“Where are they?” he queries, bringing my attention back to his face.
I notch my head up, indicating towards the stairs. “In my playroom.”
He quirks a brow but keeps silent as I lead him towards the stairs.
“Stay down here until I call you guys up,” I order my henchmen.
“Sibby, are you sure? I don’t trust this guy,” Mortis asks, stepping forward and eyeing the scarred man with disdain.
Zade is staring at my men, his brow lowered with an expression I can’t quite place. I don’t know if he’s offended by not being trustworthy or what, but he doesn’t look amused.
“I can handle myself,” I reply before continuing up the stairs.
Zade follows suit and clears his throat. “So, what’s your deal?” he asks quietly.
His voice is deep and sounds like gravel is encrusted around his voice box. Gritty, and smoky. A very alluring voice, I must admit.
“What do you mean, my deal?” I reiterate sharply. He makes it sound as if I’m diseased.
“Those people you were talking to—do they not like me?” he asks, amusement coloring the deep timbre of his voice.
“My henchmen? No. Nor do they trust you.”
“You uh, told them to stay down there and that you can handle yourself?” he continues. “They’re not coming up too?”
I pause on the steps, forcing him to come to a stop as well. We haven’t even made it up the stairs and he’s already grinding my nerves. Not that he cares, by the looks of it. I look back at him with my brow lowered. “Do you see them behind you?” I wave my hand behind him.
He doesn’t turn to look. He just smirks. “No.”
“Then there’s your answer! I don’t need my henchmen to protect me from you. And since you’re here, I figured they could sit this one out,” I explain impatiently, my irritation spiking.
He’s silent for a beat and then, “Ah.”
“Ah?” I repeat, aghast. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re fucking insane, little girl. Where are these demons again, or whatever you call them?”
I already told the idiot where they are, but whatever. I huff and lead him into my playroom, curling my fists tight just to keep them from smashing his stupid face in.
Inside are the four men strapped to chairs. After the staff left for the night, Jackal went and found three other chairs so I didn’t have to deal with anyone escaping. Though I did paralyze three of them, two of them only experienced it briefly and were able to move again. The other was complaining about not being able to feel his legs until I broke each and every one of their ankles. He shut up after that.
As soon as the demons see us, they immediately start screaming into the duct tape covering their mouths and wriggling like little bugs in their seats.
“Do they know you?” I ask.
Zade hums in confirmation, looking over their broken ankles and sweaty, red faces. I lit up this room with extra lighting and took out the strobe lights. Something told me Zade would’ve kicked the strobe lights in just to get them to stop and I didn’t want to worry about replacing them for tomorrow when the fair reopens.
“You sure no one can hear them?” Zade asks, glancing around the room.
“I do this all the time.”
With that, he side-eyes me.
“You kill people often?”
I shrug. “Only the demons.”
I don’t care about divulging information to this man. He’s going to die anyways. What does it matter if I tell him I kill demons all the time?
His lip quirks up, and there’s a derisive gleam in his eye. “Do you call yourself the demon-slayer too?”
Rage nearly slaps me in the face at his disrespectful tone. I stomp my foot and screech, “You’re not funny!”
He cocks a brow at my outburst, but that glint in his eye doesn’t dissipate. My lip curls. I can’t wait to stab my pretty knife through his eyes. They will not be mocking me when he sees the pointed end coming straight towards them, will they?
I turn my attention back to the four men as potent fury rattles my bones. For now, I’ll take it out on the wriggling parasites before me. Then, I’ll rip Zade’s eyes from their sockets before I kill him.
Zade pays me no mind and walks towards the man that came to Satan’s Affair with his wife. He crouches down until he’s eye level and slowly observes the struggling man.
“I’ve been watching you for quite a while, Mark,” he says lowly. Almost impossibly, his voice deepens even further. “Do you know why?”
Mark frantically shakes his head, staring at Zade like a friend that betrayed him.
The man, Mark, shouts something but the duct tape prevents his words from being clear. Zade rips the tape from the man’s mouth, leaving a red welt in its wake. The old man grunts from the pain.
“Zack, I don’t understand what’s going on. Whatever is wrong, please don’t do this. We were friends!”
Zack? Why is he calling him Zack?
“My name isn’t Zack. Call me Z.”
At the mention of his nickname, Mark’s eyes widen almost comically. Like one of those anime characters with eyes too big for their faces.
“Z? Y-you’re Z? The Z?”
I roll my eyes, sighing dramatically. Zade looks like he kills people often, but I don’t see what’s so scary about him.
No matter, Z obviously has some type of reputation and whatever it is has Mark vibrating in his chair from fear, as if an earthquake is tearing through his insides.
“The very one, Mark.”
“Look, Z, I don’t know what you think I did but you have it all wrong.”
“Do I?” Zade queries, his dry tone bored.
“You do! Look. This is about that leaked video, isn’t it? I don’t know anything about that, I swear! My partner was the one in that video.”
At the mention of his partner, another old man comes to life—the one with numb legs. Muffled screams vibrate the tape on his mouth, and he fights his binds with renewed
