Prey Drive by Jen Stevens
Chapter 3
the wolf
echoes off the walls when my hands jerk to the left, and I watch as life instantly fades from my victim's eyes.
This is my favorite part. When I get to witness the flicker behind their eyes disappear into nothingness. My own eyes roll to the back of my head, and I release my hold from his jaw. His head hangs awkwardly to the side, his neck now completely broken and useless.
I pause for a moment to hear the soft sigh pass his lips as he sags over enough for his final breath to leave his lungs. Blood drips onto the tattered, gray Armani suit he so proudly wore into the seedy gentleman's club I found him in, then splatters onto the plastic-covered floor.
It took me a while to learn the perfect force and angle to use for the cracking effect. When their soul exits their body and it's so close, I can feel it—it's an addictive feeling unlike any other. Far better than any drug I've ever consumed. And I've consumed plenty.
I wasn't always like this—ruled by this murderous need for revenge. In fact, if we ran into each other on the street, you'd have no clue how many lives have been lost by my hand. All you'd see was another too-rich, New York business-district asshole who barely mutters an apology as he passes by. Sure, it's not polite, but manners aren't necessary where I come from. Not when money and social status rule everything. Besides, I work hard to keep people away from me. The world I come from is cruel and incestuous, with little regard for anything beyond the bottom line.
And for what it's worth, as long as you weren't involved in the brutal killing of my sister, you'd never have to worry about my face being the last you saw.
There’re six, to be exact. Six times, including this one, I’ve been secluded in this room with my victims. With the men who were there on the night my twin sister died and took part in the grotesque display. Men who we both grew up with in the same schools and country clubs and vacation towns. Six times, I've taken justice into my own hands because the fucked-up system allowed it to slip through the cracks. Next are the ones who had a hand in covering it up.
I have a plan and tunnel vision to get me through it. I'm the judge, the jury, and the executioner for Sienna’s case. All it costs me is my soul, which I'll gladly hand over when the time comes. It means nothing without her, anyways.
I sat with my grief. It almost consumed me. Until anger came in and numbed me, then began to fight back, breeding a strong and insatiable need for vengeance. I may be dead inside, but I have a purpose—at least for now.
But this man—this group of men—they deserve far worse than the fate I've afforded them. And I have no doubt they'll receive it. I'm just initiating them into Hell before the devil gets his hands on them.
Or Sienna does. My sister is likely as ruthless in death as she was in life.
“He was useless,” almost as if my thoughts conjured her, the eerie feminine voice scoffs from the corner of the room.
I used to jump when she did that, but it's become part of our routine. I kill them while she watches from a distance. Only when they're good and dead does she interrupt me anymore. She used to hang over my shoulder and try to micromanage the process, but I quickly put an end to that. This might be about finding answers for her death, but it's a sacred process for me. I don't need her muddling it up with her constant nagging.
That's one thing about her I don't miss.
My sister may be dead to the world, but she still haunts me.
I can already see you rolling your eyes.
Fine…Go ahead and laugh. I know you are.
I laughed and cried and raged—among taking countless mind-altering drugs in an attempt to chase her away.
It doesn't make sense. In fact, it goes against everything taught to us in the ridiculously expensive Catholic boarding school we were sent to. But she's here. Sienna was brutally murdered, and then somehow found me in the afterlife to carry out the punishment for everyone involved.
Did you get that out of your system?
Okay, good. Let's get back to the story.
“He confirmed a few things that were unclear,” I reply, annoyed she's interrupting my moment so soon.
Sienna moves to stand before our newest victim, eyeing him skeptically.
Logan Simon.
His father is a shareholder at my family's investment company and a long-time member of The Loyal Order of the Serpent. I've never liked him, personally. He's always been a whiny little prick who takes whatever he wants with zero consequences and his father is even worse. This time, they took too much.
“He ordered my drink that night,” she muses, absently running her fingers down his pale, stubbled cheek. “He must have been the one to choose me.”
I can hear the hurt in her voice as she stares into his face. I already knew he was the one who picked her that night for their weird ritual. He admitted as much while I cut the hideous Order's snake tattoo off his arm and dangled the bloody chunk of skin before his eyes. It's the same tattoo my father and grandfather wear proudly on their backs—concealed from view, but there to declare their allegiance to the misogynistic group. The same symbol they so desperately want to see branded into my skin one day, so I can take over for them.
Follow in the family footsteps.
Turns out, my feet are too big to fit into their footsteps, my stride too long. I'd rather die than shrink myself down to fit into the life they want for me. They just aren't ready to admit that yet.
Logan originally tried to claim she’d been a random victim. A prospect needed to be initiated into The Order that night, and he was the one leading their sickening ceremony—one that included brutally beating, raping, and murdering a “random” woman of the leader’s choosing. According to him, Sienna was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had no idea it was her until the bag was pulled off her head.
But that’s bullshit.
He's been around me and Sienna since we were in diapers, and he started going after her shortly after. Thankfully, my sister had better taste in who she dated than some spoiled, arrogant asshole who waves daddy's money around to excuse his horrific behavior—though not much better. She always rejected him in the most public ways, and he wanted her to pay for it. That's why he picked her.
If I didn’t know that going in, I would have figured it out fairly quickly based on his body language as he spewed the well-rehearsed lie. In the subtle way his eyes darted to the left. Or the slight tilt of his head when I prodded further.
