Page 2 of Run, Little Rabbit

VEON:

Nope. Don’t do it, Echo

ME:

I just need to get him on his own. I’ll be ten minutes.

VEON:

FFS ??

I snort. The guy personifies the strong and silent type, but it works for me. It means he doesn’t refuse when I drag him along to things like this.

I head to the bar and order a round for me and my friends. I ask the server to deliver them to the VIP table I reserved for us while I figure out a way to get Bennie on his own. The girls won’t care I’m not there; they’re too hyped up on dancing, drinking, and potential fucking to notice I’m not with them. They’re the kind of friends you have if you want a good alibi. They’re also on the same social standing as me, so we’re expected to be friends. Honestly, there’s so much pretending in my life I sometimes forget who I really am.

The Mob Princess

The Six Minute Killer

The party girl.

Six.

Pampered.

Murderer.

Perfect.

Vicious.

Socialite.

On and on the list goes. All those masks for all those different occasions. I’ve learnt to hide myself well so no one, not even my family, knows how dark and unhinged I really am. It’s how I like it. That I appear sweet and innocent on the surface, interested only in fashion and good times. But deep down, I like the violence. My soul craves it, and I have urges and wants that would probably make the twins look like goddamn holy saints.

Bennie whispers something in the boy’s ear, and I watch him flinch. Then Bennie stands and tugs a leash that’s tied around the boy’s neck. Jesus fucking Christ. Seriously? I’m going to collar that asshole and then squeeze the life out of him.

The pair disappear down a corridor, and I take my chance, discreetly following. They move into the back of the club, oblivious to the terror following in their wake, and enter a side room. I wait a few moments and then turn the handle on the door. It opens easily. I’m almost offended. Fucking prick probably thought no one would be stupid enough to disturb him.

I shut the door behind me. There’s a soft click, and the only one who notices is the boy. He’s on his knees, Bennie’s cock in his mouth, and tears stream down his face. I put a finger to my lips and stalk across the room. My hands are steady as I pull the sleek blade from the sheath on my thigh, but my heart beats a staccato rhythm in my chest. The excitement of death causing adrenaline to come alive in my veins.

This is my favourite part. The hunt. The moment just before capture when bloodlust is raging in my mind and my entire body is thrumming.

The room is some kind of back office with a large wooden desk, some shelves with files on them and a black leather sofa that looked like it had seen better days. Unsurprisingly, there are no cameras. No obvious ones, at least.

Bennie doesn’t notice as I step behind, too lost in forcing his pathetic cock in the boy’s mouth.

I stalk behind Bennie, my steps slow and steady, the boy’s eyes wide as he watches my every step. Normally I’d wait a few moments and drink in my target’s obliviousness, but I don’t want the boy to suffer any more. I hold up three fingers and count backwards.

Three.

Two.

One.

The boy lurches backwards.

“Hey!” Bennie yells, but his shout turns to a howl as I snap my foot into the backs of his knees.

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