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"Piece of cake," she breathed out, slipping from my side with a dancer's grace.
She moved like light, tapping him on the shoulder and driving the knife into his neck before he could even think to react. He dropped without a sound. Well, color me impressed. Together, we dragged his sorry ass to the bushes, adding to our growing collection of bodies.
"Christ," I muttered, watching her wipe her hands on her jeans, "you're something else, Ella."
"Learned from the best," she tossed back, a twisted kind of mirth in her tone.
Couple more guards down, and the thrill churned in my gut, dark and delicious. Each step forward was a step closer to Priscilla, closer to ending this shit once and for all. Fuck, the adrenaline was better than sex—almost.
"Almost there," Ella said, breathless.
"Ready to dance with the devil?" I asked, my knife ready, my soul ready, every inch of me screaming for Priscilla's blood.
"Let's fuck her up."
We reached the door, the last barrier before the bitch that had started it all. My hand shook with the need to rip into the world Priscilla had built, to tear it down, brick by bloody brick.
Corridors snaked in all directions, a goddamn concrete maze. My boots hit the marble with soft thuds, a deadly cadence. Every shadow, a potential threat; every creak, a call to arms. Ella’s light steps fluttered behind me. I knew this place, so did she. But there was only one spot where Priscilla would be hiding at this hour.
Eyes sharp, I scanned for movement—a flicker, a silhouette—anything out of place in this den of vipers. The stillness clawed at my skin, raising hairs on end. It was so silent. Too silent.
"Fuck, this silence is killing me." My hand twitched, aching for action, itching to draw blood.
"Better than alarm bells," she shot back.
"Point taken," I grunted, shifting my grip on the knife tucked away, its cold steel a comfort against my palm.
We turned another corner, the air thick with anticipation. Each step closer to Priscilla's office ratcheted up the tension coiling in my guts.
"Christ, can almost taste the bitch’s fear from here." The image of Priscilla’s smirk crumbling fueled me.
The door loomed ahead, her own personal gate to hell. A wooden slab soon to splinter under the weight of our vengeance. My pulse hammered in my ears, a deafening roar as the handle beckoned.
"Ready?"
"Open it," she said, excitement shining in her eyes.
The knob was cold, biting into my palm. Gritting my teeth, I twisted it slow, the click of the latch loud as fuck in the silence. With a nudge, the door swung open on silent hinges. The scene before us was fucking pristine, untouched by the chaos we’d carved through her ranks.
There she sat, Priscilla fucking Trevaine, decked out in power-suit glory behind that heavy mahogany desk. Her dark hair fell like a shadow around her shoulders, eyes cold and hard. Queen bitch in her throne room. My fingers twitched, itching for the grip of my knife.
"Well, well, well. How lovely to see the two of you," she greeted, voice smooth as silk, wicked as sin. That smirk on her lips was a slap across my face, a challenge.
"Priscilla," I growled back.
"Didn't expect you to come knocking at my door." That smirk never wavered, confidence oozing from every goddamned pore.
"Hope you don't mind us dropping in," I quipped, a snarl hiding under the jest. "Got some unfinished business."
"Ah," Priscilla leaned back, interlacing her fingers with the arrogance only a true tyrant possessed. "The prodigal son returns. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
My jaw tightened, grinding my teeth to keep from launching across the desk and wiping that smug look off her face.
"Let’s cut the shit, Priscilla," I snapped, anger flaring hot and bright. "You know why we’re here."
"Enlighten me," she challenged, head tilting ever so slightly. She was enjoying this, the sick thrill of the game too much a part of her twisted soul.
"We're here to slit your throat like the stuck pig you are," I chuckled, words loaded with the promise of her downfall. My fingers caressed the handle of the knife, ready to unleash hell.
