Chapter 2
Blood – thick and warm – gushes out of his freshly punctured skin. It deftly flows down to my white-knuckled fingers that are wrapped around my switchblade’s black handle, then slithers onto the porcelain floor beneath us like a living art waking itself from a slumber.
Upbeat music, muted by the closed bathroom door, flits in, and the ground vibrates faintly against its impact.
The man jerks under me – a vain, pathetic effort, really – and tries to scream around the wad of cash I’d shoved in his mouth after having successfully thrown his scrawny ass off his feet with a single punch in the face a couple minutes ago.
I lean in, bringing my face close to his, and am immediately hit with a smell that’s a blend of sweat, luxe cologne, and my absolute favorite: blood.
The man – Devon Summers – pants unsteadily, so I push my blade a bit further into the side of his open neck.
He gasps; his eyes bulge out – sockets marred with red veins – and then, after a few painstaking seconds, he stills. Completely.
Mission accomplished.
I pull my switchblade out and get to my feet, just as Jayce stops the recording on his phone. I sidestep the now dead Devon, walk past Alex and Varsha, and make my way over to one of the sinks in the men’s bathroom.
It wasn’t hard to find Devon at Indulgence, a VIP-only club in the heart of upper-side Riverside.
He screamed money – from his Armani three-piece to his shiny Berluti shoes.
And, not to forget, with the number of half-naked chicks he had fawning over him, he was pretty much an easy scout, even in a crowd full of drunk, lust-driven elites.
When my long-term client, Edgar ‘Eddie’ Hank, had ordered Summers’ kill a week ago, I’d almost turned him down. Elites like Summers always have a fuck load of enemies anyway, and I don’t take on a kill unless the reason behind it stands for something.
I’ve executed meaningless kills in the past, and they’ve never given me the thrill I so madly crave. The sense of fulfillment, that hunger for rising over someone’s demise, the feel of a fading pulse against my blade – those are the things that drive me, that make me who I am.
And killing Devon – the man responsible for abducting and killing 34 suburb children for their organs just to further broaden his pockets – did just that; it made me feel liberated, fucking dizzy with adrenaline.
I stop in front of the massive, gold-rimmed mirror, and look at myself.
There’s blood splattered on the right side of my face, and on my yellow vest. More of it inks my hand and forearm, as if its attempting to claw its way up.
My dark blue eyes shine against the white lights above me, and when my crew’s gazes meet mine in the mirror’s reflection, we grin at each other.
“Just sent the video to Eddie,” Jayce tells me, then chuckles. “It’s like he was waiting for it, because he transferred the cash to your account after less than a minute of receiving my text.”
Varsha leans against one of the empty stalls and scoffs before folding her arms across her tiny frame. “Typical.”
Alex steps on Devon’s stomach and crosses the way to where Jayce is standing behind me. “You think our little Eddie’s gonna jerk off to the sound of Devon’s last breath tonight?” he asks around a sharp smile.
Jayce bends and presses a kiss on Alex’s lips. “I love it when you talk dirty, babe.”
Varsha pretends to gag, while I simply shake my head, which causes my dark curls to sway a bit.
“Did you confirm the cleanup with Hank?” I question Jayce, who pulls away from his husband long enough to say, “Yup. His people should be here in ten, tops.”
Oh, and did I mention that Edgar owns Indulgence?
Well, he does, and he takes it upon himself to keep track of all the sins its members have committed, before assigning said members’ deaths to me.
Me and the crew get to do what we love, earn a motherfucking load of cash out of it, and we don’t even have to worry about the mess we leave behind after doing our jobs.
Win-fucking-win, huh?
“Good,” I say, then drag my bloody right thumb over my jaw before bringing it to my mouth.
I part my lips while looking at myself in the mirror, then wrap them around my thumb before sucking off the blood around it.
Goosebumps rise throughout my body when the similar yet potent taste hits me in full force, and I refrain from moaning as I swallow and pull my hand back.
“Fuck,” Alex mutters as he looks at me, his grey pupils all but dilated.
It’s more about the act for him, rather than the person performing it. A 70-year-old could be doing what I just did, and Alex would still get a boner. That’s just how he is, and honestly, me and the rest of the crew wouldn’t have him any other way.
‘Fucked-up and proud’ is my team and I’s sole motto, after all.
Jayce quirks a brow at me. “How’s it taste?” he asks, referring to the blood I’ve consumed.
Varsha smirks, because she already knows what my answer’s gonna be, while Alex looks on with intent.
I grin at Jayce’s reflection. “Like victory,” I answer, then run my tongue over my bottom lip.
“Hell yeah,” Alex chimes, and I can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm.
He’s the youngest among us – just 23 – so he usually gets away with behaving however the fuck he wants.
“Time for the Bloody
Prince and his band to make an exit, brother,” Varsha says to me.
I turn, wink at her, and twist my switchblade between my hands. “Well, let’s give em’ a show, then, shall we?”