“What took you so long?” I snap, letting the man with mismatched eyes back into my empty dollhouse. I’m angry. He’s thirty minutes late and this bastard of a man is wasting my time! The four demons have been awake for the past half hour and wreaking havoc on my sanity with their loud pleas and escape attempts.
I’ve never had this many at once and I’ve already nearly yanked all my hair from my head.
Zade walks further into the room, staring behind me. My henchmen stand behind me, crowding the foyer of the house. Their colored eyes pick apart Zade, eyeing him like hungry dogs. They know my plans later. They know they’ll get their turn.
The scarred man casts his eyes over my henchmen, and then sweeps the area as if he’s looking for other people hiding in the house. Ultimately, he doesn’t give my henchmen further thought. He mistakenly is deeming them non-threats, but he will learn the hard way that they’re anything but.
“I got caught up with something,” he murmurs. In one quick sweep, I notice that his lips are puffy, with a tiny droplet of blood on his bottom lip, as if someone bit him. His black hair is mussed, looking like hands pulled at his hair, and the collar of his shirt beneath his hoodie is stretched out.
If I didn’t know any better, he looks like he just engaged in a very intense make-out session. I scowl, miffed that he made me wait just so he could smack lips with some girl.
So fucking rude. I can’t wait to kill him later.
“Where are they?” he queries, bringing my attention back to his face.
I notch my head up, indicating towards the stairs. “In my playroom.”
He quirks a brow but keeps silent as I lead him towards the stairs.
“Stay down here until I call you guys up,” I order my henchmen.
“Sibby, are you sure? I don’t trust this guy,” Mortis asks, stepping forward and eyeing the scarred man with disdain.
Zade is staring at my men, his brow lowered with an expression I can’t quite place. I don’t know if he’s offended by not being trustworthy or what, but he doesn’t look amused.
“I can handle myself,” I reply before continuing up the stairs.
Zade follows suit and clears his throat. “So, what’s your deal?” he asks quietly.
His voice is deep and sounds like gravel is encrusted around his voice box. Gritty, and smoky. A very alluring voice, I must admit.
“What do you mean, my deal?” I reiterate sharply. He makes it sound as if I’m diseased.
“Those people you were talking to—do they not like me?” he asks, amusement coloring the deep timbre of his voice.
“My henchmen? No. Nor do they trust you.”
“You uh, told them to stay down there and that you can handle yourself?” he continues. “They’re not coming up too?”
I pause on the steps, forcing him to come to a stop as well. We haven’t even made it up the stairs and he’s already grinding my nerves. Not that he cares, by the looks of it. I look back at him with my brow lowered. “Do you see them behind you?” I wave my hand behind him.
He doesn’t turn to look. He just smirks. “No.”
“Then there’s your answer! I don’t need my henchmen to protect me from you. And since you’re here, I figured they could sit this one out,” I explain impatiently, my irritation spiking.
He’s silent for a beat and then, “Ah.”
“Ah?” I repeat, aghast. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re fucking insane, little girl. Where are these demons again, or whatever you call them?”
I already told the idiot where they are, but whatever. I huff and lead him into my playroom, curling my fists tight just to keep them from smashing his stupid face in.
Inside are the four men strapped to chairs. After the staff left for the night, Jackal went and found three other chairs so I didn’t have to deal with anyone escaping. Though I did paralyze three of them, two of them only experienced it briefly and were able to move again. The other was complaining about not being able to feel his legs until I broke each and every one of their ankles. He shut up after that.
As soon as the demons see us, they immediately start screaming into the duct tape covering their mouths and wriggling like little bugs in their seats.
“Do they know you?” I ask.
Zade hums in confirmation, looking over their broken ankles and sweaty, red faces. I lit up this room with extra lighting and took out the strobe lights. Something told me Zade would’ve kicked the strobe lights in just to get them to stop and I didn’t want to worry about replacing them for tomorrow when the fair reopens.
“You sure no one can hear them?” Zade asks, glancing around the room.
“I do this all the time.”
With that, he side-eyes me.
“You kill people often?”
I shrug. “Only the demons.”
I don’t care about divulging information to this man. He’s going to die anyways. What does it matter if I tell him I kill demons all the time?
His lip quirks up, and there’s a derisive gleam in his eye. “Do you call yourself the demon-slayer too?”
Rage nearly slaps me in the face at his disrespectful tone. I stomp my foot and screech, “You’re not funny!”
He cocks a brow at my outburst, but that glint in his eye doesn’t dissipate. My lip curls. I can’t wait to stab my pretty knife through his eyes. They will not be mocking me when he sees the pointed end coming straight towards them, will they?
