Monster Of Ruin: A Dark Serial Killer Romance (The Dark Angels Book 4)
Monster Of Ruin: Chapter 2

One. Two. Three. You can try to flee. 

Four. Five. Six. I’ve got new tricks. 

Seven. Eight. Nine. You’ll soon be mine. 

“Justin Hart,” Phantom says.

We all glance at Phantom waiting for the intel he’s gotten on our newest target.

Target. I love that word. It always means I’ll get the chance to hunt.

My most favorite thing to do.

I’m not an evil man, even though I do evil things for the greater good.

A savior if you will.

A man who fights for the weak.

I should be called a goddamn hero.

A few years back my brothers and I created the Dark Angels. We’re a group of vigilantes that rids Black Falls of the evil lurking deep within the underbelly. The seedy many who escape the criminal justice system.

The system is so flawed.

Take my best friend, Trace Cummings, for example. He never hurt a soul in his life until he was accused of cracking some kid’s skull in the fifth grade.

In Trace’s defense the kid was a complete bully with a mean right hook to prove it. Trace didn’t do it.

How do I know he didn’t? Because I did.

Yeah, you heard that right.

I cracked that kid’s skull because he deserved it.

Either way, Trace was sentenced to two years in the Black Falls Juvenile Detention Center.

A year later, I’d join him there for another reason.

One I don’t like to talk about.

It was in the center where I met Phantom and Henley. Together, the four of us created a bond stronger than blood.

Thicker than the thickest material on Earth. Whatever that is.

Let’s just say, we became brothers in that place and vowed that nobody would ever escape the full extent of the law ever again.

The problem with the system is it locks away the innocent while the guilty pay big bucks to stay on the outside. Where they keep committing their crimes.

The Dark Angels are here to stop them.

And kill them.

Phantom doesn’t disappoint as he tosses a thick file down on the table with the name Judge Justin Hart at the top.

“Judge Hart’s a real corrupt piece of shit. This is only a quarter of his discretions. He doesn’t give a shit what crime has been committed, because money talks louder. Drug dealers, child molesters, rapists, all out in the wild because he took the payday over putting them away,” he states.

I light a cigarette and lean back in my chair in our meeting room in the back of my bar. Trapper’s Den. “I don’t need to hear anymore. Where the fuck is he?” I ask.

Phantom leans his arms on the table and grins, like he does every week once he’s got a new target for us. “He’s nowhere to be found. That pussy must be in hiding.”

The hunt—my favorite part.

“I’ll get on it,” I say, ashing my cigarette in the large ashtray in the center of the round table where me and my best friends sit.

Trace.

Phantom.

Henley.

Each of us are bad in our own way. Each of us are ready to ruin the world to keep it safe for those who can’t fight for themselves.

“Not this time,” Phantom says.

I slam my fist down on the table and narrow my eyes. “Don’t take this away from me. I’m the goddamn hunter. I’ll find the fucking prey.”

Phantom shakes his head, his dark hair not moving an inch as he does. God, how much pomade does he use? “That’s not what I’m saying. Justin Hart is nowhere to be found, but his daughter is. From all accounts you get her, and he’ll come running.” He tosses another file toward me and nods.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“His daughter.” Phantom’s smile grows across his face.

I grab the file and open it. A picture of a stunning beauty sits before me.

Wow.

Blonde hair like an angel. Blue eyes that jump off the page and make me feel like I’m looking at her in person. And the thing I like best is she has a set of kissable lips that make me want to press this photo to my own lips.

“Clara Hart’s info. Seems her mother was killed and I’m willing to bet my left nut that good ‘ol Judge Hart made that happen, but anyway, after her death, Judge Hart raised the girl. Looks as though he’ll do anything for her. Doting father who loves his little princess more than anything.” Phantom lifts his dark eyes to meet mine and shrugs a shoulder. “Go hunt her, Elliott, and once you find her, take her. Hold her hostage until Daddy comes running.”

A surge of adrenaline rushes through me. “Once I get her, she’s coming to the estate. Daddy won’t need to come running because I’ll get her to confess it all.”

All the guys around the table laugh a little.

Trace grins as he slaps my back. “Do your thing.”

I smash out my cigarette and cross my arms as they continue talking. I’m focusing on the bright colors of ink that trace down my right arm as I think about what I’ll do to Clara once I take her. I’m no longer listening as the excitement of the hunt rushes through me.

Phantom hands Trace a file with another name on it, but I’m not paying attention.

Trace will get his target and strangle the mother fucker within a few hours of leaving the meeting. He’s always the quickest to kill.

He gets off on it.

Strangling mother fuckers until he sees their life force leave their eyes.

Henley likes swinging a bat. While Phantom likes using a knife, but me, I dig the hunt.

I own a couple hundred acres of land and that’s where the real fun begins. Once I have my prey, I set them free—on my land. Sometimes I love the screams because there’s no chance in hell they’ll ever escape. There are traps everywhere and it’s a thrill waiting to see what one they will get caught in. A bear trap that crushes their leg? A snare that catches them around the neck? A deadfall trap which is my favorite. I’ve got plenty of heavy logs to fall onto my prey.

Sometimes I don’t even use traps at all. I’ll stalk my prey and just when they think it’s safe to take a sip of water from a stream, or take a break, I’ll line up my shot. Boom. And a bullet rips through their leg.

