The predator

******

"Прости меня, отец, ибо я согрешил."

(Forgive me, Father... for I have sinned.)

The soft flesh under my fingers was delightfully squishy sinking as my thumb pressed deeper and the screams grew louder.

Ah, the screams.

They usually whined in pain, but as much as I enjoyed their cries... lately... my preferences had become more specific, more... exquisite.

I ached to hear these desperate pleas from the lips I had been fantasizing about, not from the worthless man beneath me. My ears craved a different melody. Something more feminine. From a certain brunette.

It had become a bad habit of mine.

Fantasising about her.

And she was the reason I was visiting this damn place after a long time people refer to it as the house of God, but I wasn't there to present my meagre truths, nurtured by the illusion that occasional good deeds would earn a place with the Creator.

No, that would mean I was just like them.

I was in this damned place, and for some reason, I found my fingers itching to slice certain man's throat just as voices whispered in my head.

And just because I liked tormenting this man... the fear in his eyes, it was fun.

"You're making me so... so angry, Dontello."

I flexed my fingers as blood dripped down my fingers on the marble floor. The man I just mutilated, whose eyeballs were just beneath my shoes had stopped crying now. And I suppressed a giggle as the guard dogs beside Dontello trembled and pointed their guns at me.

Unfair.

Why were they acting like I was some serial killer on the loose when they were the ones with their weapons holding against me, a defenceless man?

"What're you doing here, Romanovski? It's not a place for the likes of you." The bastard thought his glare would make me shudder, cower away in fear, shaking in my boots as we speak, and get down on my knees asking for forgiveness.

Nah.

Instead, I met his gaze with an unblinking stare. I let a slow smirk curl at the edges of my lips. His attempt at intimidation was almost laughable like I wouldn't notice the quiver in his voice. I took a step closer, enjoying the flicker of fear in his eyes.

The power dynamics had just shifted, and he realised it.

"And it is for you?" My boot made contact with the dead body I just maimed earlier, and I frowned. Did I just pluck out his eyeballs? Gross. "Looks like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be." I could already see him trembling under my gaze as the realisation slowly masked his ugly features. "You know I love some bonding time with my creator-"

The old snail dared to interrupt me. Rude. "The fuck you are on about? I told you I have no information-"

My head tilted to the side as I stared at him. He still thought I wanted the information. It was such a simple thing I could get with the snap of my fingers. But the raw burn in my chest, primarily aggressive, reigned the control for now.

"Ah-ha," I clicked my tongue shaking my head and finger. "I don't like getting stopped mid-sentence." My eyes moved to the men beside him and I tilted my head and took off my shades before tucking them in my shirt. Dontello's eyes widened and I realised his eyeballs would look nicer as the headlights of the new Tesla instead. "As I was saying," I grinned clasping my hands together. "Let's make a confession each, and see who's worse."

"You-You..." Donatello backed away anxiously.

And I was faster.

My hand reached out and before he could hide, I fisted his hair pulled him closer and pressed the sharp edge of the candle holder I picked near the Altar.

"I-I what, Donatello?" I chuckled pressing the sharp edge deeper into his neck. "Oh, these," I leaned down till I looked into his nasty dust-brown eyes. "Yes, they can see very clearly." I could feel him breathing heavily.

"Y-you tricked us!" He snapped. And I trembled.

I wished I had a hint of heart to actually feel regretful or I truly had any more fucks to give.

My little bird owned my every fuck.

But his anger amused me. Instead of giving him a direct answer, I let my hands talk. More like the weapon in my hand, as I sliced open his chest and relished in his cries. "Forgive me, Father... for my other sin," I mumbled lowly enough so he could hear.

I wasn't always this much of an asshole. But they just never... listen. After all, Donatello received my fair and square warnings. I even went to the trouble of annihilating his men myself. He thought he could have my little bird stalked and I wouldn't know it?

Pathetic.

My grin widened as I cut deeper and red blinded my vision. I had never felt this way before. It shouldn't be normal.

But maybe normal was overrated.

The scent of blood mingled with the sharp tang of fear, and I couldn't help but smirk. They always underestimated me. Underestimated what I'd do if someone tried to take away my possessions. And now, Dontello was the latest example.

"Tell me," I whispered, leaning close enough for him to taste his own blood on my breath. "Was it worth it?"

I watched as he gurgled in his own blood, his eyes wide with terror, his breaths coming in ragged, wet gasps. I relished every note. Slowly, deliberately, I sliced his tongue, savouring the slick resistance of flesh parting under my hands.

