Chapter 7
He was still there.
I drifted to the kitchen window, two-fingering the blinds just enough to see the street for the fourth time since I left him on the doorstep.
He stood on the sidewalk outside of my building, his head swiveling back and forth, sometimes up toward where Barb’s light still shone above him. He ran his hands through his hair impatiently a few times.
It seemed we were both wrestling confusion that ran deep enough to feel like it would last an entire trip around the sun.
I should want him gone, and part of me did.
I still had a deal with the Devil to uphold, and the consequences of defying him were likely a million times worse than my curiosity.
What if I hung from a ceiling fan by anal beads that were too big for eternity?
I could see Lucifer being the type of man who would do that.
The other part of me, though… The curious part?
It wanted me to go back down and stay until I had Joe and all of his vigilante intentions figured out.
I’d never had a savior. Men from Luscious don’t save girls; they join the dogpile. The idea of someone holding the line for me felt wrong and warm at the same time, like scalding bathwater I couldn’t decide to sit in or jump out of.
When I looked out the blinds again, he was gone.
“Whatever,” I scoffed dismissively. I crossed to the refrigerator and opened the door to a disappointing array of half empty water bottles and old Chinese takeout. I grabbed a random bottle, tossed the lid aside, and downed the rest of the stale water.
A deep, grumpy growl sounded from the dark and warmed my cold, dead heart. An abundance of fur jumped onto the counter I leaned on and flicked his tail across my back.
“Hey, Jesus,” I crooned and scratched my Maine coon hellcat between the ears.
Lucifer swore he was just a normal cat, but it was incredibly odd the way Jesus showed up on my door a week after we struck the deal.
My dead mom was probably so happy that I’d finally found her savior.
I wondered if she knew how hairy he was.
His red eyes glowed in the darkness and reminded me of my favorite childhood movie. “Hmm, maybe I should have named you Cheshire rather than Jesus.” His answering meow was less than impressed. “You’re right. It’s just not as fitting as Jesus.”
I gave his head one last gentle pat. Apparently, it was one touch too far.
“Ouch!” I yelped, grabbing the back flab of my arm that had just been assaulted by his demon teeth. Jesus scattered away as I crinkled my water bottle and threw it in his direction. “Fucking lump of violence.”
“Fighting with a cat when you should be fighting for your immortality,” the Devil tsked in my mind. His voice felt like velvet soft lips brushing against the nape of my neck. “Tick-tock, dearest Dany.”
“Get out of my fucking head!” I yelled, sliding my fingers through my hair and ruffling it as if I could physically shake him away from me.
The truth was, I knew I was late. A bigger deadline loomed ahead, and the thought of facing it came with a crushing anxiety that worsened with each passing year.
You’d think that would make someone more motivated to get it done.
That maybe the threat of Satan’s worst for eternity would make them eager to complete his bargain.
I wasn’t ready yet. I couldn’t face him.
What if I choked? That dumbass at the club looked nothing like him, and yet it didn’t stop the full blown anxiety attack that crept up and punched me in the lady balls when action mattered.
Even more stupid was the fact that if I was honest with myself, I was terrified of what happened next. Say I did kill the man who stole my mortality. What then? Was I resigned to this life as a stripper in a shitty club for eternity?
I was a special kind of idiot because instead of being motivated to act or seek the answers I wanted, it only made me feel more paralyzed.
Weak. So fucking weak, Dany. That angry voice of mine growled again.
“I am not weak.” I shook with clenched fists.
I killed boys for target practice. I was Satan’s assassin. Spreading his will like a burning Bible.
My heels clicked against the hardwood as I headed for the door.
The microwave read 12:41 a.m.—half an hour since Joe posted watch and finally left.
The ledger window was open and I needed three names tonight before His Evilness next graced me with his presence, or I’d be fucked.
Probably riding on an over-crowded city bus full of body odor and handsy old men for eternity.
“I expect an apology when I get home, Jesus,” I called, locking up. “Now, what to do?”
Back to Luscious? It’s an excellent hunting ground, but after tonight it sounded like a headache, not a haunt. I didn’t need that shit in my life at the moment.
“The park it is,” I grumbled. The neighborhood park off the bar strip featured dim lamps, long sightlines, and a mile of drunk delinquents spilling in after last call. If I was going to scramble for substitutes, that’s where I’d find them.
A half naked girl walking alone along a mile long strip full of bars and drunken men to wander inside of it. What could go wrong?
“Take me home tonight,” I sang under my breath. “I don’t wanna let you go ‘till you see the light…”
I cut south toward the strip, passed two shuttered bodegas and a tattoo shop, and slipped beneath the park’s iron arch.
