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Shifting on my feet slightly, I winced. “Goddamnit, these shoes are killing me.” I lifted my foot and casually scratched the skin on my calf, at the same time releasing the latch holding my favorite blade—Stubby McStabby, I affectionately called it. Fat and only three inches long, both sides were razor-sharp.
“You alright there, sweetheart?” Jeff asked in a thick guttural voice. His excitement was starting to overwhelm him. His hands still boxed me up against the ring, but his eyes were glued to the dogfight.
“Oh, I’m fine.”
He didn’t even see me move.
My first strike went straight into his collarbone. I hit his subclavian artery without even looking, first the left, then the right, cutting both within a split second, destroying the blood supply to his head. Jeff’s eyes bulged in horror; his mouth gaped wide, but I wasn’t done. I spun in his arms, ducked out of his grip and slammed my knife into his kidney with a quick pop.
Five seconds, and he was already dead. A proud glow suffused my chest. I was still horribly drunk, but I’d hit my mark perfectly. Jesus, I was a monster. So was Jeff, though.
I let his body slump over the barrier and gave a loud shriek. “Jeff? Jeff! Are you okay?”
The sound of the dogs barking was almost deafening, but I heard another werewolf chuckle in the darkness. “I smell blood. Jeff, buddy, did you pick that scab on your ass again?”
The other wolves laughed.
I patted Jeff’s prone body, hanging lifelessly over the barrier. “I think there’s something seriously wrong with him!”
The man closest to me shouted. “He might need a moment. Come over here, honey. I’ll keep you company.”
I tiptoed towards him.
This is why I was so good at what I did. None of them sensed any danger at all. None of them would ever believe in their wildest dreams that I, a pretty, drunk blonde girl, was a vicious, cold-blooded killer. Skittishly, I stumbled a few feet to my right, heading towards the man who had spoken—another paunchy, barrel-chested man with greasy salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a ponytail.
He didn’t even look at me as I approached. His eyes were glued to the bottom of the pit. I didn’t look down. My focus was on my prey.
“Look at that thing go,” the man muttered as I approached, still watching the fight. “That damn goose almost seems like it’s been in pit fights before.” He held his arm out to me without looking, waving me closer. “Come watch, honey.”
I walked behind him and thrust my blade straight into his kidney.
The kidney was my favorite spot. It was always an excellent target, your victim died within seconds, and the pain was so excruciating it was hard to even draw breath to scream. These were werewolves, though; they could heal if they shifted in time, so I had to make sure he was dead quickly. My next thrust severed his carotid. Boom. Done.
Blood poured down his chest. It was messy, but that couldn’t be helped. My cover was probably going to be blown in a second, anyway. I swiveled on my feet, pushing with my hip slightly. His body slumped over the barrier, and he went tumbling down into the pit. Only three more to go.
I pointed and let out a high-pitched, terrified scream.
The other men hollered at him. “Darryl! Darryl, get the fuck out there, you’re ruining the fight!”
“Somebody, help him!” I strode over to the next werewolf, screaming at the top of my lungs. The man didn’t even look at me; he shouted down at his buddy in the ring. Moving as gracefully as a ballerina, I popped his knee out, dropping him down a couple of inches with a quick jerk, and thrust my blade into the base of his skull, severing his spinal cord.
He dropped like a puppet with the strings cut.
It was a miracle I could do this while I was still so drunk, but my movements were well-practiced. I’d done these thrusts and stabs a million times; I could probably do it in my sleep. I suppose it was a bit like making waffles in your kitchen after coming home blind-drunk from the bar. As long as you kept moving and let your body take control, everything went perfectly.
Two to go.
The remaining wolves were both too busy screaming down into the pit for Darryl to get out, they didn’t notice their friend drop dead behind the barrier. “Get out of there, you fuck-knuckle, what the hell are you doing?”
Darryl’s body lay motionless, face down on the stained concrete. Blood puddled out underneath him, thick and ruby-red under the spotlights.
“Darryl!” The wolves jolted. “What the fuck? What the actual fuck?” A grizzled-looking man with a scruffy beard lifted his head and looked around the shed, his eyes wide. “Jeff? Terry?”
“Help him!” I screamed, pointing down into the pit. Someone should give me all the Oscars.
Scruffy Beard’s eyes narrowed on me. “Hey! Hey, you!”
Uh oh. There goes my cover. He was still uncertain, though, so I milked it a little as I deliberately stumbled over to him. “What is going on?” I screamed. “What is happening?”
