Two nights later, Lila was ready to bring down the folks who were causing problems and pain in her life in the past.
On the very evening
Her dress was wine-dark, blood-like in color. It hugged Lila's form like sin, the silk stroking each curve as if this evening would be its final moment in contact with her skin. In front of the mirror, she painted on lips as crimson as the dress, eyes rimmed with black paint until those eyes became voids swallowing the light.
He watched her from the bed, his chest bare, cigarette poised between his fingers. Jaw flexing, but he remained silent. Both of them were aware of what this evening entailed.
Her initial hunt!
"Tell me his name," she whispered, tinkering with the diamond clasp at her throat. "The first one my father sold me to."
Viktor breathed slowly. Roman Petrov. He is here on a weapons deal. He will be at the club—La Perla."
Lila smiled faintly. "I recall his perfume. It had the scent of smoke and wilted flowers."
Viktor rose, taking three quick strides across the room. He seized her wrist, turning her toward him. "You don't have to do this."
She nuzzled in close, lips gliding over his jaw. "Oh, but I do."
He should have known better than to try to reason with the tempest he had unleashed within her. There was no reasoning with that storm. It was no longer about survival now; it was about reclaiming every inch of who she used to be—and if it meant immersing himself in blood, so be it.
________________________________________________________________________________
La Perla Club!
It was a carnival of vice—bodies writhing, smoke swirling toward the ceiling, music so blindingly loud it seemed like a second rhythm. Lila moved through the throng like an apparition, her smile gentle, but her eyes otherwise.
She located Roman just where Viktor had promised, sitting in the VIP lounge, cigar hanging loose between his fingers, his gut straining at his jacket. His hair had thinned out, his face sagging, but the smile—smile that made her stomach churn at age fourteen—remained.
She walked toward the table, hips rolling, smile hovering on the cusp of innocence. Roman's gaze ran across her form like oil.
"Hello, Mr. Petrov," she cooed, gliding into the seat beside him.
His eyebrow furrowed momentarily. "Do I recognize you, sweetheart?"
Lila's smile sharpened. "I was just a girl the last time you saw me. My father sold me to you for a case of vodka and a stack of cash."
Roman's smile faltered. Roman's smile flickered. "I—"
"Shhh." She touched his lip with the tip of her finger. "I'm not here crying about it." She inched forward, her breath syrupy with honey-flavored vodka. "I'm here to thank you."
Roman's bewilderment gave way to lust, his confusion turned to lust. He was too arrogant, too inebriated to suspect the rot underneath her sweetness.
"I've dreamed of you for years," Lila breathed into his ear. "All the things I learned from you."
He swallowed hard, his hand crept down onto her thigh. "Why don't we go some place a bit more secluded?"
She grasped his hand, taking him down a rear corridor, the sound of her heels echoing on the floor like a countdown.
___________________________________________________________________
The Back Room of La Perla
The door creaked shut behind them. Roman turned, hoping she would kneel.
Instead, she shoved him forcibly into the wall, her knee crashing into his legs. His head recoiled in shock, but before he could utter a word, the knife at his throat—the delicate, slim, lovely one—was there, waiting for him.
"What—what the fuck are you doing?" he stuttered, shouted.
She smiled. "What you've taught me, Mr. Petrov."
A shallow cut at first—a line across his cheekbone, the same area where he slapped her on the first occasion she cried.
The second cut was deeper—a cross across his chest, where he had pinned her down as she asked him to take her home.
"You constantly told me I had to become quiet," she breathed. "But now, I wish you would scream."
Roman began to plead, he started to beg—he pleaded whenever things didn't go his way—but Lila pushed her fingers into his mouth, shoving them deep until he gagged.
"You got me filthy," "You made me dirty," she breathed in his face. "Now I'll get you scrubbed clean."
The blade glided into his abdomen, slow and methodical, while her other hand caressed his hair like that of a lover. Blood flowed over her hand, warm and wet. Roman gagged, his eyes bulging in horror or knife slid into his stomach, slow and deliberate, her other hand stroking his hair like a lover. Blood poured over her fingers, warm and slick. Roman choked, eyes wide with disbelief.
"I was just a girl," she breathed, turning the blade in her hand. "Now I'm your fucking ghost."
He slumped forward, and she allowed him to fall, stepping back as she observed his blood pool on the floor.
She wasn't satisfied, not yet anyway. But it was just a beginning.
The door swung open, and Viktor stood in the doorway, his face a combination of pride and something else—fearful admiration.
Lila walked past him, the knife still in her hand, blood staining her dress.
"Who's next?" she asked, voice soft and deadly.
"Who's next?" she inquired, voice velvety smooth but deadly.
He swallowed hard as he observed the woman he had saved previously become the sort of monster capable of swallowing him alive.