BOUNTY HUNTER

Reed Dammington

“Please. I didn't do anything. Don’t hurt me please” I watched the *ssh*l* beg for his dear life, fuelling that f*ck*d *p need in me to kill. Blood rushed through my veins, adrenaline pumping from his every sob, making me eager to end his suffering. I walked away from him, in a bit to calm myself, because while I enjoyed his suffering like the f*ck*ng psycho that I am, I wanted it to last longer.

I picked up a pair of pliers and walked back to him. His left eye had already turned dark from my fist repeatedly smashing against it.

“Please, spare my life” he begged further and I ignored his cry. I held him by the hair and forcefully yanked his head backwards, causing him to yell out in pain and granting me access to his mouth, which has been my target.

"You have a fetish for biting women, how about I fix that for you?" I whispered and carefully positioned the pliers on one of his big front teeth. More muffled pleas spurred out from his mouth and again, I ignored it.

I took my time in pulling out his teeth, making his pain last longer and the sound of his screams making me go high. His teeth fully out, I threw it aside and yanked his head backwards, ready to pull out the other big teeth. But I was fast this time and as soon as I was done and releasing his head, the b*st*rd dropped to the ground.

"You have got to be kidding me" I hissed out in annoyance, coming down from my high. I brought my hand to his neck, checking for a pulse and when I couldn't find any, I rolled my eyes.

"F*ck*ng *ssh*l*. Couldn't be a man and take all the pain" I cursed out. I stood next to the lifeless body, wondering if it was worth continuing with what I had in store for him or figuring out another means to get off the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

Soon, my phone begins to vibrate. I pull it out of my pocket and answer without looking at the caller ID. Very few people had my private line, so I knew it was someone close to me calling.

"RD" I murmured my signature greeting once the phone was pressed to my ear.

"Why can't you say hello for once, like every other normal person would?" At the sound of Harnoid's voice, I rolled my eyes.

"What do you want?" I hissed out, still very pisssed off at the fact that I couldn't carry out my plans.

"Wow, calm down. I was just calling to make sure you haven't decapitated him" There was amusement in her voice as she spoke and that irked me. Rolling my eyes further, I cursed at her and then hung up the call, trusting that she'll get the hint and send someone to clean up.

I took out a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and lit it, inhaling the smoke and letting it burn my throat. After three more drags, I relaxed.

Shooting one last look at my victim, I cursed again before walking out of the premises, leaving his lifeless body there.

This side of town was known for gang fights, drug traffickers and whatnot, so I wasn't in the least bit worried about the b*st*rd's death being traced back to me. They'll most likely assume it was a gang fight gone wrong. And if there was anything linking me to him, I trust Harnoid to make it disappear.

The night breeze is cooler this season, and some wear coats, while others pick to wear pants or long jeans. I was wearing dark from head to toe. It's not on the grounds that I favor the variety — it's exclusively on the grounds that seeing the blood is more earnestly.

Blood splatters and the stains stick.

In the event that I wore a white shirt, as I have once previously, blood is a born b*st*rd to get out. It waits where it's not needed. Also, I would wind up tossing that shirt out. Doesn't help I can't wash my clothes to save my life. But, black, all things considered, it's more straightforward. It's additionally better for mixing in. Also, presently, my closet comprises of dark for comfort.

I walked towards my car when I caught sight of something. Or rather, someone. A young girl, mostly in her mid-twenties, had a handbag pressed to her chest as she nervously scurried away, every now and then, looking behind to make sure she wasn't being followed.

And then, three men appeared all of a sudden and she fastened her steps. Soon enough, they were catching up with her and she began sobbing.

"Please don’t hurt me" was all I heard before I decided it was time for me to step in. My time with the *ssh*l* ended sooner than I'd hoped for, but God in his infinite mercy, sent me three more toys to play with.

"Why don't you three boneheads grow some balls and pick on someone your size?" all three of their gazes turn to me while I put off my cigarette.

I felt her scarred gaze on me and I looked past the assholes to her. Her eyes were blue? Perhaps green? I couldn't be certain for sure and it didn't help that she immediately ran away, leaving me with my newest plaything.

"What did you say, d*ckh**d?" one of them questioned as they approached me.

"Three men against one woman is a d*ck move, especially when she isn't interested" I replied calmly. Adrenaline began to rise again as I anticipated all the ways I was going to end their suffering.

They were quite built, three, maybe four inches taller than me, but I knew I could take them down. It's not about the size, it's all about the technique, and with how they approached me, I knew they didn't have that.

They were thinking it was probably going to be another street fight. You know, the typical exchange of blows here and there, but there were wrong.

As soon as the first one approached me, my knife was slicing with precision through his throat. With the other two, I exchanged a few blows and it's disgraceful to say, none of them got a punch in. Soon enough, my knife punctured through one's neck, causing blood to spatter and landing on my face. And with the other, I aimed for his kneecap.

He screamed and I smiled in relief. I stood up, lit another cigarette and after taking two drags, I walked away in the same direction as the girl, in hopes to figure out the colour of her eyes.

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ZinniaI stood behind the counter of Brookside Club, bored out of my mind. I watched men in three dollars tailored suits and women in one-dollar cougar-styled dressing walk up to the bar, ordering whiskey on the rocks in an attempt to fit into a lifestyle that isn't meant for them. But this is Brookside, a shitty club on Sunday Avenue. I returned every smile that was shot my way, even though I was ready to call it a day and return to my one-bedroom apartment and lay my broken bones on my tattered four-poster bed. "Hey Zinnia, table five wants a double shot of cider" Alex, my co-worker and the closest thing I have to a friend, leaned on the counter as she spoke. I nodded and quickly got the order started. Soon enough, I was walking to table five."A double shot of cider for two gentle men." I forced a smile on my face as I placed the drinks on the table. They were far from being gentlemen. Not to be stereotypical, but the overgrown bear