The paved loop wound through dense greenery and manicured bushes.
Good cover for those looking for trouble, better bait for me.
It wasn’t long before I was alone with the hum of sodium lamps and the steady cadence of my own steps.
An hour later, I’d looped the trail a handful of times, patience thinning, until a laugh split the night and goosebumps walked my skin.
Nights like this one, when my last shreds of humanity made the thought of murdering someone taste like ash on my tongue were becoming fewer and farther in between, but they still sucked.
I never looked forward to Death Day.
But once I fixed on a soul, the switch flipped. Bloodlust took the wheel. Mercy stopped mattering. I needed that switch tonight. The ledger window was shrinking to hours, and I didn’t have time to be tender.
Did I dread the hunt?
Usually.
Did I love the kill?
Abso-fucking-lutely.
I slipped my hands into my jacket pockets and made myself as small and fragile looking as possible before I started singing my favorite Eddie Money song again, looking like a breakable girl who was scared of the dark and had to sing to get through it.
It wasn’t long before snickers rose behind me, and footsteps hastened to catch up. Pregame jitters spread goosebumps along my skin and a smile stretched across my face. My expectation was simple: draw them close, peel one from the herd, steal his soul, move on.
Their faces came into view, and I could tell in the narrowing of their eyes and lip between their teeth that they’d already decided I was prey. Something they could have just because they wanted it. An object to be used and discarded because society said I owed it to them.
“Take me home tonight…”
“Your place or ours, sweetness?”
I laughed shyly, slumping my shoulders and picking up the pace to trigger their need to hunt. Time stopped as I waited for the telltale signs they would take the bait. It wasn’t a matter of needing the kill anymore.
I wanted it.
Sneakers shuffled and scraped against the paved trail. There were no laughs or hushed conversation, only the quickening of their breaths as adrenaline pumped through their veins. They didn’t say a word as they grabbed me by the arm and threw me into the bushes.
The taunting began as one covered my mouth to muffle my cries while the other ripped the seam of my dress and unbuckled his belt.
I knew what would come next. A chorus of ‘you fucking like it’ and ‘good little whore’ harmonized with grunts and sweat slicked skin slapping together.
Not me. Not tonight.
Thorns scraped my calves. A palm pressed my cheek into damp earth. Another hand fumbled at my jacket zip.
I let the first sob catch in my throat. Let them lean closer and smell the subtle notes of fruit in my perfume, and the product in my hair. All of the feminine shit that creeps like them went feral for.
And then, when they were so lost in testosterone that they felt invincible, I turned to swing.
My fist connected to a larynx with a satisfying crunch and I wished we weren’t so enshrouded in shadows so I could see the surprise on his face.
His gasps were panicked as he hit his knees; his body gasped for oxygen that couldn’t make it past the collapsed esophagus.
I kicked out, aiming high, and couldn’t feel the pain radiating up my leg when I made contact with his skull from the complete euphoria swimming through my blood.
I kicked him again, over and over until it sounded like a wet squelch.
One.
When I turned in search of the others, I found them backing away onto the path, torn between fight or flight.
I walked toward them slowly, creeping forward in hopes they thought I just wanted to leave.
Or maybe it would be more fun if they ran?
I did wear my tennis shoes and could definitely use the exercise.
A man with swept back black hair clenched his fist and set his jaw before lurching at me.
“You stupid fucking whore!”
He swung once and I deflected it. On the next swing, I caught his wrist, turned it, and felt tendons strain under my grip. We were pressed together tightly now, him incapable of pulling away from my inhuman strength.
I drank in his fear, tasting it like the sweetest wine on my tongue. He was screaming, but I couldn’t discern the words over the rush of blood in my ears.
Something hard pressed into my hip, and I couldn’t hold back the corny, “Is that a glock in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me, big boy?”
“Please–”
“Yeah, I know,” I answered and reached for the gun strapped to his waist. “Please don’t do this…” I clicked the safety off. “You promise you won’t tell anyone.” He shuddered from the sound of the gun cocking. “How many girls said the same to you?” I asked. “Did you let them go?”
“I never–”
“Touched anyone? I’m sure you didn’t,” I sneered, disgust boiling alongside the bloodlust begging for his death.
I was done listening to the piece of shit, and so I crammed the muzzle of the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger. Brain matter fell like confetti around us. The death of a rapist was something to celebrate, yeah?
I let him fall to the ground and made quick work of popping both sets of eyes out of their sockets.
Two down, one to go.
The other man was long gone, but I was like a hound with a scent.
“Ready or not, motherfucker, because here I come.”