Rochelle is a power-seeker, and she enjoys punishment. A lot. Of course, I’m not entirely sure if she’s a narcissist or just insanely neurotic. Possibly a toxic mix of both, which makes the revenge game addictive for her. She’s due for another fix.

As I turn down an alley to cut through, I sense a pull at the energy in the air, and that same stench of desperation that clings to Lenora touches my senses.

“On my way.” As I end the call, I feel an alarming tug on my shoulder and whirl around.

A scrawny man with a hoodie partially shielding his face yanks at my handbag. I clamp one hand to the strap and raise my phone to snap a picture. “You don’t want to do this,” I tell him as he tries once more to snatch my bag.

He’s desperate. The worst kind of person. His moral compass takes a backseat to whatever drug he’s craving. “Facial recognition has come a long way.” I snap a pic. “Your face is out there somewhere. I can find you…” I lean forward as the crowd rushes past outside the alley. “And I will sneak inside whatever hovel you’re holed up in and systematically remove body parts, leaving your most precious for last. Then I’ll peel the skin off your limp dick and douse the whole butchered mess with brake fluid.”

He shoves away from me and pushes the hoodie back, revealing sore-riddled cheeks and bruised half-moons beneath his glassy eyes. “Christ, lady. You’re fucking crazy.”

Hitching my bag strap high on my shoulder, I lift my chin. “Keep that in mind for your next victim. They just might call me.”

As I watch him run off, I feel…nothing. Not even the slightest swell of adrenaline. I look at my phone and stare at the image of him, then delete it without another thought.

I walk against the crush of foot traffic, cutting a line through the center of the crowd, wondering when my own moral compass became so desensitized. Having no empathy doesn’t mean I don’t know right from wrong. I’ve branded my career on the very nature of justice.

But if I had been alone with that guy—no witnesses—would I have made good on my threat? Just the thought of it sparks a tiny ripple of excitement.

Lately, my revenge job, that typically breaks through the hardened Teflon layer, has become dull. I’m not achieving the same thrill I did once before.

That feels dangerous.

Yet, I know very well I’d never take it that far. Believe me, once I knew what I was, I did the research. I studied up on Bundy and Rader (BTK) and other psychopathic killers. Whatever misfired in their brains, whatever damaged gray matter those predators sustained that led them down a dark path….we’re not the same.