Page 7 of Red My Lips

I’ve changed out of my bottle service set back into my all-black bartending outfit. Black is good at keeping secrets. Things are about to get real messy, but not for the reason he thinks.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this.” I’ve never spoken truer words. Excitement courses through me, all of my senses heightening.

“I always knew you were an eager little slut, throwing that ass at anyone with a dick,” he says, adjusting himself in his pants. “Now come here.”

“What if I told you to wait?” I give him my best bedroom eyes, watching as he licks his lips.

“I’m done waiting.”

Jonas stalks closer, aggressively invading my space. I recognize the look in his eyes, the intent to take me whether I want it or not. He’s so close I can smell the cognac on his breath and the smoke that clings to his clothes. He grabs one of my hands and places it on his crotch, his dick hardening beneath the material of his pants. Yanking me against him, my left hand is pinned between us as his arms wrap around me to grab my ass.

“You never take no for an answer, do you?”

He lets out a grunt as he grinds against me, the sound drowning out the chink of my switchblade springing open in the hand down at my side.

“You like forcing people to do what you want. You get off on it.”

“Stop fucking talking and take your pants off. This doesn’t have to be unpleasant for you. If you’re good, I might even let you get off too.” His hands grow rough on me, moving to pull on the waistband of my black jeans.

When he pushes me back against a wooden pallet to yank my top up, I use the space created between us to position my knife. With a step forward and a strong thrust, my knife sinks into his abdomen. My four-inch blade is met with resistance, but with an extra shove, I break through his muscular wall without too much trouble.

“Oh, I’m definitely getting off tonight,” I murmur, reveling in the warmth of the blood coating my hand. Jonas stands still as a statue, his body locked in shock. His eyes go wide, looking down to where I’ve stabbed him. Taking advantage of his stillness, I pull the knife out and ram it back in—this time angling it upwards to pierce his liver. I know I’ve hit the right place when another rush of blood starts pouring out of him.

“What the fuck—” Jonas stammers, a range of emotions flashing across his expression. “You fat fucking bitch.” The color is already starting to drain from his face. But I’m not done yet.

“What’s the matter? You don’t want me anymore? You can’t seem to get it up.” My free hand palms his semi-hard dick through his pants, giving it a punishing squeeze. “Not that it would make a difference. You’re way too small to make it past my ass.”

Pulling the knife from his torso, his shaky hands grab at the wound as if his fingers can stop the bleeding and undo the internal damage. I take the opportunity to slash his thigh, severing the femoral artery. With a shout of agony, he claws at his leg before falling to his knees. A string of curses spew from his mouth, mixed with slurs and insults. His angry words fall on deaf ears.

“You look good on your knees, Jonas. This is where you’ve belonged all along.” He’s bleeding out fast, right before my very eyes—but it’s still not enough. The adrenaline that spikes through me is intoxicating, and I’m riding the high until I’m drunk on it.

His stammering and sputtering are silenced with a gargle when my blade slices across his throat, cutting both his windpipe and jugular vein. Taking a step forward, I press the ball of my foot to his shoulder and give it a shove that sends him falling backward onto the ground. His eyes widen up at me, gulping for air to no avail. Moving closer, I tilt my head and look down at him.

The dying part takes longer than I originally thought. I remember it took a good forty-five minutes for Carter to bleed to death. This time, I’ve made a few adjustments to my technique by improving my aim and knowing where to cut. I still have a lot to learn, but a girl’s gotta work with what she’s got.

Losing his strength, Jonas’ arms fall to his sides. I’m not an expert yet, but with how much he’s bleeding, I’m guessing he only has a few more minutes left.

I better make them count.

Stepping over his neck, I stand over him before lowering my full weight to be sitting on his chest. His eyes no longer follow me, instead gazing distantly at the ceiling. His chest struggles beneath me for what little air he can get. Taking my knife, I lightly trace the lines of his face with the blade to toy with him. His eyes find me again when I start to speak.

“I like you so much better this way,” I state. “Silent and hurting.” He wheezes as his struggling breaths become short and erratic. I can quite literally feel the life draining out of him. And it feels fucking amazing.

“Oh, don’t give me that face, just be grateful I’m so generous,” I patronize, weaponizing words he’s said to me on more than one occasion—usually while forcing me to service his heinous clients. “You should smile more, put that pretty face to good use.” His attempt at glaring at me is pathetic, but I applaud the effort. I huff out a dramatic sigh and shake my head at him. “Here, let me help you.”

Dragging the tip of the knife, I watch his skin split under the blade. Jonas’ eyes bulge, his face twitching against my artistry—but I don’t stop until I’ve carved a bloody smile onto his face. “There we go. Now, is that so bad?”

Seeing he’s about to draw his last stunted breath, I lean in closer and lower my voice until it’s barely above a whisper. “I know you’re lying here wondering why this is happening to you, and I don’t want there to be any confusion. This is for what you did to my brother, Tommy—taking his life before stealing mine. You better hope whatever pit of hell you end up rotting in is so deep that I can’t reach you when I get there.”

With one last shudder, Jonas stills. His eyes stare through me, now lifeless and unseeing. The silence is beautiful, and I soak it in. I feel so powerful, absolutely unstoppable. My right hand is coated in sticky blood, and it’s a lovely shade of red. I’m going to enjoy wearing it to work tomorrow.

Reaching my clean hand into my bra, I pull out a mini vial. Unscrewing the top, I drag the rim up Jonas’ neck to collect several drops of blood. Replacing the lid, I hold the vial up to the light of the nearby lamppost to get a better look. Satisfaction settles inside me, filling me until there’s no room for regret or remorse.

I’m not sorry, and I’m only getting started.

Chapter Three

Jill

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