Ultraviolence Read online

  Copyright

  UltraViolence by Natalie Bennett

  © 2019 by Natalie Bennett. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where the publisher or author specifically grant permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editing by: Pinpoint Editing

  Synopsis

  ULTRA+VIOLENCE

  Noun

  Random acts of violence with no justification.

  Unprovoked, usually brutal.

  Done simply for thrill and entertainment.

  A man shrouded in mystery and as fickle as they come, Levi Silas was my one and only crux.

  Acid to alkaline.

  Fire and gasoline.

  Both deemed insane and dangerous, a million people would tell you the two of us should have never come together.

  But we did.

  And the world around us turned to chaos and mayhem.

  One corpse at a time.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Playlist

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Infatuation

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Deceit

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Lust

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Epilogue-Levi

  Other Books

  KEEP IN TOUCH

  Playlist

  (Spotify)

  Arctic Monkeys-Do I wanna Know?

  Ruelle-Monsters

  Cruel Youth-Diamond Days

  Banks-Judas

  Zella Day-Hypnotic

  Halsey-Control

  Daughter-Home

  Lana Del Rey-Ultraviolence

  Meg Myers-Make a shadow

  Halsey-Gasoline

  Halsey-Walk the line

  Lana Del Rey-Blue Jeans

  Lorde-Glory & Gore

  Banks-Gemini Feed

  Banks-Judas

  Breaking Benjamin-What lies beneath

  Cigarettes After Sex-Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You

  Prologue

  I could see the condemnation written all over her face.

  How did a sweet girl like me fall for someone as vile as him? The question didn’t need to be asked. I knew what she was thinking.

  Mckenna Anderson: the waitress with round gray eyes, dark auburn hair that sometimes looked black, and on the short end of five feet, wouldn't hurt a fly. I was once a beloved cheerleader and in my senior year got voted to be prom queen by those who didn't know any better. The idea of me causing anyone harm was unfathomable.

  This was the problem with people judging and forming opinions based on their assumptions instead of facts. I showed them what I wanted them to see.

  I had almost everyone convinced I was a young, naive girl who was seduced by an older, superficial, charming man.

  In their eyes, because I clapped with enthusiasm and sold bake sale cookies, I couldn't kill someone. It was comical. And it proved how fucking useless my therapist was. But still, her stupidity was amusing.

  For now. Crossing one leg over the other, I gave her a small smile.

  The tapping of her ballpoint pen ceased. Her brown eyes narrowed into slits behind her thin-rimmed glasses. I'd been toying with this woman for hours, and she still hadn't figured it out. That was the thing about doctors, therapists, and all those other highly valued people in the workforce. They were just people. Her brain wasn't larger than mine because of her profession, and it didn't automatically make her smarter than me. I could have been a therapist, but I was born to be a killer.

  "You have to have some opinion on spending so much time with someone so insane."

  "What makes you think he's insane?"

  Her blonde brows shot up at my question. "He's a serial killer."

  Um, no. Who gave this woman a degree?

  "You're wrong. He isn't mentally deranged, and as for him being a serial killer, you might want to Google what that means. I was there for most of the kills." I wonder if she could hear the bitter sarcasm in my voice.

  "Yes, I'm well aware of all he makes you do."

  Makes me do? I'd be offended if I didn't know Miss Jackson only had two functioning brain cells.

  No man could ever make me do anything I didn't want to. I was stronger than people gave me credit for. If anything, he inspired me. He did the impossible and brought a broken girl back to life.

  We were both the villains in this story.

  "Did me calling him insane upset you? You had this same reaction when I referred to this situation as ‘abnormal’." She shifted in her leather chair, seemingly proud of herself. Assuming she'd silenced me for once, and not the other way around.

  "What is ‘normal’? Can you tell me what makes someone worthy of that title? Maybe we don't want to be whatever the fuck ‘normal’ is. We're pretty damn exceptional, in my opinion." As always, we came to a temporary stalemate. I could practically see the wheels churning in her head. Was she finally starting to understand?

  "You care about him?" She checked. For the first time, I gave her a genuine smile. Looking towards her office window, I let the memory reel begin to play. There were so many good times and, of course, there were bad. Jesus, were there bad.

  He let me be wild and free. Loved that I was reckless and youthful. In the beginning, it was all so perfect. But that honeymoon phase was only an illusion. Our relationship, if you could call it that, was volatile and toxic. Charred skeletons seemed to keep falling out of our closets.

  "I loved him. I really loved him."

  “So what happened?”

  I turned my head and gave her my full attention.

  I'd never shared the whole story.

