Page 18 of Bloody Seven

"Oh, come on. Don't be like that. It's Valentine's Day. What's a beautiful girl like you doing all alone?"

I turn to face him with a flat expression. "Does it look like I want to be bothered by you?"

"It looks like you stopped to talk to me," he says, reaching out to place his hand on my waist.

I try to keep myself from recoiling because I don't want his hand on me, but it makes me feel better knowing I will kill him before the night is over. He had the opportunity to prove he wasn’t a pile of shit, but the only thing he managed to prove is that he deserves to die.

He touched me without my permission. I said no, but he didn’t listen. He is lustful toward me, and that's the only green light I need.

“Maybe we should go find somewhere more private to talk," I toss out with very minimal interest.

Still, he takes it as his open invitation to pull me closer and sniffs me like a fucking creep. I catch a whiff of stale beer on his breath, and he reminds me of my first kill, Gluttony.

"Yeah, I've got somewhere for us to go, pretty girl." He smiles, revealing a missing tooth, before grabbing my hand and pulling me down the street.

We stop in front of a door of what looks like an abandoned building with a steel rolled-down gate and graffiti covering it, and I make sure I keep my head down. My heart rate picks up as the man wiggles the door handle and pushes it open.

I start to wonder if maybe this was a bad idea and worry about whether or not there are other people inside the building. The last thing I need is to be reckless enough to end up in an entire homeless camp. I have a Taser and a knife, but that’s not going to save me from an ambush. Stupid emotions.

"I don–" I start, but he interrupts.

"It's just us here. This is my secret place. I don't share." His eyes narrow at that last sentence.

Once inside, he pushes me up against the wall with a disgusting smile. His hands grope me through my hoodie as I reach into my bag to pull out the Taser. I waste no time bringing it up to his neck, hitting him with it twice while I pull my knife and gloves out.

He falls to his knees, screaming, and I kick him onto the ground with my foot. I hit him with the Taser again for good measure, and his body contorts to the side as his muscles seize up. He doesn't try to move, so I take the free moment to pull on my rubber gloves to keep the blood from getting onto my hands and then hover over him.

"Lust dies today," I say as I plunge the knife into his chest for the first time.

I puncture one of his lungs and let relief fill my veins. Feelings always overwhelm me with the first stab. As he begins to come back to reality from being tased so many times, he begs for me to stop. I bring the knife down a second time, hitting him on theopposite side of the chest. Then I stab him a third, fourth, and fifth with no defense.

My chest heaves as the adrenaline floods through me, and I pause for a second before plunging the knife into him the sixth time, watching as the life fades from his eyes. There’s no reason for me to stab him again, but I do anyway because they all get seven.

Seven sins. Seven kills. Seven stabs.

I reach into my bag to pull out the rose and toss it on his chest. One final touch. It’s a little smashed, but that doesn’t matter. Now, I'll stop somewhere to place an anonymous call to the police about a noise complaint so they know to come here and investigate; otherwise, I doubt anyone will find his body any time soon if I don’t.

After looking down at myself, I’m satisfied with how minimal the blood splatter was this time. There's a mirror in my purse that I use to check the exposed skin on my face for blood, and I only see one tiny spot that I wipe off with my hoodie.

Wearing black isn't just an aesthetic choice. It's also great for hiding blood. I pull my gloves off, placing them in the Ziplock bag that I brought inside my cross-body, and once they’re safely secured in my purse, I take the hoodie off, turn it inside out, and slide it back on. I'll get rid of everything permanently like I always do when I get home.

One glance around the scene fills me with reassurance. I don't see any cameras inside, so I’m fairly sure I can leave without getting caught. I pull the hood back up and keep my head down as I quietly push open the door to make my way back to the Q.

The sooner I can get back to the hotel to get my shit, the better. Another job well done. Good riddance to this city until next year.

Chapter 8

Corbin - One year later

Today marks one year since I had a one-night stand with the mysterious cupid, who walked into my bagel shop, and I find myself questioning if she was even real at this point. Finding out she was connected to Drew was a sick twist of fate. Still, I was disappointed that by the time I put clothes on and made it down to the street, she was gone.

I suppose it's karma. I spent a good bit of my early twenties sneaking out of the beds of my random bar hookups, and the one time I actually felt a connection with someone, she pulled the same shit on me. She may not have snuck out, but she did run. So, same thing, but just a little different.

The one regret that stands out the most about that night is not finding out more about her before we slept together. Maybe it would have prevented the massive blow-up that things ended on.

The first month or so after she disappeared, I thought about trying to find her. I thought maybe it would be a romantic gesture or some shit to show up at her house with a bouquet of roses. I had her first name to go on and the very few detailsshe told me about herself, which made it pretty easy to find her socials, but I couldn’t pursue her.

Allowing myself to do that felt disrespectful after finding out she was connected to Drew. Even looking at her socials made me feel like a stalker. If she wanted me, that would be completely different, but she made it very clear she didn’t want anything to do with me.

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