no control

• three •

Some would be ready for me, but most would not.

The Vampire was known for dropping by at any hour of the night and snatching life from his victims like the grim reaper. They only wished I was the grim reaper while I bled them like animals and danced in their excretions.

Forcing myself to sit at the desk again, I removed a can of coffee from one of the drawers and guzzled the liquid down.

My stomach burned, probably from not eating in hours, but I felt the caffeine surge through my bloodstream.

I managed to put off most of my tantalizing thoughts in order to work through several ledgers and client engagement files. At half past six, I turned off my monitor and locked the door to my office.

I traded my shirt and trousers for my black baseball cap and black long-sleeve coveralls and boots. I slipped a pistol into the inside of the waist and a variety of knives elsewhere.

A gun would also be my last resort. There was no thrill in shooting something. It was so . . . impersonal.

I needed to see pain and fear in someone's eyes before I tore their world apart. Any other way was like killing a cow without butchering the meat or tanning the hide. It ruined the purpose of the kill entirely.

After eating a quick bite of leftover chicken and vegetables, I headed to the adjoining garage and got into my blacked-out Suburban. I turned off my phone and started towards the regional airport in town.

The 20-minute drive passed in silence while my thoughts rambled. Everything in me ached to turn around and find my angel. Each passing minute without full awareness of her existence made my nerves tighten and my blood pressure spike.

A very thin strand of self-control dragged me to the airport. As soon as I turned onto the tarmac, a Cessna touched down. I parked by my private hangar and called one of my men at the warehouse. While it rang, my eyes followed the small white aircraft roll toward me.

"Aaron," he answered calmly.

"It's me," I said. "Get the gates ready. They're taxiing over."

"Yes, sir."

I stepped out of the car and smoothed a hand through my hair. The plane stopped under the cover of the hangar.

After a few moments, the door opened and a wiry white-haired man in a black tracksuit popped out. He waved at me.

"Come on, man! You're gonna love this."

Sighing, I stalked over to the place.

Benjamin was one of the very few people I tolerated on a semi-regular basis. I didn't trust anyone and I certainly didn't like anyone, but he was generally tolerable.

He showed me the storage components in the back of the plane. I checked over the inventory for holes or leaks in the cellophane but the boxes looked fine. He knew I would go into a rage if anything was out of place or destroyed. I had little tolerance for error, especially when it came to business.

"Whatcha think?" he asked with a grin. "Notice the extra few ounces?"

I shot him a dark, warning look. "Lower your voice."