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I’m beyond frustrated at this point in my life. If this was one of those mundane nine-to-five jobs, I’d resign or put a bullet in my head.
The little voices inside me wail every day that I’ve been forced to be so bored. They beg me to do something, anything.
Even if it’s to go down a dark alley in the middle of the night just to slice a couple of would-be mugger’s throats.
But no.
I have to be on good behavior.
I have to be accounted for.
Now that I’m in the city, the bosses have to know if I want to go out and kill someone.
This is like any other corporate job, I guess.
I have responsibilities.
Fuck, I need to hurt something for the sheer pleasure of it.
But like it or not, there is no choice to simply part ways. I don’t get to see what other companies are offering to their employees.
Once you’ve been born in this family, you die in this family.
Leaning my head back, I rub at my temples.
Eventually they’ll have to ship me off to Saint Hannah’s Asylum. I’ll look fantastic in one of those gowns they make the patients wear with my muscular ass hanging out in the breeze.
I wonder if they’ll give me a child’s squirt gun when I want to feel like my old self again.
“You do know, Thaddeus, I no longer need a chauffeur to drive me around the city, don’t you?” I ask and pull my Glock out of its holster.
The resounding silence could mean multiple things. Such as he knows and tomorrow he’s done.
Or that I’m better off just shutting the fuck up.
Checking the sliding action of the gun, I make sure there’s no hitch in its motion. It wouldn’t do to have a dirty gun foul up on me. We may only be going into the office, but if the scar in my shoulder muscle is proof of anything, it’s that we still must be vigilant.
The cunt that shot me is still out there, somewhere. And while I do plan on putting a discreet hole between her eyes, I haven’t found her yet.
She seems to have mysteriously dropped off our radar.
I’m itching to get reacquainted with her. She shot me through the shoulder, after all. Put a hole in my body and took a piece of me.
I want my pound of flesh back.
My cock almost aches with the thought of finding her. Not in any sort of sexual way, but in a more primal way. My cock aches to feel her flesh being flayed from her body one strip at a time.
Is it arousal I feel when I take a life?
I don’t think so.
Do I feel arousal at other times, when I’m not removing someone’s soul from this world?
Of course.
But it’s the act of removing someone from this world who’s long been a thorn in my side that makes me giddy as fuck. Giddy enough that I may have to find relief as soon as it’s over with.
We pull into the underground parking lot, and I watch as our small security team sweeps the undercarriage of the SUV we’re riding in.
