Blood had a way of staining everything.
You know, for someone who was very adamant about the whole seven-day thing, you’d think she’d be here, waiting for me. You’d think she’d have a little hope that I’d betray my men and come work for her. Why else would she go through all the trouble to meet me in the first place?
The lock on the door made a sound, and the hinges on it creaked as someone pulled it open. The man who stood there staring at me was the driver who’d taken me from the Gilded Rose and brought me here.
He looked surprised to see me, stammering, “Uh, you’re—”
“Yep,” I said, well aware that I was covered in blood and probably looked like I’d just crawled out of someone’s nightmare. “It’s me. I’m here for Bianca.”
He studied me, my mask, and then his gaze dropped to the bloody pillowcase near my feet. “Are those…” A cat had his tongue, I guess, because he could not get out a full sentence. That, or my appearance was worse than I thought it was.
“They are,” I said, grabbing the pillowcase and swinging it up over my shoulder again, lest he get the idea to check the heads. “Is she home? Don’t keep me waiting in suspense. My poor heart can’t handle it.” A big, fat fucking lie, because my heart could handle a lot of things, as it turned out. It was a very violent thing.
“Sure,” he said. The man ducked his head, spinning on his feet as he led me deeper into the house. He brought me to the same room I’d had my first meeting with her in, the same room I’d dreamed of.
I plopped myself down on one of the lounges, leaving the pillowcase o’ heads on the floor. I was purposefully getting the blood everywhere I could; the more I annoyed Bianca, the better, especially if the bitch ended up killing me. What could I say? I was a spiteful one.
“Let me…” Again, he trailed off, as if he could not speak in my presence or something.
“Go get her?” I suggested, and he nodded once. He was gone the next moment, and I reclined back, spreading my arms out and rubbing the blood on them onto the cushions of the couch. The room was full of light colors and a plethora of natural light; the only blemish was me and the mess I made.
Oops.
I didn’t know how long I waited, but it was at least a few minutes. I didn’t know if she made me wait extra long because she was trying to show me she was the one who had the power here or what. I didn’t care. Either way, it wouldn’t matter soon enough.
This game was finally coming to an end. The fat lady was about to sing. The curtain was mere moments from falling. This was a showoff I’d never anticipated, but one I welcomed all the same. Only one of us would make it out of this room alive. The Bloody Princess, or the Night Slayer? Buckle up, buttercup, because we’re all about to find out.
I heard footsteps behind me, but I didn’t get up and greet her, didn’t even toss a glance over my shoulder to know it was her. They weren’t hard footsteps; they were the footsteps of someone who was used to tiptoeing around like a fucking cat. Noiseless to some, but I heard her, because I played the game the same way when I went home with unsuspecting idiots.
You had to be quiet when you left a man in his room, naked and ready for sex, and went to the kitchen to find something sharp.
Bianca walked around, heading to the chair across from the couch I sat in. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t play nice, Lola,” she spoke, about to sit down when she spotted the blood on her couch and on her floor from the pillowcase. Today she wore a white blouse with a set of dress pants that, yes, were also white.
It was like she knew. Like the bitch was tempting me to stain her clothes with bright red.
“Oh, yeah,” I chuckled, “sorry about the mess. I guess I’m not as clean as you are.”
She strained a smile before sitting, crossing her ankles instead of her knees, and folding her hands across her lap. Wearing just the barest hint of makeup, Bianca looked as if she was trying hard not to seem interested. Her blonde hair was drawn up, away from her face—unlike mine, which hung in a mess around my face and mask, the yellow tips stained with blood.
“I like your mask,” she said, eyeing it up. “It makes you seem almost otherworldly. Is that Fang’s work?” She spoke of the man as if she knew him, and maybe she did. Fang said he tried not to get involved in the politics of the warring criminal families, even though he clearly belonged to the Lucianos.
“It is,” I said with a nod. “Have you met him? He’s a very peculiar fellow.”
