Page 6 of Kill for a Kiss

“Yeah.” I nod.

Oh, I’m good at getting rid of things. No trace and no evidence. It’ll be too late before anyone notices.

She mutters clear disdain under her breath and ducks back into place. I don’t care. Let them think I’m some careless struggling musician. I’m not here to play. I’m here to end things.

I pack my violin without looking down. My eyes stay on the crowd. Criminal royalty laugh over red wine and blood money. They don’t see me as I slip out. The black cloth mask helps. But it’s their arrogance that helps the most. People like them never notice a real killer walking among them.

I move toward the vines. Toward the dark. Toward the real reason I’m here. Beyond the reception’s glow, the vineyard waits. Dark rows of trellises. Thick shadows pooling between them. My graveyard.

I slip deeper into the vines, the reception’s noise fading behind me, smothered by the soil and salt air. Here, no one sees. So I slide my dark red mask into place. Pull on the black nitrile gloves. The wire winds once around my knuckles. It feels satisfyingly familiar, silent, andfinal.

I was made for this. The stuff of nightmares. The shadow that waits in the dark until it’s time to strike andkill.

I’m the dokkaebi they made, born of blood and a thousand last breaths of bad men who deserved their deaths at my hands. Time to end this reception on a high note.

***

The first kill’s easy. Loose tie. Heavy drink. Stumbling off to piss in the vines. He never even sees me. I slip the wire around his throat—tight,practiced—and pull. He convulses. Kicks at the dirt. Claws at nothing. Almost pitiful. I shrug.Almost. I drag him deeper into the vineyard, leaving his body to sag between the thick vines. One down.

The second’s even easier. Expensive suit. Shitty fit. New money. He wanders off, barking into his phone about payouts and debts unpaid. I decide to collect. I move faster this time. The wire snaps tight before he even knows he’s not alone. His phone hits the dirt. His body follows soon after. Greed drains from his eyes right before they go blank. Two down.

The third’s stupider. Slips out for a smoke, thinking the shadows will hide him.They don’t. Not when I’m already waiting there for my next mark.Him. I catch him easy. Not much of a struggle. Only the usual thrashing while he gasps for air, choking from my wire. Then he gives out a loud gasp. His fallen body thuds on the dirt. Nothing of note, really.

By the time his body stops twitching at my feet, that’s three down. All clean kills. I’ve taken the time to dig their shallow graves before starting my spree. And all of that in under an hour is almost a personal best.

I should go back, blend in, and pick another target. But something stops me. There’s that feeling of a ghost itch at the back of my neck. That only means one thing.Someone’s watching.

I look down under the rows of tall, thick vines. Perfect for hiding my graveyard. But would you look at that? Black dress shoes some rows ahead. Completely still. Out of place.

A soft squelch breaks the silence. Crushed grapes bleeding underfoot. Whoever it is across the rows, it might be too late for him to run. But I wanna see what he does next. This is something new. Something unexpectedly exhilarating. I feel the rush of thrill buzzing into my veins, straightening my spine, while my jaw worksbehind my mask.

I tilt my head down. The fallen fruits bleed under my shoe, staining the dirt like old blood. There’s the lingering scent of wine, salt, and death. I breathe it all in. But it’s not that satisfying scent that sets my teeth on edge.

It’s the shoes rows away from me. They look small, trembling just beyond the vines. I wait, listening. The music thrums somewhere far behind me. Its blurred strings, the people’s polished lies. But out here, there’s only that other man’s hitched breath.

I roll my shoulders back, jacket shifting. Still no movement from my soon-to-be fourth victim. He’s testing me. So I step forward, slow and exact. Another wet crush under my heel, grapes bleeding into the dirt like little corpses. Then I stop shy of the vines, the tall trellis walls still between us. But I’m in his view now, aren’t I?

I smile, imagining the fear that must be in him. And, taking my time, I tip my mask forward, just enough for the lantern light to catch the curve of the goblin’s sneer. This is my quiet warning.You’re next.

My ears pick up on the way his breath hitches.Good. Let him feel it. Let him know exactly what’s coming.

There’s movement from his end, barely there. The indecision crackles through the air like static. I step forward even more. The lantern’s weak glow must be revealing me in my black suit, my gloves, my goblin mask, and my coiled readiness to strike. I let him see. Iwanthim to see.

Seconds stretch thin. Then more movement. The figure jerks back, stumbling a bit. I smile wider, satisfied. Is he finally choosing to run?

Then the tension snaps. He takes a stuttered step, clumsy and fast. Still close. Still mine to take down. But I don’t reach. Because it’s better this way. Watching the panic bloom. Watching the instincts override reason. It’s the prettier type of fear. The type you taste in the air. So I let him run. And he does.

He dashes with his back turned to me. And I watch.

But I’m stunned in place. Because something’swrong.

My feet stay planted, but my eyes trackher. She’s so small and delicate. Not a man like I assumed she was when she was hiding behind the wall-like trellises. Not a man like my marks usually are.

No, it’s been awomanbehind those rows. The realization punches through me, a clean shot to the ribs.

I still watch her, even when I’m frozen from shock. She stumbles, her dress shoes slipping over damp earth, hair shining golden brown under the sun. She’s fragile where my marks are usually thick-necked and heavy-fisted.

She doesn’t belong here. She never should’ve seen me. And for the first time in a long time…Ihesitate.