I turn my attention back to the four men as potent fury rattles my bones. For now, I’ll take it out on the wriggling parasites before me. Then, I’ll rip Zade’s eyes from their sockets before I kill him.
Zade pays me no mind and walks towards the man that came to Satan’s Affair with his wife. He crouches down until he’s eye level and slowly observes the struggling man.
“I’ve been watching you for quite a while, Mark,” he says lowly. Almost impossibly, his voice deepens even further. “Do you know why?”
Mark frantically shakes his head, staring at Zade like a friend that betrayed him.
The man, Mark, shouts something but the duct tape prevents his words from being clear. Zade rips the tape from the man’s mouth, leaving a red welt in its wake. The old man grunts from the pain.
“Zack, I don’t understand what’s going on. Whatever is wrong, please don’t do this. We were friends!”
Zack? Why is he calling him Zack?
“My name isn’t Zack. Call me Z.”
At the mention of his nickname, Mark’s eyes widen almost comically. Like one of those anime characters with eyes too big for their faces.
“Z? Y-you’re Z? The Z?”
I roll my eyes, sighing dramatically. Zade looks like he kills people often, but I don’t see what’s so scary about him.
No matter, Z obviously has some type of reputation and whatever it is has Mark vibrating in his chair from fear, as if an earthquake is tearing through his insides.
“The very one, Mark.”
“Look, Z, I don’t know what you think I did but you have it all wrong.”
“Do I?” Zade queries, his dry tone bored.
“You do! Look. This is about that leaked video, isn’t it? I don’t know anything about that, I swear! My partner was the one in that video.”
At the mention of his partner, another old man comes to life—the one with numb legs. Muffled screams vibrate the tape on his mouth, and he fights his binds with renewed energy. He has random tufts of white hair on his bald head and is glaring at Mark with the heat of a supernova.
“Really, Mark, you’re going to blame your sadistic ritual all on Jack? How unoriginal. Your face can be seen clear as day, dickhead.”
I sigh, growing bored of this conversation.
“Yes, we knew these men were evil and exploiting innocent girls. Let’s get a move on with the killing, Z,” I whine.
Zade looks over his shoulder at me and gives me a what are you waiting for look.
“By all means, start the killing,” he says, waving his hand towards the other three men. “Don’t let me stop your demon-slaying.”
I almost throw my knife at him. The worst part is the asshole keeps his back to me, meaning he doesn’t feel threatened by me.
Big mistake.
Very big mistake.
Deciding I no longer care, my anger gets the best of me. I whip my knife straight towards the back of his head. With cat-like instincts, Zade swerves and the knife lodges into Mark’s stomach instead. A loud, garbled yell bursts from the man’s throat. Bright red blood sprouts from the wound.
Slowly, Zade turns his head to look at me. Instinctively, I swallow and take a small step back. His face is a blank mask, but something dark and animalistic is glittering in the depths of his eyes. It’s the most chilling look I’ve ever seen and ices my bones from the marrow out.
I’ve never seen anyone dodge a knife without even seeing it was coming. Or where it was coming from.
“You good, demon slayer?” he asks, cocking his brow. I want to stab something every time he gives me that stupid look. I hate how intimidating the action is. The way his eyebrow arches is as undeniably alluring as it is threatening.
“Stop mocking me,” I spit. As much as this man likes to look scary, I’m confident he can’t hurt me.
“Consider it a pet name,” he says off-handedly before turning back around.
Huffing, I stomp towards one of other men that hasn’t been identified yet. I don’t care what his name is. Just that he bleeds.
I plant my foot in his chest and kick back. A muffled outburst sounds through the tape as he knocks straight back. With his arms tied behind the back of the chair, he lands right on his wrists. He screams. Must’ve broken his wrists.
Oopsies.
White hot rage still clouds my vision as I straddle his body and plunge my knife into his chest and neck. The other men start screaming as they witness their friend’s brutal death.
“Jesus,” Zade mutters from behind me.
I don’t care. He’s always making fun of me, always looking at me like I’m crazy!
“Don’t you dare look at me like that, Sibel. You look crazy, and God doesn’t accept crazy people into his Kingdom.”
“I’ll show you a demon slayer,” I mutter breathlessly through more stabs.
Blood splatters across the entire front of my body. My face, my hair, all over my already ruined dress. The man’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he suffocates on his own blood.
“Think you got him,” Zade announces from behind me, sounding a little annoyed.
