The Sweetest Darkness

Sebastian

In the centre of the city is a haven for those who hide from our reach. A middle ground for the meek and the mild. A place to hide from the clutches of my family and the violence of The Ove. In the centre of the city is the neutral zone. And in the neutral is my hit.

Borrowing from my father was a common occurrence across the city. Money was controlled by those with power and the city wasn't short of men and women desperate to change their fate and turn the tide in their favour. Businesses were built and destroyed with my father's generosity, families given security or wiped from the face of the earth with his wish, art crafted and tragedies written. To deal with my father was to dive into darkness. And here in the centre of the city was one person whose darkness had finally caught up with them, because there was one guarantee when you owed my father money...

You pay The Devil or you dance with Death.

***

I watch from my car as candles flicker in windows and the shapes of people turning the locks and shutting the blinds move within. They all know what waits in the shadows. They all know what comes out in the dark. They know someone dies tonight.

My blood thrums and my heart pounds with the adrenaline that courses through my veins as I lay in wait.

On the third floor, in the second window, a woman emerges. She stands, bathed in the shimmer of candlelight, with her arms wrapped around herself as she stares into the darkness. Even here, in the deepest shadows, I can feel the heat of her eyes. The fire within. The fight. There is a stillness to her that claws at me as I shift in my seat, moving closer to the window in the hopes of seeing her closer, and as she sighs I feel it caressing my skin.

I am overcome with the need to be closer to this girl, who stands over flowers in dim light with a sadness that seeps from her. I am overcome with the desire to step into her world and lure her from the light.

Come to the shadows, Little One, my mind purrs. And then she turns and her body tenses.

I watch as someone else moves to the window, twisting the locks and pulling the curtains tight. He moves with the steps of the damned. He moves with the fear of those counting down. Their shadows dance against the thin material between them and the world, and as I climb from my seat, my driver moving at the same time to meet me in the darkness, I watch her.

The man who drove me here closes my door and leans against the car.

The girl holds a hand to her dainty throat as if she forgets to breathe and the man's hands fly out beside him as he shakes his head. She steps back and turns away from him as he steps with her. He reaches for her and I feel the desperate urge to break every finger in his hand as he brushes against her.

I watch as she shakes her head and he slinks away and as my skin catches against the steel blade twisting between my fingers she slips into her bed and extinguishes the light.

Midnight will come soon.

***

I know my target waits in the room at the end of the hall. I know my target sleeps with the hope I have not come for him. I know my target thinks he has escaped our justice tonight. I know. And as I slip into the apartment, able to access it with one simple key, I know he will continue to believe this, because the world has twisted in a way I had not anticipated and my heart is in my throat.

I slip into the room that I have no business in. I am not a man who follows whims or dips into the lives of those not entangled in our business, but, like the sirens of the sea, she calls to me.

Her space is a mess - books lay open on the floor and clothes are piled on a chair in the corner and there, in the middle of the bed, her sheets thrown to the side and long, golden legs stretching towards me is the woman from the window.

Up close she is spectacular. She is precious. Her skin is untouched. Her limbs long and lithe. Her hair tangles in waves of deep chestnut and her lips - her perfectly pouted, pink lips - open with a small whimper. Freckles sit across high cheekbones and speckle a small, upturned nose and I itch to trace them.

She twists quickly and I reach for her, stopping just a whisper from her skin as another whimper sounds and sweat glistens against her brow. Her face contorts in pain as she reaches out and the shirt she sleeps in hitches above her hip and although it is clear she's lost in some nightmare, I am transfixed by the sight before me. Beneath the shirt is nothing but skin. Perfect, innocent skin. Her innocence glows in the darkness and I want to devour it. I want to watch her burn and take me with her.

Slowly, ignoring every inch of my body that protests the movement, I sink down beside her. I lay on my side and watch her. I trace the dips and valleys of her body and imagine dragging my blade across the thin fabric between us, cutting it from her and laying her bare. I imagine how she'll whimper for more. For me.

My fingers close the distance between us as I push hair from her sleeping face and she sighs, the scent of mint and jasmine mingling in the air between us, and her face softens with the contact.

"Sleep soundly, Little One," I whisper as I extract myself from the gravitational pull of the woman before me and step towards the door.

My target sleeps soundly in this very home. My target will live to see the morning.

Tomorrow I will come again.