Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 151410 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151410 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
“Killing them will give you all the cozy feelings. Don’t worry.”
“Meth house,” Alessio said the moment I parked the car in front of the hut. It really wasn’t more than that anymore. Through the open windows, the stench of cat urine and rotten eggs was a clear giveaway of what the house occupants were up to.
One of the half-ripped-off shutters of the window on the left moved. I hit the gas, and the car jerked forward. A round of shots hit my truck bed, and from the sound of it, it was bird shot. That would cost a fortune to fix.
I gritted my teeth. “Next time we visit meth heads, we’re taking your car. The nice victims don’t try to tear your car apart when you pay them a visit.”
Alessio rolled his eyes at me before he aimed out of the car and fired a few shots with his semi-automatic. I hadn’t come here to shoot someone by accident. The fun was over too quickly.
Guns had their time and place, but not during our nightly raids. That was pure sensation. I needed to feel and smell blood, not fucking gunpowder.
I parked the car around the corner, then pushed open my door and got out. With my head ducked, balaclava still on top, I ran along the building wall until I reached a back door. A glance over my shoulder confirmed that Alessio and Massimo were on my heels. They both had their guns drawn, but I only had my sawtooth combat knife in my hand. It was my newest purchase, and I was eager to try it out. I kicked in the back door. Stealth didn’t make sense anymore.
Now, maximum fun was to be had.
I stepped into a filthy kitchen where nobody had cooked anything in a while, considering the dirty pots piled high on the stove. Moldy sandwich bread and processed cheese were the only food items in the place, and I had a feeling these assholes were still eating them. Since they were high on drugs, mold probably was the least of their worries. The stench was a nuisance; garbage, mold, something sweetly rotten. I probably had to drag these assholes out for the torture, or I wouldn’t even smell their dirty blood.
Something creaked to my right, and a narrow door to a storage chamber swung open. What looked like a zombie with missing teeth and frizzy bleached hair staggered toward me with an ax. Grinning, I ducked under the dismal swing of the ax, then rammed my knife upward into the rib cage of my attacker and ripped it out after a twist of my wrist for maximum damage. Blood spurted out, and I jerked back to avoid it—there was good blood and bad blood, and this was the latter—but droplets still hit my throat and chest. The body staggered toward me in its death-fight. I pushed to my feet and shoved it away from me. It toppled backward and onto the floor with the sound of crushing bones and a wheezing kettle.
Now that it wasn’t in motion, I could see my attacker was a woman, her age hard to guess because of the state her body was in from years of drug consumption. Her bathrobe opened wide, laying her bare. Her tits and pussy lips looked like the floppy ears of a basset hound, and most of her skin was covered in blisters I very much guessed were some kind of sexually transmitted disease. “Fuck,” I muttered and quickly moved to the sink to wash the blood off my throat. I didn’t have any open wounds yet and hadn’t touched her blisters, but I didn’t want to take any chances. Then I rushed into the doorway, which led to a hallway with a staircase leading down into a dark basement.
“Genital herpes and syphilis. Don’t touch her,” Massimo said.
“Thanks for the advice,” I muttered and motioned at the blood all over my clothes. Uncle Nino would have to do my blood work later. Again.
It would require plenty of additional blood spill to get me into the mood for after-torture sex, which was a long-established tradition I’d hate to part with only because of saggy crack-whore tits.
“I meant Alessio.”
Alessio gave us both the finger before he draped the rug over her body. I shook my head but didn’t comment. I was used to this by now. If he started saying a prayer for our victims, he could go on solo killing sprees.
“You shouldn’t have killed her. She’s probably a victim of circumstances.”
I snorted. “She was trying to split my skull with an ax. Every perpetrator has a sob story in their past, so cry me a river. Fuck, even I’m probably a victim of circumstances. Promise me you won’t cover me with a dirty rug if I get killed.” Alessio stared down at the body. “And she’s too young to be the crack-whore you want to find.”