Page 9 of As Devils Love

“Wha’ the fu’ are y’ doing?” Mark starts our mock fight as we reach the stall. “I’m not goin’ in with you.”

He’s loud and obnoxious and he’s drawing everyone’s attention to him. Exactly as planned.

“You can’t stand on your own feet, man.”

“I’m pissing at the wall.” He tears himself off of me and starts fumbling over his feet toward the urinals.

Last chance, little man in the mirror. You better start running.

I chase after Mark and extend my hands out toward him as he reaches our targets. As soon as I’m near enough, I give him a hard push that sends him firmly into Mr. Meat. Mark slams against him and, even though the other guy is big, Mark has fifty pounds on him and slams him into the urinal.

All hell breaks loose.

“What are you doing?” Mr. Meat roars, yanking his cock through the zip and inspecting the piss stains accumulated on his trousers from the urinal.

“Oh, you know,” Mark’s voice is back to normal, “having some fun with it.”

He grabs Mr. Meat by the neck and drives his head forward into the wall. Short-stack recoils from the scene, with his dick still dangling out of his zipper. He’s well-trained enough to know he should go for his gun first but doesn’t have the iron edge needed to do so amid the confusion.

My time to shine.

I slip my hand beneath my leather jacket and bring it back out after pulling a shimmering silver dagger from its sheath. I launch toward Short-stack before he clears his holster and press the tip of my blade into his throat.

I hate that I can’t have my usual fun with these two. Take my time. Watch the fear flicker in their eyes and listen to the all-empowering sound of their drawing their last breath. The guy at the mirror hasn’t moved away and, if I want to deal with him before he disappears out the door, a quick flick of my blade into Short-stack’s jugular will have to do.

“Holy shit, you killed him.” The guy squeals, recoiling away from me.

“I did.” I remove my blade from Short-stack’s neck, and flick it hard, to remove any excess blood. There’s nothing worse than a slippery blade. “You should’ve run when you had the chance, Fuck-Face.”

Mr. Meat, Short-stack and... Fuck-Face. Not every nickname’s going to be a winner.

“I won’t tell anyone. Promise. I don’t even know what you look—”

“Oh, shut up,” Mark groans. He, and Mr. Meat, have come down from the wall in the time it took me to handle Short-stack. Mark has moved from slamming him against tiles, to slamming him directly into the urinal. Given how Mr. Meat’s face is caved in, I’m pretty sure he’s dead already. But what kind of friend would I be, if I took the joy out of killing for Mark? “Your whimpering is drowning out the sound of this guy’s head smacking against the porcelain. And I’ll tell you what, son, it’s a much better sound than the dogshit they’re playing out there.”

I catch up to Fuck-Face quickly and wrap my gloved hand around his throat. I’m not going to torture him. Hell, if I could feel anything at all, I’d probably feel bad for what I have to do to him.

As it stands, he’s a complication.

I don’t like those.

“I’ll make it as easy on you as I can,” I whisper, trying to muster up as much raw emotion as possible to make his journey to the afterlife slightly easier.

With one hard thrust of the dagger, I drive the blade between his ribs and pierce his heart. Another perk of owning a hunting store, I suppose. No one asks questions about how you know anatomy so well.

“There, there. It’s all over now.” I keep my gaze locked on his. I missed it on Short-stack, but I won’t let his light extinguish without catching a glimpse of it.

“Alright, we’re done here.” Mark drives the heel of his hefty boot into what was once Mr. Meat’s nose. He does it again for good measure.

We’re off without another word, leaving the brutal aftermath for some poor soul to find. We head straight for the exit.

“What’s next?” he asks, as the first gust of fresh air washes over us.

We’re barely out the door, and I’m already scanning the street for the rest of my night’s delight. It only takes one up and down sweep of the street to find Fiametta. She has an arm hooked over theginger firecracker’sshoulder, and they’re both leaning against their Uber driver’s car for support.

Maybe I was a little heavy handed when I dropped my sleepy pills into her drink. Oh well, the more she’s had, the less she’ll remember about what happens tonight.

“Go home and rest. I’ll see you at the store on Monday. Don’t be late. We’re getting in that order of buckshot and bait. I don’t want to deal with those pricks alone.” An order for him, but not for me.

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