Author's Preface
Present day
“Take position.”
The music boomed from the speakers: waves of hard-hitting beats. Drunk people moving like drugged jellyfish.
Dim lights flashed a kaleidoscope of colors over the zombified bodies as they danced to the rhythm. The beats pulsated inside her chest like a heartbeat of its own, pumping cocaine into her bloodstream. The hot and stuffy air, pungent with the ease of sweat and alcohol, made her dizzy. She walked closer to the bar while the room spun, drowned in red and purple flashing lasers.
God, Fey loved clubs.
Her body moved however the flow dictated, rubbing on strangers to tease them and flashing a bright smile in mock apology. The neon lights turned the olive tone of her skin a bright pink. She winked at the handsome bartender hiding behind the lined alcohol bottles on the bar.
“Hi, gorgeous. One martini.”
She leaned on the bar and made eye contact with a pair of guys kissing vigorously. Their faces were painted with neon green. Streaks of glitter ran along their cheeks. Fey herself bedazzled herself that night, with shining stones glued to her cheekbones and glittering hues of silver and gold on her eyelids.
The hotness. The heavy air. The suffocating atmosphere.
She let herself drown in this maddening inferno.
She licked the last drops of cocktail off her lips while watching, from afar, a girl, seemingly dared by her friends, lick a spilled drink off the floor like a dog. Cheers erupted all around her. Phones raised to catch every angle, while a smug guy opened his thick wallet and emptied its contents above her head. She giggled in delight and wiped her face with her dirty hands.
Disgusting. Wonderful.
She eased back into the crowd, dancing wildly while her keen eyes searched for a man. A very important man.
“Target seen,” she whispered.
A pair of hands claimed her hips, pulling her forward. She wrapped her hands around her neck, eliminating the extra space left between their bodies.
Their bodies moved in sync. Fey smirked.
“Slaking off at the job?”
“I just told you I saw the target, haven’t I?”
“And the target is still alive because?”
“I can’t do all the work, Evil.”
The target was an inoffensive little man rocking a head so bald that it reflected the colorful lights like a miniature disco ball. Not an ounce of muscle lay hidden under the layers of expensive material and sweaty skin. His bodyguards compensated significantly- two feet tall and built like zoo-kept gorillas, a little ugly for her liking. Fey would normally go for older men, but certainly of a different kind. A kind that resembled lions, not sweaty monkeys.
The man was an incubus. A notorious sex demon.
His slimy hands rubbed in childish impatience. That club was merely a fly trap for him- luring pretty girls and preying upon them. He might have lived to see the next day, had his greed stopped at lust.
He stole from Lucian, thinking himself smart. Fey liked her lips in anticipation of the tasty revenge.
Evil’s grip tightened around her waist. Fey turned her attention back to her, catching the eyes that stood much higher than her own, heels and all. Evil’s gaze stayed fixed on the meatball of a man who had been eyeing them with interest and excitement.
Disgusting, but typical. They relied on that.
“Wanna bet which one of us he’ll choose?” Fey asked and chuckled.
“He’ll be pleased with whoever he gets.”
Fey hummed in response and dragged her hands up Evil’s back, to her shoulders, leaving a little room for her chin to rest on. This close, she sensed a hint of perfume, its expensive smell intoxicating and rich, hanging on for dear life on Evil’s skin after being in that jungle of essences for so long. “Creatures like him can only dream.”
“Creatures like him need to be put in their place.”
Gorilla number one changed positions. He left the other two to guard the meatball and made way through the crowd by pushing any man or woman who stood in front of him. It only took about three, maybe four people falling prey to his aggression to make a point. The people then parted like the sea for Moses.
Gorilla One leaned nonchalantly towards them, whispering something into Evil’s ear. His face betrayed nothing; respectable strategy. Fey subtly opened her eyes a little wider, pouted her lips, and batted her eyelashes from the safety of Evil’s shoulder.
She hid a smile.
The meatball blew a kiss, and Fey wanted to burst out laughing. His lips reassembled a jellyfish. Revolting sight, really.
Fey reveled in it. It built up disgust inside of her, a desire to kill that inferior creature.
Her whip, tightly wrapped around her thigh, was covered by the long dress chosen for this specific reason. It burned her skin, scorching with the same desire to kill as her own.
