Page 5 of Unholy Vows

Malachai

I stared at the screen name of the hunter who thought he could steal my prey away from me.

After I’d scrubbed his response to Layla’s post, he’d taken to The Prowler’s Circle forum, demanding to know which predator had interfered with his pursuit.

I thought it was pretty obvious myself.

Me, motherfucker!

I’d find out everything there was to know about BeastMode458 later. Right now, I needed to focus on my plans for Jason Redding. I had let him live for far too long. He’d grow restless soon enough and go after someone new.

Grabbing my jacket, I headed for the door. It was 10:30 p.m. on a Saturday night. Jason would be hitting up his local dive bar while he surveyed his options.

One thing I learned early on about criminals — they’re fucking lazy. Jason, for example, couldn’t be bothered scouting new places from which to stalk his prey.

Instead, he embraced the one place where he felt comfortable. The one place he believed he had the upper hand. He made it that much easier to lock him down. To learn his routines and how to anticipate his every move.

That alone was reason enough to kill him. The least he could do was make it a challenge for me.

“Are you heading out, Father?” Wendy asked from the pulpit.

Jesus, the woman needed a bell.

“I am indeed, Wendy. You have a blessed evening, won’t you?” I said, giving her my award-winning smile.

“Same to you, Father.”

I stifled the smirk that threatened to spread across my lips at her slight blush.

If I were discovered tomorrow and the truth about my late-night activities came to light, there would be a significant portion of my congregation who wouldn’t believe it.

They could catch me in the act, and they’d still think it was some huge misunderstanding.

I had been reading emotions long before I understood what they were. I’d find people’s weaknesses and exploit them, giving them the image of me they desired. They would never even consider examining their own backyard when one of the flock met their untimely demise.

As I passed the basin at the entrance to the church, I dipped my fingers into the holy water and made the sign of the cross.

God, if you’re watching, now would be an opportune moment to look away.

A slow grin crept over my face as I pushed through the front doors. I inhaled a deep breath, letting the fresh night air cleanse my lungs.

I was going hunting.

And I could barely contain the thrum of anticipation coursing through me.

I’d spent many hours considering what method I wanted to use when it came to extinguishing the life of Jason Redding.

A garrote seemed too impersonal. For one, attacking from behind always felt too cowardly for my tastes. I liked to watch as the life drained from their eyes.

Poison was a non-starter. Too clean. Too distant.

I’d considered a gun, and even though I was a skilled shot, pulling a trigger lacked intimacy. It was all over in the blink of an eye.

A knife, though.

There was something poetic about using a knife. The way the blade kissed the skin, sliding through the flesh so perfectly.

I hummed in the back of my throat, imagining it.

There was always a bit of resistance at first. I’d have to lend my weight to the thrust to break through that initial barrier. But when their warm blood coated my hand, and I watched the life drain from their eyes... few things could compare.

My fingers brushed the handle of the blade I kept concealed beneath my jacket. I could practically feel the pulse of excitement vibrating against the steel.

Soon.

By the time I reached the bar, the place thrummed with activity. The low buzz of chatter, almost inaudible, over the music pouring from the speakers and the clattering of glasses.

I scanned the room, eyes narrowing on a man perched at the far end of the bar. He wore a lecherous grin as he leaned toward a woman in a red blouse and jeans. His gaze kept darting to the woman’s cleavage, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Jason Redding.

He exuded confidence, and the woman laughed at something he’d said. She tilted her head back to expose the slender column of her throat, and Jason all but salivated at the sight.

It always fascinated me how people could so easily overlook the warning signs coming from the predators among them — the way their smiles never quite reached their eyes, how they pushed boundaries under the guise of humor, or how their compliments felt more like calculated manipulation.

To this woman, Jason was likely charming, interesting even, and she probably mistook the sinister gleam in his eye for rapt enthusiasm.

Yet, I saw the hunter lurking just beneath the surface.

If Jason were a normal man, he’d leave this bar tonight, head back to this woman’s place, and they’d enjoy mediocre sex before going their separate ways.

She was interested; he was interested. Simple.

But Jason didn’t want simple.

No, Jason Redding craved fear. He got off on watching the excited anticipation vanish from their eyes, only to be replaced by utter terror.

Jason wanted his victims so afraid that the memory of him would last a lifetime.

When his life grew dull, he replayed that moment again and again, until it no longer satisfied him.

Until he needed to replace his fading memories with fresh ones.

How did I know all this?

Jason Redding confessed his every sin to his priest.

A.K.A. Me.

Protected behind the grille of the confessional, Jason believed I could absolve him of his sins, giving him permission to repeat his misdeeds over and over.

He trusted me with his secrets.

Tonight, that decision would prove fatal.

At this point, I felt confident that even God saw things from my perspective.

Sliding onto a nearby stool, I ordered a beer, the cool glass sweating against my palm as I took a slow sip. As I settled in, my gaze drifted across the room to where Jason held court. His voice was smooth and effortless; his body language relaxed yet deliberate.