“He is,” Bianca agreed hastily, and again her gaze fell to the bloody sack near my feet. Making small talk was like torture for her; she wanted to see Maddox and Sylvester’s heads, but she wasn’t rude enough to demand it straight away. “We met once, years ago.”
That’s the problem with royalty, you see. So many useless customs and habits. It’s why the monarchies fell. Being called the Bloody Princess was only asking for a repeat of history.
“I’m surprised you didn’t have your goons kill him too,” I muttered, choosing my words not as carefully as I should’ve, but not caring enough to take it back. Her men were goons, that much was true.
She let out a short chuckle. “My goons, as you call them, only went after who I told them to. Fang might be close to the Lucianos, but his skills are unique enough to make him useful to me.” AKA Bianca hoped to put him to good use after the Lucianos were gone. That shouldn’t surprise me at all. “Now, you did not come all this way with baggage like that just to talk about Fang, did you?”
“No, I didn’t, but before we get into this, I do have one more question for you.”
“Go on.” Her back was rod straight, as if she was poised and ready for me. A smart woman, but a smarter woman would’ve had me restrained before beginning this conversation with me in the first place.
I couldn’t help myself. “How is Tony doing?”
That clearly wasn’t what she expected me to say, for her eyebrows came together. “Tony? He’s doing well enough, I suppose. Why?”
“Tony and I have unfinished business, you see,” I said, moving the pillowcase, dragging it so it sat between my feet. I held onto its open side, my knuckles white. “If I pledge myself to you, I’m going to need to be able to kill him.” Why not be honest with the woman I was here to kill? It wasn’t like I’d lose anything.
She didn’t blink at that, nor did she ask why I would need to kill him. Bianca merely thought about it, and I could almost see the gears turning in her head. She would lose Tony, but what was Tony really worth to her, anyway? He wasn’t particularly good in a fight, and he’d already proved to her that he was willing to betray those he was supposed to be loyal to. What he did didn’t help his case at all.
It took Bianca a while, but soon enough she muttered, “Fine. I’ll let you have Tony. Now, show me.”
I smiled behind my mask, wondering how I should do it. Should I reach in myself, grab whichever one I could get ahold of first, and whip it at her? Should I hand her the sack instead and let her have a peek inside? The moment she realized they were not the heads of Maddox and Sylvester, she’d attack. Or she’d call her men to kill me.
I decided to get up, sack in hand, dragging it along the floor and smearing a bit of blood on the way. Depositing the pillowcase before her, I said, “Here you go.” She took the end of the pillowcase from me, and I moved toward the window, gazing out, waiting.
Waiting, waiting, waiting. My life had been so full of it lately, but before that it’d been nothing but action. Living life one quarter-mile at a time, because I had no life. I’d been a shell of a girl for so long, and the Lucianos had unwittingly breathed me back to life. I could never repay them for that, nor could I ever make up the fact that I’d killed the youngest Luciano. The most I could do for them was help get rid of their biggest problem.
Bianca DeLuca, the Bloody Princess.
I noticed Bianca held no tact as she pulled open the pillowcase and peeked inside. She didn’t see it right away, but immediately she knew something was off.
She kept her arms out of the case, refusing to dig into it due to her white clothing, so instead she simply took her time in staring at the heads inside.
And then, just like that, she realized it: “You lie.”
“I didn’t lie,” I spoke slowly, watching as the woman straightened out behind me. The wonderful thing about reflections in glass—she had no idea I was watching her. Bianca probably just thought I was gazing outside. “I never said the heads belonged to them. You just assumed.” In the glass, I saw her drop the end of the pillowcase and reach behind her, presumably for a gun.
A pity, because knives were so much more fun, as she was certainly well aware of.
“And you know what they say about assuming.” Before Bianca could pull the gun out, I spun around, kicking her hard in the stomach and sending her stumbling back. She got the gun out, yes, but with the extra few seconds my kick afforded me, I grabbed the wrist near the gun and stopped her from pointing it at me. She wasn’t overly muscled. It wasn’t too hard. “It makes an ass out of you and me,” I finished, punching her square in the face, stunning her enough that I was able to get the gun out of her grip.