The movement of Evil’s head triggered the signal she’d been waiting for. Without needing to ask, she began taking steps to close the distance between them and that red, old sofa. The target eyed them up and down one more time, as if he hadn’t been undressing them with his eyes the past few minutes. Now in front of him, he weighed out his choices very carefully, full of entitlement specific to his kind: old, bitter, rich, and delusional.
“Gorgeous young women…” he said, analyzing them like pieces of meat on the market.
That’s all it really was, a hidden market.
His finger glided through the air slowly, without grace, from one to the other. Fey’s hands stayed clasped behind her as she gazed at him with a practiced smile, plastered on her face like a Band-Aid covering her snarl. Evil’s faced lacked any interest. She wasn’t trying to seduce him, nor trying to appear submissive. Fey cautioned her time and time again about her bold radiance. It scared men away.
“Let them. They’d either be too intrigued to oppose, or too scared to leave,” she’d say.
It didn’t really matter who he chose. All options had one outcome only.
The wait became unbearably boring after a while. Fey wanted to scream at the old hag to choose already and get this over with. It wasn’t like he’d be getting his way with either of them.
Evil, sensing her distress, took a step forward and leaned in to whisper something in the target’s ear. He got up and took Evil by the arm, guiding her through a back door that led to the bedrooms.
Fey smirked. She offered herself as a sacrifice, huh?
This bravery will be much appreciated.
“May I be excused?” Fey asked with false humility and a voice higher than her own natural tone.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
What a response. As if she needs approval from those brainless thugs.
“Oh, but I badly need to use the restroom. Don’t worry, cuties, I’ll be right back. I won’t miss the chance to get to know your boss better after my friend is done,” she winked and quickly turned her back on them to hide her gag. She pretended she didn’t hear their protests and power-walked through the crowd, getting lost among the animated bodies.
She made her way outside the club, feeling the breeze of the chilly night cool down her hot skin. A white vapor escaped her mouth as she exhaled, and only then did she remember how badly she craved a cigarette.
Her heels made an orchestra of crisp sounds upon hitting the frozen concrete. Somewhere behind the club, in an alleyway as shady as it got, stood Kian and Elias.
“Couldn’t look more like creeps if you tried, loves.”
Kian rolled his eyes and tapped his watch like an angry dad catching you sneaking inside in the middle of the night. Fey had to resist the urge to smack him.
“A bit late, are we?”
“Don’t blame it on me, it’s not my fault that bald meatball took ages to decide which woman suited his expensive tastes better.” She took a cigarette from her pack and gracefully placed it between her lips. “As if he doesn’t drool at the sight of little girls coming home from school.”
“You could have insisted on it. We’re on a schedule here!”
The generosity of Fey’s heart dissipated as she aggressively slapped the back of Kian’s head using the hand on which she wore more rings. “Why don’t you try next time, huh?”
“First of all, auch ,” he pointed at his head accusingly, “and second, you know it didn’t work well last time!”
“Exactly! So shut your mouth!” she reproached as she finally found a lighter lost at the bottom of her purse. “You’re too ugly to play bait.”
“I could’ve played a fine bait!” Kian rebuked sternly.
Elias sighed, shaking his head disapprovingly. “You’re wasting even more time arguing.”
“Maybe if this piece of shit wouldn’t-“
“Listen here, you little-“
“Enough!” Elias raised his voice to catch their attention. “Where’s Evil?”
“With the target,” said Fey, remembering the purpose of the mission. “He was taking too long, so she went ahead first.”
“He expects to get both of you tonight?” Kian asked, amused.
“You wouldn’t believe the entitlement of some of these things.”
Elias stared blankly for a few seconds, the colored light highlighting his concentrated face. His light blue locks made a wonderful canvas for the rosy red glow from the giant neon lights surrounding the club. He tied dreads with an old elastic from his wrist, freeing himself from the weight of his adornment.
He wore a loose button-up, striped with shades of deep red. The three top buttons were left undone, showing off the beaded choker hugging his throat. Hanging loose against his defined collarbone was the amethyst necklace Fey had gifted him on his twenty-seventh birthday. The black leather jacket layered on top was missing, stolen by Fey to combat the cold of a December night.