"You said you were hard for her, didn't you?" I hissed venomously. His eyes widened further, panic setting in as he struggled to form words, only managing a pathetic gurgle. "Are you hard now?"

Rage consumed me, but I smiled. Smiling could hide the true emotions, after all. It was a mask, a weapon, a tool for control. The trembling mess before me had no idea what was coming.

The logic was simple, really. No one could touch what's mine. Not my little bird, and not her cage. I was her master, I was her tormentor, and someone else hurt her beside me, well, I was not a very friendly person. Territorial? Yes.

I regretted bringing her with me, but necessary moves were bound to happen. Like I said, she was a pawn, but a very important one and if anyone came for my pawn, I'd burn them in hellfire. He had crossed a line, and now he had to pay the price. It wasn't personal-well, maybe it was, but that didn't change the necessity of the act.

In a world where threats lurked around every corner, it was wise to eliminate them before they had a chance to strike.

Killing him was the only rational solution.

It was a cleansing act, a way to restore balance.

His existence was a stain on the fabric of my world, and I would not allow it to remain. There was a certain satisfaction in knowing that I held the power to decide who lived and who didn't.

The thrill of it was intoxicating. I leaned closer, relishing the fear in his eyes.

"Confess, Donatello," I muttered, my pupils dilating. "Tell me your sins, and I'll tell you mine."

The fucker glared at me defiantly despite the situation. Fool. "You'll pay for this," he spat.

I chuckled and when it fell upon my ears, it was dark and mirthless. "I doubt it," I reply. "Now, let's begin. After all, it's good for the soul."

The irony was not lost on me.

A confessional in a church, but instead of seeking redemption, we barter sins. It's almost poetic in its blasphemy.

I twisted the candle holder slightly, eliciting a scream. "Pathetic. You thought you could touch her, didn't you? Thought you could take what's mine and walk away unscathed?"

His bloodied, mutilated tongue thrashed uselessly and flapped like a fish without water and I couldn't help but laugh. His suffering was my satisfaction.

"Look at you now," I sneered, leaning in close. "A broken, worthless thing. You should have known better. You should have listened to the rumours."

I moved the sharp edge lower, carving slow, deliberate lines into his flesh meticulously. He thrashed weakly, the light in his eyes fading, and I felt a dark, twisted pleasure.

"This is what happens," I murmured, my voice barely more than a breath. "When you cross me. Next time, remember not even god can save you when the devil decides to take your soul."

Only if there'd be a next time.

I stepped back, watching as the life drained from him, his body convulsing in its final throes. As his last breath rattled out, I threw the holder and stood, feeling a strange sense of peace wash over me.

For now.

A whimper fell upon my ear and turned towards the source to find the priest still hiding behind the Altar if that'd save him if I decided to take his soul too.

I almost rolled my eyes as he chanted something with a cross in front of his face.

"Добрый вечер," I smiled charmingly at him as he shuffled backwards, tears streaming down his face. I waved at him, and he screamed in horror before running away from me.

(Greetings.)

I furrowed my brows in confusion and glanced at my hands again.

Blood. My hands were covered in it, the sticky fluid coating my skin.

The thrill of the chase, the hunt, the inevitable catch-it was intoxicating.

But sometimes, I forget how terrifying I could be to others.

I sighed, wiping my hands on the tattered remains of Donatello's jacket, the fabric soaking up the blood greedily. As the adrenaline began to fade, I glanced around the Church. Ten dead men met their fate. And this Church would've been left alone if Dontello would've just decided to stay at home instead of coming here to fuck the nuns.

The man couldn't keep it in his pants.

I sighed, and without turning around I sensed his presence. He just wouldn't leave me alone.

"You enjoy scaring the hell out of people, don't you?" Kyle walked through the door with body bags and I rolled my eyes.

"It's not my fault they scare so easily."

Kyle raised an eyebrow crouching down and pushing the dead bodies into the bag. "Still, you should be more careful. We don't need unnecessary attention."

I crossed my arms. "And what would you have me do? Let him have her?"

He sighed. "Just... try to keep a lower profile. For your sake."

A smile tugged at my lips as I considered the irony. Here I was, drenched in blood, being lectured about subtlety.

I met his gaze. Anyway, he was right, as much as I hated to admit it. Drawing too much attention could spell disaster for both of me when I was this close to my goal.

"Fine," I muttered. "But I can't promise I'll be a saint."

The bastard smirked hauling two bodies over his shoulders. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

The stained glass windows and the scent of incense invoke memories. My mother used to take us to the Church every Sunday. She believed the God there could take away whatever demon was inside me.

I still visit Churches, though this time not to exorcise the demon inside but to unleash it.

