Just a Taste Part 10

Ch 10: Killer Confrontation

Dylan

December 20th, 2024- Montgomery Mansion- 8:27 PM

Once I pulled up to the opulent, heavily gated mansion, I slammed on the brakes.

My instincts kicked in, making all the hair on my body stand up. The putrid stench of death filled the air. Someone had died. Several, judging by the density of the scent. 

Fuck, am I too late?

Without hesitation, I flung the car door open, grabbed my supplies, and scaled the gate like a cat burglar. 

The atmosphere is eerily quiet; no gusting winds, no ambient sounds of nearby woodland critters, nothing. Just dead silence. Almost as if the environment can sense the evil that has transpired here, or rather, what's going to happen soon. 

My boots hit the ground with a crunch as the snow muffled the noise. Briefly, I surveyed the area.

Nobody was here.

Highly suspicious. Why would a rich asshole like Jerald not have a flock of people doing everything for him? Perhaps the employees are off the clock or inside?

Or, he went on a frenzy and murdered them all, and that's the stench filling the air.

Trudging through the snow, I found the front porch. Several glowing red camera lights glowed above the ornate mahogany doors.

A security system. Of course he would have one. Being paranoid goes hand-in-hand with wealth and notoriety, after all.

Disabling the system would be simple, but I don't have the luxury of time. I need to find Isabella now!

Rounding a corner, toward the back of the mansion, I saw it. A bloodied hand poked out from a partially opened door.

My pulse quickened as I approached it. The body count starts now, it seems.

Taking a deep breath, I shoved the door open. On the floor before me was an older African-American woman wearing a stereotyped French maid outfit, the non-sexy kind, with half her head removed. Most likely with a heavy object or a meat cleaver.

Relief washed over me. It wasn't Isabella. Which means there's hope for her safety.

Carefully, I stepped over the poor, massacred housekeeper, ensuring not to step in her viscous blood and brain matter. The room looked like the kitchen, but bloody handprints stained every pure white cabinet and counter, and broken glass was scattered everywhere.

I guess the housekeeper died during the struggle I'm observing. The room is empty, aside from the corpse, so I pull out the big guns.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, focusing my energy on Isabella's blood scent. Raspberries with a hint of her body's natural musk.

My nostril picked it up without fail. But also, something else. An acidic odor mixed with her blood. Urine, maybe?

Walking slowly through the mansion, I followed the trail straight to an open wooden door. Behind it was a stone staircase that plummeted into sinister darkness.

Ah, a basement. The perfect place to hide a victim.

Descending the stairs, I heard voices. It was Isabella and Jerald.

What the fuck?

Increasing my speed, I listened intently to their conversation.

"Do you expect me to feel sorry for you?" Isabella croaked. There's a rattling noise. Is she chained up? "Oh, poor Daddy, only trying to make Grandpa happy by raising his fucking cattle!"

I smirked. Good girl, express your anger.

"I don't expect you to understand!" Jerald roared. "My entire life, I've had to deal with him, his cravings, my own, and the guilt knowing that I love it all!"

Reaching the end of the stairs, I saw in the dimly lit darkness Jerald leaning against a wall and my beloved Isabella chained to a pipe, in pink, thin, grime-covered and urine-saturated pajamas.

"You said you wanted the truth, so I gave it to you!" Jerald snarled, rubbing his temples. "I swear, you're such a stupid, selfish little bitch!"

Isabella scowled in disgust. "At least I don't adopt little girls, abuse them their entire lives, then try to feed them to someone!"

Wait, what?

Jerald... adopted Isabella for someone's meal? Seriously, what kind of a sick fuck would do that?

Then it hit me. 'The Man' does a lot of fucked up stuff, and I have yet to uncover his identity.

Which means he's my source, but also a close confidant to him.

And currently? A threat to Isabella's safety.

Clearing my throat, I rasped, "Hello, partner."

Terror washed over Jerald's face as he spun around and saw me. His jaw fell open in shock. "What- what the fuck are you doing here!?"

I grabbed my new weapon: the wood hunk and approached the sniveling coward. "Taking care of business. You have something that's mine, and I'm here to claim it."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Isabella blush furiously. It's alright, darling, you've done your part. I'll handle the rest.

He looked at me, then Isabella rapidly. Anger sparked in his beady grey eyes. "You're the one who defiled my daughter!?"

A wicked grin crept across my lips. "Yes, and she enjoyed every second of it."

Isabella gasped.

Jerald lunged for me, meat cleaver held high, screaming, "You piece of shit! Do you have any idea what you've done?"

I swung the hunk with all my might; it collided with his cleaver, stopping its destructive path. He struggled, trying to pull it out while flailing his free arm around.

Seeing the opportunity, I sank my teeth into his forearm.

He howled in agony, falling onto his back with me hovering over him, tearing into his flesh.

"You fucker!" He growled, kicking my stomach. I flinched, releasing my hold on him.

Jerald tried to stand up. I didn't allow him; kneeing his creepy old ass in the jaw. He curled up in the fetal position on the filthy concrete floor.

"Go ahead, kill me, Diablo!" he yelled, spitting up blood. "It won't ensure your or Issa's safety!"

Oh? He's giving me permission to kill? Alright, that makes this easier.

"Wait!" Isabella shouted, her voice full of determination.

I looked at her, my wood hunk dangling precariously over Jerald's head, waiting for a confirmation.

She exhaled sharply and said, "Let me do it."

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and incidents are fictitious and the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, organizations, or events are entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Thank you for reading this eBook. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

Or