Page 9 of Ares

“Please don’t kill me. I’m sorry. I am. I was just a kid, man. We didn’t know any better.”

I sigh. “You’re not very good at the whole begging thing, are you? I want tears, loser. I want to see you ugly cry.” I dig the blade into his cheek, nothing deep, just enough to draw blood and cause pain. “I want to hear you beg.”

He starts to sob. And ugly cry. And I mean real ugly.

But I get bored.

“Yeah, I’m just toying with you, asshole. No amount of begging is going to save you. I just wanted to make you beg for life a little while.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You got fucking problems, man.”

“Not from where I’m standing. I’m not the one with the knife to my throat, asshole.”

I’ve been doing this a long time and what I’ve learned is that there is this one moment when the mark realizes he’s totally fucked, so he might as well go out with a bang. He’ll challenge your manhood, your toughness, your prowess, or he’ll sink low and defame your mom, or your sister, or your loved one. It’s one last insult for the road. Not all marks do it, but it’s surprising how many do.

This human stain is one of those.

He knows he’s leaving for Hell any minute and figures he might as well end his time on earth with some good old-fashioned torment.

His body relaxes, and a defiant gleam enters his eyes as they lock onto mine. “You know what? Yeah, I remember that night. And I remember her. I remember her real well. That tight little pussy. Her hot little mouth wrapped around my—” His eyes bulge as my knife enters his chest. The wound isn’t enough kill him, not right away, but it’s enough to hurt like a motherfucker.

“Her name was Belle, and she was seventeen years old. She was my girlfriend. She was sweet, gentle, and an angel who never got to enjoy her life because of you and your buddies. She was kind and loving—”

He bares his yellow-stained teeth. “And she loved every second of it.”

Another strike of my blade pierces his insides, and he winces. I put the blood-soaked blade to his throat. “I’ll see you in Hell, asshole.”

My blade slides across his neck, and the rise of blood is quick. I don’t move. Instead, I keep looking into his eyes until they go vacant and savor the moment I see him leave his body.

Satisfied he’s dead, I let him go, and he slumps to the ground in a heap.

The truck I stole from an alligator farm up the road is parked a few yards away, cloaked in darkness. I drag the lifeless body—of the third man who raped and murdered my girlfriend and left me to do the time in prison for her death—over to it and dump him in the back. Within the hour, the truck with his body inside disappears into the murky swamp waters. Chances are he’ll never be found. If the alligators don’t get him, time will. His skin will slowly slough away, and his muscle tissue and tendons will disappear with the tide, leaving only the bones behind. If by chance they are ever discovered, there won’t be any stab marks to indicate the cause of death—I’ve been doing this too long to ever leave a story behind. They’ll assume he stole the truck, drove home drunk, and took a wrong turn.

I leave on foot and another summer shower covers my footprints, almost as if Belle is smiling down on me for a job well done.

The three names on my list are now crossed off, and I can go back to my day job.

I fly back to Boston immediately.

I am the Angel of Death for the De Kysa family, one of Boston’s biggest crime syndicates. They pay me handsomely to rid this earth of their enemies. I kill men for them—bad men—men who have done the despicable and the deviant. But there is no emotion behind their deaths. Their lives are wiped out by a single bullet paid for by my employer, and I think nothing more of it.

Unlike tonight.

Because tonight was very, very personal.

And I enjoyed every second, every morsel of his death.

Like I’ve said before…

… I was born a monster.

Leaving the airport, I step onto the busy Boston street and hail a cab.

When I left prison, I didn’t plan on killing men for a living.

And somewhere beneath the layers of grief, heartache, and the disdain for men who thrive on depravity, I know it’s wrong to kill even if I am killing a villain.

But the thing is, I fucking like it.

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