Page 2 of Stalker

Ordinarily, my hands would be clean, sometimes because of the gloves I usually wore, but mostly because I’d long since given up belaboring the moment. I’d missed the art of patience, taking my time dealing with a piece of trash like Jimmy.

However, I was cognizant of my position in society, honoring my trade up from brutal killer to powerful billionaire. Who wouldn’t? Even I couldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

A smile crossed my lips as I stared down at his lifeless body.

At least I wasn’t the kind of man who killed on a whim. That had never been imbedded into my fucked-up psyche. I ended a life with a purpose in mind.

Still, the acts had recently become increasingly unsatisfying. Without a true hunt, I’d lost perspective. I’d severed my ability to enjoy and savor the moment.

Even the taste of blood had no longer been thrilling.

I took a step away while sheathing my knife and turning to study the man’s space. It was obvious by his choice of furniture and the large entertainment system he thought his shit didn’t stink. What disgusted me the most were the photographs he had in classy frames on his bookshelf.

Sighing, I moved closer, studying the pretty little faces of the woman and two children standing next to him. The very family he’d abandoned almost two years before. What were the pictures, just one form of trophy? I knew since I’d been inside his home on two occasions that he kept others, some more gruesome than anyone in the public eye could understand.

I’d never understood killers who kept a reminder of their kills. What was the point, the idiot longed to get caught? There was no joy or satisfaction after the asshole was dead. At least none for me. He was simply a box checked off a list.

Onto the next fucked-up human being who believed he could destroy a beautiful human life.

Call me a killer with a conscience.

I grinned and took another look at Jimmy boy. His landlord would eventually find him, maybe after the stink settled into the HVAC system. As of now, I didn’t give a shit.

Task performed.

Life taken.

Boredom taking hold.

Maybe I needed to find something else to excite my dark needs.

Hmmm…

I’d put some thought into it.

After a glass or two of scotch.

At least the fucker had been silenced.

CHAPTER1

“It is beautiful to hear how even the demons inside me have started singing your name.”

-Akshay Vasu

Cassandra

“The fucker is going to walk. I feel it.” I was angry, enraged at the systematic approach to handling vicious crimes, the idiot defense attorney and the entire system as a whole. I took hate-filled strides down the long, dark corridor, fuming the entire time.

Horrific and very evil images floated into the darkest reaches of my mind. They were as gory as those produced as evidence of the bastard’s method of slaughter, only the difference was the sophisticated killer was the subject of every horrific image.

If only I could kill the son of a bitch myself.

“Just stay cool, Miss Prosecuting Attorney,” Cash said over the phone. My conniving bestie always spouted off the nameplate on my door when trying to calm me down. As of late, that had been every other day. I’d never prosecuted such an infuriating case in my life.

“I am cool!” My insistence made him cough. “Okay, fine. I’m not cool at all. How could that idiot of a defense attorney think we tainted evidence? Does the bastard not know about my reputation?” Huffing, I slipped my fingers through my hair, nearly ripping out several strands as my engagement ring caught in the long locks. Yanking, I rolled my eyes, seeing hair falling from my fingers.

I hated the ring. Right now, there was very little I liked.

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