“Oh yeah? And why is that?” Even though he asked, I could tell he didn’t really care. He wanted to get to the good stuff.
“I bring it with me everywhere I go,” I said. “It’s very pretty, don’t you think?” Surely the idiot had to realize by now I wasn’t really going to tell him anything. Not anything important, anyway. He meant less to me than the dirt on my shoes, so why would I waste my breath on him trying to explain how special it was and why?
Men like him never listened. That much I’d learned years ago.
One of his friends called out, “Put it on!” He was having such a good time, laughing, and his friend joined in with him. The man standing close to me shot a look at his friends, but they were unapologetic.
“Once I put it on,” I warned, “there’s no going back. Do you think you’re really ready for that, hmm?” I came off smug and assured, which I think was the only reason the man beside me nodded. “Okay, you better get ready, then.” Another warning, which he took to mean something sexual, I guess, because it was true: men only thought with the head between their legs and not the one on their shoulders.
Idiot.
I reached for the mask, and my smile disappeared behind its metal frame. The man beside me stared at me all the while, expecting, I don’t know, something to happen. His friends laughed at me, while the bartender kept his distance, not even glancing in our direction.
“Why are your friends laughing?” I asked, cocking my head slowly, my blonde hair falling over my face. I could feel my hot breath thanks to the mask, and my adrenaline started flowing, knowing what I was about to do. “Don’t they know you’re all about to die?”
I spoke my question so evenly, so seriously, that for a moment, no one said or did anything in the bar. Not a single sound rose up; even the bartender had stopped cleaning glasses. Everyone was looking at me, save for the gentleman in the back, who was mumbling to himself about how he needed to piss. Off in his own world, that one. Maybe I’d let him live.
Finally, the man beside me said, “What?” An uncomfortable chuckle came from him, and he glanced back to his friends, adding, “This bitch is nuts—” He might’ve said more, but honestly, I stopped listening to him.
I took a hand and brought it to the back of his head, grabbing his neck and whipping his head down onto the wooden countertop. His forehead smashed against it so hard I think I heard something crack, but I couldn’t be sure. Not the time to linger on whether or not I’d cracked his skull, because I was busy grabbing the beer bottle out of his hand and breaking it against the edge of the counter.
I let the man go, figuring he was too dazed to really do anything, pushing off of my stool and sprinting towards his friends. They must not have had their guns on them, the idiots, because they both tried to come at me with their fists. I ducked and dodged, moving elegantly, like a dancer. I supposed we all were: dancers on a stage, enacting the great tale of life and death.
The man in the corner of the bar ignored what was happening, too drunk and lost in his own problems to realize shit was going down.
As the first man grabbed his head and started to swear, unable to stand straight on his own two feet, I lunged at the nearest man, letting him punch me in the gut only so he was distracted with finally landing a blow on me to realize I’d brought the broken bottle to his neck.
The dark glass pierced his skin easily, and it was kind of like popping a balloon, if the balloon was in the shape of a neck and the inside of the balloon was full of blood and not air. I yanked the bottle out, ducking as his other friend came at me from behind. Blood sprayed out of his neck, so much and so fast the poor idiot started slipping on his own mess.
Oh, yeah, I definitely hit the important artery.
His friend, the only one I hadn’t yet touched, had wide eyes, and I giggled. “Are you ready for me? Here’s your three-second warning. Three, two—oh, fuck it.” Without saying anything else, I ran at him, and together we tumbled and slid to the floor.
The man wasn’t that big or muscular. I kneed him in the groin pretty fucking hard, which caused him to yowl in pain. I brought the bottle to his chest, stabbing him again and again until he stopped making any sounds at all. The other man with the neck wound fell to the floor behind me with a loud thump; dead. I didn’t have to look to know it.
I glanced up, finding that the bartender was loading a shotgun he’d pulled out of nowhere. What a silly, silly man. Meanwhile, the original guy had finally shaken off the impact of his forehead meeting the counter, glaring at me with hate-filled eyes.
