"Wake up, bitch! If you're not downstairs in ten minutes, we're barging in and fuck you out of that bed!"
You shiver at their voices and gasp. You have been awake for an hour and a half already. While absent-mindedly making small circles on your hands, you dig inside your duvet to cover yourself more, to relish in that sweet moment of peace before the storm and to take the chance to go over the plan once more.
You didn't believe in Hell when you were alive. Heck, you didn't believe in anything being there after death, to tell the truth. Wasn't life enough suffering? And to top it all, there were apparently people from Heaven coming down here every year to purge the souls, making them die again. You wondered if after that second death there really would be the nothingness you believed in when you were on Earth.
As expected, life in Hell was not easy, and you could never thank God (you assumed they were also real in the end) enough for giving you some kind of skill that could make you survive. At least, for now. At least, until the next extermination. After awakening in Hell, you somehow associated yourself with a gang of mobsters, their specialty mortgaging. You found it funny because that wasn't so far from what happened to you when you were alive. Must be the retaliation you read about in literature about Heaven and Hell. Being part of a gang meant that everyday was filled with danger, but you firmly believed that a high risk meant also a high return, so you kept repeating to yourself that you just needed to find the right moment, and maybe the right allies. After all, even when alive, you could have rolled fine just living a peaceful and tranquil life, working at a company, earning a decent salary, finding a normal man, having a family and so on. But somehow, you sought the thrill that came with endangering yourself, the sweet addicting sensation of being with your back to the wall, of having to think fast to escape certain failure, which, in more cases than one especially here in Hell, meant a fate worse than death. Being condemned to eternal damnation made the sinners of Hell more unhinged and prone to indulge in every heinous act they restrained themselves from while alive. That's why you couldn't help but notice the hungry stares thrown at you during every mission from the lowest-ranking thugs. Luckily for you, the people at the top of the ladder were rich enough to afford the vast range of prostitution services Hell provided them with, so they didn't bother with you, who were mid-tier at best as far as beauty was concerned. You somehow found yourself in a relatively safe bubble, so that you could have your fun when you met some sinner or hellhound particularly gifted, without being constantly scared of being actually forced against your will. After all, your boss needed your skills, so they would pay special attention to your well-being. That, and the fact that your room was closed by an armored bullet-proof door with a 20-characters long password and several traps with angelic lead beyond it. Courtesy of your boss' wallet, of course, but it wouldn't be there if you didn't insist on it. And blew off the boss' hellhound bodyguard, but that's just a marginal detail.
"The bitch princess finally showed herself, did you sleep well, your Majesty?"
One of the new shark recruits mocks you as soon as you enter the main room. Fucking assholes, the first thing they learn when they get recruited is to bully the weakest link. Let's see who laughs when someone gets accidentally trapped in a closed room full of the enemy's men. Despite wishing him a painful and agonizing death, you flash the asshole and everyone in the room a smile.
"Very well, many thanks. I was just double-checking some of my hacking codes. So that I don't fuck up during the mission."
"Holy Satan, if you're fucking this up, we're taking turns fucking into your loose cunt tomorrow, you won't be able to-"
One of the more veteran sharks, Jax, the one who so courteously banged on your door earlier, who was inexplicably obsessed with the idea of fucking you, immediately jumped to make his remark. Being one of the very few women not directly involved with - which, in this case, meant fucked - the higher-ups, was probably the cause behind all the unwanted attention you drew to yourself. You wondered if his obsession would subside if you conceded yourself to him, but you dismissed that thought fairly quickly because he was insufferable and you couldn't even stand being in the same room as him, let alone letting him inside your pants.
YOU ARE READING
only want to love you wrong ('cause at least you won't forget)
FantasyTrying to fix a CRT television in Hell was not what you were expecting to be doing after dying. On Earth you knew perfectly how and where to find replacements and spare pieces; here, getting a hold of such niche materials was lunacy. Initially set i...
