by LP Lovell
He's different.
He's special.
He's mine.
And no one else will ever have what we do. Bound in sin and blood.
I'll always be a good girl for him.
I pace in front of Evie's hunched over form. Dave is next to her on the sofa, protecting her.
"Damn it, Evie. Did you take him into that bathroom to try and kill him? And tell me the fucking truth or there will be consequences and not the kind that you like."
She stares into her lap, one hand stroking over Dave's back. "No..." she breaths and her eyes flick up at me, tears building behind them. "He just followed me into the bathroom. I would never touch another man Ezra. Never. I would never forsake you like that again. I love you."
Love. As much as I hate the concept of it, I can't help but like it because no amount of pain in the world holds as much power or control as love.
I smile. "Do you, little killer?"
"Yes." Her eyes dart up to mine and she holds my gaze.
"Good."
It's been two days, and Evie has been following me around like a kicked dog. I hate the fact that he touched her, and it makes me want to kill him all over again.
I go to the bedroom to check on her, and find her on the bed, curled on her side and spooning Dave. He barely even acknowledges me anymore. The fucker's got shit all loyalty. I've left her here for the last two nights while I go to the club. One of my guys keeps an eye on the flat just in case. Whether to keep others out or her in, I'm not sure, but I can't run shit and keep an eye on her too.
I sit on the edge of the bed and glance down at Evie. I'm shit in these kinds of situations. When you grow up surrounded by whores like I did this shit seems standard. Guys will often try and take it too far with a whore, thinking that because she sells herself she's fair game. The fact is, nothing is fucking free, and the guy that touched Evie is not the first guy I've had to remind of that. But, in the end, it’s part of the business, you deal with it and you move on. Evie is not dealing with it. I need to bring back my little killer.
"Okay. Enough. You were a whore. You got felt up. You should be used to it, sweetheart. Now get your arse up and get in the shower." I yank the duvet away from her and Dave grumbles. "You're coming to the club tonight. I need someone to work the bar." She rolls onto her back, her gaze blankly fixed on the ceiling. Dave takes that as his cue to leave.
"I am a whore. I am dirty. I am sinful and wicked and the reason the righteous men fall. Zachariah was right. I deserve the bad things that happen to me because I'm not a good girl, Ezra. I want to be your good girl, but I am bad." She glances up at me. "It will happen again because I am sin."
What the fuck?
I drag a hand over my face. "You are not a whore," I groan. "And who the fuck is Zachariah?" She releases a staggered breath and covers her mouth with her hand as tears spill down her temples.
Jealousy is not something I'm accustomed to. I take women, break them, possess them, and pass them on. Evie is different though, Evie is mine, and the thought of someone— anyone touching her makes me want to end them. I don't know what it is about her that makes me this irrational person, but I can't control my shit around her. She is not just business; she's personal.
"Who. Is. Zachariah?" I want to know who fucking told her that she deserved this life, that she was no better than a whore.
All the colour has drained from her face, and her eyes are distant. "A boy that I grew up with," she whispers. I move, straddling her tiny waist and leaning over her. I grip her chin and force her to look at me. "And where is this boy now, Evie?" My voice remains level despite the anger brewing in my chest.
"I don't know."
"Well," I inhale, "your boy was wrong. Shit doesn't happen for any other reason than shit luck."
"It was my fault because I was pretty. Had I not been pretty, he wouldn't have wanted me."
What do I even say to that?
"Ezra," she sits up, her gaze dropping to her lap. She takes a deep breath, and her eyes flick up, brimming with her tears. "Do you love me?"
She can't be serious. I rub my hand over my stubble and stare at her. In a way, I care about Evie. I want her, I own her, but I will never love her. I'm just not capable.
I look into her hopeful eyes. "No," I say.
Her lip trembles and she nods. "Because I am a bad person..."
"Fucking hell, Evie." I groan. "Don't do this shit. I just don't, there is no reason."
"Because I'm a whore—" Tears track down her face. I hate tears unless I'm the one causing them. No one else should have the power over her to make her cry. Only me. Her tears are mine.