Once I’ve caught ‘em, I bring them back to the butcher shed. Just like any animal, they’re gutted, skinned, and cut up.

Sometimes I don’t even bother and just take them out to the woods to bury them up.

This is where I get very clever.

Usually when I know I’ll have a fresh kill, I make sure to have a dead animal on hand. A deer. A cow. Whatever’s around, really.

I’ll dig a deep hole. I’ll drop the body of the wicked on the bottom. Then I’ll cover him with about six feet of dirt and drop the wild animal body on top of that and cover with another six feet of dirt.

It helps in case there’s ever any cops on my property looking for bodies.

The sniffing dogs will lead them to the grave.

They’ll dig.

And when they reach the body of the animal, they’ll stop digging, thinking that’s what the dogs sniffed out.

I learned at a young age how to survive in the wild. My father was a hunter, my grandfather was a trapper. Every skill I’ve learned has been taught to me by them.

My grandfather came from money. The huge estate I live in and the hundreds of acres of property, that was his and when he died it was given to me.

My father didn’t like that. He felt he was the one who was owed the property.

He didn’t like much of anything.

He hated my mother. She killed herself when I was young just to get away.

He hated me, and he was the one who helped the cops when I got arrested and sent to juvie.

Fucker.

He loved my sister, however. Sara was his gem. It makes me sick just thinking about that prick and her.

I push the thoughts away and focus back on the picture of Clara.

This task I’ve been given to hunt down Justin Hart’s daughter has my pulse racing. This man is everything I hate – he’s like my father.

His daughter will be my decoy and once he comes running, I’ll decide what to do with her. If she’s guilty like her father, I may very well have my first female kill.

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“How drunk is too drunk when you’re looking to fuck?” Henley asks, perusing around the bar.

“If she’s stumbling or puking, I’d say,” Phantom replies.

It’s Friday night and once again, we’re all hanging out at the Trapper’s Den. I’m preparing myself for Clara. Henley’s looking to get laid.

I shake my head, sipping my beer. “You’re both fucking idiots. Chasing after a drunk woman is like hunting an injured animal. It’s too easy.”

Henley is joking, kinda.

Phantom is not.

Just like everything else in my life, I love the chase. A chick that makes you work a little.

It’s getting harder and harder to find someone like that. Not that any of us are looking for a relationship.

Trace laughs, taking a long pull from his beer. Normally he doesn’t hang out with us much because he’s a homebody who likes his pottery, or some shit like that.

Henley thinks Trace is too busy stalking his hot little neighbor to hang out with us.

I trust three people – Trace, Phantom, and Henley – that’s it. I know without a doubt that my back is always covered. There’s nothing that the four of us together can’t handle.

But I trust no one else.

When I fuck, it’s just that. There’s no feeling, no connection, no emotion. It’s the physical act of finding pleasure.

Don’t get me wrong, that physical act gives undeniable pleasure to me and her. I’ve never had a chick walk away that wasn’t thoroughly satisfied.

But they always walk away because that’s part of the deal.

I’ll give her a night she’ll never forget, but she has to understand it’s one night.

I’m not the kind of guy that needs to find the right woman and I’ll change. I have no interest in the emotional side of being with someone. To do that, there has to be trust and like I said I trust no one.

Henley laughs and scrubs a hand down his face. “I think I’ve had one too many.”

I roll my eyes and stand up. “Let’s go before you bring too much attention to us.”

“Fuck off, Elliott. If anyone brings attention to us it’s you. I’m happy and outgoing. You’re moody as fuck and withdrawn.”

Phantom grabs him as he stands and almost tips over, so I ignore his fucking comment. He’s not gonna remember it tomorrow.

“Good luck with that mess tonight,” I say, following them through the crowded bar.

The Trappers Den is my bar. Being independently wealthy has its benefits, and buying this bar is one of them. The immense amount of cash that comes in funds anything we could possibly need without ever worrying about my large inheritance ever running dry. Not only that, but it’s the perfect cover for our meetings. We needed somewhere private where no one would find to discuss our targets. I created a room off my office for this to happen. It’s hidden and only the four of us know it exists. Anyone else who walks into the office would never suspect there’s a hidden door in the bookshelf.

Lowell is the bartender that I hired to run this place. He does it all from handling the alcohol orders to opening and closing. He’s a cool guy but the thing I like best is he has major respect for all four of us. He never asks questions and does the job he was hired for while I’m pretty much the silent owner.

“Yeah thanks,” Phantom says, breaking my thoughts.

He’s keeping a tight hold on Henley as we approach the exit.

But I stop in my tracks when I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand. I slowly turn and search around the bar to see what the hell is causing this reaction.

Just when I think maybe I shouldn’t have had one beer, I get a rush of adrenaline.

“Clara Hart,” I whisper, staring at my prey.

She has no idea as she tosses back a shot and I cross my arms watching. The photo I saw of her does her no justice. This girl is fucking stunning. Her long blonde hair draws your eyes to her tits that are nearly spilling out of her shirt. She’s showing so much skin it’s not hard to imagine her naked and it’s a damn good image.

“Shots on me,” she yells, causing a loud cheer from all the drunk assholes lining around the bar.

Her soft voice wraps around me, and I grind my teeth together.

Just because she looks like a fantasy fuck, doesn’t change a thing.

She’s mine, and now I have my sights on her.

Like an injured animal, she’s going to make this too damn easy.

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