Killer Instinct Read Free Page A

with for years and have only mildly satiated. Tonight is the night I completely fulfill that dark, missing side of me that has persistently been clawing at my insides. I want to do this. I have to do this.
    When I feel ready, I climb from the Jeep and stay to the shadows as I approach the house. At eleven in the evening no one’s out in the sleepy, family neighborhood.
    I skirt along the side yard and make my way to the back door.
    Years ago Victor taught me how to pick a lock. It was all for fun, of course. He had no clue I’d really be using the skill.
    He also taught me how to shoot.
    I crouch at the back-porch door, fumble with the pick, and accidentally drop it through the wooden slats beneath my feet. Dammit.
    I step down and scramble through dirt and leaves, looking for my pick. I’m such an idiot. I can’t believe I dropped the pick. I push aside more leaves. Where is it? There! Its silver glints a teeny bit in the moonlight, and I reach for it, noting my hands are shaking. No, no shaking hands. Be calm.
    I pick it up and fist it tight to not only force my hands to stop trembling but also to ensure I don’t drop it again. Next time I’ll pack two.
    I crawl back up onto the porch and concentrate on a steady hand as I try again. The lock makes a silent click ,and beneath my mask I smile.
    I step over the threshold, silently close the door, and immediately hear classical piano. I give myself a second to orient and slowly head toward the music. Halfway down the hall, I stop, close my eyes, and blow out a very—long—calming—breath.
    My eyes snap open, and I focus on candlelight flickering from a room just ahead. A vanilla scent wafts through my senses. As I draw closer, I hear whimpering and the sound of clanking metal. The two combined mute the throb in my ears and have me stepping through the doorway.
    The Weasel stands in a shirt and boxers, with a face mask of his own and his pecker hanging out. The woman lies naked and handcuffed to the bed, gauze shoved in her mouth.
    She sees me and immediately starts thrashing.
    The Weasel turns, and through the face mask he wears I see his eyes widen.
    This is it echoes across my mind, but I don’t move. The Weasel seems confused for a second, then quickly snaps back to reality and makes an awkward lunge for me. I clumsily dodge away. Face your attacker . My sensei’s words float through my brain. I’m doing everything wrong. I’m in the opposite direction!
    I redirect and go toward him, blunder with the snap on my cargo pocket, and yank out my Taser. He tackles me to the floor. Umph! All the air leaves my lungs, and somewhere in the back of my mind I think, I should’ve had the Taser out and ready.
    We roll a few times across the floor, our panting breaths filling the air. He lands on top of me and reaches for the Taser at the exact second I remember my death grip on it. I raise it up, point it toward his back, and hope to God it doesn’t hit me, too. I squeeze the trigger, barbs fly out, and his whole body arches away from me.
    That was close. Too close.
    With a grunt, I shove him off me and scramble to my feet. My heart kicks into overdrive as I watch his full body spasm and listen to his shrieks. Slim justice.
    I take in the barbs suctioned to his butt and lower back and experience a moment of both gladness that I hit him and disappointment that it wasn’t his pecker I pinged. I’ll have to practice my aim.
    Before the .3 joules runs its course, I turn his short pudgy body over onto his stomach, and like I’ve seen cops do on TV, I use zip ties to secure his wrists, thighs, and ankles. I pull extra tight. Probably too tight, but I don’t care. So what if his extremities experience blood loss.
    I pick up the Taser and give him another jolt just to see him spasm, just to hear him yell, and to surge the blood through my veins again. His limp pecker catches my eye, and pure adrenaline spikes every nerve in my body as a new thought springs to life.
    On the