“What in the—!” Raya exclaimed.
One of the men she’d sent after Maggie stood beside her. He wore a tight black button-up shirt and black jeans—black as the strands of hair that waved across his scalp. He flipped daggers in both of his hands.
“Hayde, you little shit,” she said. She held the back of her neck, where Kinzer assumed Hayde must have stabbed her to get her off him. “I told Kryler he couldn’t trust you! Wicked flit.”
Flits were the second generation of higherlings. During the War between Heaven and Hell, the Almighty created a massive army of these creatures to battle the fallens. But in his rush, his desire to create masses of soldiers, they were less remarkable than his previous works of art. They were simple creations. Poor creations. Pitied creations.
This particular flit’s deformity could be seen in the occasional small mole across his neck, freckles dotting his nose, and his mismatched eyes, one green, one brown.
Hayde smirked a wicked, self-indulgent smirk, which shifted a thick scar that stretched across his cheek. Even amidst this serious moment, Kinzer couldn’t help but find himself drawn to the smirk. It was alluring, sexual, desirable.
“Well, guess you were right,” the flit said. “Here.”
He tossed Kinzer one of the daggers, which Kinzer caught.
Kinzer wasn’t sure why this guy was on his side, but he was relieved.
Raya giggled.
“A flit and a clipped?”
Her giggle grew into a guffaw. “This is going to be rich.”
She made like she was about to pounce at Kinzer, but ducked and redirected at Hayde.
He stabbed at her throat, and she shifted, allowing the blade to pierce through the green fabric of her dress and bury into her shoulder.
She ground her teeth, but otherwise seemed unfazed by the attack.
Kinzer used the distraction as his opportunity to strike from behind. She leaned forward and kicked her leg back so the blade stuck into the fat around her shin.
As she shifted her leg quickly, the dagger pulled from Kinzer’s grip.
Now, she had both daggers lodged in her body. She must have had little or no feeling in her bulky flesh. It was surely why she encouraged them to penetrate her.
Laughing as blood gushed down her chest and leg, she clasped her hands together and smacked them across Hayde’s face. He flew across the room and hit a massage table that had several bottles of oil placed along the edge. Hayde rode the table as it fell against the wooden-paneled wall. His head smacked against the wall before the table slid out from beneath him and he collapsed to the floor.
Kinzer was about to jump Raya from behind, but in a quick maneuver, she snatched the dagger in her leg, yanked it out, and spun around to Kinzer.
“Come on,” she said, holding the blood-dripping blade before her. “You came to play, so let’s play.”
She stabbed at him. He shifted out of the dagger’s path. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hayde regaining his composure. He shook off her last assault and headed back toward them. If Kinzer could distract her, then Hayde could possibly nab the dagger in her shoulder.
She stabbed at Kinzer again. He evaded the blade, but returned to his initial position, making himself an easy target. He played this cat and mouse game to keep her interest.
She snickered and stabbed again.
He tried to move out of her path, but she sliced into his shoulder.
He cried out as she dug the blade into his flesh.
Hayde jumped her from behind, retrieved the dagger in her shoulder, and wrapped his arm around her neck.
She pulled her dagger back, flipped it around, and stabbed it into Hayde’s arm.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed.
He dropped the dagger and collapsed onto the floor behind her, nursing his wound.
