Darkness does not unexpectedly consume you. It's not something you stumble upon, it's something lurking deep inside you, waiting to be released.
The smelly man, whom Eden Summers was currently giving a private dance to, dug his fingers into her hips roughly and pulled her down onto his lap, she gritted her teeth and knocked his hands away. "No touching," she warned, her hair falling in a dark curtain around her face.
"That's not what daddy says though, is it?" the man breathed as he pulled her back down into his erection and ground himself against her ass.
The sick feeling was back—had it ever really left?—and she threw her elbows back, both connecting with the man's chest. He let out a loud yelp and reached out, catching her around the waist as she stood. "I'm not done with you yet," he purred, lips grazing the shell of her ear. Her heart caught in her throat. Eden pried his arm from around her waist and stood fast, scowling bitterly as she walked out the foul VIP room and into the smoky, loud bar. She had taken only three steps in her high heels when she came face to face with that man she was forced to call her father.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he snarled, grabbing her upper arm and stopping her from taking another step.
"I have an exam I need to study for—"
Her attempt at escape was short lived, however, by a harsh laugh.
"What? Still dreamin' of college?" he mocked, fingers still digging into her arm. "They don't accept brainless whores like you there."
She clenched her jaw and yanked her arm free from his firm grasp. He'd give her enough bruises to last a lifetime.
"If you go," her father said with a smirk, "you know who'll replace you."
Eden's stomach fell, hopelessness and guilt now pouring in. She stared at her father's sneering face and shook her head in revulsion. "She just a kid, you sick bastard. Your kid!"
His lips curled. "She's almost the same age you were when you started working for me. Except she's got a nicer rack and that fresh meat smell. The men would just ruin her."
The bile crept up her throat and the tears stung behind her eyes. She balled her fists, her long nails digging into her palms to keep the tears at bay. "You're disgusting. She's your daughter!" An edge of pleading filled her voice and she hated it. She hated showing him how vulnerable she could be.
"Blood doesn't mean shit to me," he laughed, his eyes raking up and down her body as if to prove his sick claim. "Either you get your fat-ass back in there and give that gentleman what he paid for, or I'll go home and get your little sister so she can do it."
Eden, her stomach twisting at the thought of her sister's fate rather than her own, screwed up her face, blinked back the tears, and swallowed what little pride she had left, because her little sister would not become the next Eden Summers. She would not let Lily become some cheap whore their father used to pay rent and aid his drinking fund.
Eden walked out the back door and down the dark alley, a sour taste in her mouth and a bitterness in her heart. She wanted him dead. She'd always wanted him dead. She'd told her mother that once when she was five and earned a slapped her across the face. But that only made Eden hate them both. She didn't cry at her mother's funeral, and she wouldn't cry at her fathers.
"Hey, baby, why don't you give me another dance?" a man called out.
She flinched, her steps faltering slightly. She looked up. Three men were leaning against the alley wall, two of whom she'd served in the VIP room that night. She took a deep breath as she passed them, her head hanging low.
"Hey, bitch, we're talking to you," a second guy slurred.
She drew in a shaky breath and continued on, her eyes darting nervously around the grimy alleyway for a makeshift weapon she could use if they tried something. They almost always tried something.
Eden's eyes locked onto a pipe just as she heard the shuffling footsteps behind her, she bent down and snatched up a bent pipe, then spun around fast, swinging the metal pipe violently at the oncoming footsteps. She hit one of the men in the stomach who swore on impact. She took a few steps back, distancing herself from the man before spreading her feet for a better stance and gripping the pipe tighter in her trembling hands.
"Stop," she spit out, her hands shaking more noticeably as she rose the pipe above her head. Blood was pounding in her ears, her breathing erratic and loud.
"I get it," the man said mockingly, "you're too good for us now that you're off duty." He took a step toward her, digging in his pocket, he pulled out a couple crumpled bills and threw them at her feet. "There, I paid. Now come here and let me show you a good time." He took another step toward her; she backed away, fear eating her alive, knowing she wouldn't win this fight, knowing it was about to happen again.
