IMPEDIMENTA

Chapter 3

"No s**t Obi Wan Kanobi."

"Isn't it Sherlock?"

I flip him off.

"No” I scoff. "It can be anything that I want it to be. And clearly you aren't Sherlock." I wave all over his body incredulously.

" What?! I'm so Sherlock! "

" Sherlock has at least 8 inches" The damn guy is clearly piss drunk to believe that.

"So?" Yep. Piss drunk indeed.

"Do you have 8 inches?"

A beat of silence. He pauses. "No"

"Exactly"

And I walk away.

Don't you just love picking a prick by the balls and leaving him speechless?

Coz I so freaking do.

If I can wipe the plastered grin off of my face maybe finding my next victim won't be so arduous. Who knew I’d actually be enjoying myself at this dump? I really need to give Vicky a slobbery smacking kiss on her cheek for dragging me by my hair to this place.

Ah, the lonely loners bar. What a great spot.

Word of advice? When a woman comes to a bar to drink and the guy offers her a drink 1. She just wants a free overpriced drink and 2. She's in need of a huge ego booster on her attraction scale. Me? Nah, I'm here for neither. Just wanna make some sly grins falter and fall. That in itself is a priceless sight. MY huge ego booster.

Ah, little Bo peep in shining Armani. Perfect. Let the roller coaster begin because I will certainly destroy his kinky expression like the death ride I’m known for.

Shit. s**t. s**t. Shitttt. He has one of the Bratz with him. What’s her name?...Sasha. (Not really, but I’d be damned if she wasn’t trying to be) Can’t he see past those violet almond-shaped eyes and her glossy full lips? Gah, men are so gullible. That just makes them the easiest targets. And on the flip side her hair totally gives her away. Her hair is in a messy bun. A messy bun!

You can tell a woman by the way she puts her hair up. If it’s a messy bun on top of her head, she’s eccentric and crazy. Bat s**t crazy with a bipolar attitude at times. If she does her bun in the middle of her head by the lower part of the parietal of the skull, she’s independent and a goodie two shoes. And if she does her bun at the bottom where the occipital is located, then she’s old school stern. Agh! That reminds me of my old elementary school teacher, Miss Berensky. I bet she finished her whole book of ‘condonable etiquette’ by now.

Liquid courage don’t fail me now.

“Hey, I’m so sorry but do you mind if I sit on this stool?” Said like sweet velvet rolled off my tongue.

“Oh no. Don’t mind me. Just carry on eating each other’s faces off."

They both glare at me.

“What? Oh sorry, I meant you can continue planting an unwanted growth of cells in her uterus.”

I’m almost 90% sure Armani here just vomited in his mouth and Sasha just damaged her eye sockets from popping her eyeballs too far out. They’re making it seem as if I told them that aliens are about to invade, Callum Scott is actually gay or even that a zombie apocalypse is about to happen (that would be freaking awesome by the way)

“Why are you guys acting so shocked? Don’t you’ll know the end result of the consummation process? Or do you want me to spell it out for you? B-A-B-Y”

Shame. Poor things. Guess two people in this club besides me, won’t get laid tonight. Oh yeah, and the bouncers. Kinda ironic, they’re not allowed to have s*x whilst on the job but their allowed to drink? This is an infamous kink club right?

1.40pm. I’ve been out for a whole 5 hours. It’s getting late. Or dare I say early?

Guess I’m heading home. The stone-faced building with only one level – ground level, that looks like a freaking brick was buried halfway into the ground (gravity is sooo my best friend) and a garden that spells “Man-made”. Are plants supposed to grow like they’re trying to reach their roots or look like they regurgitated the water I fed them into the soil so the insects and worms could drink it? I’m pretty sure they’re not. Guess I’m a plant killer. Hey, now I know why I never got into the Geography Society in school!

I’m dreading this. I don’t want to go home. It would mean my task begins. I would have to hunt. I would have to hunt them.

Oh did I forget to mention what I do in my spare time? Or more specifically what I am in my spare time? Well, isn’t it obvious already?

I’M A HUNTRESS.

I hunt the paranormal beings whose time on this Earth is almost up and who’s species needs to be disintegrated- fine destroyed. Really weird considering I’m a four-legged para-norm as well. Hey before you start accusing me of misleading you, when I said I was human I never said I was all human.