He checked the watch on his wrist. “It’s fine. She’s quick with them.”
“When she stays on track,” Kian mumbled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fey asked.
“She plays too much with victims. Lucian wanted a clean job.”
“Have some faith.”
***
Mr. Barnett was an exquisite gentleman, if he did say so himself. Regarded CEO and self-proclaimed king of the underworld.
The club was owned by him, as were the surrounding buildings and the whole world on short notice. Nothing stood in his way; he had anything he could ever want and could get anything he would ever want just by snapping his fingers. Why?
Because he had money.
Money made the world turn. Anyone who disagreed was simply too poor.
They say that money doesn't make you happy, but is that true? How can money not bring you happiness when money means unlimited food, cars, countless properties, and women to your heart's content?
The nightclub used to be an old, crumbling place. Barnett was generous enough to renovate it top to bottom with some change found at the bottom of his pocket. It became one of the most frequented clubs in the city. It was entertaining for him to occasionally come and watch people’s faces contort in inhuman ways. Alcohol brought out the animalistic nature in man.
After satisfying his eyes with the women in tightly fitted pieces of clothing and imagining ripping them off, the excitement became uncontrollable. As a sex demon, it was his nature. Unable to resist his primal instincts, he gets his trusted men to fish one or two to quell his urges, whether they like it or not. Of course, it was easier to come willingly and possibly receive a small reward at the end of the evening than to attract attention by throwing a tantrum. It killed the mood and deeply upset Mr. Barnett.
Fortunately, tonight wasn’t the case.
No, quite the opposite. He had noticed how a pair of gorgeous young women kept eyeing him the whole night. Barnett hid his intrigue and maintained a false indifference in hopes of gathering more intel about the girl’s motives. He knew they were demons. Felt their power from a mile away.
Demons bring trouble. He knew his kind well. But Barnett was one to play with fire.
Only after he made sure those gestures were intentional and they were indeed demanding to get his attention, he whispered the familiar command in his bodyguard’s ear and pointed discreetly at them. In only a minute, they were in front of him, standing tall, radiating the most enchantingly seductive aura Mr. Barnett had ever felt. Their presence struck him so deeply, he found himself staring in awe, completely drugged by their energy. He barely pulled himself back, remembering to actually look at their faces and pick one, which happened to pose another challenge.
Their features were strikingly beautiful and different from one another. Mr. Barnett must confess that he’s never been so helpless in the simple act of picking a woman. Barnett’s taste was extremely unalterable, and he had a clear list of features and body types he liked, so most of the time, his women would just pop out, like a highlighted word in a book.
After too much time had been wasted, one of the girls made her way to Mr. Barnett. In the mere seconds it took her to reach the couch he was sitting on, he caught a glimpse of her black eyes analyzing him vigorously before slowly leaning down and whispering in his ear:
“Let me be the first one.”
Her voice sent shivers down his spine.
The coldness of her tone washed away his drowsiness, waking his numb senses.
He got up and walked her over to one of the back rooms. He could see her face better in this new light.
Her ghostly white skin contrasted with the black attire covering it. A long black dress hugged her curves - so tightly, you could make out every line of her body, leaving very little to the imagination. Mr. Barnett was beyond delighted, as his old brain felt much too tired to put two and two together. He wanted to see and to feel all there is to see and feel.
Each movement she made replayed in slow motion in Barnett’s mind; her lips moved slowly, so unhurriedly that Mr. Barnett could only gaze at their heart shape, coated in what appeared to be a blood-red lip gloss. His eyes moved a millimeter, changing the center of interest from her lips to her nose, then to the eyes that were staring at him.
The eye contact with her was unlike anything Mr. Barnett had encountered in his life, full of women gathered from all corners of the globe. The depth of her gaze was uncanny, beautiful, and vengeful.
“Can you hear me?” she waved her hand slightly in order to get his attention.
“Oh, right, yes, of course,” rapidly responded Mr. Barnett, shaking his head in the process.
“Great.” She took off her leather jacket and placed it on the back of a chair, revealing her own naked back to Mr. Barnett, who blinked in surprise.
“You have tattoos,” he stated as if it wasn’t obvious enough.
