Page 56

I got him. He's dying.

He falls forward, flat on his stomach on the floor with his pants below his hips. It requires more muscle than I'm used to, but I dig it into his back over and over again just to make sure. And just because I like the sound it makes and the way it looks.

I don't talk to him while he goes, but I do wonder what's going through his mind. Maybe he realizes it's a hit, but I like to think maybe he's lying there, aware he's dying, thinking it's all random, and one of the girls he planned to sell like garbage just finally got the best of him. Because he was too stupid, his ego too big, for him to realize what he was looking at before it was too late.

Then, I go to the doors, lock them, and flicker the bedroom light for at least thirty seconds. I remove my bloody shirt and pants and sink down onto the floor, leaning back against the bed in just my bra and underwear.

The deep red puddle of blood pooling beneath Warren's body, so dark it almost looks black against the deep brown exotic wood flooring, creeps closer to me. I don't move, watching it as it travels over and around my feet until I'm sitting in it, too.

I dip my hand in the warm, sticky liquid, coating it before holding it out in front of me. It's beautiful, and there's power in it, just like Declan said. I can feel it vibrating in the room around me, in every cell in my body, but I don't bring it to my lips. If taking blood is a transfer of power, of energy, I don't want whatever Warren has.

Then, the power shuts off, sending me back into darkness. No light seeps in from under the door.

This is it. Whatever was going to happen is happening now. It's too dark to see the clock on the fireplace, but I hear it still ticking. It feels like an hour goes by before I hear muffled shouting coming from downstairs.

Maybe they'll fail at whatever they're doing, and I'll die.

Shortly after, the power comes back on; heavy footsteps make their way down the hallway, opening doors. They'll be coming to this one soon.

I dip both hands in the blood again, smearing it over the front of my body, and lie down behind Warren's corpse, my weapon clutched tightly in my right hand. The doorknob rattles a few times, and when it doesn't turn, the person on the other side kicks or rams something into it. It only takes three tries before the wood buckles, and the door flies open.

"Teagan?" Bone Saw calls. "Oh, fuck…"

Then, he's kneeling beside me, pulling me into his arms. "Shit. Teagan," he says, searching my body for the source of the bleeding, "wake up, sweetheart. You're okay. Where are you even…if I find out you did this to yourself, I'm gonna—"

"Relax, you big fucking baby," I say, opening my eyes. "It's not my blood."

He dumps me back onto the ground and quickly stands, pacing the floor in front of me. "God damn it, Teagan."

"It looked real though, didn't it? I did good; I did what you wanted."

"Where's the girl?" he asks.

"In there," I tell him, nodding toward the bathroom.

He turns in that direction and I follow, moving in close behind him when he stops in front of the shower door.

"See?" I reach around the front of him, running my hand down his abdomen until I reach his cock. "Didn't I do good?"

He turns to face me, and even in the darkness, I feel his eyes roaming over my body. "You're drenched in their blood," he says. "Did you drink it?"

"No," I tell him. "I thought about it, but I don't want whatever they have. I want what you have, though. I want to taste yours. Can I?"

"No."

"You don't even have to take any of it off," I say, moving in closer. I slide my hand over his chest, up his neck, and then inside his hood. "There's that little space right here. If you let me cut you…just a little bit—"

"No, Teagan. I don't have time for this shit. I have a job to do. Go find a shower."

"I could run my tongue over the cut and drink you down while you fuck me in a puddle of their blood." Reaching behind my back, I unhook my bra and shrug it off before stepping out of my underwear. "I think I look good like this. I feel good like this, but if you don't like it, I guess I will go find a shower—another shower, I mean. One without the hot girl who fingered me rotting at the bottom."

"You do that," he says.

Sighing, I leave the bathroom and then the bedroom, and start down the dark hallway. Gold-faced men emerge from Warren's office carrying computer parts and monitors, files, and boxes, barely looking up as I pass. I turn into a large bedroom, finding the ensuite bathroom in the moonlight, and turn on the water.

I bet this was Cake Girl's room. A quick inventory of the cabinets and drawers confirms my suspicions. I take what I'm sure is a very expensive perfume from the cabinet and spray it in the air, inhaling deeply.

I think I'll take this if he'll let me. My mind wanders again to the masked monster who held me when he thought I was bleeding on the floor but rejected me when I stood naked infront of him, and it's like those thoughts summoned him because I hear footsteps moving through the room behind me. I set the bottle on the counter just as a hand closes around my braid and jerks me back into the bedroom.