Killer's Kiss

Chapter nine

Lisa is out of moves. And that never happens...ever.

For the past month, she meticulously planned her next massacre, pouring over every detail, yet she came up empty-handed when it came to her father's twin. The only information she unearthed was his name: Lucian Chakrii. Of course, his name had to sound like Lucifer. It just fits.

Lisa didn't take the Chakrii name. She chose her mother's: Manoban. It felt more suited to her and served as a deliberate rejection of her deceased father. That monster could rot in Hell for all she cared. When she stared at the name Chakrii in bold letters on her laptop screen, her blood burned with rage.

That name didn't deserve a shred of recognition. It didn't deserve to be uttered, let alone recorded in history. Her bloodline, so deeply steeped in cruelty, sickened her. Yet, at the end of the day, she couldn't escape her lineage. Lisa wasn't just a Manoban or a Chakrii—she was a product of both. Another deranged link in a cursed chain.

Still, Lisa knew her luck had an expiration date. The cops weren't idiots, and one day they'd piece together the pattern: the stab wounds forming a diamond, her twisted calling card. She was careful—flawlessly so—and Momo made sure to shut down every CCTV camera in her vicinity. But Lisa was human. Humans make mistakes.

She exhaled a plume of smoke, staring blankly at her gruesome trophy: her father's lifeless eyes, suspended in a jar on the Ravenmoor Hollow basement's shelf. A relic of her pain. A perverse symbol of triumph.

''My little diamond,'' her mother, Clarice Manoban, used to croon, pulling young Lisa into a tight embrace.

''You're so pretty,'' Clarice would laugh, brushing a hand through Lisa's hair. ''Let's look for roses before your father comes home.''

Lisa had always been curious. ''Why do you like roses so much, Mommy?'' she'd ask, her face flushed from the warmth of the fireplace.

''Because they're red,'' her mother would say with an odd gleam in her eye. ''Don't you like red, little diamond?''

''No,'' Lisa always answered honestly. Her dislike for the color never changed. ''It covers the floor, Mommy, when Father gets here.''

Clarice's demeanor would shift then, protective and resolute. ''Your father is a good man,Lis. The alcohol's the problem, you know that, right?''

Even as a child, Lisa knew better. Her father was far from good. He was evil incarnate, but her mother was too far gone, drowning in a sea of delusions.

Over time, one thing did change: Lisa's favorite color. It's red, of course.

Chaeyoung's fists collided with the uppercut bag, sweat dripping from her brow as she muttered under her breath, "One, two. One, two. One, two..."

The air in the dingy boxing gym was thick with the stench of sweat and rubber. It had been her secret sanctuary for three weeks—a place where she could pummel her frustrations into something other than the bottom of a glass.

''You're doing so well, love,'' Chanyeol purred, leaning against the ropes with a cocky smirk. His eyes lingered on her bare shoulders, making her skin crawl.

''I told you to stop following me, you perv.'' Chaeyoung's voice came out raw, strained by exertion.

''Oh, c'mon,'' he drawled, stepping closer, his tone oozing entitlement. ''I just want a taste.''

Her heart stuttered. ''W-What?''

His arm snaked around her waist like a viper, and his grip was firm, invasive. Chaeyoung froze, her mind a whirlwind of panic. ''You just have to make it up to me for all the beating I got.''