I pulled out the cigar from my coat and lighted it up. Putting the bud in my mouth, I inhaled and let the smoke rush through my brain and puffed out.

In twenty-nine years, I've never committed a mass murder impulsively. One would think it would be satisfying, but instead, there's a hollow where my heart should be according to human anatomy. Was it normal that only a few emotions surged through me-rage, thrill-but never have I felt this out of control?

For a woman on top of that.

She consumed my thoughts, an obsession that burned hotter than anything I'd ever known.

I wanted her.

I wanted to possess her, to make her mine in every way.

The thought of her screams sent shivers down my spine like a fucking melody I long to orchestrate. I didn't even like music.

I imagine hurting her, breaking her, watching the light dim in her eyes. And then, I would caress her, soothe the pain I inflicted, whisper sweet nothings as if they could erase the terror.

It was a twisted dance, this need to both destroy and protect, to inflict agony and then cradle her in my arms. She was becoming my ultimate desire, and I was lost in the labyrinth of my own mind, where the lines between desire and annoyance blurred.

The only women I cared about were my sisters and my mother. Though she eyed me as the monster she birthed. As if her husbands were any better.

I looked up at the sky and heard birds chirping. And as much as I tried, my thoughts drifted to her. The brunette with scared-doe eyes looked at me as if I'd haul her and tear her limbs.

However, what I wanted to tear was questionable in society.

Ah, society.

An unorthodox game where people pretended to care about each other. It was like watching a play where everyone forgot their lines but insisted they were doing just fine.

People scurried around like ants, following invisible lines they had convinced themselves were important. They went to jobs they hated to buy things they didn't need to impress people they didn't like. It's adorable, truly.

They call it adulting. I called it a comedy show.

Everyone was so busy worrying about being nice and respectful. It was like they were in constant competition for the 'Most Virtuous Human' award. Newsflash: there was no trophy at the end. Just more bills and wrinkles.

Emotions were a particularly amusing aspect. Pretending to 'find themselves.' They'd spend years, sometimes their whole lives, searching for some hidden inner truth. Spoiler alert: there was nothing to find. Just pick something and run with it.

And when they thought they had committed enough sins, they came to Churches to empty their glass.

The place where people seek salvation was where I found my liberation. The hymns and prayers, the whispers of desperate souls only fuel the darkness within me.

They thought of me as a monster, but in truth, I was simply free. Free from the chains of morality that bound others. Free to be who I truly was.

When I looked at these bodies, discarded like broken dolls, I didn't see humans. I see the remnants of my redemption.

They said God forgive all, but I didn't seek forgiveness. I seek to be understood, to be seen for what I was- a creature of pure, unrestrained will. Evil. Heartless. Cruel. And whatever my mother believed I was.

And yes, I still visited churches. But not to find God. To show Him what I've become.

I heard Kyle approaching, his footsteps steady and unhurried as he sorted the mess I made. He opened the car, and I slipped into the backseat, the smell of leather and blood mingling in the confined space. I glanced down at my suit, noting the splatters and blood. It was ruined.

It irritated me.

Only if I could kill Dontello again.

And gauge out his eyeballs. He dared to look at my bird.

Kyle's voice cut through my thoughts. "I brought an extra pair just in case." He knew me well, too well. Always prepared, always anticipating my needs. I smirked, the corner of my mouth twitching as I grabbed the bag.

I unzipped my pants, my thoughts drifted back to her. "How's my little bird doing?" The words slipped out, almost a purr. Kyle met my gaze through the rearview mirror.

"Probably traumatized,"

Good. She should be. My smirk widened into a grin. "Do you think she'd hug me if I showed up at her college?" I asked curiously.

And it wasn't even funny how my dick throbbed just imagining her running into my arms. The things I'd do to her. I envisioned grabbing her waist, feeling her breath hitch as I pulled her close. My fingers would trace her spine, and grip her neck just tight enough to remind her who was in control.

I wanted to taste her fear, to see her eyes widen as I whispered twisted promises in her ear. I'd explore every inch of her, savouring every gasp, every shiver. The thought of her struggling, trying to resist, only fuelled my desire. I wanted to break her will, to make her realize she belonged to me, completely and utterly.

"I doubt it," he said carefully. He knew when not to question me.

I chuckled darkly. "Always the pessimist."

I finished changing, adjusting my tie as I studied my reflection in the window. The man staring back at me was a stranger, a monster wearing the mask of civility. And I revelled in it.

It'd be fun. And then I suddenly remembered something. "Oh, and do send my gift to my little bird."

*******