That was when I knew I wasn’t going to get much out of him with my usual tactics and, unfortunately for him, it was when I upped the ante.
I smirk at the distant sound of his screams as I extracted the information I wanted out of him, habitually pulling the smooth, cold metal necklace out of my pocket. It's the last piece of her I have to hold. A heart-shaped locket our grandmother gifted for her twelfth birthday that she wore every day since. When the case fell through and the police returned her belongings, this was carefully folded into the dress she had been wearing that night, still coated in her dried, brown blood.
I never cleaned it. I wanted the harsh reminder of what happened to her that night so I never wavered in my quest for revenge. But the blood has worn off from all the times I've taken it out of my pocket, flipping it around in my hand. It's become a part of me now, just as it was a part of her.
Sienna’s moment of vulnerability quickly ends. She straightens her spine and pushes her shoulders back stubbornly, and I already know what she's thinking. She's done giving this piece of shit any more of her time—something she now has a lot of. Her ghostly eyes take in the space and her nose scrunches up in disgust at the blood splatters all over the tarp I hung from the ceiling. At the crimson pool at his feet.
My eyes follow her lead, only I look on proudly at a night well spent. This is a form of art. One I’ve perfected in the past few months. It's something I'm actually good at, and if you ask my father, that's a rarity in itself. If I could frame this cheap plastic and hang it in my penthouse without repercussions, I’d do it.
But alas, I have a large cleanup ahead of me. Technically, I'm not even supposed to be in Styx right now. I would hire someone to do the cleanup for me, but I'm not ready to risk being exposed just yet. Bringing another person in on the process only makes me more likely to get caught, regardless of how discreet they are.
My gaze falls to my watch to check the time, clearing away all the missed calls and texts from my assistant. Sienna and her best friend, Mallory, shared an apartment on the east side of Styx, and Mallory kept it for herself after Sienna passed. My assistant thinks she's the reason I keep coming back to this shitty place.
My parents bought a cottage down the road to spend weekends when Sienna decided to go to the University of Styx for her master's degree. She was planning to be a plastic surgeon or some shit. I have no idea, honestly. It just seemed like an excuse for them to continue the college parties beyond the usual dedicated four years.
I never went to college, so I have no clue.
Our mother fell in love with Styx when she visited the campus with Sienna. She bought the lake house as a spot for our parents to visit without intruding and even went as far as naming it The Crystal Cottage. My father added this workshop off the back of the attached garage to butcher and process whatever animal he was hunting that season. He was usually into bigger, less common game than anything you'd find in Styx, so I couldn't ever understand why he bothered going through the trouble. Once I started using it for my own version of hunting prey, I started to appreciate it more.
Though, I have found it to be a little too convenient for my uses. I doubt processing deer required so much soundproofing of the walls. It seemed like the perfect place to bring the bodies of the men who killed my sister after I hunted them. The hour drive from New York has been the only downfall.
“She’s probably going insane,” Sienna says, her brows raised into her forehead with irritation.
She’s never liked the middle-aged woman who teeters the line of assistant and mother, always taking my mom’s jealous side on the matter. But that's the good thing about her being dead. I don’t have to listen to her opinions about how I’m living my life.
Well, I guess in a way, I still do. But I don’t have to comply.
“She’ll get over it. I have a lot to do tonight.” I gesture my arm to draw her attention back to the dead body sitting beside us to prove my point.
We're in the middle of negotiating a contract with a huge firm in New York, so I should at least be responding to Eliza in case something pops up with that, but it can wait until I wash the blood off my hands.
“You got messy with this one. You’re starting to show more rage than control,” she chastises, crossing her arms over her chest. “Maybe you should take a break.”
I can’t help my eyeroll. I really don’t have the energy for this.
“If you’re going to nag me, you can just leave. I’m sure you have better things to do nowadays anyway.”
Her smartass response is cut off by the doorknob rattling behind us. My heart immediately drops into my stomach as I swing around to double check the lock.
It's securely flipped into place, but the knob still slightly twists back and forth while whoever is on the other side tries to get in.
I'm stuck to my spot, stunned silent with the blood of my victim drying onto my hands. What am I going to do if they find a way in here? I instantly decide that I'm killing them, and the thought sends me spiraling.
“Who the hell could it be?” Sienna wonders. Her stunned expression mirrors mine as we share a look.
But I can't speak. I have no idea if whoever is out there has already heard me before, and I can't risk letting them know I'm here in case they haven't realized it yet.
Sienna’s right, though. Who the fuck is on the other side of that door?
With the only entrance to the room coming from inside the garage, there's absolutely no reason for anyone to be trying to open that door. Not to mention, the house has been sitting empty for years.
The rattling stops and dragging footsteps echo through the garage. I turn back to Sienna, my eyebrows practically in my hairline as I ask, “Can't you use your weird little ghost powers and check?”
Scowling, her mouth pops open in offense. She hates when I bring up her deadly state, but what the fuck good is it to have a ghost hanging around if they can't go through walls and make sure you aren't about to be caught murdering someone?
We stare at each other in a stubborn standoff, each of us refusing to be the first to break eye contact until she scoffs, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.
“You're such a jackass,” she spits before her translucent form disappears right before my eyes. A moment later, she returns with her eyes widened in alarm. “There's a woman here. It looks like she's squatting or something. She's got her things moved in.”
Fuuuuck.