The Death Club (Dead Men Walking, #1)

by Caroline Peckham

There were some things in life which most people believed. ‘Santa isn’t real.’ ‘No girl enjoys butt stuff.’ ‘Killing is bad.’ But not me.

I’d shoot down Santa in a rain of blood and glory and find one hell of a freaking meaning to that. Merry fucking Christmas, dickmunch. Thanks for the lack of presents, I’ll make up for it with my new set of flying reindeer. I’d put myself on the naughty list around the time I was eight years old and stabbed my daddy’s girlfriend (see: woman who sucks dick for cash) in the tit with my plastic unicorn when I’d found her stealing from his wallet.

If only I’d wished for my daddy to have a new heart,

He said stable people didn’t draw cocks painted with blood on the walls and across their victim’s cheeks.

I’d totally dress up as Loki while Thor hammered me from behind.

Always with those same questions. 'What do you want?' 'How did you get in here?' 'Is that my wife's hat you're wearing?' 'Did you just piss on my rug?' 'Why do you have a knife?' blah, blah, blah. I wasn't in the mood for the old usuals today, so I just jerked my chin at the painting, getting him on track with my thought process.

"So you just plastered a huge vagina on your wall without even knowing it was a vagina? I mean, do you think you subliminally had vaginas on the mind that day or are you generally in a vagina mood?"

"The...unhinged one?" "You've heard of me?" I asked, smiling widely because who the fuck didn't like being famous?

"Well, turns out I'm no legend - just a hot blooded man with a bloodstained soul. I’ll be killin’ ya now then,”

“It won’t be fun and it won’t be pretty. But if you wanna write out a quick note to your mammy or whoever to say goodbye, then I’ll give you a moment to do it. But don’t go gettin’ any daft ideas about mentioning me in your note. Because then I’d have to cave her head in after I deliver it. And I hate killing mammies because of stupid fuckers like you.”

I had a fancy little gift box all ready in my pocket to put it in and everything. He'd never actually asked me to start bringing him proof of death when I killed for him, but I liked to present it as a gift and tell him I had a no returns policy. He just accepted it these days. Besides, the true meaning behind my presents for him was a joke I'd only ever told myself and I still found it really fucking funny. Because I didn’t just pick any finger. Oh no. It was the middle finger, just so that I got the pleasure of knowing the mark was flipping my pa off when he opened the box to see it. Little pleasures and all that.

Although I had heard that there were some people who liked reading stories like mine about fucked up men like me and fantasised about taking them to bed, so maybe that was where I’d find my people. The readers who understood that sometimes a bit of choking was perfectly acceptable or maybe even desirable and wouldn’t judge me for it.

Fuck no. Who wanted food that came without chewing? He could keep his soup and his fucking tune too.

I swear the old man had so many of them that he must have employed a few purely to wipe his ass.

I pulled back and gave her a sweeping look too. Blonde, fake tits, fake lips, fake lashes, fake smile. Nice dress, but I doubted it would fit me.

Vlad said, eyeing me with far too much interest considering we'd just met and he was a dude. I didn’t swing that way unfortunately for him, though my dick didn’t exactly swing any way these days aside from into the company of my own hand.

“Satan? I looked after those demons you planted in my head well all these years, baby. Let’s not be a dick, kay?”

Okay, how do I get out of this? And how do I pocket one of those tasers for personal reasons?

"Ho-ly fuck, I think I'm in love,"

Ooh la la, I shouldn’t like that but I hella do. Gah, focus. He’s a creep. Creepy McCreeperson the fifth.

Hey, er, Satan? Your fave girl is in a tight spot. And she’ll show you her tight spot in return if you come give her a hand…Big Red? No? Fuck.

“Could be worse though, right? I once tried to take a shit in the woods and a stalky squirrel turned up for the show. Can you believe that? He had no freaking boundaries. Said he just wanted to check if I had any nuts and I had to yell at him that I had a pussy before he’d fuck the hell off.”

Fuck me sideways with a rollerblade, did he have Coco Pops in this house? The Coco Pops?

We’d had Coco Pops for breakfast every freaking day. They. Were. The. Shit. Like I-will-die-for-the-Pops good.

New plan: stab him in the neck, get upstairs, lock the door, steal coco pops, run for my life.

All kinds of great words started with N, like nirvana and nifty and nub and Niall of course, the best of all.

I grabbed an apple out of my back pocket and launched it towards the arsehole who was shooting at me with a yell of, "Grenade!"

I fucking hate that cock sucking, dick twiddling, knife humping, oafish, twat weasel!

Pink (Freak) by Elliot Lee poured out of the speakers and the two of us sang along to it between bites of pizza while we drove on into the night. She got like eighty percent of the words wrong, but I liked hers better anyway so I was okay with that.

