Page 8 of Venomous Kiss
Well, fuck! I didn’t think she even noticed. Seems she is more observant than I thought. The bartender brings over my drink and hands it to me, but she takes it before I can and brings it to her lips. I watch as she nods her head in approval for that one.
“Better. You won’t taste so sour later.”
“You plan for there to be a later?” I ask.
“You want me. I can tell you do. You even made your friend leave.”
“My friend? No, he works for me.” I like to keep my affairs private, and friends are a liability. So, I don’t have friends. My life revolves around my work. My first business keeps me busy enough, and my other… well, it involves a special skill set. One where it’s best I work alone.
“What do you do?”
I smile at her and lean in. “I’m a serial killer,” I say with a wink and then pull back, swallowing the rest of my drink. She doesn’t blink or tell me I’m crazy.
No, she simply smiles slowly, her plush lips curling at the corners, her eyes lighting up with a strange inner glow. It’s the first real smile I’ve seen from her all night.
And it’s fucking devasting.
THREE
LILITH
Dear Diary,
I want this man next to me to do very bad things to me.
Why do I have this feeling he would gladly do them?
xox
I haven’t even asked him his name.
I’m not sure I can.
He’s attractive. Way more attractive than Deven. This man exudes authority. It’s palpable in the air surrounding him. Even after several glasses of vodka, I still sense his commanding presence.
I’ve seen him in here before. Always by himself… working or watching. He’s always watched me when I come in.
He’s an oxymoron.
Always in a suit, yet his demeanor exudes relaxed comfort.
His hair is unruly, yet it’s the perfect look for him.
He exudes wealth, even though he doesn’t seem the type to flaunt it.
“That excites you?” he asks, and I turn away from him.
I shouldn’t have smiled.
He’ll think I’m crazy now.
But death interests me.
Maybe I should have gotten a job as a coroner.
No, fuck that. I dream of cutting into people when they’re alive, not after they’re dead.
“What’s your real job?” I ask, not answering his question.
