Page 15 of The Hellkeeper

A huge one.

$1,000.

I feel sick.

Chapter Seven

Damien

Talking to my Amelia for the first time was like setting fire to my own skin. A million fire ants crawling under it, stinging, tearing, burning. My mind was never quiet to begin with, but now it’s fucking ruined. She’s in my head.

I need to know her. Need to take her apart piece by piece and see what makes herher.

But right now, I have business to attend to. Richard Davis has summoned me again.

Richard sits across from me, his daughter draped in a dress that barely qualifies as one. It’s something better suited for a strip club than this cigar lounge. Her manicured fingers toy with the rim of her glass like it’s the tip of a dick. She’s looking at me with her lips pursed, eyes wide, like a fish out of water. If this is her attempt at being seductive, I’d be shocked if she’s ever gotten laid in her life.

Richard exhales a cloud of smoke. “Linda asked for you.”

I grunt.

She uncrosses her legs, shifting forward. “I need you to kill someone else for me.”

“Another job?”

“There’s this girl who won’t stop running her mouth about me. Always talking behind my back, spreading rumors—”

I tune her out, jaw ticking. A girl? Not a rat. Not a threat. Just some spoiled little princess with a vendetta over gossip.

I turn my gaze to Richard. “I don’t do unjustified targets.” My voice is cold. “That’s a sure way to get lazy. And lazy men get killed.”

She pouts, leans in further, giving me a view of what she clearly wants me to see. “Didn’t you kill someone for me already? What’s another one?”

And there it is. She’s overthinking. Twisting it in her head, thinking it meant something personal. It didn’t. It never does.

“I’m a hitman. Not a fucking errand boy.”

She doesn’t like hearingno. I can tell no one’s ever told her that word in her entire spoiled existence.

Richard laughs, tapping ash from his cigar. “Told you he’d say that.” He smirks. “But I’ve never seen my daughter so bloodthirsty before. Thought it was worth a shot.”

Linda crosses her arms. She’s pissed. Too bad. I’m not here to coddle overgrown children.

I glance at her once more, bored. I stand, pulling on my jacket. “You want someone dead, make sure they deserve it.”

I walk the fuck out of whatever game she thought she was playing. I shake off my irritation, it’s irrelevant. The only thing that matters isher. My angel. My Amelia. She’ll see soon enough that I take care of what’s mine. That flimsy bed she slept on? It wasn’t fit for a queen. So, I replaced it.

I exposed myself to her tonight, just a little. I gave her a hint, that I’m the monster under her bed, the shadow in her walls. I thought meeting her in the restaurant would make it easier, gentler, but she was still petrified.

She’d better never think of escaping. Not when I’ve seen her. Not when I’ve watched the way her foot dangles off the mattress, just barely, teasing me like she wants me to crawl out from underneath and press my mouth to her skin. To taste her fear. To tell her that even monsters fall for softness.

I reach the restaurant, and the back door is locked this time. Good girl, Amelia. A tiny, foolish attempt at keeping me out. I pick the lock in seconds. The scent of warm bread and something sweeter—her—wraps around me as I move through the empty kitchen, down the stairs.

The storage room door is heavier than before. She’s barricaded it. Again, good girl. Again, not good enough. She doesn’t understand that I would walk through fire to get to her.

I shove forward, and the stand she propped against the door crashes to the ground as it swings open violently.

She screams like her soul is being ripped from her body.

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