Behind The Hands That Kill

(Note that the following books are not listed in any particular order. Also note that the following books are not the only books left in the series. Lastly, please note that as storylines progress in the series, some titles listed here, as well as the content accompanying them, may change.)

THE RED LOTUS - #??

“Life is not is journey, nor is it a destination, it is merely an experience in which no one possesses genuine control; paths are never chosen, but taken, blindly, as if walking through a dark corridor, barefooted, where the ground is soft in some places, but sharp, and missing, in others. There is no God; there is no puppet master pulling the strings; there is no Heaven or Hell; there is only Life and Death—all of the in-between is merely existence. Because, after all, a flower that grows in a meadow, is just a flower that grows in a meadow.”

The victim cries out as the blade splits his flesh, the hand that wields it, delicate and precise; the arm that moves the hand, frail and soft; the shoulder that connects the arm, dainty and flawless; the mind that controls it all, tranquil and unhinged.

“I’ll tell you aaanythiiing!” the victim screams, his voice booming in the small confined space. “What do you want from meee?! Unnn-Ahhhnnn!” He passes out from the pain, his head lolls to the side; blood from his missing teeth drips from the corner of his mouth onto the shiny metal table his body has been strapped to.

“I want the roots that give your petals life,” the Red Lotus answers, and continues cutting.

THE DARKEST HALF - #??

“Look at me, Fredrik,” Seraphina says; her slender fingers grip the man’s bloodied cheeks. “Look at me, my love—you can do this; you can because you’re strong, and because the demon inside of you is hungry”—she wrenches the man’s face, digging her fingertips into his flesh—“and it can’t live on blood alone. Mine never could.”

I never liked killing. Torturing, I could do—I had to do—but not taking lives. I was afraid of it, afraid of wearing the suit of God—it never fit right. I had killed before, many times, but only out of rage, or vengeance, and only those directly responsible for making me what I am. But this man, sitting naked at Seraphina’s feet, covered in blood and bruises, has never done anything to me. I don’t know him, aside from his criminal record.

“I thought this was supposed to make me feel better, Seraphina,” I say, lowering my head; I stare absently at the pliers in my hand. “I’d rather just continue to…do what I do, to feed my demon.”

Covering his whole face with the palm of her hand, she shoves the disoriented man backward; he falls against the concrete, moaning.

“It’s not enough,” she says, stepping into my space; the smell of her lipstick, as always, intoxicates me. “It’s the hunger,” she whispers softly, but with determination. “It’s why you can’t sleep at night; why the nightmares of your past continue to rape you, over and over again.” I feel her fingers winding within the back of my hair. She traces my lips with her tongue, and then bites my bottom lip, drawing blood. I grow harder. “You can’t just punish them, my love. Kill him and you’ll know serenity and ecstasy you’ve never known.”

A FEAST OF DEVILS - #??

The sound of rushing water from the dam below is vociferous in my ears, but Artemis’s voice threatens to drown it out. The wind is strong and brisk; I feel myself conscious of it, part of my brain mindful of the need to ground me in case it threatens to knock me from my feet. But I will allow nothing to take this moment, this opportunity, from me. I finally have Artemis in my grasp. And this time I will make sure I kill her—I cannot let her do it herself.

“This is what you always wanted, Victor!” Artemis shouts over the angry river; she opens her arms out at her sides. “To snuff me from existence!”

I make another move forward, but then I stop, because I know if I do not, she will jump.

“Come down from the edge,” I tell her. “I do not want you dead. I want to talk. That is all.”

Artemis laughs, immune to my lies.

“I’ll tell you what,” she says, pointing at me, “I’ll come down and let you be the one to kill me, if you can promise me one thing. Are you a man of your word, Victor Faust?”

“Recently, yes,” I tell her, thinking of how Izabel changed me.

I motion for her. “I give you my word.”

Artemis studies me for a moment; the wind whips through her long, dark hair, and pushes her blouse against her. Then carefully she steps down and comes toward me. I grip the knife in my hand, eager to plunge it into her heart.

She steps up, and then reaches into her pocket. She places a folded piece of paper into my hand.

“Promise me,” she says, looking into my eyes, “you’ll protect him.”

THE SHADOW SECT - #??

The table I’m supposed to meet the woman at could be any one of these; the woman could be any one of these women, too. The brunette sitting in front of the large window, stirring her drink, dolefully; the African American woman in the booth with the glittery clothes and spicy high-heels; the sexy blond sitting with a man half her age. It’s my job to know which one. They’ll kill me just for getting it wrong.

I choose the mature woman sitting under the lamp light; scotch on the rocks on the table in front of her.

I sit down in the empty chair, and she looks up at me.

“How’d you know I was the one?” she asks, bringing the glass to her lips.

“You’re the only woman in this bar satisfied with who she is,” I answer.

She twirls her free hand at the wrist. “Please. Elaborate.”

I glance at the brunette.

“She’s waiting on someone,” I say. “And he’s terribly late. But she refuses to get up and leave, in case he decides to show.” I glance at the African American woman. “She’d be so beautiful if she wasn’t trying so hard. The jewelry and clothes are wearing her, not the other way around.” I nod toward the blond sitting with the much older man. “She uses others for what they have and can give her, because deep down inside she hates herself, and it’s the only way she can get back at the world for shitting on her.”

The mature woman nods.

She takes another sip and sets the glass on the table.

“So what do you have on Victor Faust?” she asks.

“Everything.”