I sat on the chest of his friend, smearing my hand in the wound on his chest, getting a good coating of blood on it. I wiped it across the mask, knowing he couldn’t see the grin behind it but smiling all the same. “I told you,” I said.
The bartender whipped the barrel of the shotgun closed, the shells in the chamber, ready to fire in my direction, but it was at that moment someone else held a gun, pointed directly at his head just a few feet away. The man had been too busy loading up to realize Maddox, Sylvester, and Viper had come into the bar.
“Drop it,” Sylvester spoke, sounding very much like he wanted to pull the trigger and kill him. I didn’t blame him, of course, but any shots fired would cause more of a scene than we needed.
The bartender took his time in lowering the shotgun, swearing under his breath as he set it on the counter, and Maddox grabbed it.
“Viper,” Sylvester ordered, “get the door. We don’t want anyone popping in while we’re getting down to business.”
As Viper switched the open sign to closed and locked the front door, the man whose friends I’d just killed glared at Sylvester and Maddox. “You,” he spat. “This is all about you, isn’t it?” He whipped his head around to glance at me, a trail of blood coursing down his forehead where I’d slammed it into the counter. It ran along his nose and to his mouth.
His head… kind of looked like it had a dent in it, no joke. It was kind of funny.
“And you’re the Luciano’s new bitch,” he spoke, swaying somewhat.
I got to my feet, but behind him, Maddox hit the back of his head with the butt of the shotgun, causing the man to crumple to the floor. Still alive, still conscious, but barely. “You and your fucking friends shot up my buddy’s place the other night,” he growled out, and before the man could get to his feet, Maddox stood over him, sneering. “That’s him, by the way.” He gestured to Viper. “Still alive, as is his brother. You and your friends failed. How does that make you feel?”
The man started to say something, but Maddox quickly added, “Actually, I don’t give a shit.” And then he proceeded to bash his face in with the butt of the shotgun over and over until the man’s face was nothing but an unrecognizable bloody pulp.
“Awe,” I whined, “you should’ve let Viper kill him.”
Maddox bared his teeth, getting in a few more hits to the guy’s head—which was starting to look more and more like a gory, smashed melon. “Viper can get the other guy.” AKA the older guy who wasn’t here. He threw a look at Viper over his shoulder, his face splattered in red. “Remind me I said that, when the time comes.”
Viper let out a sigh as he nodded. At this point, there wasn’t much he could do about it, anyway. All that mattered was these three were dead.
“Now,” Sylvester spoke, glaring at the bartender, “what are we going to do with you? We came here for two heads—I was going to suggest we take theirs, but after seeing you about to shoot my girl, I think we should take yours as one of them.”
The bartender said nothing, knowing whatever he could say wouldn’t matter. Smart man. The first smart thing he’d done this entire time.
Maddox stood up, wiping his sleeve on his face, smearing the blood there. The butt end of the shotgun dripped in red and brain matter, and I knew we definitely couldn’t take that guy’s head. There was barely any head left after Maddox’s fit.
Glancing at the man in the back, the man who was still too lost in his own dri
nk, Maddox questioned, “What about that guy?”
Bouncing to my feet, I moved toward Maddox, looking at the guy in question. “Honestly,” I whispered, “he hasn’t even reacted to any of this. He must be drunker than I thought, or high or something. We could kill him, I guess…” Even as I said it, it didn’t sound too right. Just looking at the guy, knowing he spaced out so much he didn’t even react to multiple murders committed just fifteen feet away, a part of me wanted to leave him alone.
Maddox must’ve had the same thought, for he said, “Let’s see if he reacts when we start cutting heads off.”
Sylvester never lowered his weapon, but he did smile at the bartender and ask, “Where’s your sharpest knife?”
Seeing as how he had no other choice but to tell us or die, the bartender instructed where we could find the sharpest one in the place. It wasn’t too big, but with enough power behind it, it could probably cut through a spine. Guess we’ll see.