  Could she handle it? Could anyone?

  I guess it was time to find out.

  Chapter One

  *Mariela 'Marie' Chambers-17 years old*

  Unknown

  -Plaid shirt

  -5'4

  -Yankees

  -Ford Bronco

  Corner of Frankfurt and Main

  I wish their descriptions were a bit more in–depth. Then again, too many details would ruin the hunt and could be potentially incriminating for the Institute. Not that it mattered now, though. The minute I dragged my serrated blade across his throat, watched blood spray across the blue couch, and his body fell forward and went through the coffee table, I knew I'd colossally fucked up.

  "Holy shit," I lifted my mask and stared down at the man with glass now protruding through his face. My chest was heaving from our recent struggle. I wanted to accuse some higher power of setting me up. I'd hunted a man for two days, sleeping in my trusty Corolla and eating nasty ass fast food. This was not that man, but he was in his house and wearing his ball cap.

  Using my forearm, I wiped sweat from my brow, careful not to touch it with my bloodied hand. Killing was meant to be fun, a sport. This was anything but. I didn't feel an ounce of remorse. I wasn't sure why whoever I was hunting needed to die, or who ordered his death. That wasn't the point of this venture.

  The Institute was a very large clandestine cult-like organization with a sleuth of secrets and rules. It was backed by powerful men who controlled the world around them like a rigged game of chess. These were the kind of people you didn't want to piss off.

  Then there were people like me, hedonist killers that got to play and get paid. We weren't trained, and this clearly wasn't the job of a professional. We were teachers, sons, daughters, ex-cons, and some of us may claim to be saints. If the Institute was a master, we were the obedient pets.

  The point was that we were all seeking the thrill that came with making someone afraid, hearing them cry out as we took their life. But if you screw
ed up like I just had, it was no longer a game. I hadn't even made it all the way in yet and had already failed. This man's throat couldn't be un-slit.

  A low melody began to play from my pocket, spurring me into action. Shit. Did they already know?

  Moving around the bits of shattered glass, I slowly eased back a corner of the front curtain and peered out at the street.

  All I saw was darkness; no cars were in sight, aside from the dead man's silver Kia Forte. Gently placing the panel back down, I looked around, trying to plan a course of action.

  Why the hell did I agree to this in the first place? I was perfectly fine hiding my dark side. Though, it wasn't a surprise they had sought me out. My father was the one who started their billion dollar business. And in their world, a name meant everything. Now the asshole at the top thought it would be cute to recruit his daughter. This only made my paranoia about being set up that much stronger. But why not just kill me?

  There wasn't enough time to contemplate this bullshit. I told myself not to panic, but I was seconds away from completely losing my shit. Was I afraid of the Institute? No. But I sure as fuck didn't want to die for it either. What would happen if I just left him? He was dead either way.

  "Fucking asshole," I cursed at his body, heading towards the foyer. When my phone rang again, that's when I knew they were aware something wasn't right.

  I did not want to find out what these people were capable of. My father had always kept that part hush, hush. Knowing I couldn't just ignore them, I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone.

  "I want you to remain calm and do exactly as I say," a man's voice came across the other line.

  "How do–."

  "There's no time for that. I need you to leave out the back door, pitch the phone in the garden fountain, and exit the yard through the rear gate. You'll keep going straight, and you won't look back. At the end of the alley is a rental. In the glove-box is some cash. Take it and get out of town."

  "Why?"

  "Because when I'm ready for you to die, I'll arrange it myself." Before I could say anything else, I was left with a silent phone and a clock running out of time.

  Infatuation

  -noun

  1. The state of being infatuated

  2. Foolish or all-absorbing passion or instance of this: a mere infatuation that will not last.

  Chapter Two

  Mckenna Anderson-20 years old.

  These will make you normal.

  This blue one will help you sleep.

  Take them all, and you won't be so depraved.

  Well, it was too late for that. Not that I had an issue being this way. My therapist was the one who thought the solution to my problems was a variety of ugly orange bottles. She fucking sucked at her job.

  The only problem I had were people assuming I had a problem to begin with. Not everyone is broken by their past. Was that really so hard to believe? Furthermore, the details of my past weren't even clear anymore. And that's what pissed me off. I couldn't remember everything I needed to remember.

  The strangest thing about me is that I am the result of a happy childhood. Though, now that I had been in the real world, I knew the truth.

  My parents were what society would define as monsters and, in this scenario, the apple did not fall far from the tree.

  Staring at the tiny tablets in my hand, I dipped my palm and watched them circle the drain. Smoothing down the baby blue poodle skirt of my uniform, I did one last quick inspection in the mirror.

