Page 3 of Flames of Ruin

With a loud laugh, I plunge the blade into his neck, severing his carotid artery. The blood sprays across my black shirt as I back away, watching the life leave his body as he slumps over in the chair.

As I begin my usual routine of cleaning up after my hits, her face comes back to the forefront of my mind.

Dimitri is coming back and whatever he has planned, I will stop him this time.

For her.

***

Every year, on the 16th night of January, the anniversary of my father's death, I sit in the same booth. The same night three hundred and eighty-three innocent souls were taken from this earth. Even after thirteen years, I still struggle with the guilt that I didn’t stop him in time.

Normally at Raven’s, I attempt to blend in with the rest of the thugs that frequent this place, watching and listening for any new activity that may arise in the city. They know me as the CEO of Vanguard Enterprises, the heir to my father’s company. To them, it is the front for the shell company I allow many of them to use to launder their money through. But what they don’t see is that I have been single-handedly protecting Edinburgh under a mask for the last thirteen years, slowly taking out the cancer cells of this city, one by one.

Tonight, just like every year, I force myself to remember the horror of that night, every scream and cry as people lay dying in the streets.

Sitting in this dark corner booth, shifting at the uncomfortable memories, I realize just how stiff my body is from the night before. My muscles feel tight and heavy as I remember the look on Anderson and his men’s faces as I killed them.

I’m getting too old for this shit.

Lost in thought and looking down at the smoking cigar nestled between my two fingers, I mindlessly twirl the delicate, empty crystal glass against the black marbled bar top. The purple and blue lights of the club glisten off the thick silver banded ring I wear on my middle finger. The signet is a fire-breathing dragon. A reminder of the monster I came from, and the monster I will always be. No one can do what I do every night and not be consumed with the darkness that comes with the territory.

A faint hint of floral and citrus invades my senses as one of the cocktail waitresses stops at my table.

She must be new. No one ever approaches me unless I motion them over.

When my eyes meet hers, my heart feels like it is being ripped out of my chest and cracked wide open. The universe must be laughing at me, to present her on this night of all nights.

“Do you need something?” The words rumble through me like an angry growl as I gaze up at her through hooded eyes, grasping the glass in front of me.

“Hey, don’t take my job away. That’s supposed to be my line.”

Her green eyes sparkle at me like emerald gems, but underneath that sparkle is the faintest hint of sadness, loneliness. I could never forget those eyes, not in a million years or in a million lifetimes.

My eyes rake over her body for a moment. Taking in her curves, her red lips curving up into a soft grin, and her dark, black hair falling in waves over her shoulders.

She’s dressed in the usual Raven’s attire: a black crop top that leaves very little to anyone’s imagination, black high-waisted shorts and black fishnet stockings with combat boots.

“This must be your first night here.”

Plopping down in the booth across from me, she clasps her hands in front of her.

“Actually, it is, which tells me a lot about you that you noticed. You must come here often, and no, that was not a pick up line.”

She pauses for a beat. “I got dared to come over as part of some new employee hazing bullshit. And they…” she nods to a waitress at the bar smirking in our direction, “said you have a reputation around here for being some huge asshole.”

When all I do is chuckle, she continues.

“I don’t turn down a dare and you don’t scare me. No one does.” She boldly declares as she crosses her arms across her chest.

Taking a long drag of my cigar, I blow smoke rings into the air, gazing at her. She’s brave. I supposed she would have to be given how she’s grown up.

“You should be.”

“Should be what?” She pries knowingly.

I can tell she is trying to get a rise out of me, and it’s fucking working. If she only knew, she was picking the wrong night to piss me off.

“Scared of me.” I glare at her before continuing, “CiCi. Or do people call you Cecilia?”

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