KATHA

1 KALKI - SERIAL KILLER

I was by no means a good man.

I had a rule book as thick as my cock and I followed it through. That's what got me to where I was with my fist closed tight around the throat of Bombay in the first place. And the first rule was to never chase after a woman. Ever. Except to close a business deal or to send her off to my facility in Lonavala for treating rabid bitches. Because the second rule was to never kill a woman. In my seven years of hustling around the slums of Bombay and five years of owning the goddamn city, I never raised a hand on a woman. Or a gun for that matter. I was proud of that.

Again, it did not mean I was a good man.

I'd cut a man open with a knife and cut through my dinner with it the same night.

And I was certainly not the one to lose. But I had the patience of a saint. I swear.

It'd been five months since my brother, Sirish, was murdered.

It'd been three months since I got leads on the murderer.

One month since I found out it was a serial killer.

Three weeks since I figured it was a woman.

If the schoolgirl uniform was any indication.

I'd been chasing after her out of curiosity, frustration, and just because I could.

She killed three more men since she murdered my brother.

The same way. Each man had his eyes sewn open and mouth swen shut, his pectorals flayed, his hands chopped off, his blood sprayed across the room, and yes... my personal favorite... his dick chopped off and stuffed in his mouth.

Don't ask me how I handled my brother's mutilated corpse.

Because I didn't.

It wasn't his... situation that repulsed me. It was his entire existence that I despised.

It didn't matter that he fell into the hands of a serial killer. Good fucking riddance. I was going to dispose him off anyways. Several women had reported disturbing sexual harassment and rape cases after visiting his club downtown.

My club that he'd been overseeing.

I burned the entire establishment to it's fucking foundation.

Anyways, back to our lovely little serial killer.

I'd been tracking her, my whole security on her back but somehow the woman managed to outsmart my entire crew. Apparantly a useless bunch that liked to call themselves the Aces of the field. Aces, my ass. My Indie dog, Tillu, did a better job than them considering he was the one to pick up her scent and led me to her. I only managed to get a glimpse of that tall woman in pigtails.

A woman a serial killer ? Bombay finally had something worth it's hustle.

"I lost her, man," Spoke Kisan on the phone. That man had one job. I frowned, twirling the blood soaked knife in my bloodstained fingers. Thunderous sheets of rain were currently descending upon the city like a vengeful goddess... I couldn't waste time as I needed to finish what I'd started before the electricity went out. The celler I was in was dim, filled with stench of burnt flesh and blood and wails of agony. There were two chairs, a man on the floor flat on his stomach with hands tied behind him and rows and rows of torture devices displayed proudly on the ceiling high shelf.

I had one foot in a pool of blood and the other digging through burnt flesh like heated knife through butter.

"So you're telling me that you, a man on a customised motorcycle who is also a street racer, lost a woman dressed in a school uniform and high heeled boots riding a bicycle while holding a big knife in one hand ? I think it's high time you consider the bathroom cleaner job I offered you last week." I pressed the heel of my shoe down on the British man's burnt hand, I felt the melted skin leave his bones from under the force. His screams echoed through the celler, and I scrunched up my nose. The burnt smell of flesh was too much, and my evening snacks threatened to come out through my throat. I tortured hundreds of men but the smell... Goddess... I never got used to the smell, especially the stench of burnt flesh. But burning was much more effective and time efficient than cutting skin.