𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐘 (+𝟏𝟖)

CH. 10: BOUNDARIES

H U N T E R

I stand in the mirror, readjusting my tie for the third time. My reflection stares back, a composed exterior that disguises the relentless compulsion to recheck my appearance until I deem it satisfactory while the news anchor's voice fills the background.

“...Authorities are currently without leads in the murder of Seth Smallwood, whose death, along with two others, is believed to be the work of the infamous Long Island Reaper— a faceless boogeyman with fifty-four confirmed victims spanning from Suffolk to Nassau County. The Reaper's sudden return has left citizens on edge as investigators scramble for answ—”

I switch off the TV and toss the remote on the bed, having heard enough about the Reaper's latest handiwork, before turning back to the mirror.

The deaths had been the sole topic of conversation for the last few weeks. They can speculate all they want; it won't change the reality of the situation. The cops were just as incompetent as they were in 2010.

Smallwood's mother had been receiving everyone's sympathies, as they believed her to be a grieving parent who lost her son when in reality, she couldn't have been more indifferent. She didn't care what the morgue did with his body, nor did she plan a funeral. The woman had long since washed her hands of her son before the night I sanitized his blood from mine.

It had been 5 days, 6 hours, and 46 minutes since I last visited Mallory at St. Nico's. I gave her the space she needed, allowing her three days to physically recover and reflect on my offer, then gave her an additional 12 hours once she was cleared to go home.

When she didn't contact me on day four like she was supposed to, I fast-forwarded the process by sending that shitbird's severed hands— which I originally planned to keep as trophies— to her front doorstep.

I'll admit, using fear to expedite her decision was assholish of me. It was a dick move, but a necessary one to drive her towards me for protection, even if I was partially responsible for her overall distress.

As I anticipated, my plan worked; she wasted no time calling the next morning. She practically accepted my terms and agreed to meet me without reluctance.

Being as smart as she was beautiful, she accurately suspected that her stalkerish pen pal and The Reaper were one and the same—both, of course, being me.

Meanwhile, I, Hunter Sionis, was the Good Samaritan who saved her— her knight in shining armor, if you will. She wanted the job and sought security in me, unaware that all three of us were the same person.

Saving her was altruistic, but covering her hospital bills was a selfish act to make her feel indebted. She was financially vulnerable and I took advantage by offering her a job. It's also why I never left her lavish gifts. She would've sold them and I needed control of her avenues until all her roads led back to me.

It was a compulsive desire of needing her to need me. I didn't care if I had to be a fucking villain as long as she saw me as the hero in her story's point of view.

In truth, I didn't require a nanny for my son as my maid, Dolores, was already an excellent caretaker. I just needed Mallory near me so I could take back the shred of sanity that she stole by entering my life.

She had taken permanent residence in my thoughts without paying rent. I didn't think rationally as my last three kills weren't done out of retribution or even sick pleasure, but from a place of scorching fury.

I've experienced bouts of rage before; it was one of the few emotions I could actually feel. But this rage was of a particular breed and only invoked by the thought of another man near her, touching her.