50: Not a gamble I'm willing to indulge in

LOGAN

All the questionable, merciless, and distasteful things I’d done over the years had never left me feeling guilty. Not one act had stirred guilt or pity in me, no matter how many people it’d affected because I saw the world through morally gray lenses that no one could clean up.

Well, until over a week ago when I ravaged that whore’s body until my erection felt hard enough to poke a hole in my pants.

Fucking hell.

What on earth possessed me to touch her? All I’d gone there to do was feed on her—for my satisfaction, since she had mindlessly amazing blood—and make her scream in pain the entire time.

You thought that was a good plan despite knowing she was a blood whore? the guilt gnawing at my insides mocked me.

Of course, it was a foolish plan from the get-go, but I’d tried my hardest to cause her real pain when I realized that feeding from her neck wasn't enough. However, she seemed to be made from something the gods forged in the pits of doom because as the pain intensified, so