Deadly Saints [18+]

005: Goddess of Death

TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter contains context of violence. Please read with caution.

|Isadora Xara|

As I sat at the bar, the marbled egg shelled counter had my glass of whiskey on it. The hotel is magnificent, the dimly lit bar had a chandelier decorated in falling crystals, pleather jet black seats and dressed the area with small tables to separate them. A favorite scent of mine lingered, whiskey and cigars. I began to inhale the intoxicating aroma and became blinded with bewitching sapphires.

Slipping my amber liquid, the bar almost secluded. The face that bombarded my vision, the devil himself. His breathtaking features instantly drawing me in, coffee unfused strands that fell upon his forehead. The matching beard that itched to be against my skin, to cripple me in unexplainable ways. Broad shoulders and rippling muscles that I prayed would finally rear apart his perfectly expensive suits. Those plump lips, all juicy and addicting. I wondered what he could do with them, could his skillfully work it in ways that would make me arch my back and drown me in desire?

No doubt, it is indeed a contract with the devil. He harbored the obvious traits, handsome, wealthy and utterly dangerous. The DNA to become drawn to the darkness. In his presence, one glance and I am wet, each words that left his honey coated lips made me press my thighs intensely together to compose myself. There is no denying the attraction that sparked between us and between my legs, he indirectly spiked my arousal and I couldn't control it around him. The constant throb for him, it corrupted me in a way I didn't like, to lose my power.

Although my mind became occupied with the fantasy of him eating me out, I did have a job to do. He offered me what I really wanted, what I desperately needed in my life. My life is composed of routines, stripping and then breaking people. The reason I took my second job is to add adventure to it, instead of expecting the obvious mundane life. The thrill of being caught, an all-consuming drug of blood dispersing upon me is euphoria.

Once my habit became an addiction, I expected those simple emotions to distinguish me, to cause inner turmoil and despair. A maximum current of guilt to pump through my veins but I never got that, what I did only charged the cells in my body. The nerves appeared when I did a job, that waver of guilt that people would expect or the pit in their stomach dropping at the thought of killing another. That part only fed my hunger.

"Whiskey," someone two seats away from me ordered.

I didn't have to look who it is, sipping the last contents of my glass I ordered another. The plan needed to be put in action, the dress that the handsome devil provided me with had a slit on both sides that ran up to my hip bone. With my low cut revealing a lot of cleavage, I knew his hormones would cloud his judgement when I crossed my legs which exposed my entire thigh. In his own idiotic mind, the action appeared as a gesture for only his indulgence.

As my long waves cascaded upon my features, framing the outline of my face. This trick particularly peeked his conscious, trying to decipher who the mystery woman is with gorgeous legs. The heat that travelled up to my thigh made me realize that I captured his attention in less than two minutes.

Then, I heard the scrapping of the stool against the tile. In 3, 2, 1... "What a beautiful girl like yourself doing all alone?" He asked, with a flirtatious smirk upon his thin lips.

Placing the drink down, I turned my head to analyze him. Sandy blonde hair that reached his shoulders, completely drenched in the grease. His dull black eyes held no fascination towards me. His features were the typical average boy, which is unappealing to my skeptical eye. He resembled a statue of a boy and I more so preferred a man.