“What gave it away?” she laughed. “I have quite a few, yeah. Do you like them?” She turned to face him with a grin, almost daring him to make a negative comment about it.
On her back was a massive hawk tattooed with its wings spread from one corner to the other. Its head was in an unnatural position - upright, with its beak pointing to the back of her neck as if it had been caught from above while flying, or, rather, as if it had been pinned to her back. Around the head was an open eye, with the bird's beak serving as the pupil.
Her arms were also covered in scribbles. The right arm had a jester on its upper part, looking at him with a grotesque grin. The right arm had all sorts of patterns and symbols from top to bottom, up to the back of her hand. Insignificant patterns, spiders, eyes, cursive writing, and other symbols that Barnett couldn't make out.
The words got stuck in his throat pathetically. None of the intended insults came out, although, now looking at the young woman in front of him more and more, the tattoos didn’t look as inappropriate on her skin as they did on other women.
In no way did Mr. Barnett feel any kind of attraction towards masculine women. In fact, he was void of any feeling other than disgust when it came to such unnatural creatures. But this young lady, in spite of the muscular build and tattoos, had a particular allure that riled the want in him even further.
“Please, take a seat,” he offered, hurriedly.
“How about you take a seat?” she responded nonchalantly, but firmly as if commanding him.
Barnett was about to protest, but his body complied before he could catch up. Now, he was sitting on the bed like a five-year-old told off by his mother.
She turned to face him, slowly walking towards him until she couldn’t progress anymore. With one smooth move, she slid onto his lap, legs tightly squeezing his own while her long arms wrapped themselves around his neck.
“What does it symbolize?” he asked. “The hawk.”
“Hopelessness.”
Her tone made his skin crawl with unease.
“Do you invite a lot of women here?” She leaned in to seductively whisper in his ear, hot breath sending chills down his spine. His hands made a move to grab her waist.
“Why so curious all of a sudden?”
“That’s just how I am.” She shrugged. “So, do you?”
“All the time.” A proud smirk overtook his features. The girl’s hands wrapped themselves around him even tighter. “What kind are you?”
“What kind of woman, or demon?”
“Both.”
“What kind do you take me to be?” She smiled.
Barnett weighed her features, her gestures, the ease with which she moved and the sobering weight of her words. She was as unreadable as a charred book, with centuries' worth of history hidden under ash.
“I think you’re dangerous,” he settled on saying.
Her smile widened. “Then why trust me?”
“Who said I do?” Barnett returned her smile, happy to entertain her little games. His rough hands ran up and down the smooth skin of her back, tracing the lines of her stiff muscles.
“You welcomed me into your room. I’m sitting on your lap,” Evil shrugged. “I’d say this is trust enough.”
“Should I be scared?” he laughed.
“Maybe,” she sized him up. “You don’t know what kind of demon I am yet.”
“You strike me as an Enchantress.” He tried his hand at flattery.
Evil let out a hearty laugh. For some reason, Barnett’s hands stilled.
“Enchantresses have more class with their kills. I don’t.”
Barnett laughed nervously. “You… don’t?”
Evil’s eyes went dark, the pupil melting behind a curtain of black. “I don’t.”
Evil didn’t have to strain herself needlessly. She focused on him and, tapping into her power reservoir, felt the familiar heat running through her veins like the nectar of the gods had been injected into her bloodstream. Her fingers twitched in anticipation.
Blood spilled from his eyes like a faucet under pressure. It only took three seconds before he started to scream, and Evil let him sing his pain for only two. Terribly short, but she really enjoyed it.
A long, pale finger on his lips touched his lips. As if by magic, the haunting sound of pained screams stopped abruptly.
“We don’t want any visitors, do we?”
He couldn’t answer, but Evil grinned with pleasure as she watched the terror in his face as it reddened from effort.
Evil reached his chest and felt his heart drumming against her hand. “Should I rip your heart out and hand it to you, Mr. Barnett?”
Within seconds, a heart materialized in one of her hands. There it was, sitting like royalty in her palm. It was still beating and looked terribly real, warm, and soaked in the blood that ran down her forearm and onto the incubus’s business pants.
