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“What the fuck, Jack? You said they weren’t cleaning out the old man’s stuff until tomorrow! It’s fucking empty!”
“Don’t blame me! They said they were cleaning it on the fifth!” By the whine in his voice, I assume Jack is the tall one.
“It’s the sixth today, you moron!” the other hisses. “I can’t fucking believe this. We did all of this for nothing!”
“Calm down, Mark. We can still make it worth our while.”
“How? How in the hell would we do that?” Mark sneers.
“There are floors of apartments here, man. You think every single one of them remembered to lock their doors?”
There’s a pause as Mark considers his partner’s idea. “You’re right. Okay, let’s try to make the best of it.”
There’s a shuffle of footsteps, and I pull farther into the shadows. They try each door on the other side of the hallway, then make their way methodically back toward Lillith’s door. It doesn’t look like they’re going to forcibly enter, so as long as she locked her doors—
“Holy shit, Mark. This one’s open!”
My heart lodges in my throat as Jack’s hand turns on Lillith’s door handle. She didn’t fucking lock her door.
“Nice, man!” Mark waggles his brows at Jack, and fury courses through my veins.
No. You won’t even get past the threshold. Not while I’m breathing.
Jack pushes the door open half an inch before I grab his hood, using the leverage to fling him against the far wall. He smacks the floor with a dull thud, causing his buddy to shift his attention from Lillith’s door.
“What the fuck?” Mark’s eyes are wide as I step toward him, my fingers curling around the dagger at my hip. “Who the fuck are y—” I lunge forward, dragging the blade across his throat before he has the chance to finish his sentence. His hands circle his throat, mouth opening and closing like a guppy as he tries to get air past his severed windpipe.
Without speaking, I shove the blade up under his rib cage. He chokes, blood pooling in his mouth as the tip pierces his heart, and then he slumps to the floor. Dead.
“Whathefugg?” Jack mumbles, rubbing his temple as he comes back to consciousness. “Mark? What are you…? Oh my God,” he whispers, his eyes locked on the bloodied mess that used to be Mark. Jack’s throat bobs as he turns to me, his eyes hazy from the concussion.
“Why are you doing this?”
I readjust my grip around the dagger as I step toward him. This time, my voice is the one who screams the loudest.
Because I’m sick. Because you’re vermin. Because it feels good. Because I want to. But most importantly, because you chose the wrong door. Her door.
Before he has time to beg, I force the blade into his heart like his partner, looking deep into Jack’s eyes as the life drains from them. I only pull the blade from his chest when I’m sure he’s gone.
After cleaning the blade on his hoodie, I straighten, looking at the mess I made. I sigh, stepping over Mark’s body to close Lillith’s door.
“Fucking leaves her doors unlocked in this neighborhood. The woman is going to give me a heart attack…” I continue muttering angrily as I throw Jack over my shoulder. “Piece of shit city. Worthless vermin crawling around at all hours of the night.” My face twists in disgust as Jack’s blood seeps into my clothes. “And now I’ll have to get my jacket dry-cleaned. Fucking fantastic.”
I toss Jack’s body in the dumpster sitting in the alleyway to the left of Lillith’s building, then go back for Mark’s. Despite the height difference, he’s significantly heavier than Jack, so I'm out of breath by the time I haul him over the side of the dumpster.
I really shouldn’t smoke so much. I rest my hands on my knees while I catch my breath. I’ll have to call someone to dispose of the dumpster, but I’m not too concerned about anyone finding the men before morning.
With a bitter sigh, I straighten up, and a flash of something white catches my eye. I hadn’t noticed it when standing, but from this position, I can see a small plant growing from a crack behind the dumpster. I cock my head, regarding its flowers with intrigue.
What on earth is a lily doing here?
I crouch, stroking the velvety petals between my fingers. In a way, it reminds me of my Lillith. A perfect, beautiful flower standing out against the pollution. It’s determined to survive, even in the harshest of environments.
I move to another flower, this one with pale purple dots at the base of the petals.
No—not just surviving. Flourishing.
Without thinking, I pluck the flower from the base and stand, twirling it by the stem and watching the moonlight dance off the petals. I give the plant a silent thanks for its sacrifice, then stalk out of the shadows and up the stone steps to Lillith’s apartment. As I glance at the flower in my palm, something akin to a smile tugs at my lips.