I still don’t care. I keep stabbing. The knife elicits wet, slurping noises. I change my trajectory and start stabbing him in the face. At one point, his eyeball lodges onto the tip of my knife and pops out of the socket.
At that point, Mark turns to the side and starts upchucking.
I barely register the sigh that blows past Zade’s lips, nor the calm footsteps as he walks over to me and grabs my wrist midair.
I whip towards him, seething mad.
“Now you’re going to stop me from demon slaying?!” I shriek, my voice pitching to near hysteria.
“Little girl, there’s quite a few things you need to get serious help for, but I’d say anger management is top of the list.”
My eye twitches as the anger circulates.
Sometimes I get like this. The littlest things set me off, and I can’t control the pure rage flowing through my body. Mommy always said I need to stay cool—to not let people see how much they’re getting to me. But I never could, no matter how much I tried.
His grip on my bloody wrist tightens when I try to yank it from his grasp.
“Look at me,” he demands. I comply immediately, my wide eyes snapping towards him. His unique face starts to blur. “Drop the knife,” he orders next. This time, I try to fight the pull to listen to him. I’m not submissive. But something about this man makes me want to be.
“What’s your name?” he asks quietly.
I huff like an enraged bull with a red flag being waved in my face.
“Sibel.” Casting my eyes down, I lick my dry lips and hesitate. I glance up at him and awkwardly say, “My friends call me Sibby.”
His eyes trace my face. He looks like he’s trying to figure something out, and I’m not sure if I appreciate it. I feel the blood rushing to my face as his eyes pick me apart.
“You’re an interesting person, Sibby. But I’m going to need you to calm the fuck down. I can’t interrogate in peace when you’re over there stabbing someone like a cracked-out banshee, you feel me?”
Normally, being told to calm down would heighten my anger, but the fact that he deliberately used my nickname—that he considers me a friend—is what ultimately calms my nerves. My henchmen are all I have. I don’t think I’ve ever had a real friend before.
Especially not one that doesn’t cower from my calling in life.
I swallow thickly and reluctantly nod my head. “Are you done mocking me?” I ask, my voice more timorous than I’d prefer. I don’t know why, but something about Zade just makes me want to listen. Makes me want to seek guidance from him. Maybe it’s because I never had a real father, and Zade asserts a platonic dominance over me that I always sought from Daddy, but never found.
He smirks. “I think I’ve taken a liking to my nickname for you. But I’m no longer making fun when I say it,” he placates.
I eye him closely, reluctant to believe it. He’s granting me his own special nickname? My heart jumps in my chest, and it feels something like giddiness.
He doesn’t bother trying to convince me. He drops my wrist, plucks the knife from my hand and drags the tip on the floor until the eyeball pops off.
More gagging follows suit from the demons, while I watch him mechanically. No one touches my pretty knife.
No one.
He wipes the blood off on his black jeans and then hands it back to me.
My fingers slowly curl around the knife as I eye him, an odd look on my face. I have no idea what I’m supposed to be feeling right now.
He winks at me and then walks back over to Mark.
I take the opportunity to pick through the teeth. I smile triumphantly when I see black eroding this man’s teeth. The sign of decay.
“Mark, are you going to give me the information I need? I want to know where you do the rituals,” Zade demands, his voice devoid of emotion once more.
“Z, I swear, I don’t know anything!” Mark wails, vomit trailing from his thin lips.
Calmly, Zade picks up his hand, digs the tip of his own blade under his fingernail and pops it off with a quick flick of his wrist.
The man screams, his face turning an alarming shade of red and purple.
“Try again,” Zade says evenly. He positions the tip of the knife under another nail, readying for another lie.
“Z, I’m not lying to you!” Another nail, followed by more wails of agony. Once again, Zade positions the knife under the next nail. He slowly lifts the nail, giving the demon plenty of time to cut in.
He takes the bait.
“Okay, wait, wait!” Mark breathes heavily, as tears and snot track down his face. He’s sweating bullets, and the pain and fear has aged him considerably. He licks his lips nervously. “S-some of the kids we take, we take them to an underground club.”
My eyes widen, and without realizing it, I’ve dragged myself off of the dead man and wandered close to the pair. Zade shoots me a warning glare to stay back, but otherwise doesn’t mind my presence.
“Where is this place?” Zade asks.
“You can only access it through a private Gentlemen’s club—Savior’s. You need special access to even get in the club, let alone gain access to the…” he trails off, his face tightening as if he’s dreading his next words. He takes in a deep breath, and something like acceptance settles in his eyes. “To gain access to the dungeon.”
