweiser

that had went up his nose he’d been laughing so hard. He was sure however, that he wouldn’t be half as

amused had the picture shown and his actual appearance had anything to do with each other.

He’d had to lay low after Rose, had decided to give the police a little time to catch up. Problem was, he’d

gotten bored playing as fair as he had been. So bored in fact that he’d pulled out the drivers license he’d taken

from the mother’s clothes, after he’d stripped her and tied her to the tree, and looked it over.

He still hadn’t known her name of course. But he knew her mother was named Yasmen Marks, he also

knew where they had lived. It was simply a matter of going there and inquiring in worried tones to the

neighbors where that poor woman’s daughter would be living now that her mamma was dead.

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The neighbors, being polite people who talked more than was good for anyone, had told him that the girl

would most likely stay with her grandmother now.

Oh really? He’d inquired. His Me-maw loved kids but unfortunately her house was much to small to have

kids running around in it.

The neighbors had tsked and told him, “Oh Pamela won’t have that problem with little Drew. The girls' real

mature for her age. And what with Pam living in those nice new houses in Briswick, she'll have plenty of

room to play. After she gets over the shock and all of course.”

Of course.

The jolt of heat that had run through his body just then had been almost as strong as it had been when he’d

been fucking sweet Rose with his knife.

So he’d done the dumb killer thing.

He’d written her letters.

Little notes telling her he remembered her and how strongly. How he still stroked himself at night while he

replayed her screams in his head. He’d told he wanted her again and he told her that he would get her.

He knew the police would read them, knew too that she was most likely getting all types of letters from

different nuts out there who were just looking for a bit of attention. He’d watched though, and waited and it

had finally happened. After the last letter in which he explained exactly when and how he’d be coming into

her house and carving up dear sweet Pamela Marks like a Christmas turkey, the police had finally cracked.

First they’d moved the grandmother (He understood why. He’d gotten pretty vicious in his notes regarding

the old woman, his Me-maw was a bitch after all) then they moved her, Drew.

Turns out the pigs were smarter than he gave them credit for though. When he’d walked out in front of the

cop car as it speed down the deserted back road they now stood on, the cop had barely stopped. It was an

exhilarating thing, almost being run over. Not the way he planned on going out mind you, but exhilarating all

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the same.

He’d done his drunk routine as the cop examined him. When the man had given him his back as he made

his way back to his cruiser, Michael had moved swiftly, wrapping the garrote he'd hidden at the small of his

back beneath his coat around the cops neck and tightening it so that the man's whole body lifted off the

ground from the force of his struggles. It had been a bloody thing, the need for air being such a big motivator

and all. It was satisfying though, especially with Drew cheering him on with her screams in the background as

she struggled with the locks on the backseat doors.

Now as she threw herself forward over the seats separating the front from the back, Michael grinned to

himself and quickened his pace. He was so ecstatic about the entire thing, his blood pounding so hard, that he

couldn’t stop himself from yelping like some wild animal as he leaped onto the hood of the cruiser just as the

girl stumbled and fell out of the passenger side door. She darted into the woods and he hit the ground running

as he gave chase.

The wind was a cruel mistress, biting and sensual as it slapped against his face and neck, cooling the hot

blood that stained his hands and curling his blond hair. When he heard her scream once more as she crashed

through the underbrush he threw back his head and laughed. A sound that broke the night open as viciously

and as beautifully as the howl of a wolf or a coyote. A sound that chilled the blood and squeezed the heart

tight in fear. It was the sound of death and soon to be dying things.

The cry meant one thing and one thing only.

He would keep this one.

Never let her go again.

Keep her until those pretty eyes dimmed and died and all that spirit, all that fight left her as surely as the

breath from the lungs of a still warm corpse.

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Victim seven:

“Don’t test me little girl.”

“FUCK you!” The command was spoken between tightly clenched teeth and he grinned down at the girl

who gazed up at him with so much blazing hatred on her face. The heat of her anger, the force and power

behind it lit up her face, made that young lithe body, practically vibrate with tension.

She was beautiful still. Even after so many weeks, even after so many bruises, even after so much blood,

and tears and fear twisting and contorting every essence, every fiber, she was still stunning.

He liked them strong, he liked them angry and screaming, and her voice still had the power to make him

hard.

He let his eyes run over her, gaze jumping fondly over the myriad of cuts and brands that danced along her

breasts, stomach and thighs. As he settled his regard over her cunt he licked his lips. The brand there, the

brand in there was his favorite. The best work yet if he did say so himself. When he hunkered down next to

her she lunged forward snarling and cursing, skin scraping along the rough stone of the floor of his cellar. He

caught the smell of her, all sweat and blood, and excrement as she dug vicious teeth into the corded muscle

and skin of his neck. He grunted and pressed forward, his hands searching, grabbing, owning until he could

slip nimble fingers into the now slick recesses between her legs.

The liquid that stained his fingers wasn’t simply the product of reopened wounds, but also the proof of an

excitement that he’d sensed in her since the very first time he took her. As her teeth bit down, sharp canines

slicing through skin to release the hot flow of his blood he growled at her and pressed forward so that he held

her pressed tight between his chest with the wall at her back.

