A/N- Bet you weren't expecting another chapter. Well, enjoy. I know some people will be mad but part III is going to be bittersweet. Thankfully the story is about to move along quicker. Thanks for reading! We're going to try to update every Sunday!

Chapter Eighteen: Compassionate release.

Title: I want you to Cry

By: Yuhiko & Nixx

Sasuke casually hanging up on him was the equivalent of (what he'd suspect) an abortion, it equated to being unceremoniously shoved into the gaping mouth of a canyon and knowing the end was inevitable, and there was nothing left to do but embrace the ground.

Things were irreversible at this point.

People must die.

He sat there for a staggering five minutes, hung up on the betrayal of pussy brows. He knows it shouldn't have come as a surprise; it was always a risk—trusting people. Lee was always a wild card. Guy's like Lee, their only aim was to preserve themselves at all costs. They weren't loyal to anyone; they flipped sides as often as they needed to, to save their own skin.

Lee was all instinct. All flight, no fight.

"Goddamn…I underestimated that gargantuan browed mother fucker." he muttered under his breath, shoveling the matted shot blonde hairs from his forehead, as he stares straight ahead at the creamy settee in the center of Ino's living room. "That hurts."

"H—h—h—e will do it," Sakura breathed out, winded—genuine sadness creeping into the cords of her voice. The change in her tone was grating, hoarse and finally, full of despair and hopelessness. She was no longer squirming, and he eased off her, rising to his feet.

The pinkette shifts around on top the rug, until she's looking up at him—like a tired deer. Her face is red, the texture of the carpet imprinted across her forehead.

"I—know—" she paused to gulp; her blood shot eyes resembled a cracked mirror. "I know—you think that you have to kill m—me." A hiss came from her throat, she exhaled deeply to stifle the tidal wave of desperation, but he could still detect it in her haste to say more. "What I—I did to Hina—nata I had n—no right. I liked her—I liked her so m—uch," tears were streaming down her cheeks and her lips trembled as she swallowed once more.

Naruto watched the thrumming of the flesh just above her collar bone, listened to the sound of her teeth clattering. He had seen this reaction before, through other women's eyes. He's come to know it as a last-ditch effort. An attempt to level with an aggressor.

"I—I never meant it, I never meanto ert her," Sakura cries, shaking her head, digging her nails into the carpet and shuddering. "it was selfish of meto –to stand there and let him—but—I was afraid—I didn't wanthim insi—" she croaked, blinking profusely, "I—I didn't want to feel him…again."

He thought when it came time for Sakura the whore to beg for her life, she'd do it with a bit more dignity, possibly even fight him tooth and nail the whole way through. But the way she was talking—he could tell the bitch was all out of strength, swings and insults. She wasn't begging for her life, for the first time in her life—she seemed to be accepting the ground. Falling straight into the jagged rocks within the depths of the canyon.

And for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to enjoy the pain he was about to inflict on her. He couldn't decide which pissed him off more—being forced to kill someone as quickly as possible because he wanted to kill someone he hated or killing a person who'd just accept that he was killing them.

He couldn't afford to think rationally, couldn't afford to spare her—not even with this new information. That's the thing about having victims. They bared their soul in the end. Afterall, the executioner would be the last person to ever hear their regret, their confessions—their fear. The screams.

"Stand up. I'd suggest you not run." he admonishes with a level of serverity to his tone.

"I'm n-not."

It doesn't feel gratifying, not even when he tries to recount all the ways she agitated him. He attempted to dredge up every rotton memory of her being killable. Moments he salivated over—and daydreamed about. The numerous ways he envisioned himself ending her life. Those were never swift, never compassionate.

His plans were always painstakingly engineered to drag out their torture and his amusement. It's why his women were never left undissected.

"Since I'm gon—na die anyway, I want to know—w—why you hate me." Sakura asks, coming to a wobbly stand, sliding her panties up her bony thigh. "I—I heard what you and Hinata were talking about. I know that you've killed others, all women. Y—you t—ravel around just to get to them. W—why did you single me o—out?"

The blonde looked her in the face. It was hard to believe this was the same woman he had suffered through an entire month for. Everything had changed, her bitchy tone—the way she carried herself. What a difference the promise of death made.

Usually he lived for these moments, revelations, but he couldn't quite relish this. He couldn't quite bring himself to stand here and tell the story. His story, his process. And what-the-fuck good would it do?

When he thought about the reason, he originally wanted to kill Sakura, it had very little to do with Sakura herself. Unfortunately, Haruno, Mebuki had died of lung cancer two years prior to his visit. She was one of his father's many sexual conquests—the worse of the bunch. The one that got away, except she didn't get away—she fucking died of cancer.

His father didn't know that.

Instead, when Mebuki left their home—to try and work things out with her husband, his father behaved in some of the worse ways humanly possible. He recalled the first night, his father drunk himself into a stupor and in the morning, he went on a rampage.