Dungeon? What the hell kind of demons are these people?
“Yeah? And what do you do in this dungeon?”
Clearly, Zade knows exactly what they do, but it seems like he wants verbal confirmation. Like he wants this man to admit to his sins. Makes his death a little more justifiable.
Mark doesn’t like that question. His eyes shift nervously and his mouth flops, but no sounds come out. With another flick of his wrist, Zade tears off another nail.
I smile, giddiness at this man’s suffering bubbling to the surface. It is so pleasing to see them cry and beg for their lives.
Pleas that will go as unanswered as their pleas to the fake gods they claim to worship.
“Fuck, Z! I-I just…” he trails over, as sweat profusely pours into his eyes. He blinks against the sting, more tears trailing down his ruddy cheeks. A sob breaks loose, and Zade positions his knife under the next nail.
“Wait! I said, wait, goddammit! We uh—we perform rituals on them.” He squeezes his eyes shut as soon as the admission leaves his chapped lips.
My mouth pops open as Zade growls out, “Why?”
Mark tightens his lips, a pained expression on his red face. “That’s how we’re sworn in to the secret society. We must perform a ritual and drink the blood of a virgin.”
A plethora of emotions filter through my bloodstream. Rage. So much fucking rage. Disgust, sadness, and even a stab of sharp pain when I think about the pain those poor children are suffering through. All to join a fucking society?
“And this society, you traffick children? Sell them, rape, torture and kill them?”
A single nod, guilt shining in his eyes. Not guilt over what he’s done to innocent souls, but only because he got caught and is now suffering the consequences.
“Is that all you do?”
“No, but that’s the only thing we do that you have a chance of putting a stop to—as small as it is. The rest is deep operations within the government, a lot of it specifically to keep control over the people and make them think they have any control over what happens in their lives.”
He glances at me, and an unreadable expression morphs his face. Now… now he truly looks like a demon. He looks flat-out sinister.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t bother saving them. I would focus on saving yourselves first.”
I step towards him, readying my knife to plunge into whatever body part I reach first, but Zade stops me. His hand swings out, and he casts me a warning look over his shoulder.
But I can see it in his eyes, too. The rage glittering in his yin-yang pools. The desire to torture this man until he’s pleading for death.
“All of you? You all have done this ritual?” Zade asks after a beat, directing his question towards the other two men. He ignores Mark’s ominous warning, but all I want to do is ask what the hell he even means by that.
The other men are all sweating, their white hair molded to their heads, and with potbellies and sagging chins. They all look the same, with slight differences. Old men that have so much money, they’ve grown bored with life. There’s nothing that excites them anymore.
Nothing, except little helpless girls and boys, and their cries of pain.
“If you lie, your death will be slow. My demon slayer and I have plenty of ideas on how to make it the most painful last hours of your miserable life.” I shiver from his words. From the deep timber in which he speaks and how he claimed me as his.
I smile big. I have my first friend.
I hope he gets along with my henchmen. I’m sure once they get over their initial suspicions, they’ll accept him into our little group. As a brother, and as a friend. Just like I’m already starting to.
I’m snapped out of my musings at another muffled yelp. Jack tried denying the question anyway, and Zade answered that by stabbing the knife deep into his thigh.
“That’s just a taste, Jack. Miller, how ‘bout you? You like to fuck children, too?” Miller, the man with bright blue eyes that spoke to me earlier, nods his head like a child with a marker in his hand standing next to the drawings on the wall.
Pathetic. Disgusting waste of human flesh and organs.
I bounce on my feet, restlessness taking over.
“Can I play now, Zade?” I ask impatiently.
He straightens and nods towards Jack and Miller. “Go ahead and have fun with those two. I have a couple more things to get out of dear old Mark first.”
“If you don’t let me go, I won’t tell you anything else! Nothing!” Mark shouts. The bargain is weak. Mark knew from the beginning he was never walking out of this haunted dollhouse. He’s just not willing to accept his fate yet.
“You’re a weak man, Mark. You’ll tell me anything I want to know once the pain becomes too much. You either die slow, or quick.”
I tune out Mark’s desperate pleas and arguments and turn my attention to the monsters before me. When they sense my stare, and the absolute pleasure already radiating throughout my body, they start fighting their bonds.
My pussy grows slick, and this time, I won’t let rage consume me. This time, I will draw out their deaths, and draw out the pleasure that will ultimately get me ready for my henchmen.
I let out a squeal of excitement and start slashing. Painting myself in the blood of sinners.
