§§§§§
"DO YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM?!"
"Enlighten me."
"Fuck you!"
My legs were free. Mustering the remaining strength I had left, I used all brute force to kick him in the face.
He skillfully swerved me, his hands finding their way to my neck. F...
"Flowers don't bloom Without a little rain. Everything has it's purpose, Even the pain." - Jessly Fernandes
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Hurry up and dump the body. I haven't got all day. " Ruslan scowled as two of my men heed his demand.
Dragging the burnt corpse from the safehouse, my eyes journeyed the trail of black flesh that remained on the floor.
Like burnt coal, the carcass ceased into a pile ash. Worthless and forgotten.
"Clean this shit up. I expect to see my face reflecting off of these floors by day break." I grimaced, before walking outside to where a black SUV awaits my presence.
Igor, my personal chauffeur, opens the door, tilting his head respectfully as I slid in the back.
Ruslan was already seated, patiently waiting as he types on his phone.
"Drive." He called out, not moving his eyes from the screen as the driver quickly took his seat; nodding his head he obliges, driving through the desolated woods and onto the main lively road.
Our safehouse is located in the middle of nowhere, away from the hustle and bustle of the busy city; for obvious reasons of course.
I looked through the black, tinted windows as the car took off, traveling through the busy streets of New York City.
My crown jewel.
Everyone here has heard of the name, 'The Reaper'. But no one knows how the Reaper looks like. Purely due to the fact that none have lived to tell the story.
Rumors are spread and tales are told, carried by mindless idiots that indulge in pointless gossip; most of which are far from the truth.
Yes, I kill. But with good reason.
People say, 'murder cannot be justified', but I say it can.
My victims are mostly men. The fucking scums in this broken world.
Men that abuse women and children, whether it's physically or verbally, are the ones I take pride in killing.
Gouging their eyes, slitting their wrists, removing their nails and teeth, you know.. those type of stuff.
And in return, I leave the victims a purple flower.
Whether they're lavender roses or purple irises, they are my signature move. Marking my presence, because, you know.. it's an honor to be killed by a girl like me. And everyone has to know it.
