Page 3 of The Devils Melody
“Good evening everyone. I hope you’re all having a good time tonight,” I say, offering the crowd a shy smile, their cheers growing louder in response. It doesn’t matter how many times I get up on this stage, I always get that shy feeling before the music finally takes over me. “I’m going to be singing something a little different than usual, but this song means a lot to me so I hope you love it as much as I do,” I say, my voice smooth as silk despite the unease curling in my gut.
The first note toRainbySleep Tokenleaves my lips, enveloping the room with its haunting melody. I always do my own rendition of songs, letting the music flow through me. The crowd is on their feet trying to hum along to lyrics I know they’ve never heard of before. I try to smile, keeping my focus on the band, but I can still feel it. That stare locked onto me, completely unwavering.
It should scare me, you know, the way most people feel in horror movies when they know they’re being watched. That heavy gaze burning into my skin and leaving its mark. But it doesn’t. It sends a thrill through me like nothing I’ve ever felt. It doesn’t feel dangerous. It feels…intimate. Possessive even. As if whoever it is isn’t just watching me, butseeingme. And for a moment, I let that sensation take over me, fueling the notes that are leaving my lips. I shouldn’t like it, but I do.
The moment I finish the song, the crowd is in a frenzy, cheering and screaming for an encore. Normally, I would laugh and thank them, but right now all I can think about is finding the source of whoever is making me feel this way. I practically stumble as I step off, my legs slightly shakingfrom the adrenaline coursing through me. The sound of the crowd is washed out by the loud pulse hammering in my ears and the tight feeling in my chest. I shouldn’t want this feeling, but I can’t help myself from craving it.
I catch sight of Retta getting overwhelmed by a rush of new tables being sat, so I quickly grab my apron and tie it around my waist, hurrying over to help her with a table she has already seated. Pulling my notepad out of the pocket of my apron, my clammy hands accidentally drop the pen I’m holding and I watch it roll across the floor until it finally stops at the toes of a pair of heavy, black boots.
“Shit,” I whisper under my breath, as I lunge forward to retrieve it. A large, heavily tattooed hand beats me to it, and my breath catches in my throat as my fingers brush against the pair of calloused knuckles. I didn’t even know knuckles could be calloused.
My eyes are practically glued to the art that’s inked into his skin. The lines are intricate and bold, and the shading is perfectly detailed. There’s so many tattoos, I’m curious how much all of them must have cost him.
My gaze drifts upward, over the slight curve of his shoulder and across his chest. I can’t help the way my eyes linger there, noting the way his shirt stretches over the solid expanse of his chest, each breath he takes pulling the fabric tighter against his body. I wonder what it would feel like to run my hand across it, to see if his chest is as strong as it looks. You know,for science.
Nervously, I lift my eyes to meet his and all logical thoughts leave my mind. It’s him. He’s the source of all these feelings that have been plaguing me for the past few weeks. A shiver runs down my spine, my pulse spiking as my eyes stay locked on his. I shouldn’t feel this way, I don’t even know him. And yet, every nerve in my body is on fire.It’s like I’m being pulled towards him and I don’t have any other choice.
Framed by impossibly long lashes, his eyes are the fiercest blue I’ve ever seen. A long scar slices through his right eyebrow, and somehow that makes him that much more intoxicating. That slight flaw adds to how hot he is, making him seem less like a man and more like a god carved from stone.
He wears a solid black nose ring that only sharpens the rough edges of his face, turning his imperfect nose into something dangerously beautiful. My gaze travels lower to his lips. Fuck, those lips, looking so full with the promise of a good time. They make me want to bite down until I taste the sweet metallic on my tongue.
He flashes me a devilish, knowing grin that pierces through me and travels straight down to my core. That grin alone has me crossing my legs thinking about how delicious he’d look if he was staring down at me demanding what he wants while I’m on my knees. I can picture it now; a red room, leather, chains…
What the fuck is wrong with me?
2
Kage
THE EXECUTIONER
My hands are drenched in crimson; my favorite fucking color. The warm, sticky feeling of Jonathan Castro's blood pools in my palms, seeping into the creases of my skin. The familiar feeling is comforting for me. Grounding. A reminder that I’m the one in control now. Every drop spilled is a release of the poison that was injected into me at a young age. I can almost feel the ghosts of my past getting quieter with each kill.Almost,but it will never be enough.
Castro’s blood is streaked across my face like warpaint, and I wear it like a badge of honor. Each streak is a testament to the raw, brutal violence I just unleashed.
The strong scent of charcoal clings to our clothes, smoke woven into every thread, but I don't give a damn. I need a fucking drink. My throat’s scorched, my body vibrating with adrenaline and the lingering rush of satisfaction that follows a kill. I can taste it on my tongue. Raw, metallic, and bitter.
The image of Castro’s face is at the forefront of my mind, taunting me, reminding me that there’s more names,more bodies, and more souls to take. I need something to drown it out, something stronger. Besides, the bars around here always reek of stale cigarettes and cheap beer. No one is going to notice the faint smell of bonfire that lingers on our skin.
“Jimmy should be pleased that he won’t need to send in the clean up crew this time around, but you should probably clean yourself up before you scare someone,” my brother Lennox says, his voice amused but with an edge of warning, as he secures his motorcycle helmet onto his head.
I chuckle, my lips curling into a sinister grin as I grab a bottle of water and a washcloth out of the saddlebag of my bike.
“I always come prepared, brother,” I state as water splashes onto my face and blood soaked hands, the liquid warming against the cold night air. I wipe my hands off slowly, savoring the moment. The weight of what we’ve done tonight is a delicious secret I get to carry around. I throw the bloody rag into the fire and look back at my brother with a grin and a clean face. He shakes his head at me and starts the engine of his Harley. It roars to life, echoing in the space between us.
With the heat of the house ablaze behind us, we set out towards my new favorite bar. I don’t typically like finding new places to unwind after our kills, being around a new crowd that isn’t used to us and calling attention to ourselves is not something we need, however our usual haunt was closed down about two weeks ago due to the owner disappearing without a trace. I killed him quickly, my anger getting the best of me once again.
I wish I would have drawn that one out more. He deserved torture to the hightest degree for what he had been doing. If the pictures we found of young boys invarious states of decay were any indication, he deserved a lifetime of misery. We usually stick to the list of names that Jimmy provides us, but sometimes the trash presents itself and we need to take it to the curb.
Seeing those pictures, those boys around the same age as I was when I was abused, it brought up memories I didn’t know I had. My memory’s shot to shit from past trauma, but every once in a while, a missing puzzle piece slides into place and my rage is fueled once again. I can’t always control it, sometimes I take it a little too far, but Nox is always there to anchor me back down to reality.
My mind flickers back to Castro, his pathetic cries causing me to chuckle to myself. We don't usually clean up by burning the homes of our victims. After a kill, we call Jimmy and his crew to do a thorough clean up, making the scene look like they died of natural causes. . But after stabbing him in his carotid with a rusty knife I found laying around, I didn’t have much of a choice. The nasty fucker was running right at me when I stabbed him, causing blood to spurt profusely all over my brand new leather jacket.
I fucking loved that jacket, too. Bastard.
I had to start a little fire in the pit out back. Can’t exactly leave a crime scene with evidence all over myself. In my rage, I may have splashed some of the extra gasoline on the side of the house.
Rage makes your hands careless. Fire makes sure no one notices.