“Let’s do the bartender first,” I suggested. “I don’t like how he’s staring at me with those beady little eyes.” A part of me wanted to pop them out before hacking off his head and putting it in a sack.
Hah, oh, God, we sure as hell weren’t heroes, huh? No good guys would ever think to do what we were about to. But, you know, that’s just fine. You had more fun in life when you were not encumbered by morality. The world had created this monster in me, and I was keen on letting her free as often as possible.
Turned out, cutting off a head without the right tool was not an easy feat. I tried to do it, at first, let myself drown in his screams, but then I got to a point where I just couldn’t jerk the blade through his neck anymore. Never thought I’d see the day when I handed it over to someone else, but today was apparently that day.
Maddox took over—or he would’ve, had Sylvester not pushed him aside and said, “Let me.”
I blinked. With the bartender dead, I supposed it wasn’t like he had to keep his gun trained on the guy anymore. And, if I was honest, I was curious. I’d never seen Sylvester lose it before. Seeing him cut a head off might just give me a spontaneous orgasm.
Don’t judge.
It was… a gory as hell sight, standing back and watching Sylvester cut the man’s head off. His fingers weaved through the man’s hair, the bartender’s eyes open and rolled back into his skull. Oh, it was everything I imagined it would be and more. Blood was everywhere. All over our clothes, a mess on the floor, staining everything.
Blood painted a picture that was almost too beautiful.
Sylvester made it through the spine with a yank of his arm, his strength helping to snap the bone joints. The sound that filled the air when he completely severed the head was sickening almost, but it made me grin all the same. The look he wore in his eyes was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.
Maddox might lose himself sometimes, but Sylvester could, too. A pity I didn’t see this vengeful angel of death before now. We could’ve had loads of fun.
Alas, today might just be the end of it all.
With the blood still dripping from the bartender’s severed head, Sylvester motioned towards his pocket, and I hurried to his side, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the pillowcase. He dropped the head in before tossing Viper the knife, saying, “You pick the other.”
Viper caught the knife’s handle easily, making it look effortless, and he said nothing as he walked past Maddox, who now leaned over the bar counter, pouring himself a drink. He’d set the bloody shotgun down in favor of the alcohol. Viper chose the one I’d stabbed in the throat, and then he got to work.
Before long, the pillowcase I held onto cradled not one but two severed heads, its white fabric stained red with blood. The bottom of it dripped, in fact. Such a wonderful sight. And, funnily, the man in the back was still too focused on whatever problem that currently plagued him to see the blood and carnage.
I heaved the pillowcase over my shoulder, glancing at all three of my guys. “Well,” I spoke, grinning wildly behind the mask I wore, “shall we get this show on the road?”
Chapter Twelve – Lola
For someone who wanted me to work for them, for someone who had all but threatened me into submission, you’d think she would’ve given me a way to contact her besides walking the city streets and finding her house. Going right to her front door and ringing the bell.
But she didn’t, so here I was, doing just that.
I’d abandoned the others at the bar, walking out of it and breathing in the bright light of day deeply, filling my lungs with as much air as they could handle. The guys had given me directions to the DeLuca house, which I’d tucked safely away in my brain to use.
It took me a while—I’d never had to actually know where I was going before, not quite like this—but I found myself in the fancy, hoity-toity district of town soon enough. On the way, I’d only scared a dozen or so people, while I’d immobilized more than that. No police came to get me, to haul me away for the crimes I had committed, but that’s because this town was basically lawless. The police were here, they were around, but they didn’t really do shit.
During the walk, the walk which seemed to drag on for all eternity, I imagined how the confrontation would go. Would Bianca be shocked to see me, or would she not care? Would I even make it to her, or would her men surround me, demand to see the heads in the bag, and shoot me right then when they saw neither head belonged to a Luciano?
So many possibilities, and it was not the first time it had occurred to me that I might be walking toward my death.
