Fran betas. Jill, Ariel, and Pearly preread. I love you all but I don't own any of this.


The first man I killed died with dignity. He refused to succumb to my persuasion, my need for justice overriding my need to have my victim understand why they found themselves in the position they did. When he took his last breath, he still thought I was just some crazy, psycho bitch who had lost her mind after heartbreak.

He wasn't far off my mark, but there was a method to my literal madness.

It wasn't until a few kills later, after I really honed my craft and nailed down my process, that I went after him.

The man that started it all.

My lifelong sweetheart.

He never took a thing from me. I gave it all willingly. My heart, my love, my smiles. My first kiss. First dance. First date. First time. My body, mind, soul, and everything in between.

My heart wasn't broken because so many years had been wasted. It was broken because all I ever did was give, and look where it got me?

No, I would never give again. I would only take. I had earned that, I thought.

The closest I get to giving anymore is the occasional sessions of fucking I periodically indulge in with my victims prior to their death.

Even then, I'm taking their pleasure. It doesn't matter to me if it's good for them, but a woman has needs. I'm using them the same way I was used for years.

Still, I take my precautions. There's always a condom involved that I dispose of separately from the crime scene, and I always entice them into a shower afterward to clear away my DNA.

And I never kill them on their home base. Nor do I sleep with them all, far from it. Only a select few. So even should DNA be found down the road, it would merely look like a fling picked up from the bar.

That's all they think I am, too.

They don't know the Reaper has shown up for them until I want them to.