"No!" I growl. "I want to fuck you, and I don't fuck whores." I cock an eyebrow at her. "What more do you want?"
"You don't understand. I am a whore. I always have been. I have always been a temptation without even trying. God chose Zachariah. It was my fault he strayed. He was righteous, and everyone knew I forced him to sin. He was punishing me so that I could be forgiven, but I hate him for it." She shakes her head before she continues her rambling. "God loves sinners, but he hates the sin, and I am sin, Ezra. I am sin, so even God can't love me."
"Fuck me," I say on a groan. I can't deal with her crazy shit. "Have you listened to yourself?"
"You don't understand how my religion works." She shoots a confused look up at me. "Everything happens for a reason."
I frown at her and clench my fist, struggling to maintain my calm. "Evie, I told you once, and I don't like fucking repeating myself. Religion is bullshit. Your god is bullshit." I uncross my arms and close the space between us, wrapping my hand around the back of her neck. Her eyes flutter shut and her breath hitches. "I'm the only god you need, little killer. I'm the one who will protect you, and I'm the one who will rain down hell on anyone who hurts you."
She closes her eyes and bows her head. "Please forgive Ezra for the things he doesn't understand..."
I roll my eyes and drag my hand down my face.
She opens her eyes and her gaze locks with mine. "I love you, Ezra."
He will love me. One day.
I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I feel dirty for telling Ezra about Zachariah. I know he thinks I’m dirty now. Evelyn, there’s no way he’ll love you now.
Closing my eyes, I try to pray, but I can’t find the words. My mind is too possessed by Ezra to pray. The bedroom door creaks and a sliver of light spills in from the hall. I hear Dave’s collar jingle as he rounds the corner of the bed. He rests his head on the edge of the mattress. “I’m not bad,” I whisper, and he licks my face before jumping on the bed. He steps over me and curls up by my legs. I lay my hand on top of his head, stroking his ears as I fall asleep.
Blood trickles over my lip from where he just hit me and my eyes won't move from the knife in his hand. I want to scream, but I know if I do, he'll slit my throat like he's promised me time and time again. His fist meets the side of my face with a smack¸ and I fall to the floor. "I'll purge the sin from you one way or another," he growls. "Fuck it out of you or beat it out of you. Doesn't matter to me."
I attempt to roll over on my stomach, hoping he will allow me to crawl shamefully away, but he straddles me and fist my hair with the hand the knife is in. "Stay still," he says, pressing my face against the floor. "You are sin, Evelyn. You look like sin."
I feel the sharp tip of the knife pressing against the top of my spine. And I swallow the screams threatening to break from my lips. "Please, please don't do it," I beg, but all that does is make his hold on me tighten, and he bares down on the knife, slowly dragging it down the length of my back. It burns and I scream, my muscles tensing.
"I'm doing this to save you. I'll mark you so everyone will know you are tainted, but saved through forgiveness." He hisses in a breath as he makes a horizontal mark on my back. The blade stings, setting fire to my skin as he slashes his way across my body. "Your blood is so red." He groans, and I feel his breath blow over my skin. His wet tongue trace
s over the fresh wound and a sated moan rumbles from his lips. "I can taste your wickedness. It seeps through your veins, Evelyn. And through blood absolution shall be found."
I wake, sitting up in bed breathless and dripping with sweat. I glance over to Ezra's side, and he's gone. I feel lost without him, and I hate that. At one time I felt I was strong. But he makes me weak. The things Ezra says to me—they are wrong. They are blasphemous, so why do I love him? He is not God, but for some reason, I want to believe he is. My mind is so consumed with Ezra, and if I'm honest, when I close my eyes to pray, I'm tempted to pray to him. And I am going to hell for it. You've forgotten about Hannah...
My mind jumbles and gridlocks as I try to reason with myself. Father lead our community, teaching us that a man is to be a woman's master, that men are righteous and the only way a woman can find religion. A master is a god. Ezra is my master; so can't he be my god? Maybe I'm not wrong for the way I feel.
Evelyn, Ezra is not righteous. Loving him is wrong. He is taking you away from God.