Death. For so many years of my life, I’d longed for it. I’d wished for it to come and literally sweep me off my feet. I’d wanted to die, but I was never the kind of person who would end it all herself. Sure, when I was younger, surrounded by my parents and my brother, I’d thought about it, but I could never pull the trigger. Suicide just felt so final, and I guess there’d always been a part of me that hoped for a better future.
Ironically, I’d gotten that better future after murdering a mafia man’s son and becoming their bitch. Who would’ve known that was where I’d end up, and that I’d learn to enjoy myself so much? That I would learn to feel again, to want something other than the electric chair and the notoriety that came with it?
I sure as hell never thought I’d see myself here. Fighting for other people, doing everything I could to ensure they had a future.
Me? I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t naive. I… I knew I didn’t have a future quite like they did, but that was fine. I’d tag along for the ride as long as they would let me, provided I made it out of this day alive. Which I might not.
Bianca might kill me. She was the Bloody Princess. During our stay at the cabin, I’d learned more about her, discovered why she was called that. Turned out, Miss DeLuca had a thing for cutting people up and watching them bleed, and when she did it, she acted as refined as a princess, never letting the blood touch her. Personally, I’d call that being a persnickety little bitch, but maybe that was just me.
We were fundamentally different. She wanted power. She made sure anyone she thought was weak was out of the picture, that they didn’t deserve to be alive. She wanted to be above everyone else, a power-hungry bitch if I ever saw one.
We were not the same. Where she could not get blood on her, I bathed in it. Where she wanted nothing but strength in those she surrounded herself with, I didn’t care. Where Bianca wanted to be on top of everyone else, I just wanted to be respected and not eyed up like a piece of meat. We sought different worlds, fought for different things. If she truly thought we could run the city together, that I’d become her dog instead of the Luciano’s, she could not be more wrong.
I would never ally with her. I would never be loyal to her. Bianca had been a fool to try to get me onto her side; she should’ve had me killed when she had the chance, when Tony…
My feet stopped, and I turned to face the house I stood before. A mansion, more like. The DeLuca’s place, a house I knew well after being forcibl
y taken here, among other things.
Now was not the time to think about Tony, or what I had to do in that office in the Gilded Rose after Carter had gotten the call and left. I’d pushed it from my mind, though it had probably helped lead to my mental break. I’d kept it to myself all this time, refusing to tell anyone, keeping it a special, dark secret inside of me.
If I lived through this, I’d tell the guys all about what Tony did when he had the chance with me, and they would scour the city for the fucker, not stopping until they got their hands on him.
Hands. If there was ever a person out there who didn’t deserve to keep his hands, it was Tony, now that my brother was dead.
Closing my eyes for a split-second, I started the long walk up to the front door. The front yard was the kind of yard with a stamped concrete driveway, bushes and fountains and everything else that reminded me of home, of Lionsgrove.
That place… it wasn’t normal. Now that I was older, now that I knew the true horrors of the world, I could look back and see it: no one cared enough to believe me because everyone in that city was dealing with their own shadows, with their own monsters in the dark. Why would anyone try to save me when they couldn’t even save themselves?
I expected guns to come popping out of the house, for people to suddenly appear and tell me to freeze or something. I was wrong though, because absolutely nothing happened as I made the long walk to the front door. Nothing at all.
Huh. That was weird.
I rang the doorbell, adjusting the sack over my shoulder. I still wore my mask, and I would refuse to take it off. This was the Night Slayer now, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
Minutes ticked by, and I leaned back, looking at the surrounding windows near the door. I saw no movement, no signs of life. My eyebrows creased, and I dropped the sack beside my feet, the heads making a squishy sound as I did so.
“Hello?” I spoke out loud. Maybe there was a speaker nearby or something? I didn’t know. When you had money like this, you were able to do whatever the hell you wanted with it. “It’s Lola. I have some heads you might like to see.” As I spoke, I gently nudged the sack near my feet. The blood on the bottom of the pillowcase stained the stone step I stood on, and I hoped it was especially porous and never washed out.
Violent Heart: A Dark Reverse Harem (A Death So Sweet Book 3) Page 22
