Page 5

Chapter 4

Cyrus

Cyrus, Ian, and Zorfield were in their favourite pub at the corner of Sandymon Green having a well-deserved Guinness, or eight. Per usual Ian and Zorf were out and about with the other patrons, singing, tap-dancing, and drinking while Cyrus was slouched in his favourite corner, staring blankly at the soon to be empty pint. His thick brow furrowed in a deep scowl, he couldn’t get his mind to wander away from his day.

Not only had a brothel opened right under his nose with kids involved but knowing he was the prime suspect for two other horrific murders was truly nagging him.

Even Ian knew little about the crimes, but from what he gathered, this killer was busy kidnapping, torturing, and releasing the destroyed bodies of beautiful young women. Women who knew Cyrus. Around the 4th pint of Guiness Ian had started going into way too many details and theories about the murders, his profiler mind already in action but at Cyrus’s look the redhead stopped.

As usual he was in the line of sight of all those idiots, especially freaking Cragnum. After all these years, the police and the media, not all, but many, continued to perceive him as the big bad wolf. He wasn't perfect for sure, but being considered a psychopathic rapist was a tad too much.

He grabbed his pint and gulped it down in one large sip, enjoying the roughness of the dark beverage on his tongue. Getting up to find his friends, he shook off his thoughts, wallowing was not his thing. He spotted Zorfield a bit further in the busy pub, standing on a massive wooden table perfectly executing his favourite tap-dancing choreography to the applauses and shouts of the drunks around him. Cyrus couldn’t help but laugh at Ian, desperately trying to get Zorfield down. But quickly stopped when he saw the man sitting on the other side of the pub.

Hisash-coloured hair and wearing his weird orange hunter fleece – Cyrus immediately recognized him, and too bad for him, Cyrus was going to enjoy beating the hell out of this guy right now.

He needed to release a bit of the tension in his shoulders, and the best way was either a sweet fight or a new woman to fuck, but the ones around tonight were all taken or ugly as fuck. And if I fuck one and she dies tomorrow, I’ll be in more trouble.

Eve

The sound of her running shoes was far too noisy for Eve’s liking. A little mix of blood and flesh not quite dried made it sound like she was crunching a snail. But one less abuser would be walking the streets tomorrow, a pretty big victory, compensating her ultimate failure last night. This kill was fast, efficient, and bloody. No witnesses.

A gust of wind reached her, making her shiver. Tightening her arms around her, she thought with regret about her unicorn hoodie back home.

Approaching the pub on her street, she started accelerating her pace while making less noise, an avoidance technique she had perfected over the years. And it wasn't that easy to do when you were coming back from a murder and your shoes had decided to squeak. The pub was always busy. Celtic music thumped through closed doors, always a bunch of drunkies on the sidewalk. Every time she passed, no matter if she was on the opposite side of the street or closer, she would hear whistles and catcalls addressed to her.

On the list of stuff she hated, this was at the top. The shame, the feeling of being barely just a dog you could whistle at. She had never liked it. It made her feel like a weak woman and Eve was NOT weak. But she couldn't kill all the men who did that, could she? I mean…you could …

Sometimes some of the men were brave enough to talk to her, standing in her way, only to be discarded like the piece of shit they were. But right now, she had no time to lose, there was no time for fun with the bloody butcher's knife and her trophy in her bag, both heavier than they should be on her shoulders.

At the absence of the usual calls, she couldn’t stop her glance at the pub. Did I managed to pass without being spotted? That would be a first.

Oh.

The bar's patrons were too busy watching and sneering at a scene on the sidewalk. She had never seen them in that pub before.

Cyrus freaking McRory and his friends.

First on the TV, now here, on MY street.

A not so elegant “Oh shit” escaped her frozen mouth, a cloud of breath flying away. This is bad for business.

The one with the funny name she couldn’t remember was lying on the hood of a big black car, his gaze seemed lost in the stars, while the other, with his long red hair braided behind his back, was leaning against the door, shaking his head in what appeared to be a gentle despair but not moving anyway.

And there he was, turning his back on his friends, his angry legs kicks stomping on a pile of rags.

