Page 22 of Ruthless Desire

There will be no going back. No escape from the twisted fairy tale we've written in blood and shadows.

Only darkness. Only us.

Only love as destructive as any war, as terrible as any apocalypse.

I'm coming for you, little bird. Prepare yourself.

The Devil is on his way home to collect his due.

And when he does...

All of Heaven and Hell will bear witness to our glorious damnation.

Chapter 9 Natalie

Accel City is a ghost town at this ungodly hour, the first weak rays of dawn barely piercing the smog-choked sky. I stumble down the deserted street, my body a jittery mess of cocaine and fear. Sleep is a distant memory, chased away by the shadows that lurk at the edges of my vision.

My duffel bag weighs a ton, the canvases inside a reminder of my humanity. They're all I have left now - my art, my soul splattered across stretched fabric. The last fragments of a life that's spiraling out of control.

Mark's gallery looms ahead, a gleaming monolith of glass and steel that seems to mock my disheveled state. I haven't been here since he first took me on as a client, back when I thought I might actually have a shot at making it in this cutthroat world.

Before the murders. Before the cops. Before him.

I shudder, my hand instinctively tightening around the mace canister in my pocket. The Don of Accel City. Even the thought of his name sends icy fingers of dread crawling up my spine. I can still feel the ghost of his touch, the heat of his breath on my neck as he whispered dark promises in my ear.

"Get it together, Natalie," I mutter, shaking my head to clear the cobwebs. "He's not here. He can't hurt you."

But even as the words leave my lips, I know they're a lie. Dante is everywhere and nowhere, a phantom that haunts my every waking moment. And now, thanks to my own stupidity, I've dragged Mark into this mess too.

The memory of last week's gallery opening flashes through my mind. Sienna, resplendent in a dress that cost more than my yearly rent, sidling up to me with that Cheshire cat grin.

"Darling," she'd purred, her words slurring slightly from too much champagne. "You simply must let me introduce Mark to the Corsinis. They're always on the lookout for fresh talent, and with your... unique association with Luca. I'm sure they'd be fascinated."

I should have said no. Should have run screaming in the opposite direction. But the promise of connections, of finally breaking into the upper echelons of the art world... it was too tempting to resist.

And now?

The thought sends a fresh wave of nausea rolling through me. I pause, leaning against a graffiti-covered wall as I try to quell the urge to vomit. The brick is rough against my clammy skin, anchoring me to reality.

"Focus," I growl, pushing off the wall with trembling hands. "You're here to warn him, to make this right. Nothing else matters."

I force myself to keep moving, each step feeling like I'm wading through molasses. The gallery's pristine facade looms closer, but something's... off. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, a primal warning that danger lurks ahead.

That's when I hear it. A sound that doesn't belong in this pre-dawn stillness. A sharp crack that echoes off the surrounding buildings, sending pigeons scattering in a panic.

A gunshot.

For a moment, I'm frozen. A deer in the headlights, torn between self-preservation and morbid curiosity. I should run, call the cops, do anything but investigate the source of that ominous sound.

But even as the thought crosses my mind, I'm already moving. Creeping towards the glass doors on legs that feel like they might give out at any second. My heart is a jackhammer in my chest, threatening to burst through my ribcage.

Oh god. Oh fuck. There's blood on the windows. Crimson smears stark against the pristine glass.

I fumble for my phone with numb fingers, ready to dial 911. When the doors suddenly swing open, spilling harsh white light across the sidewalk.

I blink against the glare, a scream dying in my throat as a hulking figure fills the doorway. A walking mountain, his bald head gleaming like polished marble.

For a moment, I'm certain this is the end. The Grim fucking Reaper himself, come to collect my sinner's soul.

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