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Then I stopped.
Perhaps he wanted me to find him.
I searched the rooftops again, then the windows below. Like that night I held out the glass, tipping its contents to the alley below, letting the dark blood splay into the filth already there, then dropped the glass. When it shattered, I slipped from the window without another look and headed for my bed without washing off the sticky alcohol that burned my skin slightly, an illusion of its own, the sins from within escaping to consume the layer of flimsy material I wore.
Black hadn’t been his choice, it was mine. All the greyscapes, all monochrome where he added a highlight of red to the mix.
My mine was broken by my father’s twisted, fucked up games he played with me since I was a child, a never ending sting of killers, all of them a disappointment, an easy target, until this one.
I didn’t know his name. I didn’t understand his game.
Now, he was gone.
And I mourned.
CHAPTER THREE
DANTE
Celeste left her windowopen.
It was a habit born of our form of communication, our game. Like she welcomed me into her night with an open invitation.
Tonight, I took that invitation.
Sliding my legs over her ledge, I paused, watching her where she lay still on her bed, covered in something dark, something that wasn’t usually there.
The rules of our game changed.
My heart lurched in its constricting cavity. Though the urge to leap across the room to check her, to feel her pulse flutter under my fingers and ensure her life was still mine to take, I waited, watched. Checked she was alone, and her guards were still outside.
Knowing they were there while I invaded the space her father made for her hardened my cock. Swallowing, I jumped softly onto the industrial carpet that stank of a hundred tenants before her. He father was a pig, either trying to kill his daughter, or torture her, all to make her into the perfect heir for his false kingdom.
She already holds a power you can’t comprehend, filthy fucker.
I sneered at the thought of him, knowing tomorrow I’d decline a job which would end in myself being hunted and a death or twenty at some future point. Mine, or someone else’s. It didn’t really matter.
