“Sign,” he repeats as his sharp teeth grow longer—sharper. He places my bloody finger on the old, tattered paper and forces my initials onto the page.
Before I can object, he rolls the page in his hand, lifts me off him, and stands, towering over me. There’s an awkward silence between us as his lips curl and he flicks his fingers, the scroll vanishing in a puff of smoke and flames.
Even though the uncomfortable moment only lasted a few seconds, it was enough for doubt to creep across my neck like a crawling spider.
I thought I was in control right up until he smiled at me with that devilish grin and pressed my fingertip against the page. I mean, it’s possible he tricked me into thinking I was in charge of this encounter, to get whathewanted, making me feel I was getting something for myself.
His hooves clunk heavily across the floor as he disappears around the corner. I smile, wondering if he’s going to grab a Bomb Pop from the freezer to fuck me with. After several minutes, I call out his name.
“Mastyx?”
No reply.
Damnit, I hate when he does that.
No goodbye, no see you later, no thanks for riding me like a bull at a rodeo. Just poof, he ghosts me.
It doesn’t matter. I got what I wanted.
Sorta.
I mean, I’ve never actually killed anyone, and I don’t know if I’ll have the stones to do it, but we have an updated contract, so I have no choice in the matter. Do I?
I mean, what if I chicken out and can’t do it? Will Mastyx step in and finish the job so I don’t get myself killed? I bury my face in my hands.
What the fuck have I done?
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Monster Within
A week after I sign the updated contract with Mastyx, I step out onto the street around the corner from a bar. It’s a few towns away from my own, but not too far where I couldn’t quickly make it back. I strut toward the entrance, the chill in the air biting into my bare legs.
My core trembles slightly as I slide my ass onto a cold metal barstool and patiently wait for a worthless soul to cross my path.
When I gaze around the room, I catch a few eyes staring at me, but none of them are good-looking. If I’m going to do this, possibly fuck someone before I kill or at least attempt to kill them, I want them to at least be easy on the eyes.
I wiggle my nose and take a shallow breath, the stuffy air around me reeking of old beer and stale cigarettes.
The young, blonde bartender eyes me from the end of the bar and strolls over, stopping in front of me with raised eyebrows. “What can I get you?”
I gawk at him, blinking several times, words escaping me. His voice doesn’t match his appearance. Outwardly, he’s barely twenty-one, but he speaks with a deep baritone voice, making him sound like an old soul lives inside of him.
“Ma’am?”
I shake my head. “I’ll try the blackberry mojito.”
He nods and walks away from me without asking for my ID, which surprises me. Perhaps it’s my attire. I picked a long-sleeved, emerald-green dress that falls just above my knees.
A square black napkin rests in front of me, and the bartender sets my drink down carefully so he doesn’t spill it. It’s full to the rim, so I curl my lips over the edge and take a few sips from the top. Once it’s low enough, I pick it up and gulp most of it down before stabbing the blackberry in the bottom with a plastic toothpick shaped like a sword and plunging it into my mouth.
A pink Cosmopolitan replaces the blackberry mojito I just finished drinking. “Wait, I didn’t order this,” I say to the bartender as he turns his back.
He smiles over his shoulder at me, revealing crooked front teeth, and nods to the other end of the bar. “He did.”
A man with dark hair and a small build smiles at me before giving me a subtle nod. An uneasy tremor rises in my abdomen, my nerves rearing their ugly head. I smile back at him before picking up the pink liquid in front of me and saluting him.
Just be calm, I say to myself as I return my attention to the bar top. I run my pointer finger across the wet circle on my drink napkin before crumpling it into my shaking palm.