The woman leaned in close, caught in his pull, her expression shifting between curiosity and amusement.

He fed her just the right mix of flattery and intrigue, like tiny little breadcrumbs leading her deeper into his illusion.

Every head tilt, every lingering glance, wove another thread in the web surrounding her.

And she was none the wiser.

I had to give it to him; he was good.

I could warn her about Jason’s intentions. Spare her from suffering lifelong trauma.

But that would ruin the thrill of hunting the hunter.

And besides, I was no savior.

The slow unravelling of his carefully crafted facade, watching him believe he was in control, only to tighten the noose around his throat when he least expected it — it was euphoric, and I lived for those moments.

No, I wouldn’t save her. Not yet. I wanted to have my fun first.

She’d be spared the pain of a sexual assault, and I figured that was a fair enough trade.

When an hour had passed, I was beginning to grow impatient, my anticipation morphing into irritation. I let out a slow breath when they finally got up to leave.

Jason paid her bill like the gentleman he was not, then placed a possessive hand on the woman’s lower back, steering her towards the door.

I allowed the pair to cross the threshold before rising from my stool and following them.

Outside, the street was quiet. The faint sound of footsteps echoed against the pavement, and I caught a glimpse of them as they rounded a corner.

I’d have to jog to catch up with them before they disappeared out of sight.

I reached into my jacket and pulled out my mask. The fabric was rough against my fingers, and a pulse of adrenaline coursed through me at the sensation. As I slipped it over my face, the world around me sharpened, every sense on high alert.

I had become the hunter, and Jason was my favorite type of game.

“Through here?” I heard the woman ask.

Her voice held the first trace of unease; her carefree tone from earlier slipped away.

“It’s a shortcut,” Jason reassured her.

His voice was low and demanding as he cornered his prey. When I rounded the corner, I lost sight of them. But the mouth of an alley peered back at me from up ahead, and I stalked toward it.

As I stepped into the alleyway, I watched from the shadows as Jason held the woman against a graffiti-stained wall, his hand gripping her wrists tighter as she struggled to pull away.

“Stop it.”

Her begging went unanswered as Jason tightened his hold. A small whimper escaped her, and her voice rose with her panic.

“Let me go.”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He sneered. “You were eager when we left the bar.”

“Not like this.”

She continued to struggle, which only made him snicker.

“Sluts like you deserve this. I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”

Stepping out of the shadows, I withdrew my blade and twirled it around.

“Three seconds,” I said in a calm, even tone.

Jason froze. Then he turned to face me.

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“Two.”

I took another step closer, and Jason loosened his grip on the woman as he turned toward me. She used the opportunity to break free of his hold and disappeared into the night before he could recover.

“Fuck! You’ll pay for that, you nosy bastard.”

With the woman out of the picture, I yanked my mask off, letting it fall to the ground.

It was more personal this way.

The dim light of the nearby streetlamp highlighted the side of my face, and Jason’s eyes locked onto mine.

His entire body went rigid, and he visibly paled.

The smug confidence he wore like armor cracked in an instant.

His mouth opened, his lips trembling as if forming a silent plea, but words failed him.

“F-father?” he whimpered.

I clicked my tongue.

“We’ve talked about this, Jason.”

The man hung his head in shame. Despite the blade in my hand, he only saw the priest he confided in. He’d assessed the situation, cataloged the events, and placed me squarely in the trusted ally basket.

The damn fool probably thought I was here to save him from himself.

“I know,” he whispered.

I didn’t respond. There was nothing Jason could say that would save him from his fate. Instead, I lunged, my grip tightening around the handle of my knife as I drove forward.

He barely had time to react.

He inhaled a sharp breath as a flicker of panic widened his eyes. But it was too late. My blade had already found its mark.

The steel slid between his ribs with an almost mechanical efficiency, meeting little resistance as it sank deep.

A choked gasp escaped his lips, and his body jerked violently as if it were attempting to reject what had just happened.

He staggered backward, one hand flying to his side, as he pressed his fingers against the wound.

Thick, dark blood welled at the site before seeping through the digits.

For a moment, he stood blinking, as if trying to clear the scene from his mind. His chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven bursts before his knees buckled, and he fell forward.

“F-father,” he gasped in disbelief.

I watched as his blood continued to drain from his body, staining the ground red, waiting to see if I would feel… anything.

Animosity. Satisfaction. Regret.

But all I felt was empty.

Jason choked on his last ragged breath; the light in his eyes dimmed as his head lolled to the side.

Dead.

With a resigned sigh, I leaned down to remove Jason’s wallet, keys, and phone. In the morning, when they found his body, his death would be written off as another mugging gone wrong on Boston’s streets.

With one more task complete, I slipped into the darkness and headed toward Layla’s apartment.

I needed to see my Little Sinner.

To observe her, to watch her in the way only I could.

I would consume every unguarded moment.

Dissect every move. Every weakness. Until she had nowhere left to hide.

I would watch her until it was time to make her mine.