𝙊𝘽𝙎𝙀𝙎𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 𝙐𝙉𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙎𝙃𝙀𝘿 | 18+

𝘾 𝙝 𝙖 𝙥 𝙩 𝙚 𝙧 ' 𝟏𝟒

ALEX

The pulsating bass from a distant club throbs in the background as I retreat into the shadows, my mind consumed by a dark, brooding rage. The taste of Mia still lingers on my lips, intensifying the storm of emotions within me. Thoughts of Jake, that insufferable presence in her life, fuel a sinister determination to settle the score.

A malevolent grin twists my features as I plot my revenge. Jake will pay for his audacity, for daring to touch on what's rightfully mine. The twisted game we're playing has reached a point of no return, and my anger propels me towards a darker path.

The alley becomes my clandestine battleground, its dimly lit corners concealing the brewing storm of my vengeful intentions. I imagine the confrontation, the satisfying crunch of my fist meeting Jake's face, the primal satisfaction derived from inflicting my own brand of justice.

As I pace through the shadows, my bad-boy persona takes center stage. The leather jacket feels like a second skin, and the motorcycle parked nearby becomes an extension of my rebellious spirit. The plan unfolds like a gritty screenplay, each scene drenched in the intoxicating allure of revenge.

A sinister smirk plays on my lips as I envision the moments leading up to the inevitable clash. Perhaps a chance encounter in a dimly lit alley, the flicker of distant streetlights casting eerie shadows over the impending showdown. The air crackles with tension as I revel in the anticipation of reclaiming dominance.

The plot thickens, taking on an almost cinematic quality. 

All I had to do was look him up Jake Branford, he's a surgeon, One of the best in LA that's actually surprising I wonder how he met my Mia. 

But that don't matter right now, he's going to die soon for sure.

I call my guy to find out what Air bnb jake's staying at for the week. I as I look up more of him, I surprisingly got his address. BINGO.. 1307 Calon St 

He don't live in Newburyport I guess, he moved away for his career. Welp he wont see that house no longer, this would be the last week he'll breathe or even speak. He's a dead man walking.

As I spend the week stalking him, memorizing his schedule.

I finally break into his Air bnb, And investigate the property, I find a space in the master bedroom closet, leaving the door cracked open for the view. If Jake keeps to his typical schedule since I've begun watching him, I won't have to wait long.

And on queue, he drifts into the house reeking of beer and floral perfume, his sweater vest clutched in his hand. He pulls at the collar of his shirt, loosening the buttons, then takes off his clothes, slinging each article onto the bed. A shaved chest. Muscular, like he plays in an adult sports league. He collapses on the bed, and though I can't see much now, I can see his dick in one hand and his phone in the other.

like he's jerking off to porn. But no matter how hard he pumps, his dick stays flaccid in his palm. Foster mother number seven was like that. If you got her to drink, she'd pass out, and so I put a tube in her unconscious mouth, funneling as much as her stomach would take. No one blinked an eye when she died of alcohol poisoning.

They're all the same.

He groans and twists in his bed until he finally flops on his back and passes out. It's not even seven o'clock yet, and the bastard is already drunk with whiskey dick. I creep through the closet door until I'm standing over his unconscious body.

 I poke my cleaver under his chin, moving his head so I can inspect him. A chiseled jaw. Light eyes. There's a dip in his cheek, like he may have dimples. No wonder Mia liked him. There's no denying he's attractive, though he'd have more character with his face carved up.

But I'm not here to fix him.

The cleaver pricks his skin. He swats at it like it's a housefly, but the blade slices into his palm and he widens his eyes, focusing on me.