"Just grab the bitch already," one of the men shouted, pushing off the alley wall and stalking slowly towards here.
The other whistled his approval and brought a cigarette to his lips.
Three against one. She wouldn't even be able to knock one of them out. She didn't have any self-defense training; all she had was what she'd seen in action movies and later executed in her locked bedroom at night.
The man took several more steps toward her, a sinister smirk playing on his lips in the dim light, then he reached out for her. She swung the pipe like a baseball bat and hit his forearm, he make a noise between a grunt and a laugh and kept coming, she swung again, this time aiming for his chest. It made contact and he stumbled back, but one of his friends was close behind. She crashed the pipe again, more viciously this time, and aiming for his head. The sound it made as it connected with his head made her stomach churn, but he crumpled to the ground and she had one less predator to worry about hurting her tonight.
"You're really gonna wish you didn't do that," the nearest man spat. The adrenaline was coursing through her veins, but this man was built like a wall and small blows to the arms didn't seem to do anything to help her. She swung the pipe back then smashed it into his stomach, but as she went for the another blow, he snatched ahold of the pipe, pried it from her hands and threw it to the ground with a clatter. Her eyes widened and she backed up.
He roughly gripped her face with his hand so she'd look up at him; he grinned like Christmas had come early and she was the present he'd asked for. He backed her against the alley wall and moved his forearm so it was crushing against her windpipe, she gulped for air but none would come. Not again, please, not again, she thought desperately, hands clawing at his arm helplessly.
"Grab the fucking pipe, Greg," he spat. "Just in case the whore tries something." His free hand worked his belt, Eden jerked against him, one hand coming up and clawing at his throat, the other trying desperately to pry his arm off her neck. "Quit struggling," he panted as he yanked his pants down. She froze. Held her breath. Willed him away. But he was still there. He was still too strong.
His hand freed the button of her jeans and everything in her screamed. She thrashed against him, raising her knee to his groin. He scowled and tripped backwards enough for the air to fill her gasping lungs once more. She stomped her foot against his kneecap, causing him to take stumbling steps backwards. The man glowered down at her, his hand already ripping her closer by her hair when a blade pierced through his chest, shinning with moonlight and blood, before disappeared back out just as quickly as it had come. Dark, gushing blood followed. The man's lifeless body wilted at her feet, the pool of blood already seeping through the toes of her cheap heels.
She stared at the man on the ground with wide eyes and a slack mouth, not believing what had just happened. Eden looked up—terror in her large eyes—and met dark, menacing ones only feet from her. Her breath caught in her throat and she flattened herself back against the wall, trying to think of anything but the blood at her feet and the killer in front of her.
The man, his eyes still on hers, pulled out a cloth and wiped the blood from his machete, then put the weapon back in its place on his black leather suit.
He took a step tentative towards her, jaw locked as he examined the trembling woman. She was the one he wanted, he was sure of it. She hadn't screamed, or pleaded, or run. She'd fought. And he needed a fighter.
"Stop," she breathed, not sure how she had the courage or breath to find the words. "Don't come near me." Her blurry eyes darted to the body lying at her feet and her stomach turned unpleasantly. She clamped her hand over her mouth and willed herself not to vomit or faint.
He stopped, his stare still fixed on her. "Are you okay?" His voice was deep and low and full of menace.
"If you don't hurt me," she said quietly, words muffled by her hand.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, although it didn't reassure her any; the man was a psychopath. He'd killed over thirty men in less than two months. "I don't hurt people like you."
She didn't say anything; she was afraid if she opened her mouth she'd vomit and add to the vile smell that was filling the air quickly, so instead she pressed her hand firmer into her mouth and watched man.
The police couldn't do much when it came to figuring out his identity, he'd have been caught already if it weren't for his black mask that covered all but his eyes, lips, and lower jaw. He hunted men at night, the moon's shadow playing tricks against his features making it difficult even without the mask hiding his identity. Sure, his hair was dark and showing, but the police hadn't ruled out the idea of him wearing a wig.