Have you ever felt compelled and obligated? Like it’s something you have to do. You have no choice. No escape. Something that’s forced into your life whether you believe in it or not. Well that’s my feelings towards this somewhat uncanny job.

It was written in my destiny to do this. To become this. From birth I’ve experienced nightmares of lives I’ve once lived. Recurring like a broken record. Actually, most of those occurrences weren’t lucid, they felt real. Like I was living it again. Feeling it again. Making those decisions again. In all those lives I was the hunted, never the hunter. Why is this life different? Why couldn’t the Moon Goddess give me a normal life where I can be the werewolf without being the werewolf killer?

Every minute of every day I curse myself for this life. It’s not torture per se but more like dull pain. Like the pain is normal, uncreative. I feel depression like everyone else, I feel heartache like everyone else. If I’m not normal like everyone else then why do I have to experience everything like everyone else? (oh damn. I really need to up my vocab)

That’s just f*****g wrong. Messed up. Unruly.

My task this weekend is no different from any other I’ve performed.

Select, track, corner, kill.

I never pick the weak to kill. I like my prey to fight. Battle. The stronger they are, the more they’d struggle, the more pain I can inflict, the more satisfactory to obliterate.

Mary-Anne Giovagnoli. Hmmmm, interesting surname. Her father’s a f*****g mafia king, so what’s daddy’s little princess doing here? I thought run-down market stalls were too low for them?

Her cherry blond hair and denim skinny jeans is making it very difficult to keep the downtown boys from staring at her. Ah, horny teens, when are they gonna get a life?! Guess that mean’s I’ll have to wait a while.

Oh wait, did I give you the background check on the Mafia princess?

Okay well, first off, her dad wasn’t a mafian leader, he was just a part of one of the gangs, the Slovak Mafia. Kind of weird considering he’s from Dublin and not Czechoslovakian. He made his way up through murder, manipulation and trafficking. He was one of 4 people in Europe that could perform a heist, kidnap over 168 gorgeous girls between 16 and 23, get the highest bids possible – like millions instead of thousands (makes you wander if those buyers are famous and not average wealthy people) and ship them halfway across the world to their selective buyers without the police or FBI getting a whiff off his scent. He left no evidence, not even a trademark to link him to the disappearances. For all they know, he was just a m*******a addict and dealer not a r****t and trafficker.

That’s actually how Mary-Anne came about. Her father bought Delila, her mum for over 20 mil(not like that would dent his pocket). She was his first slave. His first r**e victim. If you think these woman are bound to beds, starved and r***d profusely, then you’ve got another thing coming.

*mature content. Not for sensitive readers.

She was stripped naked, cuffed with silver around her throat, wrists and ankles (being part werewolf, silver was her weakness) and left to sit on the cold, cemented basement floor. She was kidnapped and sold around June so ‘feeling cold’ was a complete understatement. She was developing hyperthermia and pneumonia, if she hadn’t gotten it already. Fed once every second day a bowl of oat-meal to keep up whatever bit of strength she had left, for his ride. He kept her alive so it wouldn’t seem like he practiced n*********a. f*****g psychotic asshole. He belongs in a mental asylum like Mendonta not in a billion dollar mansion.

She was r***d, actually vandalized once every day. He didn’t dare encounter her more than that. He felt that if he met her once in the basement, he should make the most of it. When he vandalized her, he made sure she bled whilst feeling every part of her. And no, it wasn’t sensual feeling, it was rough and it bore her scratches. He would slit a bit of her thigh, breasts and occasionally just above her abdominal area, the sticky hot fluid that stuck in between their bodies made it sensual (he’s a sick f**k) and made him even harder when he took pieces of her dignity as he climaxed.

How the f**k do I know this? He made it known. The sick bastard broadcasted it over the seven f*****g seas. She was his captive for 12 years. That’s over 4 300 times she’s been r***d. And how did she get pregnant? Well when you thrust so f*****g deep into someone that’s bound to happen. Yeah, she got pregnant 4 times, all were miscarriages except for Mary-Anne. No he made sure that Delila was properly taken care of during her pregnancy.

Why this time? Well because it wasn’t his baby but the reigning Bulgarian mafian kings baby. The f*****g brute planned the whole thing. He took her to Bulgaria and ‘lent’ her to him. Now he manipulates him using Mary-Anne as leverage.

Daddy will do anything to keep his daughter safe, even if it is from the man she actually calls father.

If she’s here, maybe he’s here?

Perfect.

Let the f*****g hunt begin.