Embracing the Night
Chapter 1
Damn that little punk. If I get my hands on him, I'll kill him.
Scratch stepped over a trashcan that had been thrown over in Kiol's haste to get away from him. The blood trail was easy enough to follow, and he was used to tracking wounded prey. It made it all the easier to finish the job once he found him. There wouldn't be any fight left in him. He would be worn out and easy pickings.
Shouldn't have stabbed him in the gut. Should have slashed his throat. Then he wouldn't have had enough left in him to run. Scratch ran a black-gloved hand through his spiky blonde hair. Shouldn't have let the kid join the Writhing Horde. Fuck, he's just an honorary member anyway. Still hasn't gone through the initiation yet. Oh well, doesn't look like he's going to get to now. Scratch licked a small drop of blood off the back of his glove and shivered.
The search through the alleys continued. Scratch was amazed that Kiol had been able to go so far. The kid has to be holding his guts in. Maybe he would make a fine member of the gang after all… Scratch absently rubbed the small snake tattoo on the base of his neck. All of the members had one. Each of them different but all of them in the shape of the first letter of the name that the individual had won from the gang. His was a letter "s" for Scratch. He'd long since forgotten his real name. There was no use for it now anyway. He was Scratch. Nothing more, nothing less. He'd been pissed off when he first got the name because he thought the others were making fun of him after they saw all the scratches and fingernail claw marks left by his unwilling "initiation partner" when he strangled her. He chuckled. You always remember your first… Then they told him it was an old nickname for the Devil himself. He immediately fell in love with the name and wore his name and scars with pride.
Damn that Kiol. Who the fuck does he think he is anyway? Just some young punk out of high school that thinks he owns the world. Fuckin' asshole got what he deserved. Everything had been going just fine until that prissy little bitch and her brat showed up. Then Kiol got all high and mighty. Where the fuck does he get off telling me to leave them alone?! Couldn't let the little shitbird talk to me like that! Fuckin' prick! Toyed with the idea to just mess with them a little and then let 'em go until that little sass mouth got involved. Well, they're all dead now! How do you like that, you little punk? Fucker.
They were getting close now. He could feel it. Oh yes - Scratch smiled as he relived the moment he'd plunged his knife into Kiol's gut. The look of fear and betrayal in those pale green eyes was priceless. The power he'd felt was immeasurable. He wanted to taste it again. He picked up the pace.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the rising whore."
Scratch stopped, pulled his knife, and slowly turned around. A muscular, bald man was standing behind him with two goons on either side. Scratch's buddy, Fang, guarded his back.
"So whatcha doing here, whore?" the bald guy sneered as he confidently stepped forward.
"Fuck you, fucker. I can do whatever I fucking want to do, asshole."
The bald guy smiled. "Sure. It's a free country." His cronies moved toward Scratch and Fang.
The bald guy was called White Boy, which in itself was funny because he was black. He was the leader of the Skull Fuckers, the rival gang of the Writhing Horde. Scratch hated him. No. More than that. Scratch loathed him. Loathed him and his poor taste in clothing. That man should NOT be wearing vinyl.
"Come on. I can take you and your whipping boys." Scratch motioned for Fang to stand aside. He didn't need him. He could take care of this himself. After having drawn blood once tonight, the god-mode had taken over. Scratch felt invincible.
It must have been Scratch's lucky day or White Boy saw the insane glint in his eye and took it for what it was - a death wish. White Boy reached out and grabbed his goons' arms. "We'll take care of this some other time. We got things to do tonight. Let's not waste our time on this little shit."
Scratch was a little disappointed. He'd been aching for a fight. "Go on home, White Boy. Go home with your tail tucked between your legs, asshole."
Scratch could see the muscles on White Boy's back tense underneath that stupid emblem of a knife stuck through the eye-socket of a skull as White Boy fought for self-control. The leader of the Writhing Horde wondered what could be so important to White Boy that he would pass up a golden opportunity for a one-on-one fight. The leader of the Skull Fuckers slowly turned back to face him. "Watch your back, whore. I'm keepin' an eye on you."
"Whatever." Scratch snorted and resumed his hunt for Kiol.