  The Bee-Bops uniform was ridiculously gaudy. I understood my boss, Ian, was trying to stay true to the retro era, but he could have tried to modernize a little more.

  After adjusting the collar of my shirt and securing my hair with a few more bobby pins, I was ready as I was going to be. Some days I just didn't feel like primping, and this was one of them. It took me less than five seconds to walk from my bathroom, through my bedroom, and into the open living room. My apartment wasn't huge, but it was cozy, and it was mine.

  I made a beeline for the liquor cabinet, pouring myself a shot of vodka for breakfast. What can I say? I liked to live dangerously. Truthfully, though, it was the most exciting part of my day, and it helped me wake the hell up.

  I did a quick scan of the previous day’s paper: Michas and Tyler Real Estate were combining as one, the deli on Fifth and Main was being shut down by the health department, and something about a candlelit vigil to remember the life of Hannah Ortega. Typical news day.

  After checking my bank accounts and knocking the drink back, I put on my game face, snatched up the keys to my Jeep, and headed for the door.

  I'd just turned onto the expressway when my phone began to play Black Beatles. Garret's smiling face flashed across the screen. I connected us and sat the phone in its GPS holder, letting it sync to my Bluetooth. I was not one of those people who could text/talk and multi-task. While the idea of a pile up sounded fun, wrecking my car didn't.

  "I think I dialed the wrong number. Who is this beautiful bitch I'm staring at?" Garret's cheerful voice came across the line.

  "You're awake before noon?" I gasped. "Are you growing up on me, Garret Matthews?"

  "Shut up; I had to pick up a relative from the airport. Did you dream of me?" He asked me this every day. Garret had seen first hand what kind of nightmares I used to have, and always tried to add humor in case they came back. I glanced at the screen to see him waggling his dark brows suggestively. How does he get them to look so perfect?

  "Yeah, you were wearing the bright blue Speedo Millie got you for Christmas."

  "Damn, now I know your sheets were soaked when you woke up," he laughed, “Are there any updates?" The sudden concern in his tone made my heart warm.

  "Nope. The numbers are the same," I sighed, giving him a smile that I hoped looked believable. It had been almost three years since I got the letter with the banking information.

  A newly opened joint account with someone who was supposed to be dead. He hadn't withdrawn one cent, and neither had I. Every day I checked the amount to see if something had changed.

  "He's out there, babe. He'll find you eventually. On a happy note, we're still on for dinner tomorrow night, right?"

  "Actually, I wanted–," I started.

  "Oh, fuck no. I don't wanna hear it, Kenna. You've been a hermit the entire month. If I have to drag your ass out of the apartment I will. Matter of fact, you're not allowed to object. This is important. I'll see you tomorrow." Before I could refuse, which I was going to do, he hung up. His voice had lost all signs of playfulness by the end of his sentence.

  What the hell had he gotten himself into now?

  Chapter T hree

  I spent the first part of my day serving up greasy quarter pound burgers and cherry Slurpees. Yes, there are people in the world who eat hamburgers for breakfast. At half noon, I was more than ready to walk out the door.

  Every time I came into work, I questioned my sanity. My co-worker, Trisha Waldroff, was the equivalent of a man-eating succubus released on earth. We had never gotten along. She was a conceited, stuck-up bitch who loathed me. I knew all the petty reasons why. I just didn't care.

  I dated Jacob Kellar, the star quarterback that she'd used as daily spank bank visage since she was thirteen. She convinced herself I stole him. Of course, I didn't. We dated for two weeks and he turned out to be a grade A asshole. They were quite chummy now; she made sure I knew that.

  I was friends with Garret Matthews, who refused to give her the time of day because of his loyalty to me. In her mind, I told him he wasn't allowed to.

  That bothered her for two reasons:

  1) She refused to believe he was gay. Her words were, "He can't be gay. Do you see what he looks like?"

  This just further proved how stupid she was.

  2) The thing that pushed her over the edge was me. The little orphan was more likable than her. Those were also her words, not mine. I would never refer to myself as a waif.

  At the end of the day, it came down to the fact I'd seemingly fallen into Springlake from the sky and took some of her spotlight. For all her shit talking bravado, though, Trisha was afraid of me. It amazed me, honestly, that a girl as superficial and self-centered as her could see beyond my false exterior.

  I reasoned it was one fake recognizing another. She knew I was a ticking time bomb but had no way of proving it. I'd killed her multiple times inside my head. Suffocation, drowning, hanging…and those were the painless scenarios.