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“Harder, just a bit harder, you know just how I like it don’t you pet?”

He rejoiced in it, in the desperation and madness he saw clouding the once clear gaze.

He rejoiced yes…but there was something.

Yes something different. Something off. When he gripped a chunk of her hair in one hand and tried to pull

her off of him, she growled sow in her throat and threw her entire body forward as she bit down even harder.

Teeth pushing, breaking, and scarring vessels and veins. Her jaw and shoulders working as she gnawed at him

so that he lost his balance and fell backwards with her on top of him. He was surprised by the strength in her,

amused even, and yes, more than a little turned on.

At least he was until his vision began to fade in and out and his neck began to grow numb and cold.

He kneed the bitch but that didn’t shake her, didn’t even budge her, so though he didn’t want to knock out

yet another tooth, he backhanded her and tried not to wince when she flew back with a chunk of his neck still

in her mouth. His blood on her chin, the bruising that already marred the side of her face and swelled one eye,

made him smile a bit in satisfaction. He ran a shaking hand down the side of his neck, noted the flash of pain

the touch of his fingers brought against the abused skin. He brought his hand around to his face, gazed at the

blood that soaked his fingers, then turning his eyes on her he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them

clean. His heart skipped a beat when Drew’s tongue darted out to lap at the blood that pooled around her

mouth. The movement wasn’t what had…shook him. No it was more the way she’d followed his actions so

clearly while all the while with that too bright, too crazed glaze in her eyes. He placed one hand against the

ground and watched with rising euphoria as she mimicked him, the muscles beneath her skin moving smooth

as water as her face turned rapturous as she watched his every movement.

Getting to his feet he let the smile that had been struggling to emerge slip across his face and watched the

girls eyes light as she grinned back at him.

This was one of those memories that he’d be reminiscing over for long time to come.

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Excited now, multiple possibilities and scenarios running through his brain, he turned to head towards the

table that ran the length of the cellar wall. Even in the dim light the contents of the table glinted with deadly

purpose. Sharp, wicked, and deadly they were lined up in order of his most to least favorite in terms of

performance and effect. A short, sharp cry was his only warning before his breathing was cut off. The little

cunt had launched her self on his back, wrapping her arms around his neck and using the rope that secured her

wrists as a noose. The knot securing her was designed especially for times when he needed to tie her to walls

with her arms above her head, or when he needed to drag her around when she refused to do as she was told.

It was a leash as well as restriction and she used the extra length it afforded her well. With a strangled curse he

stumbled backwards, slamming her against the nearest wall at his back so that she let out a pained cry. The

rope dug into the wound of his neck and he could feel rough fibers growing slick with his blood, smell the

sharp tang of Drew and the rankness of his own sweat and bodily fluids.

She refused to let go, her grip never slackened, and for once in his life, Michael felt the very real throb of

fear work its way up into his gut. Drew had wrapped long legs around his waist and he could feel the heat of

her at his back, feel her excitement soaking through the material of his shirt even as she knotted the rope in

sweaty palms and leaned her upper body back, forcing the noose closer, tighter.

His cock twitching still so that he couldn’t help but to run one hand over the hardness there, even as his

other dug desperately at the restriction around his neck, he slammed himself back again.

This time he must have hit something good because Drew screamed and her grip on him slackened.

Releasing his crotch as well as the rope, he used both hands to grab her by the arms and pull her struggling

and screaming over his head. She landed on her back with a grunt and gazing down at her, head cocked to one

side, Michael couldn’t help the thought that began to niggle its way into his brain.

He liked them strong, he liked them screaming and vicious. He liked the sex yes, but Drew…Drew would

give him the power and there would be no one, NO ONE, more worthy of what he had in store for her.

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She would be his greatest piece of work, his most prized victim out of the long, long line of them. Walking

over to the table that glittered in the darkness like a diamond he deliberated for a long while, before deciding

on two twin blades, long and wicked, more picks than actual knives. Great for internal work. The suckers

were heavy even to him, a fact that he noted but which didn’t surprise him as he flipped one of the blades

handle over blade in one hand. When he reached Drew, he hunkered down and offering her the second

weapon, he cut the rope binding her wrists with the other. Once her arms were free he could see her grip

tighten almost painfully on the leather bound hilt and he meet her eyes with his own lighting with something

closely resembling pride.

“Let‘s play.”

It feels good.

I didn’t know it would feel this good.

I didn’t…I didn’t know. I do now.

The knife in my hands is slick, the red on the silver of the blade is entrancing, the smell of hot copper and

so much meat is…oh it’s like heaven. The beast that’s been gnawing on my insides for so long that’s been

ripping into my brain is sated now. At peace. The body between my legs is still warm, still twitching and as I

meet the gaze of the man whose blood coats me from head to toe, I can’t help but move against the muscled

planes of his stomach. The blood from the wounds there warming the flesh of my pussy so that I cry out and

press harder, letting the warmth soak and hit against my clit.

The man beneath me, eyes not yet dead, not yet gone, smiles at me. Lifts his body for me so that I can feel

the hardness and heat of him.

Lifting my arms, my back arching and my breath coming in hard, quick pants I plunge the knife home.

It all just feels so damn good.

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