The Evening Hunter [#3]

03|the Wrath

The song played again. A song that got stuck in my mind for over fifteen years. I was ten when I killed a woman. Something that I was forced to do. That day, Justin and I argued while in one of our Father’s Casinos, the argument involved killing women. My argument remained steady, that I can never kill a woman and a child.

Our father, the mighty King of the Irish mafia, heard it and I was given a huge test, to kill a waitress. I remember I refused, but my father forced some headphones in my ears and a song played. He urged me to let the song control me, a rock music that ached my ears. The guitars and the drums were so loud I could barely feel myself. So I shut my eyes, and I pulled a trigger, killing the waitress.

Since then, the song stuck in me, and every time I killed a woman, I would let the song play. It worked because I had over seventeen women down on the grave. They died in my hands, with the help of the song that only played in my head.

I drained the last drop of the petrol on her. I had noticed her body had slackened. But I could have continued spewing the fluid if I had more, I ran out of it and that angered me.

I furiously pushed her off, slamming her on the old wooden seat that she had been lying on. I tossed the can towards her, lucky for her that it hit the side of the bench and not her head.

Underground businesses in New York lay in my hands. I ran the city, ruling it in a power that threatened other mafia teams. 

New York had three main mafia teams, and the Irish Mafia had built roots that threatened other mafias. Now they were on my butt, finding all ways possible to bring me down, one way is setting me up to the police. 

The Irish Mafia and New York police were like fire and fuel. I knew how I played my cards to keep the police on the bay. Not letting them see my damn face, or know where I lived. But my wealth was like a sharp knife on everyone's chest.

The business needed brains, and I felt like the other mafia lacked brains.

But now I had a lead, one of a kind if you asked. They hit a jackpot, this one was to work.

They decided to bring in a goddess, she could have been out there dominating magazines, modeling her ass off to the world, but like the silly girl she was, she decided to want quick money. 

Her eyes had to be fake, green, round, and scared to stare. The way she blinked, as though to her I was invisible. Then when I spoke to her, she would stare at the door behind me. I could read her little brain, she was planning to run.

The last I murdered not long ago was blonde, fake blonde, fake gray eyes, and fake everything. She also dressed like someone who would run such businesses, but Miss ‘Green Eyes’ here decided to surprise me with a floral dress that sat above her knees, her hair falling on her shoulders, full and curvy. She came to me naturally, not knowing I valued business more than beauty.