Page 52 of Under Your Scars
“Will you punch Christian Reeves? I’d do it myself, but I don’t think I can reach. You’re at perfect punching height.”
My chest vibrates with laughter. “Sure thing, angel.”
Elena falls asleep in record time, curled into a ball next to me. I nudge the top of her head with my masked chin, like an animal marking its territory.
The only sounds in the tiny apartment come from the street below and the leaky kitchen sink.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
It reminds me of all the blood I’ve had dripping from my fingertips. All the lives I’ve taken in an endless attempt to control this city through fear.
I’ve never cared about making a difference in Meridian City. I’ve only ever cared about becoming a ruthless god amongst men. I wanted control. I wanted the scum of this city to feel helpless as I wring their fight from their necks.
But then I met Elena, my perfect little guardian angel. I don’t just want to be a god anymore; I want to worship my goddess. I want to protect her. I want to take care of her. I want her to be mine. I want her soul to belong to me as mine belongs to her, even if she doesn’t realize she holds that power over me yet.
I still crave control, though. Not only over this city.
I want control overher.
I only move from the bed when I hear Elena begin to softly snore. I carefully remove my arm from under her head and take off the suit jacket she’s wearing.
Before I tuck her in, I take my time tracing the lines of her body. Even in her drunken sleep, her body craves me. I can see it in the way her skin breaks out into goosebumps when I run my fingers along the delicate flesh of her breasts, the softness of her stomach, and her lightly toned thighs.
I bite my lip. I have to taste her skin again. In all the places that are close, but not close enough, to the parts that want me most. When she wakes, she’ll have that ache between her legs that she’ll remedy with that cute purple vibrator she loves so much, and I’ll fucking love the satisfaction of knowing I’m the reason she’s so desperate for release.
Quietly, I remove my mask again.
I’m not worried about her waking up. She’s consumed way too much alcohol for that to be an issue. Even if she did, she’d be so out of it that I wouldn’t have to worry about her remembering my face.
I lightly push her until she’s flat on her back, and then I kiss up her body, licking and nipping at her thighs, her stomach, the space between her breasts, until I get to her neck.
And then I bite her. Hard.
Hard enough to leave bruises.
A soft moan escapes her lips. If it’s one of pain or pleasure, I really don’t give a fuck. She’ll havemybruises on her body, one thing I get to claim before ChristianfuckingReeves does.
I lean back from her sleeping, angelic body. Her rich brown hair frames her face, still holding the curls she so carefully crafted for her date. Mascara tears streak down her face, but the rest of her makeup is still perfectly intact, especially thatfuckinglipstick.
I swipe my thumb across her plump lips, gathering some of the cherry red pigment and swiping it across my neck. She gets to mark me too. It’s only fair.
I didn’t just come here tonight to see my angel. I came here on a mission. I expected her to be asleep when I got here, but I like this reality better.
I make my way into her bathroom and flick on the single dim lightbulb above her sink. I flip open her medicine cabinet to find the packet of pills I need and place them foil side up on the counter. I flip open the sharpest of my pocketknives and then pull out a tiny plastic bag of blue and white pills from my tactical pants.
Carefully, I wedge the knife between the foil and the plastic of the packet and peel it back from the glue. I dump the old pills into the toilet and then replace the unused pills in the packet with the corresponding blue and white placebos. Then, I take a lighter to heat up glue stuck to the foil before sealing it down.
It's not perfect, but I imagine for someone who has probably been on the pill since she was a teenager, some crinkled foil isn’t going to rouse any suspicions.
I place the packet back in the medicine cabinet where I found it, flush the old pills down the toilet, and place a kiss to her lips before grabbing my mask, and crawling out the window.
It’s a shame I’m already destined for Hell, because it’s not where angels belong.
But I’m not going anywhere without her.
The Silencer was born out of an unnatural thirst for violence. I had the urge to feel bones crack under my skin, and for a while, that’s exactly what I sought out. I made my targets the scum of this island and broke bones in my free time. I was angry at this city and thought I could make it better by wiping criminals off the map.
I tried for a few months to do what the MCPD couldn’t; capture wanted felons and deliver them to the police headquarters with zip ties around their wrists and ankles, and broken noses. When that didn’t sate the urges, I moved on to less peaceful methods.
