Page 50 of From Hell

Ifollow one of the five monsters I’ve pledged to stop since I joined Nola’s serial killer club into an alleyway.

Out of all of them, he’s the most sloppy. The police already have him as their primary suspect in the murder of a girl they found a few streets away, mutilated beyond belief. Witnesses have him with her all night, picking her up from a bar where he opened a tab with his credit card. How dumb can you get?

He’s not the Ripper, but it’s only a matter of time before he does it again and gets away with it. His family owns most of London. He thinks he’s untouchable.

I’m going to remind him he’s not.

In my head, I planned all kinds of twisted revenge. Cut him the way he cut her. Bleed him out just like she did. But my hands are shaking as I follow him down the narrow, deserted street, the cobbles making it hard to walk. My body is a quivering mess.

It shouldn’t be. I’ve done this before.

Practice makes perfect. I’ve always believed that.

Still, there’s a tightness in my chest, and fear claws its way up my spine, despite the hunting knife in my coat pocket and the can of mace in my hand. He’s got a drunk girl hanging off his arm, so I need to get rid of her. I hang back when he pushes her against the outside wall of the bar they just exited. One hand up her skirt, the other around her throat as he devours her mouth with his. She’s out of it. Head lolling to the side, eyes fluttering closed.

He unceremoniously whips out a rope as I peer around a wheelie bin, trying not to make a sound. She barely registers that he’s restraining her, his hands buried between her legs as he does. Disgust slithers through me like a rancid poison. He’s a monster who likes to subdue his victims with date rape drugs, though it makes it easier for me to dispose of him if she’s out cold.

But still…

Sick to the core, my hand grips the mace tighter. I pull back and suck in a ragged breath, steeling myself for what I’m about to do, while the monster I’m hunting laughs to himself like a pig—harsh sounds echoing through the alleyway.

Just a pig fit for slaughter.

I refuse to think of him as a man.

The sounds of London town beckon from beyond the narrow streets behind me. But here we’re away from prying eyes. The alleyway is empty, devoid of cameras or security. He chose the perfect spot to bring his victim. Luckily, there’s no one here to see what I’m about to do either.

Heart pounding, I flutter my eyes closed, letting the memory of his crimes—photographs of the scene and battered corpse—burn in my vision, pooling hate and disgust in every fiber of my being before dragging them open again.

Then I stalk toward him.

He doesn’t notice me at first, and it’s too late when he does. His brows arch comically. “Who the Hell are yo—”

I spray chemicals into his face. Immediately, he drops the drugged girl to the ground, bellowing like a bruised bear. Tears streaming. “What the fuck?”

There’s a Taser in my pocket. My dad gave it to me on my twenty-first birthday instead of jewelry because…you know. We’re that type of family now. I jam it in his balls, and he goes down like a lead balloon.

“Always knew you’d come in useful, Terrance,” I say under my breath as I put the Taser back where it belongs and drag my new prey further into the alley’s darkness. He’s heavy, and it takes a few tries, but flying on adrenaline, every nerve-ending in my body clouded with rage, I manage. Between the shadows of the towering buildings, my eyes cast back to the girl passed out, slumped against the dirty brick wall. I expected to see her freaking out, screaming, crying, but she’s away in dreamland, lids firmly shut, rope trailing around one wrist, dress rucked around her waist just as her panties are strung around her thighs.

I can’t leave her like that.

“Fuck.” Exhaling hard, I go to where she’s heaped on the floor. She mumbles something incoherent but doesn’t open her eyes when I coax her to her feet. I get her panties back where they should be, smoothing down her skirt, and then I steer her back to the main road, avoiding the CCTV, leaving her on the step of a bar.

I’m hesitant to walk away, but a monster awaits me in the alley. London might be full of scum, but this is a touristy part of town. Someone kind should send her home in a taxi. If the kindness of strangers still exists.

Now, kill him before he wakes up,says some twisted voice in my head.

How easily that thought comes. That’s how fucked up I am. And how little I care that it’s wrong, that I’m a murderer.

He’s out cold when I get back. My heart went into overdrive as I approached. It’s still slamming inside my chest as I crouch over him, the knife poised in my hand. I should have poisoned him. Bought potassium chloride on the black market and shoved it in his veins. Killing someone with a knife, no matter how evil they are, is harder than it looks. I should know.

I press the blade edge to his exposed throat, but I’m shaking so hard the steel cuts, and a bead of blood trickles down, running like red rivers over his tanned skin.

One slice. One flick of my wrist, and he’s gone.

It’s that easy.

Do it.