My Girlfriend Is A Serial Killer [G!P] [COMPLETED]

Trigger warning, violence, blood, death. Read with caution.

It was dark; she couldn't see a thing. A sharp pain throbbed at the back of her skull, sending waves of agony through her head.

Becky could feel the cloth wrapped tightly around her eyes, pressing into her skin. The blindfold wouldn't budge. She attempted to reach for it but quickly realized she couldn't—her hands were bound behind her back, wrists tied together. Her legs were similarly restrained at multiple points, rendering her immobile.

A slow trickle of liquid ran down her cheek, and the metallic taste in her mouth confirmed her suspicion—it was blood.

The last thing she remembered was receiving a text from Freen, asking her to meet at the back entrance. Then, the sharp pain to her head. Everything after that was a blur.

Then it clicked. She knew who had taken her.

The serial rapist.

But this wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was the one who should be suffering, not her. If she hadn't changed her ways for Freen, this would have ended differently. Yet here she was, bound, helpless, at his mercy. How ironic.

Maybe this was karma.

Maybe now she would finally understand how her own victims had felt—the helplessness, the pain, the fear. It was creeping up on her now, clawing at her insides. She had never been afraid to die before, but now she was. There was too much left undone. She couldn't leave Freen behind, couldn't let her face a killer who was obsessed with her. More than anything, she couldn't leave her a widow.

Freen deserved better.

Becky clenched her jaw. She had to escape. Maybe, if she was lucky, she'd kill him in the process. That thought alone sent a thrill through her veins, her instincts sharpening with renewed determination.

She struggled against her bindings, but the restraints were expertly tied. Her breathing grew ragged. The gag in her mouth forced her to breathe through her nose, which was easier said than done with panic setting in. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the desperate need for air growing stronger with each passing second.

Footsteps. Distant but approaching.

She stilled.

"Stop struggling. There's no use," a familiar voice sneered.

Billy.

The name came up in the investigation.

She had been right. He was the serial rapist.

He yanked off her blindfold and gag, and Becky took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

"Before you waste your breath, I know exactly who you are and that you were working with the police," he continued. "I gotta hand it to you—you really fooled me for a while."

Becky's eyes flicked to the bag he placed on the table. He pulled something from it, but the dim lighting made it hard to see. When he turned slightly, the sight became clear.

A variety of tools, neatly arranged.

Her stomach twisted, but she forced her expression to remain impassive.

"When I found out the truth, I thought about running," he admitted, his voice eerily casual. "Laying low for a while. But then I thought... why should I? When I could make you my grand finale. A fitting final act before I go down."

He smirked, expecting to see terror in her eyes.

He didn't.

"Sorry to disappoint, but you're not going to get the same satisfaction from me as the others," Becky spat, defiant.