Barnett blinked the red away from his eyes rapidly. He let out a soundless scream and reached for the heart in Evil’s hand, only for her to tease him by standing up and taking a step back. He patted his left side furiously, and the utter confusion on his face after noticing there was no hole to be found caused Evil to laugh.
“Ok, ok, got me. It’s not yours.” And just like that, the heart disappeared without a trace. “Illusions are my guilty pleasure,”
“You asked what kind of demon I was. I’m a Trickster.”
Barnett whimpered pathetically. Goosebumps rose over his hairy arms.
”Let’s get down to serious business now.”
With a wave of a hand, the first row of cuts materialized on the gentleman's body. He fell forward, landing on his knees, and Evil gave him a kick in the back to fall on all fours. She clamped her hand, feeling the wounds deepening into his skin as if she were carving them manually.
She kicked him again, this time from the side. He lost the strength in his hands and ended up lying face down on the floor. No good , thought Evil, and kicked him back.
His face was twisting in abnormal ways. It wasn't enough, so Evil upped the game and entered his head, making him feel needles piercing every inch of his skin.
That got a reaction out of him. Evil assumed that he started to cry, although it was hard to tell, with all the blood on his face. His body was seized by spasms.
No good, more.
Evil weaved in his mind the sensation of being trampled on. The spasms became more frequent, faster, and soles appeared out of nowhere on his skin. Evil's frustration was growing by the second. Her foot tapped the floor impatiently.
His cries disgusted her. Her foot no longer hit the ground, but hit him . She could feel his bones breaking under her sole. The heel penetrated his skin. She broke his nose and lips in one go and stepped on his eyes without a care for the mess.
More!
All the bones in his body began to crack one by one.
“Lucian sends his regards.”
She channeled her power and, with one last flick of the hand, made his stomach explode like a piñata.
She walked over to the mirror, stepping over the guts left on the floor, to fix her hair. Her reflection -heavily breathing and covered in blood, eyes dark and black veins spreading down her cheeks- she looked no different from her evil twin. Both delighted by her kill and terrified of her own reflection, she felt a laugh stuck in her throat, begging to be set free against her will.
The first time she witnessed someone dying was one of the most traumatizing experiences she had to live through. The sickness had crawled back up her throat. Guilt ate at her for months.
How utterly different. Now, Evil felt nothing.
No remorse, no sickness, not an ounce of guilt. Killing became second nature to her, and that's because it was. She was a demon, a stupid one, who had thought good could lie within her. In reality, her insides were rotten. She had been born with the sole purpose of killing.
She was death itself.
Killing wasn't so much an act of cruelty anymore. Nothing personal. Nothing to plan ahead. It was like riding a bicycle: muscle memory. A job requirement. A simple task.
So when Mr. Barnett lay down breathless, Evil felt nothing. A tinge of amusement coursed through her, fast and overwhelming like an electric shock. She cared more about the stains on her dress than about being a murderer.
His ego grew so long it wrapped itself around his neck, and at the first wrong step, it strangled him. Now, he was helpless. And it was funny.
The trapped laugh escaped as a series of giggles, becoming louder as they went on.
“Glad you finished the job.”
Evil saw Fey standing next to the bathroom door, propped on the doorframe with her hands crossed as she looked at the corpse with an ever-growing smirk on her face.
“I climbed up the bathroom window. Thought you might need a hand, but I suppose you don’t anymore.”
Evil gave her a satisfied look, almost asking her how she liked her little piece of art scattered around the room.
Evil didn't say a word, eyes drifting even further to the mirror standing in the corner of the room. She could see Fey in it, just a third of her body, but also saw herself standing right in the middle. She looked nothing less than sinister.
Red was smeared across her face and up to her elbows. Her cleavage was covered in crimson drops that slid slowly down her bust, slightly tickling as they went down. Eyes, fully black, reflected the light that fell on her -on them- like a reflector. To top it off, her smile was wide and sadistic, teeth shining, biting down on her lower lip to stop the endless giggles from escaping. She covered her mouth to try to muffle the sound, yet only managed to smear more blood over her face.
The laughter only got worse, louder, bolder.
Fey came and lowered herself in front of Evil, taking her face into her hands. Gold irises met her own and pulled Evil into a sandstorm as they always did.
Fey wiped the blood off of Evil's lip with her thumb and waited a moment before pulling her in and kissing her.
