Hands Of The Killer Novels & Stories

“I don’t care if he’s half-dead.” Rigor nodded and left. I sat back, smoke curling around me as I tried to steady my thoughts. That shipment cost me millions. Worse …it made me look weak. And The Killer thrives on that. The door opened again. They dragged the survivor in. What was left of him. One leg gone. One eye missing. Both hands severed, clean cuts, precise. Surgical. The Killer signature. I didn’t flinch. “Did you see his face?” I asked calmly.

It was obvious they had suffered and she would make sure that the person who did this suffered too. "Boss, we need to take her out now", a boy I hadn't heard enter the room, shouted over my growls. The child made the mistake of encasing his half-shifted hand onto my right shoulder, a warning. Without hesitation I was twisting under his arm and ensuring a steady grip around his throat, before throwing his back first onto the thick desk. His body weight crushing the last evidence of my murdered family beneath him. The thought enraged me more and I was about to rip his throat out, when I felt the first silver chain wrap around my chest, restricting my arms to my sides – burning through my skin.

I watched with growing unease as he swiftly bent down, his nostrils flaring. His hand reached out towards the dead man and I noticed the slight shaking of his fingers but tried not to say anything. I couldn't see him in pain. He grasped one pale blue hand and pulled down the sleeve to look at the wrist, looking for rope bruising which would give us a clue about whether the man was bound and tortured and then killed or killed right before the killer removed his eyes. There were no marks on his skin and I sighed as he let his hand drop.

I removed my hands around him making him fall forward on his knees. I stared at my bloodied hands which has already been a familiar sight. My body runs cold as I stared at his dead body and I just couldn’t think. Everything just turned silent and loud all the same. This isn’t the first time that I have killed someone just so I could survive, but just because it wasn’t my first time it doesn’t mean that I feel good doing it. I frantically ran to the sink to wash the blood off my hands. I feel sick as I strongly rubbed my hands together like I’m trying to peel my skin off.

I can still breathe, but it hurts when I take air from my life force. The gesture's recognizability keeps me immobilized; it's almost as if he pressed a button, and I couldn't move even if I wanted to. His hands have always had a certain quality. His fingers look lengthy and manly, like those of a gentleman. Still, they are the same fingers that have instinctively pulled innumerable triggers. Hands of a murderer and a merciless one at that. His lips come close to my ear as his head drops. "When they taught you how to kill, you didn't think they were filthy."

He looked at his hand like he was seeing double, like the alcohol was still at work. “When you go to hell…” I held the extremely sharp knife handle and dragged it forward with it still in his hand so it was now cutting his left hand into two from the middle, “Ask the demons and other members there who touched Elsa Reed exactly what happened to them and how they died. You’d know I’m currently doing you a favor.”

I suggested, a sardonic grin playing upon my lips. Swiftly, I acted – pressing the cutter against his pinky and severing it. But my actions did not halt there. In a single motion, I cleaved off all his fingers, a visceral display of vengeance. From pinky to thumb, they fell. In a matter of seconds, the horrific scene unfolded as his right hand lost all its fingers. My gaze remained fixed on the grisly spectacle, blood dripping down while his severed fingers landed at my feet. Raffaele's hand hung in front of him, a portrait of shock. Then, as the waves of excruciating pain crashed over him, his shock transformed into a primal roar.

The kind of quiet that is a pause inside a sentence, not a period. The door clicked. He came through it. The silver caught the hall light and threw it back at me, bright and old, and the Verdict Killer walked back into my living room with the same unhurried ease he had left it with. He had taken his gloves off at some point. I had not seen him do it. His hands were bare now long fingers, one small white scar across the knuckle of his right thumb and clean. The skin of a man who had not hurried through whatever he had just done.

I responded in between breaths, I felt his hand slowly crawl up to my waist and then his body on my back side as he came closer. And then, a shrieking sound came through and the hand with the warmth his touch brought disappeared in an instant, that was when i noticed the shrieking sound was from him. I instantly whirled behind and my eyes widened when the i saw him. My entire body went to a halt, a state of shock, Louis in all his glory, his tall height and broad shoulders over his round neck polo that enveloped almost everyone at the club, his hands folded into fists on either side of him, his angry… no, furious gaze on me, his once sky blue eyes were now pure black, screaming bloody murder

They couldn’t understand why someone would go this far to kill her. Felix thought for a moment and added, "This reminds me of two old cases from five years ago. One victim had their hand chopped off after death, and another had both their ears cut off. Both victims were strangled to death as well." "Have those cases been solved?" "No, they’re still cold cases." Caitlin asked, "Since the method is the same, could the killer be the same person? Could they have killed again after five years?" "It’s possible," Felix said.