Foxx sneered. “Worse than nothing. Daydric would scoff at such a pathetic man being of his line. Such an insult.” The man spun again. “Stand up,” he ordered.
Whatever Foxx had done to bring the vampires to their knees, to keep them silent, he must have pulled back enough to let just the nameless so-called mafia boss move. Because the black-haired man suddenly stumbled to his feet, glancing around rapidly as if looking for an escape.
“You wanted to be a leader, to be the one in charge, to feel powerful. Well, show them all what you can do, Mr. Mafia Boss,” Foxx said with a mocking laugh.
The man’s eyes locked on Foxx and he roared, his gun swinging in his partner’s direction, but a shot never went off. Before the vampire even had time to pull the trigger, Foxx was there, inches away from him, the man’s hand and gun falling to the floor in a shower of blood.
As blood began to coat the ground, the vampire stared in shock, seeming as if his body hadn’t even caught on to what had happened…and…then he began to scream.
That scream cut off on a croak when Foxx seized him by the throat, the smaller vampire hovering off the ground just enough to hold the taller man off his feet.
“I said show them what you can do, and instead, you raise a gun?! Are you human or a vampire?!” Foxx roared, before shoving him away from himself. The other vampire went flying. Slamming into the wall, he left a bloody trail as he slid to the ground. “Stand. Up!” Foxx demanded.
Harlow licked his lips, eyes trailing the tight lines of Foxx’s shoulders. The tremble was back. The vampire’s fury had barely been unleashed.
The mafia boss shook his head, blood starting to drip from his temple, but didn’t do much else.
“I said STAND UP!” Foxx snarled. “Fight, run, I don’t care, just do something, you fucking pathetic piece of shit!”
The vampire’s gaze flicked up to Foxx, and then towards Harlow, before he finally moved. The man bolted towards him, but then again, Harlowwasstanding in the doorway still.
Probably no more than five feet away from him, the vampire dropped back to his knees. Harlow stared into the man’s brown eyes, smiling as he watched his fear grow.
“Pathetic…” Foxx mused, before turning around to face him and the so-called ‘mafia’ boss.
Foxx’s eyes were more than shining now. Pupils blown wide, they were glowing, as if electrified by whatever he was doing. Power…he was…consuming power, the life energy that Foxx had told him about. His brat was even older than he thought, wasn’t he?
“So pathetic. Can’t you do any better?! Struggle! Try! I barely took anything. Your energy is so weak. Barely a buzz compared to what I have tasted before.”
Foxx meandered forward. The anger he’d seen before was hidden by a calm demeanor, but Foxx’s eyes still gave him away. And when Foxx was only a few steps away, the black-haired vampire stood up, took one step before going down again.
Foxx giggled. “Aww, is that all you can do with the bit of freedom I gave you? Can’t you do better? Won’t you try to do more?”
Again, Foxx must have pulled back because the man popped up, took one more step…and then was back on the floor.
Foxx was…playing with him. Like a cat taunts a mouse. Releasing him again and again, acting as if freedom was right there, only to pounce on him each and every time. And Foxx kept playing, inch by inch, until the man was kneeling right before Harlow.
Behind the so-called mafia boss now, the vampire leaned down and whispered, “Come on, you can do it. Struggle.” Foxx straightened with a huff when the man didn’t move an inch. “How…disappointing.” The vampire met his gaze, his eyes still glowing. “Do you want to finish him off, Harlow? He’s the one who killed Hanes, I can smell his blood on him.”
Did he want to kill him? ‘Avenge’ Hanes? Harlow eyed the kneeling man, and felt no great urge to, which had him frowning. Too many times lately, he’d had the urge to kill for even minor offenses towards…Foxx.
What…made Foxx so different? Hanes… He had known the man for over a decade, yet had no urge to kill his killer. Not that he’d ever been the avenging type. Harlow was more one for dispensing payback, but that was less about righting some wrong and more about releasing pent up anger on people who deserved it…or didn’t deserve it…he wasn’t always picky.
But with Foxx, it was different. The ones who had hurt him, Harlow wanted them all dead, and he wanted to be the one who did it, or at the very least, be the one who caused it to happen. Because Foxx was… Fucking dammit, Foxx was his.
Ahh, his brain was so fucked up. Oh well… it's not like he could fix it. Harlow smirked—that was his psychiatrist’s problem. “He’s all yours, Foxx.”
Foxx’s head tilted. “Okay.”
Without pause, or his eyes ever leaving Harlow, Foxx shoved his hand through the man’s back and out of his chest. The leader’s head and whole body sagged down, held up by the arm that was still piercing through him.
It was a sight that should have drawn most of his gaze, but it didn’t. All Harlow could focus on was Foxx’s hand and face. Because sitting in the palm of that small delicate clawed hand, right in front of Harlow, as if being presented to him, was a still beating heart. And gore and blood aside, the smile that came over Foxx’s face as he continued to look up at Harlow, could only be described as angelic.
Letting out a shuddered laugh, Harlow crossed his arms and said, “I don’t think anyone has offered me a heart before, Foxx.”
Foxx blinked, glanced down and then started to giggle. “Well, it wasn’t an offer, but if it’s your style, keep it. I’m sure I have a jar somewhere at home for you to store it in.”
For a brief second, he considered it, before shaking his head with another laugh. “Foxx, I think I’d be fitting the psycho stereotype a bit too much if I kept it.”