She swallowed down the bile. "Why are you still here? Isn't this the part where you disappear?" she asked with a shaky, stifled voice. His continues lingering worried her, she hoped he'd be the one disappearing, not her.
He took a half step toward her; she stiffened against the wall at his close proximity. He watched her face for a long time.
"What do you want?"
He started at the rising and falling of her chest with interest. "You."
She pressed her hand harder to her mouth, trying desperately to keep the vomit from crawling up her throat, but failing. She leaned forward, hands on her knees, and as her eyes met those of the man's lifeless body on the ground she threw up. Her hand was back at her mouth and she was trying urgently to move away from his body, while still keeping away from the murderer who'd just told her he wanted her.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, though she wasn't sure she was done vomiting; seeing any blood made her feel light headed, but on top of all that, a masked maniac said he wanted her. "I'm—I'm not what you want," she pleaded.
He stared at her, even now he knew she was the one. Even when she was begging. "I want your help," he clarified.
The terror in her face lessened, though not by much. She shook her head. "No. No. I'm not a... a murderer. I'm not like you. I was protecting myself, but you—it's like it's a sport to you."
"I'm getting rid of a problem," he said heatedly, eyes flashing behind his leather mask. She could hardly make out the whites in his eyes, let alone their color in the dark. "And it's a hard problem to get rid of. I'm not always in the right place at the right time, and woman like you get hurt or killed or sold or worse. So I may be a murderer, but at least I'm not one of the hundred rapists or pimps in this city that's targeting you."
She flinched at the harshness in his gravelly voice. She didn't know what to say, she hadn't know he'd been killing rapists, all she'd know was from the news, that he, whoever he was, was dropping a lot of innocent bodies. But if he were telling the truth, then those men were far from innocent and got what they deserved.
"They... they were all...?" she asked quietly.
He nodded, still watching her. "They were all bad people."
Eden didn't respond to him, but he continued to stare at her. "Thank you," she said finally, her heart wasn't in the praise, she'd said it mainly out of nerves.
He nodded again, his eyes still on her. "Does that mean you agree with me?"
Her mind wandered to its dark place. A place when a fifteen year old girl was forced to work as a stripper and raped by one of her fathers' customers. A place where her little sister was doomed the same fate. "Yes." It was hardly above a whisper and her voice got caught in her raw throat. She wasn't sure he'd heard her so she nodded.
He looked at her for a long time in the dim lighting. She really was lovely... with her long dark hair and her big green eyes. And she could take care of herself; she would be easy to train. He wanted it to be her. "Enough to help me?"
Her eyebrows knitted together and she pushed herself slightly off the wall. "What does that mean? Help you with what?" She wasn't really considering it, but it did, however, intrigue her.
"It's hard to be in the right place at the right time," he said again, this time with a deranged excitement that was only enhanced by his gruff voice. It made her hair stand on end. "But if I had help—"
"What are you going to do? Buy me a matching sword?" She knew she shouldn't be mocking someone so clearly unstable, but she couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth.
He pressed his lips into a tight line. She was feisty; it wouldn't be easy to persuade her, but he wanted her. Every second in her presence reassured him of that. He wanted it to be her. "No... Not that kind of help."
"Then what kind?"
His eyes roamed over her face. Stopping on her lips. "The kind I cannot do."
"What?" And then it dawned on her. "Be the victim? Bait?" she said with disgust and horror. "No," she breathed. "No. No way in hell! You're... you're crazy and sick and I am not helping you. Find another woman to corrupt." Her hands stared shaking at her side again, her heart slamming against her chest frantically. Get out of there before he doesn't take no for an answer, she told herself. She kept her eyes on his as she sidestepped away from him and the man lying on the ground, her back still pressed to the wall.
He stood still, watching with a tilted head as she put four or five feet between them before pushing off the wall and walking backward down the alley, keeping her large, frantic eyes locked on his.