But if I pray to Ezra, my prayers will be answered. He will save me.
My faith is wavering, and all over a man who is the epitome of everything I once hated. I'm sure the devil is laughing at the irony. I'm questioning everything in my life, and being honest, I'd rather give up on God and love Ezra without conviction.
What are you saying, Evelyn? Are you a blasphemer?
What am I saying? My heart beats violently, my palms grow slick with sweat. I throw the comforter off of me, grabbing my clothes from last night off the floor as I head toward the living room.
I have to ask forgiveness. I need to be in the presence of God. Maybe Ezra's presence blocks out the presence of God. I must go to the church and pray—then I’ll have Ezra beat me to pay my penance. I no longer feel driven to anything other than Ezra. It’s Ezra that drives me to kill those men when he makes me angry. It’s his acceptance and forgiveness and approval I am so desperately seeking, no longer God’s, and I have to change that. I need to be surrounded by holiness. And nothing in this place is holy.
My phone vibrates against the desk as the screen flashes.
"Yeah," I answer.
"Ez, we got a problem," Jonty grumbles. "Cops are here to see you."
"Fuck's sake. What now?" I hate cops. They're a ball ache I really don't need right now.
"Not sure. Want me to bring them up?" he asks.
"Yeah, fine." I hang up. As if I don't have enough shit going on today.
A few minutes later there' a knock on the door, and Jonty leads them inside. Two guys in suits. Detectives.
"Mr. James. We are Officer Wilson and Officer Rowe. We need a few minutes of your time."
"Well then take a seat." I gesture across the room to the sofas facing each other.
They both give me serious looks before sitting. The older guy has a scowl on his face that looks like he's just sniffed dog shit. I'm sure they know what this place is, what I am. The problem is they can't prove shit. Every now and then one of the girls gets careless and gets picked up, but they never talk, never claim any association with the club or me. It's an unspoken rule. I don't even have to enforce it. In this line of work, you keep your mouth shut, and your legs spread.
I cross my leg, resting my ankle on my knee. "What is this about?" I ask, my voice laced with boredom.
The older guy leans forward and places his elbows on his knees. "Four men have turned up dead in the last two weeks. Poisoned. Arsenic."
I cock an eyebrow. "And?"
"The victims are random, nothing in common except one thing...." He pauses, apparently for dramatic effect. "They were all regular visitors to your," his lips snarl, "club," he says the word with distaste.
I frown. I want to play it off, but even I'll admit that's suspicious.
"Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary?" the other officer asks.
I shake my head and frown. "No."
They ask me questions about shit that doesn't seem relevant. Have you seen this guy here before, do you remember this night, where were you on this date at this time? They lay out pictures of bodies, crime scenes. Some of the guys I vaguely recognise, but, of course, I don't tell them that.
Eventually, with very little information, they leave, handing me a business card as they go. As if I'm going to call them. In my world, you fix shit yourself, and I'm pretty sure I know exactly who the killer is.
As soon as they're gone, I grab my laptop and start trawling through the CCTV footage. These guys could have been in here anytime over the last few months, but I think I remember one of those guys being in here last weekend, just four days ago.
I search through the stored surveillance on my laptop and pull up the footage from that night. I fast forward until I see the guy leaning on the bar with his drink. He talks to various girls. I fast forward again but hit pause when I see Evie pouring his drink behind the bar. I hit play again, watching the scene unfold. Her bright red lips pull up in a smile. He pauses with his near-empty drink half way to his lips as though he's physically stunned by her. I don't blame him. Evie has that effect. I watch her closely. She glances straight up at the camera. Her dark hair and pale skin contrast dramatically under the lights in the club, and I can't help but think she looks like an angel—an angel of death. He places his empty glass on the bar and Evie takes it, tossing it to the side as she mixes him another cocktail. Her eyes are locked on him with that sly grin on her face the entire time. Something is going on here. This isn't right. A fissure of unease works its way through my chest. She touches her finger and then gently swirls the glass in her hand. It's so quick I almost miss it. I rewind the footage and watch again and again.
