TWENTY-ONE
Resting the back of my head against the coarse wall of the alley, I felt the concrete biting into my scalp like penance.
My phone glowed in my palm, the display showing Cain D’Angelo hovering over my Paula; his shadow slicing across her skin like a thief’s hand.
He was slipping. I could see it. Desire stained him. Weakened him.
It was almost laughable. But I let him taste temptation. Let him believe she was his for a moment. That was how sin worked – it flattered before it damned.
He lingered too long, though. And he was too close. I could feel my pulse in my throat, my breath catching as if the air itself refused to move until he was gone.
The woman kneeling between my legs hummed softly, her perfume cloying in the heat, sweet as rot, her devotion mechanical and hollow. I barely felt her lips slide over my shaft like an empty, ritualistic facsimile of the true worship I craved.
Even lust meant nothing if it wasn’t hers.
I wondered: had Paula’s newfound extracurricular activities made her more proficient in sucking cock? What would her lips feel like around the base of me?
‘Time to go,’ I said in Italian, pressing my hand against the brunette’s forehead until she pulled away. She blinked up at me, confusion flashing across her overly painted face.
‘Is something wrong?’
Everything was wrong – she wasn’t her, for starters.
‘Vai via,’ I snarled – go away. She cursed, small and shrill, before stumbling into the dark.
Her perfume trailed after her, an artificial sweetness that made my stomach wrench.
I made a note to myself not to bring the new employees out like this again.
I was beginning to run out of them. Especially with cops finding their pieces around the city lately.
Zipping up my trousers, I lifted my gaze to the flat on the third floor. My pulse steadied. Because my angel was waiting.
With a few swipes on my phone, the cameras fell into silence. The screen started looping obediently.
It took me a few minutes to climb up the flimsy fire escape. The latch on her window gave easily under my touch – familiar at this stage. One day, I would fix it. A guardian had to protect what was his.
Inside, the stillness greeted me like a cathedral after a flood. The only light spilt from the moon, tracing her outline across the bed. She lay there in crimson, untouched and unaware, every breath a benediction. The sight of her stole something from my chest.
I moved closer. Knelt beside the bed. The air tasted of dust and skin and salvation. She didn’t stir. My pulse hammered in time with hers. I told myself I would only watch – just one more moment in her presence before she was reborn into what she had always meant to be.
The knife in my pocket whispered like a prayer.
Not yet. Please – I pleaded with it, the words beating against my skull. But her throat gleamed so beautifully in the moonlight, and my hands trembled as if some unseen choir had called my name.
I took in a deep breath to steady myself. And I set the blade free.
It was small, delicate – just like her. Just like they all had been, but she… she was the ultimate creature. Her blood was pure enough to consecrate the steel for the final time – the blood of a martyr who felt pain, loss, surrender, and still walked with her head held high.
And once it was sanctified, I could finally purify myself of all the wrongs humanity had bestowed upon me.
Oh, my beautiful Paula – my salvation.
The blade ached for her, and I settled it against her neck, tracing a teasing line right across that throbbing jugular. I could almost imagine the soft pool of crimson there, dipping low between the slopes of her neck muscles, her collarbone…
I wouldn’t strangle her, I wouldn’t soil her lungs with the breath of death. She deserved to taste her own sacred blood. Rejoice in it.
‘Travis?’ she murmured.
My heart seized at the softness of her voice.
‘Shh…’ I whispered.
‘Please… no.’
My brows drew tight as my gaze caught the knife, its edge suspended above the pale curve of her throat. For a heartbeat it gleamed like it wanted to decide for me.
‘I’ll be good…’ she mumbled, eyes still closed. She wouldn’t be able to open them – not after the silent benediction I had dissolved into her drink hours before. Even her resistance had belonged to me now. Even her sleep.
‘I know you will, angel,’ I whispered back. I hadn’t spoken to her this way… ever. Somehow, I couldn’t stop.
That damned blade was suddenly too heavy in my hand.
‘Cain…’ she breathed.
The name detonated in my skull.
My blood surged, pounding through my veins until the effort of stillness became torment in its own right.
She dared to summon his name here – into this sanctified hollow where only I should dwell.
She—
—suddenly lifted my chin, pulled me closer with a trembling hand. And pressed herself into my chest as though seeking safety in the very shadow that threatened her. And she—
Hail Mary, full of grace…
Paula’s lips touched mine, as soft as absolution, as scorching as a sacrament.