Her mouth was hot against her own, pulling her from the madness caused by the thrill of killing. It didn't give her a sense of reality but pulled her into another kind of delusion that felt just as good. When her head felt like cotton and her eyes red, Fey's mouth was the only thing that could urge her brain into shutting up.
Evil's arms acted on instinct and wrapped themselves around Fey's waist, pulling her as close as humanly possible until they were glued together. Fey's kiss reminded Evil how much she'd been wanting to do this, to feel her close. The corpse on the ground next to them didn't even matter anymore. Evil craved Fey, craved feeling her heat on her body.
The whole night, Evil had been on edge because Fey had been wilding with others. She shouldn't be mad; they weren't even a couple. She had also also been with other people,, and it meant nothing to Fey,, who clearly said boundaries are non-existent for them and their... relationship . She shouldn't be mad, but she was. She had been raging inside for hours.
Seeing Fey make out with other people, touch them, wrap her arms around them-it was all wrong.
The memories of the last few hours flooded her mind, pushing her to dig her fingers into Fey's flesh as she squeezed her hard, ignoring her groan.
One hand gripped her hair, while the other stayed around her waist like a claw, unwilling to let go. The dead man's open eyes glared at them, judging them, spiteful because that was supposed to be him, but his fate had betrayed him beyond words.
A wave of disappointment washed over Evil when Fey pulled away, breaking the kiss. Cold overwhelmed her senses again, making her shiver suddenly like being thrown in a bathtub full of ice after having stayed in front of a fireplace for hours. She frowned.
"What?" Evil asked harshly.
"Don't get carried away, we still have to deal with him," Fey pointed at Mr. Barnett.
Evil rolled her eyes, mildly annoyed. "You kissed me first."
"And you wouldn't pull away."
"So you wanted me to pull away?!"
"No, darling, but making out next to a dead man whose organs are spilling out isn't exactly setting up the mood."
Evil scoffed and rolled her eyes, stretching out her leg to kick Mr. Barnett’s head away from them. The head rotated with a squashing sound.
"Disgusting."
She got up to her feet and scanned their surroundings thoughtfully, slowly but surely coming back to her senses. The thrill took her mind off the task at hand, and the anger blinded her momentarily. So much so, she was only now noticing how much of a mess she'd made when this was supposed to go a lot faster and cleaner. Lucian had suggested a snap of the neck, perhaps poisoning, and then moving the body away.
"This is not exactly what Daddy had in mind," Fey pointed out, fixing her hair.
"Thanks for pointing out the obvious."
Fey made a sound between a scoff and a laugh, leaning back against the mirror with her arms crossed, analyzing Evil with a "what will you do now?" face.
Evil wouldn’t fall for her intimidation attempt. She knew herself well enough to know she performed spectacularly well under pressure.
“He wanted a clean death to hang his body. We could think of another kind of public display using what’s left of him.”
Fey hummed and wiped the blood off her nails with a handkerchief. "He does appreciate a little creativity."
"And if he's in a bad mood and tries to kill us, surely you can win him over with your puppy eyes."
A smirk crept up her lips, corner twitching knowingly. "Daddy’s always had a soft spot for his girl."
A knock on the window behind them interrupted the conversation. Kian and Elias stood there, with a bored expressions, waiting for one of them to open the window.
Fey, who was closer to the window, opened it slightly. "We're closed."
"Hilarious," Kian let out, forcing the window to open wider and letting himself in.
Elias climbed right after him, movements slow and void of energy.
The boys eyed the mess and exchanged glances: Kian's was exasperated, and Elias' stayed neutral, with a slight frown forming between his eyebrows.
"What the fuck did you two do?!" Kiran shouted, his eyes burning holes into Evil and Fey. He almost looked comical.
"Finished the job?" Evil answered, staying seated on the floor.
"Finished the -" he pinched the bridge of his nose dramatically and then pointed at the guts spilling out of Barnett's dead body. "He was supposed to have a quick death! Quick and clean! Lucian wanted him whole. Are you dense?”
He paced around like a frantic mom after finding the mess her kids had made. Elias, the father, stayed behind, hands on his hips, mouth shut, so as not to anger the mother further. A smile crept up on Evil's lips at the cartoony scene.
