A DEVIL ON MY LEFT
HIM
Blood shimmered on the smaller man’s chin as he stood with his hands raised in defense, his chest heaving while Finn kept the knife lifted between them, knuckles white around the handle and the blade trembling ever so slightly.
I could see it in him, that animal part he had probably spent years pretending did not exist. That was the thing about men like Finn: give them just enough rope and the illusion of control, and they would always hang themselves with it in the end.
I stood at the very edge of the light, where its reach was weak and the night was thicker, watching and waiting, feeding off the electricity between them like a starving man.
There was no righteousness left in me now, only the undeniable urge to see how far this would go once fear and humiliation finished stripping away whatever civility remained.
“You think I won’t do it?” Finn growled, the knife wavering inches from the other man’s throat. “I’ll gut you right here.”
The smaller man trembled but held his ground, his eyes flicking toward me for the briefest moment as though searching for intervention, for someone willing to stop this before it crossed the line.
I offered him none. “You’re both pathetic,” I said flatly, my voice carrying easily through the alley. “Drunk, bleeding, tearing each other apart over a woman who wanted neither of you.”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” Finn snapped, spitting blood onto the cobblestones.
“Oh, I do.” I stepped forward then, allowing the lantern light to catch the white of my collar.
“I’ve seen men like you claw their way into places like The Oily Cat, convinced that desire makes them powerful, that wanting something badly enough somehow entitles them to it.
” A slow smile pulled at my mouth, cold and deliberate.
“But you’re nothing, and she saw that the moment you opened your mouth. ”
Finn’s jaw tightened while the smaller man swallowed hard, shame flickering across his face.
“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” I continued, almost conversational now. “Not her. Pride. Two boys so terrified of being laughed at that you would rather spill blood than admit you were unwanted.”
The smaller man stepped forward first, fists curling at his sides. “You stand there judging us while you hide in the shadows.” His voice shook with embarrassment. “Maybe you’re worse than either of us.”
I tilted my head, studying him with detached fascination. “Maybe,” I said calmly, turning my gaze toward Finn. “But I’m not the one holding a knife.”
Finn’s expression twisted into a sneer as the ugly realization of how the situation looked finally hit him. “He started it,” Finn muttered defensively. “He shoved me first.”
I coughed out a hollow laugh as I deliberately turned my attention away from Finn and back to the smaller man. “Look at him,” I said, disappointment threading through my voice. “His knife is shaking, and he’s already reaching for excuses before he’s even done anything at all.”
The smaller man’s breathing changed at that, growing slower and heavier, and I could almost feel the exact moment humiliation turned into fury inside him.
“He’s afraid of you,” I said softly. “That’s why men like him carry blades. Because without them . . .” My gaze drifted over to Finn before returning to the smaller man. “What are they?”
Finn’s face twisted. “Shut up.”
But it was already too late. The smaller man had straightened, his shoulders tightening as he took the bait.
“You're going to let him threaten you like that?” I asked. “Or are you finally going to defend yourself?”
At this, the smaller man clinched his fists. I saw the way he couldn’t stand it, the judgment, the implication that he was the lesser of the two. He looked at Finn, and I could almost hear the word 'now' inside his skull.
“Prove it,” I whispered. “Prove you’re not the weaker man.”
And he did. A strangled roar tore from him as he hurled himself forward, hands clawing for Finn’s throat.
The blade caught him mid-motion in a blur of metal and muscle that happened far too quickly to stop.
A wet, sickening sound split the alley as flesh gave way, and the smaller man staggered backward, confusion overtaking rage while blood poured down his chest in dark ribbons that stained the street before his knees finally buckled beneath him.
Finn stood frozen, staring down at the blade in his hand as it dripped. His jaw worked soundlessly, the truth dawning too late. He’d crossed the line, not in self-defense, but for ego.
“No. . .” he rasped. “I didn’t mean. . . he jumped me. He jumped me!”
I moved in closer, the copper stink of blood thickening in the cold air between us. “But you swung,” I said quietly. “That’s the difference. You had a choice.”
His eyes snapped to mine, wide with panic. “You saw what he did!”
“Oh, I saw,” I replied. “I saw everything. I saw how easy it was for you, how badly you wanted it.”
Finn dropped the knife as though it had suddenly burned him, stumbling backward over his own feet. “I didn’t . . . he just . . .”
“You needed to win,” I said softly. “And now you have.”
I crouched beside the body while the man’s eyes stared upward, wide and empty, his mouth still parted as though he were trying to force out one final argument. Blood pulsed weakly from the wound now, slowing with every passing second.
I looked up at Finn. “This is your prize.”
He turned and fled without another word, his boots slapping hard against the stone as he disappeared into the dark. Running away like most men did once they were finally forced to see what they’re made of.
I continued looking into the darkness for a moment longer, while the pool of blood seeped into the gutter, and behind me, the brothel windows glowed, untouched by the death.