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I hold the dresses in their protective garment bags while I search for my father. I check the dining room, sitting room, and the library before I find him in his study. I should have known this was where he would be. Daddy never strays far from his work.
I twist the handle and open the door, not bothering to knock and walk in. I’m instantly welcomed by the sight of the many bookshelves, the pristine wallpaper, and my father sitting in a recliner near the fireplace.
“Zolina,” he greets as I walk in. His voice is smooth and deep, like swimming in the ocean at night.
“Daddy, I found two dresses, but I couldn’t pick between them, so I ended up buying both. Care to see them?” He glances up from his chair and smiles at me warmly.
“Sure, princess. I think I can make time for you. Show me what special things you’ve found.”
I drape them onto the back of the guest chair in front of his desk and unzip the fabric bag that holds the first dress. My father's brown eyes turn into saucers while his mouth drops open in awe.
“However, I don't see you in a blue dress for your twenty-first birthday. Maybe for something else. It just doesn’t feel right. Show me the next one,” he demands, waving his hand in dismissal.
“That’s what JD said. Here, this is the other.” I pull out the second dress and hold it up for him to see. Grabbing the skirt with my free hand, I pretend to dance around as if I’m the prince and the dress is the princess. The dress billows around me, creating an ethereal effect. “Do you like it?”
“I love it. It’s as if it was created just for you,” Daddy raves. He stands and makes his way around the desk, grabs the dress from my hands, and sets it back on the chair before hugging me to his chest. His solid frame reminds me of all the times he’s comforted me in the past. I snuggle into him a little deeper, smelling the strong and familiar scent of cigars and mothballs. “Your mother would be proud, you know.”
My mother, Cecilia, has been gone for two years. My father found her body drowned in the pool, and officials ruled it as a suicide. I never got to see her again. I never even got to say goodbye. My father decided that a closed casket was the best option, and it’s still a sore subject between us.
“Oh, Daddy,” I start to cry, clinging to him as my tears fall onto the rough fabric of his suit. “Thank you. I wish she was here with us. I know she would have loved to help JD decorate.”
"Yes. I know she would have."
I depart from his office with pink-stained cheeks. I sulk up to my room to hang the dresses in my walk-in closet. Staring at myself in the floor-length mirror, I smile. My long white hair rests against my back, hanging below my ass. My pale skin makes my eyes look sunken into my face. Bright blue eyes stare back at me, hauntingly beautiful.
Just like my mother.
Chapter 2
Atlis
I run the sharp edge of my blade against the man’s puny member, severing it from his tortured, naked body. Crimson blood pours onto the concrete floor beneath us and runs past my shoes, sliding into the drain in the center of the room. Thankfully, this room has a built-in drain. Otherwise, this would be hell to clean up. His deranged screams pierce my ears, so I shove his useless cock into his gaping mouth.
“Shut up. Can you not scream so loudly? I’m sick of your fucking voice,” I shout back at the man.
I’d previously received a call from my father telling me that there was an unfortunate disturbance at the strip club. Lolli had been assaulted late last night, punched in the face by a drunk man, and then spit on by a second.
Upon showing up after closing, everyone in the club gathered around her while she sobbed in a booth. Her mascara had run down her face, and I was not happy. The only time a woman's makeup should run down their face is when I’m shoving my cock down her throat. Not that Lolli is my type. A princess has already been promised to me, and I plan to collect on that promise.
Lolli has been working in clubs for nearly twenty-five years. Taking orders, bartending, and now helping with finances for the club. I trust her, as she’s been honest with me for years.
I hear moans from the second man tied up on the opposite side of the room. Oh yeah, I almost forgot about him. Shame he had to make noise– he almost made it out of here alive.
“Hold on, I’ll be with you in just a moment,” I tell him, using my best receptionist impression. “Please wait while I transfer you to a representative who might give a shit.”
His moans become more frequent and desperate for attention.
“Oh look, the representative is also me. Okay, Mr.-” I pause, trying to remember his name. I use my thumb and the side of my pointer finger to grip my chin jokingly. I let a sinister smile creep onto my face, along with a deep chuckle. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You don’t need a name. You’re going to die anyway.”
I walk closer to him, stopping just before my shoes hit his. I pull his eyelids outward and attach a set of miniature jumper cables. Electrocution has been a favorite of mine ever since my father took me to a prison to watch someone get the chair. I still don't remember why we went, but I know it was important to him.
“Do you know what happens to men who spit on things that don’t belong to them?” Grunts and groans are the only sounds he makes since his mouth is filled with a dirty rag. “They end up buried six feet under. I would stay and listen to you beg for mercy, but your partner gave me a headache, and frankly, I don't want to. I have other shit I have to take care of, and you are no longer worth my time.”
I follow the jumper cables back to the battery and hook them up.
My nostrils fill with the scent of burning flesh, summoning tears to well up in my eyes. “God, you smell like you shit your pants.” I pause again, taking a large inhale through my nose. “Oh, you did.” Taking my black gloves off, I rub my hands together and scrunch my face as I walk out. As I pass my guards, Jacob and Harris, I nod towards the door, signaling for them to finish what I started.
I have been careful not to get blood on my black, tailored suit all night– it is worth a pretty penny. I run my bare hands along my short hair– in an attempt to calm my anxiety. It’s like an addictive substance that you could never entirely give up. A few months ago, I decided to cut my hair short because it was troublesome to get the blood out once it was ingrained in the strands. They would knot, and I would spend too long in the shower trying to get the tangles, blood, and chunks out.
