Page 6 of From Hell

And you’d better die quietly.

Henry moves to pay for the bottle as Lance delivers it. I shift out of his reach at the first opportunity, recrossing my legs. I’m flustered, but trying hard to be as calm as possible. It helps when Lance tops up my drink. Even though Henry keeps trying to jam his hands between my legs between mouthfuls of his beer. At least he’s distracted enough not to notice if his beer tastes any different. It shouldn’t, though.

The effect doesn’t take long.

When Henry can just barely stand, I lean into his body. “Ready to go back to mine?” I purr. “My car is out back.”

“It better not be a fucking shit wagon,” he slurs.

I say nothing as I slip off my stool, a pasted smile on my face. “This way,” I direct, leading him through the throng of bankers getting blind drunk and propping him up like he’s had too many. No one bats an eye in our direction.

I coax a drunk and drugged Henry into the passenger seat, waiting until he passes out to drive. Once we are out of view of the bar, I kick off my impossibly high heels and drag the itchy wig off my head.

Then I’m gone like a mirage, taking monster number three off somewhere to die.

2

JAXON

She caught my eye when I noticed her hunting the same ground as me.

I’ve been watching her all night. She moves like a fox in the grass, quick and cunning, undoing her hair clamp and taking off her cardigan to reveal her tight, lacy dress. He’s annoyed, but then with one look at her curves, one touch of her arm on his, and she’s caught him.

Another victim, he thinks… until she runs her gaze over him. There’s a satisfying, bone-chilling moment when her face changes, switching from innocence to sadistic hate in the blink of an eye. He doesn’t see it, but it leaves me breathless.

Her demeanor may be sweet and alluring, cheeks blooming with blush, but her eyes sparkle with rage. She’s enjoying the thrill of the chase, even if she’s disgusted by it. This one won’t end up broken and abused in some back alley. This one isn’t a victim, even though her emotions scream loud and all over the place—a choppy, messy storm beneath a peaceful, serene vista.

Does she know what he is, what he does to women? I think so. I’ve been watching her for a while, and though she’s not his type—but she’s most definitely mine—her noose has tightened with every sly look and sigh from her lips, ensnaring him like a fly. But to what end?

I sit back down and order a double whiskey.

And watch.

And wait.

This should be interesting.

When I followed Henry, it did not surprise me when his cab pulled up here. He may be a member of Berners House and prefer the high-class bars and exclusive nightclubs, but his tastes run darker, seedier. I’ve been stalking him for a while for the Archkey; they keep track of their own. He usually finds some desperate girl with tracks in her arms to dominate and force himself upon behind a club or even in a motel, beating her half to death and leaving her bruised and bloodied. Or worse, dead.

Whether he kills her or not depends on his mood. Henry is an emotional monster, but not a stupid one. He goes for women who have nothing to lose or who won’t be missed. Women who won’t report him if they survive the night.

He’s not an efficient killer.

He’s a tiresome beast I have to babysit when I should be putting him out of his fucking misery. He’s left too many loose ends lately, which is why I’m here—to make sure his extracurricular activities go unnoticed, or at least blamed on someone else.

So, what is he doing with a woman with perfectly styled hair and brows, manicured nails, and fox-like eyes that are brimming with malice and hatred, like fire-kissed amber gems?

I watch her work him, almost clumsily. She’s new at this, relying on her charms. A soft, pink tongue teases the sounds over pretty rosebud lips. Delicate curls bounce over her shoulder with one flick of her dainty wrist. He tries to touch her occasionally, but each time she slides out of reach, a slight shudder quivering through her body when he’s not looking.

She even slips something into his drink.

So that’s how you do it.

Fuck, she’s delightful to watch. Familiar, somehow. The kitten has intrigued me. I should order a snack for the delectable show I get to enjoy. Where’s the popcorn when you need it?

Downing my drink in one chug, enjoying the burn of cheap whiskey against the back of my throat, I slip off my stool and head off into the night. Outside, the air is balmy, despite the cool, leafy surroundings. I watch as sweet vixen frowns at her phone through the glass, confusion marring her pretty brow.

She would be fun to hunt. And kill. I can taste it in the air.