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“Now,” I heard him whisper.
I stepped forward from the dark embrace where I’d hidden, almost trembling with anticipation for the bloodletting to come. When Mike noticed me, his eyes widened, taking a couple of steps away from the microphone. His hands lifted in surrender,but that wouldn’t save him. The pleading desperation in his eyes didn’t faze me either.
He knew who I was and what my presence meant.
Death.
I was the grim fucking reaper. A persona I had developed since I was old enough to feel the bite of the lash and taste my own blood. The road name that Devil insisted I take on. A moniker that left little doubt about who I was or what my purpose in the club entailed.
“I’m sorry!” Mike screamed, tripping over his feet as he tried to scramble out of my way, landing on his ass.
Devil’s face pinched in disgust.
Raiden blew out a flustered breath and snagged a handful of Mike’s jacket, hauling him up from the floor. The Viking dragged him across the plush carpet, throwing him into a leather chair that skidded several feet with his weight thrown into it.
For some reason, I found that shit funny, especially when Mike’s eyes filled with tears. A laugh tickled my throat, clawing up from my chest, escaping in a demented chuckle. I sauntered his way, moving close enough that he shuffled his feet backward, nearly slamming his head against the wall behind his desk.
Leaning down, I sneered in his face, letting the madness crawl forward, delighted when he paled. “I’m here for your soul, Mike Huber.”
He whimpered.
“Boo, motherfucker.”
Raiden snickered, lighting up a smoke. He puffed until the cherry was brightly lit, smoke circling his head.
“Can I borrow that?” I asked, already imagining how Mike’s skin would turn red and blister.
“Fuck no,” Devil answered, blocking Raiden before he could answer. “We’re not torching anything. No burning, stinkingflesh tonight. I can’t get the smell out of my nose for fucking days when that happens.”
Disappointed, I kicked at a nearby chair and toppled it, petulant as a child.
And that was the moment I allowed myself to turn toward Henny. I took in the restraints. Her fear. The private room. Long legs spread wide apart and ready.
My cock hardened, and I struggled to breathe. I wanted to fuck her and free her at the same time.
She tilted her head, watching me as if she tried to figure out how I’d become so fucked up.News flash, doll.My life was a tattered shroud of horrors. No one was digging around to expose its hidden secrets.
Manic ticked his chin my way as I noticed him. His mouth curved into a macabre grin full of pearly teeth as I looked away from Henny. He was almost as crazy as I was, and I wondered if he’d had one too many blows to the head. He loved a good brawl and often started shit just for the chance to throw a few punches. We both liked to fight until one of us bled. We often placed bets on it.
“You think Mike bleeds pretty?”
Manic nodded as his gaze clouded over, lost in the idea.
I didn’t know when he joined us, but that didn’t matter. The shadows hid things when I joined them, and I grew used to that—a trade-off for seeking their power.
Mike choked out a sob, horrified by my question.
Personally, I thought it was legit.
Devil didn’t bother to intervene, already far too familiar with my random, morbid conversation that popped up at strange intervals. I’d say I had A.D.H.D., but I could focus without a problem whenever I wanted. Maybe I just preferred to do shit the hard way.
Henny tugged at her restraints, and I wondered why none of us had freed her yet. Were we all that excited by the idea of taking our turn, right here, with an audience?
Annoyed, I didn’t bother to tell Henny that I wanted to see her bleed too, for entirely different reasons, and that I wanted to slap the tip of my cock on those pretty lips.
Manic ticked his chin at Mike, licking his lips like some demented freak, which wasn’t far from the truth. “I want to see how many ribbons we can make.”
Okay. I’m in.