The pile of rags was trying as much as he could to protect his face and his balls from the upset and quite inebriated Cyrus McRory. Eve wondered how many pints of Guinness it could take to get him drunk, only one was enough for her to feel like “weeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

Under normal circumstance she would have jumped in to help the poor rag on the floor, and enjoy a quick fight, but she hesitated. The boys in this pub were always fighting at some point in the night. One of her favourite hobbies was to sit on her balcony with a glass of wine taking bets with herself on who was going to be the winner.

But Cyrus looked dangerous enough from a distance, and the stupidest thing to do right now would be to get his attention.

Lost in her thoughts she made the mistake of stopping, only realising it when the giant on the other side of the street locked her gaze. Eyes widened, she propelled herself at high speed, her sneakers squeaking .

“ Re-shiiit,” she mumbled. Not goodnotgoodnotgood at all!

“Cyrus! I can't believe you're dropping a fight for a chick!”

Did his friend sound outraged? She sure thought he did.

“You call this a fight?” Cyrus yelled, getting closer.

Having not yet decided to run as it would be perfectly ridiculous, she walked just a little faster to her street.

Catching up, Cyrus stood in front of her, his body blocking half the passage. Note for later: update my priorities in life, and run!

She sighed, giving the meanest look she could, going around the giant without letting go of her rude-girl look. He should get the hint, shouldn’t he?

He grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him, his eyes looking down on her, a naughty smile on his lips.

Eve took a deep breath enjoying the view up close. Sure, he was scary, and obviously a “goujat” as she called them in her mothertongue, but her horny side focused on his full lips and the ocean eyes devouring her. His black t-shirt was almost perfectly moulded to his torso, and normally she would also have savoured his tight jeans revealing well drawn muscles, but her thoughts were swirling around the contents of her backpack. A knife was one thing, but the genital trophy, really? She had no idea what she would do with a bloody penis, she wasn't even sure her cat would want it for breakfast.

Another note for later: find out if cats are carnivorous enough to eat penises.

His wild bestial gaze upon her made her whole-body shudder. Is it fear? Or are you just horny? Doesn’t matter, I hate him . He was tall, way too tall, far too manly and he looked at her as if he was going to eat her. Moving a tad closer, his hand had moved from her arm to her back, warm and steady, as he backed her against a car, moving her as if she was a doll.

Breathless, excitement took over, thinking how much fun it would be to have that stature and strength in her bed, with a hint of fear. She was not usually prone to fear, that detail not pleasing her.

Cyrus’s smiled enlarged, one sexy as hell dimple appearing on his left cheek, and Eve was gone. As he got closer and closer, she knew her previous guesses were right, he was drunk.

She didn’t dare move, uncertain of how to feel in this new dangerous and exciting bubble, her chest rising a little too high, a little too quickly for her liking. And when the man put both hands against the car, imprisoning her, his body so close to hers, she couldn’t hold back a gasping noise. His face was so close she could feel his warm breath and couldn’t help but shudder at that contact. He raised his hand, softly stroking her lips with his thumb and she knew he was going to be trouble.

“Cyrus… Do you really think we have time for that?” The redhead across the street sighed.

“Nah babe, let him have his fun.” The blond laughed. “The day was tough.”

The other sighed again. “Cyrus! We have enough trouble as it is.”

The giant breathed a grunt of discontent, looked Eve in the eye while placing one of his arms behind her back again. He grabbed her face, dangerously bringing it to his until their lips met.

Oh .

It had been a long time since someone kissed her, especially in this way.

React! yelled her conservation instinct and feminist pride. The man bent in pain as his crotch met her knee.

She bolted out of the bubble, holding back a giggle. That’ll teach him to harass young innocent women alone on the street. She sped up, reaching the entrance of her building, welcoming the safe feeling of the heavy door closing behind her.

Cyrus

Still in the street and carefully holding himself, Cyrus picked up an object, a smile on his lips. He returned thoughtfully to his friends, and without paying too much attention to Ian’s disapproving gaze, he raised the pendant at eye level and frowned… he had seen this shark tooth somewhere…

He looked down the street where the girl disappeared, noting the building she had entered, searching his Guinness clouded memories trying to put a name to her pretty face.

“Cyrus, are you listening to me?” Ian asked, starting to get angry.

Cyrus looked at him with a disturbed look. “We know her, don't we?”