“You,” she spat, “traitorous bitch—”
I let her go, let her stumble back and swipe at her nose—which was already bleeding pretty heavily after my punch. I might’ve heard a crack, but my adrenaline was pumping too much for me to pay attention.
I looked at the gun for a few seconds, knowing I could shoot her and end it all. I could put an end to this right here and now… but that would be too easy, and not nearly as fun as beating the shit out of her.
So instead of using the gun, I tossed it aside and barreled toward her, body-slamming her to the ground right next to the bloody sack. Bianca let out a grunt, but now that she knew she was in for a fight, now that I no longer had surprise on my side, she was more of an opponent.
The door to the sitting room flew open, and the driver stood there, holding a gun, and he instantly trained it on me.
“No!” Bianca shouted, startling the man into submission. “I’m going to kill this bitch. Don’t you fucking interfere!” She hardly sounded like the princess she pretended to be; she sounded like one of us, the people who rolled around in the dirt and the blood every single day of their lives. When the man didn’t lower his gun, she added, “Leave us!”
Ordering him to go, as I wrapped my hands around her neck and started choking her. Not too smart, but I’ll take it.
The man looked as if he wanted to disobey her, but in the end, he lowered his gun and disappeared, leaving us alone in our scuffle, as it should be.
Bianca bared her teeth, and she brought a fist to my side, hitting me someplace that hurt. It wasn’t enough to stop me from choking her, but it was enough for me to loosen my grip a tad, enough that she was able to flip our positions by rolling us, now the one on top straddling me.
Her blonde hair had started to fall out of whatever clip had held it in place, stray tendrils flying in every direction. Her dark eyes narrowed down at me, and she clawed at my mask, hissing, “I’m going to kill you. I know I said I would make your life torture, but I think I’ll save myself the trouble of dealing with you forever and kill you right here.” She tore my mask off, tossing it to the side. The metal skidded to a stop on the carpet, too far out of reach to be of any use.
At least now she could see my smile. She hit me in the face with a fist, and I laughed. “That’s the thing, Bianca,” I whispered, grabbing her hair with both hands and forcing her face down to mine. She hit me again, this time in the chest, but I didn’t let her go; I held her close as I finished, “I died years ago, and the person you see now isn’t afraid of death or torture or whatever hell you imagine. I’ve been there and back.” My fingers tightened in her hair enough to start pulling the strands out, and her face twisted in pain. “I’ve seen the devil’s face and laughed while I killed him.”
I finished my little speech with a wicked headbutt, slamming my forehead against hers so hard I saw stars. I let go of her, throwing her off me, hopping to my feet and kicking her chest before she could get up.
We were not evenly matched. Bianca was the Bloody Princess, a woman who was used to having her victims tied up and motionless, unable to fight back. Me? Every hunt I went on was spontaneous, always running the risk of my prey either escaping or injuring me in return. Plus, being in pain didn’t really faze me, meanwhile Bianca still couldn’t see straight after that monstrous headbutt.
Bianca knew I had her. She knew if we continued like this, I’d best her—and that was why the bitch ran for her gun, which I’d tossed onto the other side of the room.
Fine. She could go for the gun. I had all I needed right here.
She had to run around the furniture to reach it, and that took time, whereas all I had to do was grab the pillowcase and pull out a head. Line ‘em up and knock ‘em down. Like dominos. Or bowling. Except, you know, I’d never done either, so…
I whipped the head as hard as I could at her, aiming for her legs. Bianca wasn’t expecting it, and she was too intent on reaching the gun that she wasn’t even looking in my direction, as if she thought I wasn’t a threat without a gun or a knife. Bless her heart; she thought I didn’t have anything to stop her, but I sure showed her.
The head hit the back of her knees, blood splattering on her white pants, and she toppled over, letting out a loud oof. I sprang into action, grabbing the head before she could hurry to get up and kneeling on her back. Holding onto the head’s short hair, I hit the back of her head with it.