"He didn't deserve a quick death."
"You aren't here to play judge, Evil!"
"I get to decide how my victims die." Her voice was leveled, surprisingly so, considering the anger bubbling up in her chest at the ghost of Barnett's hands on her. "Maybe I wanted to have a little fun with him, just like he wanted to have fun with me."
"Fucking is not quite the same as gutting someone."
"It could be," she said, getting up and fixing her dress.
Evil walked up to him. Kiran stood about two inches taller than Evil. The heels she wore gave her an extra boost, so she could be at eye level with him. Evil wasn't in the mood to play their games, especially after being angered by the blob of meat on the floor. Kian's usual remarks sounded like nails on a chalkboard.
"Stop bitching so much. The job is done, just move the guy."
"It won't be easy to move the guy now that his intestines are spilling out."
Evil raised her gaze sharply, irises disappearing behind the pool of black. She tilted her head, taking a step towards him.
Kian barked a laugh. "Are you trying to fight me? Really?"
"We both know it won't be a fight."
Kian's eyes shifted to their true color as well, his mocking smile dissolving.
"Cut it out." Elias butted in. "No one's fighting."
When neither of them backed off, Fey quickly appeared next to them and pulled them apart.
"You have enough time to fight later, you big babies. Chill out."
Evil felt the warmth of Fey's hand on her bare shoulder and was pulled back to reality. Her eyes returned to normal, and she turned her back to Kian. She didn't have the time to deal with his crap.
Ignoring him and his irritating mumbling, Evil began searching the body. She felt the pockets of his expensive coat, trying not to feel bad for the ruined wool.
On second thought, she abruptly removed her hands from the left pocket and took off the pricey-looking black wool coat, and put it on herself, shamelessly checking out the fit in the mirror.
A loud slapping sound echoed as Kian's palm made contact with his face. He raised his hands, making a silly grabbing motion towards Evil, signaling his urge to strangle her, most likely. Evil acted as if he wasn’t there to enrage him even more. The redness of his face brought her immense joy.
"I can't do this anymore, I have had enough!"
His voice was covered by Fey's giggles, who found this just as amusing. Elias cracked a smile as well, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall without a care in the world. He tucked a blue lock behind his ear and lit a cigarette to busy himself while the others, -Kian- ,sorted their shit out.
"This fits me quite nicely," Evil admired herself in the mirror, twisting and turning to check every angle.
"Evil-"
Evil mimicked the motion of zipping her lips. Kian's mouth shut on command. Signs of struggle appeared on his face as his glued lips refused to come apart. Muffled mumbles fought inside his throat, and Evil turned to him, eyebrow raised in a mocking manner.
"Cat got your tongue?"
Kian let out a sound of protest. His cheeks were tinted pink from frustration. Evil gingerly walked up to him and cupped his cheeks, smiling at him.
"Are you blushing because of me?"
Kian exhaled furiously through his nose, smoke coming out. He grabbed Evil's wrists, and in seconds a burning feeling seized hold of her skin.
Her eyes widened as the burn drilled deeper, melting her skin bit by bit.
Kian's hold prevented her from pulling away.
"Fuck, let go!"
He didn't back down. She raised a leg and kicked his crotch with enough force to send him back a few steps and let the mix of sudden pain and surprise push him into letting go of her.
"Asshole," she ground her teeth. Pink hand marks enveloped her wrists.
"Bitch," he spat back.
Elias, whose amusement ran out, put out his cigarette and knelt next to Barnett.
"Where's that shit?"
"The ring?" Fey moved closer. "Right hand, ring finger."
Evil turned to Fey. “Lucian said he wanted the ring, right?”
“Uh-huh,” she nodded.
Three axes, of different sizes, were hung on the wall. Could it be that Mr. Barnett was a hunting enthusiast? Or perhaps the display of weapons gave him the sense of strength and masculinity he so clearly lacked. Nevertheless, the donation would be greatly appreciated.
Evil picked up the small one and kicked Barnett to move him just a little. She raised the axe and slammed it down.
Barnett’s hand detached from his body at the wrist with only one chop. Gorgeous work, clean cut.
She picked up the hand. “Lucian is gonna love this.”