Page 12 of Infamous

Her voice shaking. Her begging me to come.

And the silence that followed.

The crowd that gathered.

The girls who stood over her body pretending to be heartbroken when they were the reason she was dead.

No — she wasn’t innocent. None of them were.

Every bruise. Every scream. Every broken bone — they did that to her. And one of them had led the pack.

The ringleader.

The one who made destruction look elegant.

The one who taught Billie to doubt herself until she disappeared.

That girl broke her.

So I waited.

And when she slipped, I was ready.

High out of her mind one night, she posted an ad. Some sick little fantasy about being chased — hunted. A game.

She wanted danger.

And I was danger.

I slid into her inbox without hesitation. She thought she was in control. She thought this was play.

When she met me that night in the woods, pupils wide, lips smirking, she actually asked if I was dangerous enough for her.

I smiled. Because she had no idea.

Eighteen months of grief had carved the man I used to be into something unrecognizable. Billie had been the light. The only good thing I ever had.

And when the world took her, it made me what I am now.

Ghosts aren’t born. They’re built. One loss at a time.

8

LUCIAN: THE FIRST VICTIM

It was the perfect night for a hunt.

And she had asked for this. Begged for it.

Her face kept flashing behind my eyes - that fake pout, bubblegum lips, hair tangled like she wanted to look wrecked. Her ad had said it all:Stalk me. Chase me. Make me afraid.

Stacy Valenti. Daddy’s spoiled little saint. Rich. Bored. Cruel. The kind of girl who got off on watching others bleed just to feed her own twisted validation. She had been the one who pushed Billie until she broke, then played innocent for the cameras. They all moved on. I didn’t.

Now she was crashing through the woods in heels, laughing like it was a thrill ride. The sound was bright, desperate. She thought she was safe because she’d paid for it. Thought I was just another man playing pretend.

I dragged my boots through the leaves, slow, deliberate. Crunch. Snap. Let her hear me. Let her think it was still her game.

I could move without a sound — I’d done it a hundred times before — but silence was mercy. And tonight wasn’t for mercy.