“That’s for telling me to kill Maddox and Sylvester,” I said. Hitting her again, harder this time, slamming her face down onto the floor, I added, “And that’s for having Tony get me involved in all this.” Again, with the severed head-hitting. It was quite fun, actually, for with every hit of the head, her face slammed down on the carpet.
I got off her back, rolling her to her front, and I slapped that bitch’s face with the severed head just for kicks, because I knew she didn’t like to get dirty. You didn’t get much dirtier than a severed fucking head.
“And this,” I spoke through my teeth, grinning as wildly as I could as I dropped the head and took hold of her throat in my hands, nails digging into her flesh so hard they pierced the skin. “This is for threatening me, you pompous, arrogant, conceited as fuck bitch.” My fingers dug as deep as they could go, and her eyes widened as she cried out.
She fought me, oh, she fought me as hard as she could, but it was too late, for as I said it, my fingers in her throat clenched, and I twisted and dug deeper. Her hands found my wrists, but she couldn’t pull me out. Blood oozed out of her in the numerous wounds, and I felt my nails scrape gooey warmth inside her throat as they moved.
She gargled, she screamed, she coughed, but Bianca could not stop me from doing what I was about to do.
“This city,” I whispered, “it isn’t big enough for the both of us. I think it’s time the reign of the Bloody Princess ends, don’t you?” Before she could say anything else, I ripped my hands back, taking as much flesh with them as I could. I literally tore the bitch’s throat open with my bare hands.
How fucking cool was that?
I laughed as Bianca gasped, as I got off her, still holding onto a large piece of her throat, my hands coated in red. The wound on her neck was not one she’d get over, not one she could pop a bandage on and move on from.
Bianca tried to get up, but she didn’t have enough strength. She ended up falling to her knees before me, reaching for the piece of her throat I held onto, as if she wanted it. Like she thought I could put it back on or something. One of her hands held onto her throat, blood oozing steadily between her fingers. She attempted to speak, but all that came out was a liquid-y sound.
I did not take my eyes off her. I stood there, waiting, until she collapsed on her chest, legs splayed behind her, and even then, I didn’t move right away. I let her bleed out onto the carpet a bit, made sure I stared at her upper back for
a while to make sure she wasn’t breathing.
Bianca DeLuca was dead.
My eyes fell to the chunk of throat I held onto, and I grinned as I let it fall to the floor, rubbing my fingers together. I would literally never tire of blood. Bianca might’ve been the Bloody Princess, but I was the Bloody Queen, the only piece remaining on this chessboard.
I found my mask and put it on, rubbing some of Bianca’s blood onto its shaped teeth, and then I squared my shoulders and readied myself for what was to come. Walking out that door with Bianca dead, I might meet my death. My body might meet its end at the hands of a hundred bullets, shot from multiple guns from multiple people, all because I’d killed their leader.
Or not. Guess I had to go out there and find out which one it would be.
I flipped my hair over my shoulder, stepping over Bianca’s lifeless corpse as I made my way to the door. I pushed out, finding that the driver and a few others had gathered, all holding onto their guns like the metal was their dicks or something. I cocked my head at them, waiting for them to shoot me.
But… they didn’t. They simply stared at me with wide eyes, and the ones who’d gathered after the driver had come in and nearly shot me glanced to him, as if they looked to him to lead them in this moment.
No one said anything for the longest time. We were only capable of staring at each other, the silence of the big house around us eternal. A house like this… seemed like it would go to waste if only Bianca was living in it, with an underling or two.
That’s one of the things I never understood about houses as large as this. So many rooms, so much empty space, for what? What were you saving all that space for?
“The Bloody Princess is dead,” I spoke, breaking the silence, though I did not break our staring contest. If I was to die here, I would look death in the eye and smile. If ever there was someone who would walk willingly into hell, it was me. Knowing what I’d done, what I would continue to do if I was left alive… oh, heaven was no place for a thing like me.
Violent Heart: A Dark Reverse Harem (A Death So Sweet Book 3) Page 23