Since his mother had gone to therapy that day, by default he had become the punching bag of the hour. He endured several steel toed kicks to his throat—and ribs. His father offered him no fucking explanation when he came into his bedroom and broke his ribs. The moment he blacked out, he assumed he had died—until he was conscious again, and all the pain registered—it felt unbearable. Like he had swallowed a thousand shards of glass and they sliced through everything on the inside, puncturing him from the inside out.

He wishes he had died.

"It's not like it matters. I don't hate you. Your mother was my original mark but, cancer beat me to it. You were alive, a part of her bloodline—the next best thing."

Sakura's glassy, emerald eyes were wide, blown with confusion.

"Wasn't much of a mom. She whored herself out to anyone—stuck around because daddy had money," Sakura stated as though she were narrating a pleasant memory, "guess the apple didn't fall far from the tree," she laughs somberly, biting on her lips as tears trekked down her cheeks.

Staring at her. All he could think about is his bunny, with Sasuke. He's already taken too long to get to her and although he wouldn't be taking any satisfaction in killing Sakura—he need to do it.

She knew too much; she's done too much to fucking ignore. He'd give the bitch props, not many people would face him this way. If nothing else—he'll make sure it's swift.

No, he didn't hate her.

He just couldn't risk another wild card.

It's time to empty the deck a bit.

Most consider passionate crimes to be done by bare hands and with such ferocity. He had never taken a life that way, never held someone by the throat and wrestled with the raw adrenaline within their dying body—the will to live was like a ferocious fire.

It didn't want to be taken—didn't want to be put out.

In the end, she did fight. He was just, a bit stronger. Ensnaring her callously, as briefly as he could—for her sake. It was brutal, even by his standards and that's saying a lot.

For someone who valued her appearance so fucking much, he'd bet if she could see herself dying. She'd call herself ugly.

As much as he wanted to tell her she deserved it, something made him shut the fuck up. His chest felt like acid and his fingers strained against her resistance.

Fucking die already!

Her eyes were bulging like a fucking cartoon and rolling until he couldn't see white, saliva sputtered from her mouth and she clawed at his iron clad hands with her polished talons. At first, he struggled to keep her still but after getting a nice firm handle of her, he began clasping vigorously, with all his might. Grunting to muster the strength to compress or rupture her carotid arteries.

After several minutes of feeling her muscles spasm about, he watched her face go slack and lifeless—the tears frost over, trapped in her eyes forever. Her body felt unnaturally stiff, though he had her tacked against the wall.

Gone...

He wouldn't have time to clean up his mess or tamper with potential evidence. He hardly saw any point in hiding his presence anymore. Everything has gone to fuckin' shit because he decided to do what he wanted for once.

He wasn't even sure what the fuck he was doing anymore.

Either he'd be leaving the city in time to avoid being captured, or Sasuke would put a bullet through him, after figuring out Naruto outmatched him when it came to combat.

Assholes with guns don't fight fair.

Why fight when you could point and shoot? He never bought into the gun hype. It's the laziest shit he's ever seen but maybe he's just old school.

He slides into his Audi.

He had parked it across the street from the student housing building, in an abandoned parking lot. Hastily, he starts the engine and peels out of the lot hurriedly—dabbing at the scratch Sakura had left on his face earlier that night.

His cheek prickles with the iciness of the scar, he could hardly feel it before. As he cruises under the traffic lights—he uses the light to examine his fingers.

Blood paints his fingertips.

He runs a tongue over them, enjoying the saltiness that enriches the taste of his bitter tongue.

Like a mouthful of pennies.

What's the plan?

There was no fucking plan, but he wasn't about to walk into his own house like a lamb either. On his way home, he passed several gun shops. Most places would card him, and though he had a concrete alias, there was no way he'd get out the shop with a gun—not a reliable one anyway.

His mind was going a mile a minute—giving him options, making solutions.

There was a very real option to leave, to leave Konoha—no one the wiser. Sakura was dead and Sasuke would have to implicate himself to tip off the cops about Naruto. Which, he wouldn't.

What the fuck are you saying?! His brain reprimands itself.

I'm not leaving her…

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck, I'm a dumbass.

Am I really about to risk it all for some ass?

The question seemed to answer itself.

The crazy little bitch doesn't even know all the shit she's putting me through.

But if he made it through the night without being shot through the skull or getting thrown into the back of a police cruiser…

He was going to make her feel like shit, he was going to make her pay him in hot tears and dirty favors.

Maybe even blood.

The wind tosses his short blond hair around as he fists the wheel with one hand, turning down his home street.

The adrenaline spiked beneath his bones and he zipped down the road like a demon on a warpath.

'Killing is wrong Naruto-kun.'

But babe, I'm so good at it.

Buying a gun wouldn't be necessary, he'd just need to get a hold of Sasuke's.