Stalker - Clarissa Wild Page 0,120
his.
21 weeks
For 21 weeks she carried a burden no girl should ever have to carry. Now she loses her freedom to a man born to destroy her.
21 days
His name: Angel DeLuca. His mission: to break her in 21 days before she sees through his lies. But she won’t give up without a fight.
21 minutes
It takes only 21 minutes for their lives to be forever entwined.
21 seconds
21 seconds to spill. Time is running out.
Secrets ruin them … but not all truths are worth the price.
This is a STANDALONE Dark Romance novel. WARNING: contains explicit situations, dubious consent, graphic violence, drug abuse, and other disturbing content.
Click here for Twenty-One (21)
***
EXCERPT OF MR. X
“Punishment is justice for the unjust.” - Saint Augustine
Prologue
Thursday, August 15th, 2013. 10:30 p.m.
Life is not continuous. Every path we take ends it or prolongs it. Millions upon millions of paths lie in front of us and we choose only one. Each step we take means cutting off a possible path. One by one they all disappear. The choice can’t be changed. Accepting the consequences is a must, but impossible for most, including me.
Life is a string of events, each leading to another. One man. One choice. One deadly weapon. It all adds up to this one moment. The gun this man is pointing at my head. The gun that could end my life in a flash.
This man wants to kill me, and I don’t know why.
In order to survive I must pass this test. I have to find out what story hides behind his scar. I believe it’s my only way out. My life could end any second, but I won’t allow it. I’ll fight until the very end. Whichever path I choose, I will survive.
***
Tuesday, August 13th, 2013. 2:00 a.m.
He was innocent. Or so he said.
The scratch marks on his face tell a completely different story. Not only is he a scumbag, he’s a lying scumbag too. Luckily, I know just the thing to do with liars.
Twirling the knife in my hand, I step forward. Sweat drops trickle down his face, making his hair stick to his forehead. He whimpers against the soaked cloth in his mouth, choking on his words. My eye slowly takes him in from top to bottom as I twist the sharp point of the knife softly against my finger, creating a bead of blood. His Adam’s apple moves up and down in his throat as he visibly strains his muscles at the sight of my toy.
Yes, toy.
I have many, not all of them equally painful, but some more fun than others. Especially the screwdriver; it’s one of my favorites.
But alas, this is a rush job and this Swiss knife is the only thing I have on me.
My victim takes in a deep breath as my eye zooms in on his, the fear settling in his eyes. It’s breathtaking. I love that look in their eyes, those begging lips, those sweaty palms, the twitching and jerking muscles as they try to free themselves. It excites me to see them powerless, to know that I can do anything I desire. To know they can see it coming, all the things I will do to them.
The horror that fills their veins as they realize their death will not be quick but painfully agonizing.
A smirk forms on my face as my eye narrows and I savor the moment. Each step I take makes him squirm more, but he and I both know he’s not going anywhere. The knot I tied is impervious. Blood stains the fibers of the rope as he twists in his seat, trying to escape his looming fate. It makes me laugh.
Innocent. Right. There’s no such thing as innocence. Not in this world.
I lower the knife and draw a line from his hand up his arm. He moans into the cloth, shaking his head, uttering words again.
“Now, you know I won’t take it any easier on you if you keep twisting like that,” I say.
Putting pressure on the knife, I slide it up his shoulder, drawing blood. He screeches, shaking profusely as I create a few nice lines across his shoulder. Each stroke a little deeper, until his flesh rips and blood pours out. His screams become louder and louder, which only makes me want to continue. I love hearing the sound. Love the squeals of agony as I cut them open.
“Fwop! Fwop! Pwease!” I hear him beg through the cloth.
“You know I can’t do that,” I mutter.
“I will pway the debt! I swear!”
Pay? He wants to pay?
I raise an eyebrow and lean over him to look him in the eye. “Pay? You think this is about money?”
“I’ll give you anywing!”
I laugh. “So you really don’t know what this is about? And here I was thinking you were lying.”
“Pwease, tell me, I can fix it.”
“Nope. Too late for that.” I draw another line from his shoulder down to the other hand and smile when I see the stain in his pants. Poor man; pissed his pants. Can’t blame him. Actually, I can. It’s dripping down the chair and it’s soiling my favorite kill spot.
“Sad. Really sad, you know?” I say. “You pissed yourself.”
He whimpers again.
Frowning, I flip the knife around and wipe it on his trousers. “Oh, what am I going to do with you?”
“Let me go, pwease, I swear, I won’t tell.”
“Hmm … you seem to be under the impression this is about something that can be solved.” I lean forward and grab his arm right where the wound is. He jerks in the chair from the pain. “Sadly for you, that’s not the case.” I squint. “It’s so unfortunate you can’t remember, because that forces me to tell you. See, I don’t like it when my victims don’t know what they did before I cut their faces. They need to know what they did wrong so they see it coming. There needs to be some kind of morality, you know? Some kind of retribution.”
I smirk, and then press my finger into his wound, muddling his flesh.
He squeals and bites his tongue, blood seeping from his mouth.
“Now listen, you fucked-up piece of shit, do you remember that night a few months ago when you went to a children’s playground? Remember that little girl with the blue dress? Remember that chloroform in your pocket?”
His eyes widen. Fuck. It’s so fucking awesome when they realize why they’re here. It’s like a little slice of God falling into my hands. It riles me up, gets me started, feeds my soul.
If I had one.
I laugh, shaking my head as I look down at his crotch. Drips draw my attention. This fucktard pissed himself again.
So I decide to kick him in the balls.
He makes an oompf sound and turns completely red as he gags on the cloth.
He deserves it. If only for making a mess of my property.
No, screw that, for putting his hands on that little girl. Assholes like him don’t deserve to exist.
“Yeah, I know all about what you did, which is unfortunate for you. I know everything. That’s my job. It’s too bad for you her family was rich. Lucky for me I get paid well.”
I raise the knife again, right in front of his face, showing him what’s in store. He shakes in place, his eyes filling with tears. “Aww … you’re gonna cry now? And what about that poor girl? Did you hear her cries too as you sodomized her?” Even though I didn’t know her, just the thought of anyone doing that shit to a little girl angers me. I might be a bastard, but I’m not that much of a bastard. Nobody gets to use kids. I know firsthand what it can do to them.
Fury besieges me, and I let it. With fiery passion I raise the knife and jam it right into his other hand.
He screams so loud my ears pop. The noise echoes in this huge hall, but nobody will hear him here except me.
His fingers spasm, but I give him no time to rest. Pulling it right out of him, it takes me two slashes to create my signature mark on his eye.
Scarred for life.
Not that it’ll last long.
As my victim screeches and jerks in his chair, desperate to get loose, I step away and admire my artwork before I grab the jerry can and drench him in petrol. I throw the can away and grab a cigarette. Nothing like a cigarette after a good mutilation.
I watch him writhe as I fish the lighter from my pocket and light the cigarette. Not one second after my first drag do I throw the lighter and set him ablaze.
The x that marks his face burns brighter than any of the previous ones I’ve done.
Such a nice piece of work.