The Lord is with thee…
She kissed me again, a fragile, desperate thing. And my breath fell.
Blessed art thou among women.
Her mouth warmed against mine like a confession. I shuddered, undone by the miracle of her touch.
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb…
Holy Mary, Mother of God… pray for us sinners….
My hands pushed into her hair, clutching her closer, the knife inches from her face. Her soft sigh shattered the last of my prayer.
Now… for it is the hour of my death…
‘Don’t leave me,’ she whispered, a plea and a curse in one.
I answered her mouth with my own, drawn by the need to claim, to be forgiven. To taste the offered fruit she would have never given me otherwise.
‘I need you,’ she breathed, the confession splitting me apart. ‘Cain…’
I went still, the air fracturing inside me, burning through me like lightning.
That name again… That fucking name – a thorn jammed into my ear, a venom that burned hotter than hellfire.
He was inside her. He had slithered into her thoughts, her dreams, into the sacred depths of her soul again. He’d wrapped himself around her – and she didn’t even see she was choking on his filth.
My teeth clenched. My breath sawed in and out.
He had corrupted her! Twisted her with his filthy hands, filled her mouth with curses!
She believed his touch was her sanctuary. That his presence could save her. And in that belief, she betrayed the sanctity.
Of us.
My heart stopped, my lungs seized as she stilled beside me, sleep claiming her with her hands still around my neck.
It ached.
Because my angel had strayed. And before she could bless the blade… she had to be made holy again.
And D’Angelo…
He needed punishment, too.
But not tonight.
No.
Tonight, I would become my own martyr – restraint would be my offering, penance my proof of faith.
They would live, not because I forgave them, but because punishment had to be earned.
Death was a mercy. And mercy was not what sinners deserved.
Sunlight stabbed through the blinds, carving across my lids like blades dipped in fire.
My mouth tasted like cotton, a sour trace clinging to the back of my throat.
The taste curdled into something metallic as my stomach twisted.
The air felt wrong, heavy and syrupy, as though the world lagged half a second behind.
I tried to lift my arm, and the motion dragged, my muscles refusing to obey. A cold shiver crawled up my spine despite the summer heat.
Not again – the thought flared through the fog, searing enough to break through the headache. The weight in my limbs, the crawling pulse beneath my skin – it was the same. The same chemical sleep I’d fought before.
My heart punched through my chest.
I pushed up on my elbows, searching the room. The sunlit lines on the walls blurred, doubling at the edges, and I blinked hard to clear my vision.
Then it hit me – the full truth of what had really happened.
He couldn’t have found me. He couldn’t have—
Every sound became suspect: the air conditioner, the creak of the floorboards, my own breathing. I clutched the sheet to my chest as if it could protect me, whispering his name under my breath.
I fumbled for my phone, blinking against the glare on the display as I checked the time. 11:07 a.m. Shit.
I almost sprang up like I’d been burned – until relief hit me a second later: it was Saturday. No work. No bookings. No pretending I had my life together for the sake of my job.
But then the reprieve cracked, a gnawing unease creeping into my chest at the blank hole in my memory. How did I get to my bed?
I looked down – the dress was intact.
I flung my legs off the side of the bedframe as I tried to piece together the night before.
I remembered going to the club. Cain had been there and so had Vinnie. The memory of Ghost surfaced with all the heat it deserved. There were drinks, too many faces, books, too much noise. And then… nothing.
My eyes caught on the camera mounted in the corner.
I opened the security app, fingers trembling as I navigated the cloud-stored footage.
Rubbing at my temples did nothing to clear the fog in my brain, and pain was slowly rising – about to bloom into a full-fledged migraine.
The last thing I could recall was Cain’s concerned face, his voice asking me what was wrong. But after that? Nothing. Just a black void.
My pulse raced, anxiety infecting my chest. Did I say something? Do something? I was still wearing the dress I’d shamelessly bought off that girl in the club. So, nothing serious had happened. Maybe?
The timeline blurred as I opened the app and scrubbed through the footage from last night.
There I was, stumbling into the flat, Cain’s arm wrapped firmly around my waist. His face was tight with concern, his mouth moving, saying something I couldn’t hear. I fast-forwarded, dread coiling tighter with every frame.
Then—
I froze. The image jerked to a stop.
Me. My hand. The gun. Pressed into Cain’s jaw.
I recoiled from the screen as if it had burned me, my chest locking up, air refusing to flow.