I pulled up my top, flashing him my bare tits and Niall froze while Mateo fought even harder to get free, glaring at Niall like he wanted to destroy him for staring at my boobs. But they were nice boobs and I never got to show them off to anyone. Janky Lou had paid ten dollars to see them once and I hadn’t eaten for two days, so I’d agreed. But I couldn’t remember a time when they’d just been appreciated without a value put on them.

“Same time then?” “Fine,” I snarled challengingly. “One…two…” “Are we going on three or five?” I asked quickly, my heart beating furiously in anticipation of the coming pain. “Three,” he decided. “I’ve lost count now, I’ll start again. One…two…hang on, do monkeys have thumbs?” “Of course they do.” I rolled my eyes. “And toe thumbs.” “What’s a toe thumb?” he asked excitedly. “Like a finger thumb but on your toes.” “Bullshit,” he scoffed. “They do!”

I’d given myself orgasms before, but I’d never had one from a man. This was a mangasm. And it was far, far better than anything I’d ever experienced on my own.

Sorry if you saw that, Satan, but I have a second boyfriend now, kay?

I’m still all yours then, Satan. Can you do that tongue thing Mateo did? Asking for a friend.

I wasn’t gonna get all frowny about the situation. I liked Mateo. He was terrifying and cute and yeah he made me feel all squishy inside, but I could deal with rejection just fine. I’d dealt with it my entire life. I was a seasoned pro with endless years of practice. So if he thought I’d be upset – oh shit, I’m crying.

Dammit, why was he so cute sometimes? No, I hated him. He was a big meanie cake with sprinkles on top.

I took a step toward him, pointing the gun at his head as I tried to make myself pull the trigger. But something was holding me back today. Maybe it was because he had a lovely face and I didn’t wanna ruin it. But in that case, I could shoot his heart instead. I aimed the gun lower, but it didn’t get any easier. Pull it, free Mateo, get outa here. But I wanna learn to kill. And Hellfire’s so good at it. And he’s hot. Am I really gonna take this pretty devil man from the world? He’s sooo pretty.

Damn his ass looked good in those jeans. It looked like he had two iron plates stored in there.

I gazed down at the bitemark on my forefinger and while he wasn’t looking, I sucked it into my mouth and licked away the taste of him, a thrill running through my chest. Damn bastard tastes like sugared sin.

Shit, I musta missed that when I zoned out to stare at your fuck-me-sideways body, Hellfire.

The angry fella looked ready to throw down at the table and I eyed his shining bald spot with a mild desire to play it like a bongo.

I watched Vlad’s terrible face tattoo and wondered if I should just cut it off for him. Surely a hole in the face would be preferable to that blurry monstrosity? He could use the hole for plenty of fun things, like eating without opening his mouth, taking a cock in from the side (assuming he went in for a sausage suck here and there). He could allow a bird to nest in it or just decorate it with glitter. Anything would be better than that inky blob of shit.

There was a binder involved and colour swatches were held against my skin and all in all I was more interested in the monobrow. I mean, that shit was impressive.

"Pretty is what you call girls who are sweet and bland and boring. You're not pretty. You're the only thing in the room no matter how full it is. You're the kind of woman men go to war for. Even beautiful doesn't cut it for you. You're breath taking in the most extraordinary way."

Mateo hissed in his lovely accent. It was sexy, did he know how sexy it was? I rested my chin in my hand, gazing at him with a dreamy smile as he started talking about some plan involving a wife, or maybe he said a knife. It all sounded so hot whatever it was.

I didn’t like that. I wished they’d just get along. But I guessed being captured and tortured by a guy for months was tricky to form a relationship around. I hated Hellfire for it too in all honesty. But I was also a slave to the bond between us, the killer in me quietly enamoured with him. Maybe Niall was right, maybe the Devil was in me. Maybe I was bad to the bone.

Next, I added the men who’d kidnapped me, Señor Castillo – hmm how do you spell that though? I wrote out Seen Your Case Armadillo and frowned at it. Yeah that looks about right.

Mateo didn’t rise to my game, his eyes narrowing and giving me a look that said he wanted to bend me over his knee and teach me a lesson. Ooh la la. Hello, Daddy.

“The Pow-Stab-Bang Crew? Two Dicks and a Vag? Two’s Company, Three’s a Massacre? The Deadly Trio? An Irishman, A Mexican, And a Shit-Hot Chica? The-” “Stop,” Mateo growled. “Please stop.”

I sighed, but I was already mentally planning out all of those things. Our mascot could be a pea-green parakeet called Greg and he could wear a tiny beret with our slogan on it which would be… it’s killing time somewhere. No. Killing quick, killing slow, either way there’ll be a show. Nah. To kill, or not to kill. Nope. Die motherfuckers!! Hmmm. Killing for all ages. Nah. DIY killing. That’s not it - oooh I’ve got it! The Death Club: Let the killing begin…