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I imagine stripping her clothes off—tearing her top and twisting the fabric into a gag, using her jeans as restraints to bind her wrists behind her back. I picture bending her over his body, her ass in the air, her skin streaked in his blood.

Her hole would be tight. I’d scoop a handful of his blood, use it as lube, work a finger in and out of her ass while she tries to moan around the gag. Then I’d rip my belt free, loop it around her throat, drag the gag from her mouth, and listen to that first, desperate gasp shred through the silence.

I’d smear blood up and down my shaft, her back arching as she shuffles backwards, the tip of my cock throbbing for her. When she finally whimpers,

“Do it. Fuck me as you hate me.” Those words would echo through my skull, everything I’ve ever wanted and more.

But we’re friends.

Have been since childhood.

It wouldn’t be right.

And that’s exactly what makes it so intoxicating.

I get off on knowing it’s wrong. I’ve never pretended to be a good person, and anyone who assumes I am, couldn’t be more wrong.

“Earth to Max.” Emma fans her hand in my face, bringing me back to reality.

“Sorry, got a little distracted,” I say, walking toward the body, kneeling, feeling for a pulse as my eyes look over him, making sure I’m not going to get any nasty surprises.

“Clearly, what were you doing, picturing fucking me over his body?” A giggle ripples from Emma, but not me, sweat balls on the nape of my neck before spilling down. Yes, I was, and now that you have said it out loud, I’d love to fuck you, but that’s not what I’m here for. I love it; I don’t know how to explain the feeling I get when I kill the fact that I’m in control, and no one can do anything about it. I would be lying if I said I only killed bad people because I kill whoever I want to, and there isn’t a thing stopping me. Maybe there used to be a little part of me who had feelings, would feel the slightest bit of sorrow, but not now. I feel nothing but a thrill rushing around the inside of me; it’s like poison, but I can’t get enough, or it could be the fact that I took two pills before heading over here, but I'm fine with either one.

“Help me, take his legs,” I ask Emma as I lift his arms, and we both slowly walk out the back. The rotten smell takes me hostage by the outside bins, fuck, did they not get rid of the food when this shut down?

“Get me the saw,” I ask, the adrenaline rising, fuck, I love this. She walks back through the door; inside is where old workers would have kept stock or had three breaks. I’m left alone for a couple of minutes. I pull my phone from my pocket, checking to see if my sisters checked in, which they haven’t. That’s unusual; she always does, but what isn’t normal is multiple missed calls from my mother, and I should ring her back; it’s clearly important, but then Emma makes a reappearance. She passes me the saw, and I adjust my knees, sawing back and forth till it detaches, and the same with the other leg, arms, and then I start sawing the stomach before Emma whips out a bin bag, taking the severed body parts, picking them up like it’s nothing but trash. This has got to be the quickest I have ever gotten rid of a body.

“I got this. Are we still on for next week?” I nod, brushing my hand on my jeans before waving Emma off and walking out of the abandoned shop and to the car. I enter my seat, sliding my phone out before I look back, seeing even more missed calls from Mom. This isn’t right. Something must be wrong. I hit the phone before pressing it to my ear.

She answers, but all I can hear is a muffled voice in the background, and my mother’s breathing becomes shallow over the phone; my pulse quickens.

“What happened?” I question my throat, dry and sharp like a blade.

“Your sis– someone shot your sister.” Blood courses through my veins. This has to be some sick joke.

“What?!” I ask harsher than I should have

“She did not make it, Max, I’m sorry.” I hang up the phone, find my mother’s block button, and swipe my PIN card, throwing it out the window with my phone. I turn the engine on before heading to Emma’s house.

Anyone in this situation would go home, but for me, this was my chance at freedom, my chance to find this bastard and make him pay for what he did. Mom will be fine; she will heal. I’m a criminal, and I can’t keep being who I am if I’m too scared of seeing the disappointed look on my mother’s face.

Till next time, little sister.

CHAPTER 2

EMMA

“Will you shut the fuck up?” I roll my eyes, taking a step back. I cross my arms and lick my lips,

“Next time you think about taking the last cinnamon roll, think again. I was hungry.” I attempt to tip my head back, but Max comes charging in. Blond hair ruffled and a little messy, he rakes his hand through his scalp, his arms covered in a multitude of tattoos, the same with his neck. That’s the thing about Max and me: we love the ink, and I have been getting this done since I was twenty-one. Getting tattoos was my thing; then it was Max’s. But his blond hair now, that’s something he prides himself on. He even loves a good purple shampoo to take the brassiness out, as he likes to say.

“What is going on?” he asks, like he doesn’t have some fucking eyes he could use to see.

“Well, this man here, I forgot his name, took the last cinnamon roll at the grocery store, and I didn’t like it.” Max rolls his eyes, not impressed with me, but when is he ever impressed?

“We don’t have time for you to kill him, or are you forgetting about the fact that Halloween is tomorrow?” I roll my eyes and grind my teeth in frustration. He has a very valid point, just not one I’m going to listen to.

“Or are you forgetting the masks you want to make?” I roll my eyes.