Page 2

Max

UUgh, what the hell was that noise, and why was it happening so goddamn early?

Glancing at my alarm clock, I groaned.

10:35am.

Okay, so it wasn’t that early, but it was my last day off so anything waking me up before noon felt like a personal attack.

I flopped back onto my pillows, staring at the ceiling as my mind drifted to the reason behind my exhaustion.

Last night had been a long one.

Craig smith, semi-pro football player by day, serial sexual predator by night—now just another rotting corpse sat at the bottom of the lake in the woods.

Justice had been served, but it didn’t bring me the satisfaction I wished it did.

Not fully.

Because this should have been his job.

My dad should have been the one still doing this, taking out the scum of the earth like he always had.

Instead, he was gone, and I was left picking up the pieces, continuing the work he started.

When he left me the house in his will, I thought it was just a rundown, old townhouse that held too many memories.

But then I found it.

The basement.

It was hidden behind a heavy old door in the back of the house, one I had never bothered to open when I was a kid.

When I finally stepped inside, the stale air hit me first, thick with dust and something I couldn’t quite place, something darker.

And then I saw the files, stacks upon stacks of neatly labeled folders, each one detailing different men.

Their names, their crimes, their locations.

And most chilling of all, their final resting places.

Which was now the same place my kills ended up, the lake in the woods behind the house.

My father had been doing this for years, long before I’d even picked up a knife.

He had been my hero, the man who had raised me with warmth and unwavering love.

But he had also been a hunter, something I turned myself into after his death.

A quiet pride always burned in my chest when I killed.

Not just for him, but for me, for being strong enough to continue his work.

But that pride was always tangled with resentment because I hated that it had to be me.

I hated that he wasn’t still here, wasn’t still fighting for the justice the system refused to give.

I wasn’t supposed to be the one doing this. He was.

Craig had held out longer than the ones before him had, I’d give him that.

Despite the shattered kneecaps and the blow torch I had pressed to his most sensitive parts, he had grit.

Or maybe just a sick tolerance for sin after years of leaving bruises on women who fought back.

The scratches from his last victim were still visible on his neck.

They were deep, angry marks where she had tried to stop him.

The same marks I had studied in his case file, the one that landed on my desk, stamped Case Dismissed.

The DNA under her nails, the rape kit proving everything she said was true, but none of it mattered.

His money and status outweighed the truth, a semi-pro football player with a bright future, they said.

Why ruin his life?

Why indeed? They wouldn’t do it.

So, I did.

I had taken his file to the photocopier after the office closed, alone as always.

The office trusted me to handle these things, to neatly file away the cases where justice never came.

Nobody knew that each time I was handed a file stamped with those words, I was seeing a man’s fate.

That their case wasn’t closed, just unfinished – until I got to them.

And Craig Smiths countdown started the second his name hit the paper tray on my desk.

I had watched him for weeks, waiting for my moment.

He was careful, sticking to a routine that consisted of going straight home after games, rarely going out alone.

It was frustrating, I couldn’t lure him from his house, and I refused to be reckless.

But then, luck.

A victory.

A celebration.

His team finally won a game, and he was about to go celebrate with the boys, this was the perfect opportunity to strike.

I sat at the bar, swirling what looked like a fancy cocktail but was just juice, watching him over the rim of my glass.

I had done this enough times to know the exact moment a man like him was drunk enough to make a mistake.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar—long jet-black hair framing my heart shaped face, with full lips painted a blood red that compliment my dark brown eyes.

I wrapped my curves in a tight black dress, that showed a little cleavage and hugged my ass in a spectacular way.

I looked like the perfect distraction, a walking, breathing invitation to his downfall.

The thing is, men were very simple creatures, a little sway of my hips, a playful bite of my lower lip, a flicker of feigned interest in my eyes and they came running.

He bit the bait instantly.

“Hey sexy,”

he breathed against my ear.

“I haven’t seen you around before, but I saw you watching me.

Not like I can fault you, I am the best-looking guy in here.”

He slid an arm around my waist without hesitation, fingers gripping me like I was something he already owned.

I fought off the instinct to recoil.

The night had just begun, and I needed him to believe he was in total control, that I was totally into this.

With a giggle, I fluttered my lashes whilst trailing my fingers down his chest.

“I’m new in town, so I figured I’d see what this place has to offer.”

His grin widened “Oh, I can show you what it has to offer.”

God, they truly were all the same.

“Well, Mr.

Handsome,”

I purred, pressing closer.

“That’s your name, right?”

He chuckled, “Craig.

Remember it, you’ll be screaming it later.”

I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes, what was it with these men and their god complex? It was insufferable.

Instead, I leaned in, whispering against his ear, “I only have one rule.”

He stiffened slightly. “Yeah?”

“I like being in my own bed.”

I ran my fingers down to the waistband of his jeans, feeling his breathing hitch ever so slightly, “Just a safety thing, you understand right?”

I needed him in my space, they always wanted to take me somewhere they had planned—probably a dark alley knowing this sick fuck—but this wasn’t how this worked.

I had inherited my fathers house for a reason, because it was the one place I could control every variable.

He had left me the house in his will, and with it, a legacy I had only discovered after his death.

My dad had been doing it long before me, uniting the men who thought they were untouchable through death.

Every time I took a life, I walked in his footsteps, continued on his work, carried his torch.

Craigs breath was hot against my skin as he chuckled, “I can work with that.”

I flashed him my sweetest smile, taking him by the hand to lead him out of the club.

Another dead man walking.