Her ring. She's touching her ring. She fucking spiked his drink. Shit. I can't work out who's more stupid, her for thinking she'd get away with it, or me for thinking she could control herself enough to do something as simple as serve some fucking drinks.
I'm striding out of the club when my phone rings.
"What?"
"She left boss. I followed her to the church," one of my boys, Jonny, says, and I hang up.
The incense is too strong in here this morning. It burns my throat, but I don't cough. I close my eyes and bow my head and kneel down like a good girl. It's been so long since I've been in here; I feel a slight unease.
"Forgive me for my sins..." I swallow because the only sin I can think about is Ezra and his cock, and that is wrong because I'm in a church. I clear my throat and try again. "Forgive me for my sins, and please help me find the evil doers in this world, the sinners so that I can end their suffering."
The door groans, but I keep my head bowed because it's probably just that homeless man coming in to find heat again. I wait to hear him singing the chorus to "Billy Jean", but I don't hear it, and suddenly, I get chill bumps.
"Evelyn!" Ezra's voice booms through the sanctuary and I swear I can feel the floor threatening to burst into flames.
I keep my head down because he's in my safe place. I don't like him in my safe place. It makes me nervous. He shouldn't be here, Evelyn. Something is wrong. I grab my temples willing that nagging voice to shut the fuck up, and then I pray silently to be forgiven for swearing at the altar. I hear his heavy steps echoing down the aisle. I can feel the vibrations through the floor.
He fists my hair, jerking my head back, and now I have no choice but to look up at his towering frame. His lips twist into a menacing smile, and I close my eyes to finish my prayer.
"You've been a bad girl, Evie," he says.
"And grant me strength. Amen."
He yanks me to my feet and grabs my chin so hard my lips purse. He slowly inches his face toward mine, his black eyes flashing with anger. "Pray, little killer," he whispers, his breath touching my lips. "You're going to need all the help you can get." His grip tightens to the point I'm certain I'll be bruised, and I close my eyes, flinching away from his harsh gaze. "Four in the past two weeks.. you've been a busy girl. Tell me, did you fuck the
m or just kill them?" Anger ripples off him in waves.
My heart leaps into my throat, and I swallow it down into the pit of my stomach.
"Shhhh. Not in the church!" I whisper frantically.
What are you afraid of, little killer. My demon mocks Ezra.
He growls low in his throat, and all I can think is that it sounds like a hellhound. When he releases my face, he grabs me by the back of the neck, his fingers digging into my flesh, catching several strands of hair and pulling. He knows, Evelyn. Each breath that comes from him is deep and hard and sounds like a rumbling fire. He marches me down the aisle, and all I can think is this is my death march because Ezra is crazy and I know that.
The large wooden doors creak when he shoves them open. A gust of cold air whips around me as he guides me to the sleek Mercedes still running and parked at the curb. He opens the passenger door and pushes me down into the seat before buckling my seat belt.
I don't look at him. I can't look at him. I promised I'd be a good girl, and he thinks I've been bad. He slams the door with such force the entire car rocks. I swallow because this is not good, Evelyn. Not good at all.
As soon as he slides into the driver's seat I can feel his eyes boring into me.
"Ezra..." I breathe, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Did you fuck any of them, Evie?" His voice is calm, and I know that is not good. My gaze lands on his ticking jaw then strays to his hands tensing on the steering wheel. Every muscle in his arm is popping out, the motion causing his tattoo of the Grim Reaper to come to life. "Did you?" he asks again.
"What?" I gasp. "Fuck who?" My heart skips several beats when my eyes meet his. I've never seen them so dark and black. They are bottomless, like the pit of hell I'm about to be thrown into.. or the Hudson River.
He grips the steering wheel harder, diverting his gaze out the front windshield. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? You were picking them off in the fucking club!" He scrubs a hand over his jaw. "And now I have the police all over my arse because a modern day Jack-the-Fucking-Ripper is killing off my customers." He finally looks over at me, and I can see him accusing me, I can see him judging me, and now I know I should have killed him. I should have killed him because then this wouldn't be a problem, but then... I love him.