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me
dangerous to most people, and at times I felt invincible. I was not
sure when the switch was turned off. Sometimes it made me feel like
the emotions that most people feel didn't exist in me, but I was
not completely emotionless. I hated. I wanted revenge and control.
Often I felt contentment, but death didn't faze me the way it
should. Maybe I was jaded to blood, killing, and watching the life
of someone fade away until they were gone. It was meaningless,
because the men I was killing deserved it. They've killed and raped
innocent women. Anyone who mistreated women in my fucking city was
asking for a death wish, delivered on a silver platter by
me.
    I walked into the room, and a fat,
balding man sat with a rag shoved in his mouth. He kept his cold
dark stare trained forward, and he refused to make eye contact. But
he knew me, he didn't have to look.
    "Well, well, well. So we finally
fucking meet."
    I received no response, but I
didn't expect one. I removed the knife that I kept strapped around
my waist and inspected the blade in the light. Freshly sharpened,
cleaned, and ready to slice and dice. It put a smile on my face to
know that I would rid London of another rat bastard. I pulled the
cloth from the man's mouth and put the knife to the bottom of his
chin.
    "If you speak without being spoken
to, I will cut off your fucking lips and tongue."
    He still didn't look at me. I
wondered what would make him flinch. What words would push him over
the edge? Liam whispered in my ear, "He had three women in the back
of his van." I pushed the knife further into the man's chin until
dark liquid dripped down the blade. His nostrils flared from the
stinging sensation, but he didn't look at me. Did he even feel
pain?
    "You've followed me for days, and
I've followed you as well. Now here we are. I know how many fucking
women you've stolen, James . I'm not stupid. I know your
fucking game. I know what kind of monster you are."
    With the sound of his name, he
looked at me.
    "Yeah. I know you're fucking name,
you worthless piece of shit. Twenty-seven women stolen from my
fucking streets. Twenty of them were raped and fucking flung to the
dogs. Do you think that is okay? Did I give you fucking orders to
take or kill anyone in this city? Let me think. No, I fucking
didn't, and the last time I remember, I ran the streets of
London."
    I placed the blade at the top of
his cheek and slid the sharpness down until I saw flesh and blood.
A sharp blade always made clean, deep cuts. His dark cold eyes
looked into mine, and I knew he had those qualities that made him
dangerous as he searched for my flaws and weaknesses. I had them.
Trust me. But I would never show my cards to a crazy bastard like
him.
    I placed the blade on his jugular
and pushed until little drops of blood dripped down his neck, then
whispered in his ear, "I have a hunch that you're the kind of guy
who does whatever the hell he wants. Lucky for you . . . I am the
same way. I can cut you from here to here and let your heart do all
the work. It will pump your blood until you choke on
it."
    I dug deeper into the skin on his
neck.
    "That girl. Lauren Baitey. She
will be dead within the next twenty-four hours. She was marked as
soon as she walked off of that plane," he choked out.
    I didn't give him the pleasure of
seeing the anger wash over me. I kept calm, and my face didn't
change. I was the master of many masks.
    "Remember the faces of the women
you’ve killed and sold. I hope they haunt you in hell. It's time to
meet your fucking maker." And with one swift motion, I grabbed the
back of his neck slit his throat as promised. The blood flowed into
the drain on the floor, and the sounds of gurgling filled the room.
Remorse . . . I felt none. Before I walked away, I wiped my blade
on the man's jacket and gave my men a nod. They knew what to
do—clean up the mess and get back to work.
    "Look for the others in his group.
I want them all dead." The knife easily slid back into the