It all happens in a blur of midnight black.
One moment, there he calmly sits, fiddling with the drink in his hand, and the next, heâs in front of her, his black orbs dancing across her figure like a demon appraising its human prey. (God, she doesnât think she will ever get used to this Goddamn mutation. He seems to have come straight out of a horror movie, and thus, jump scares are only part and parcel of those damned things.) Jennie has half the mind to scream, but she knows better than to give off the impression of distress. She is sure that he is no different to all predators, and like all predators, they are attuned to the scent of fear.
And really, there is no reason for her to be afraid. Because Jennie has this all planned out, as per usual. Killing her only guarantees his death in the hands of her current moderators who may be subpar at actually moderating, but make no mistake: the reason she had employed them in the first place is because they are all natural killers too, much like the man in front of her.
(So why, oh why, does her knees scream threats of giving way? Her teeth sink into her curved lips to the point where she is almost sure they will draw blood.)
A pained groan spill from her lips without her permission as her back is brutally slammed against the door, and for a moment, she entertains the thought that perhaps, sheâll actually die here. It is a brief flash in her mind before she shuts off the stream of noradrenaline that pours into her brain, giving her the calm mind and courage to match the smile on his lips.
âNo, but I have a feeling youâre about to show me,â she snarks as she brazenly meets the bottomless pit that is his eyes, and her teeth finally relents in its abuse against her lips as she edges forward in the little space that sheâs given from him holding her in place, âand as much as Iâd love to find out, I think you got a little lost in translation. The blood that will be shed is not mine, and Iâm not offering myself up like some gutted pig.â
The smile cemented on her lips can only be described as having a hint of condescension, and despite the rapid tattoo of her heartbeat against her heaving chest, she doesnât give into the want to struggle against his hold. She has a clear enough mind to realise that itâs no use to even try; in terms of strength, she is sorely lacking, but her tongue is as sharp as a knife tipped in lethal venom, and so she charges forth with the weapon.
âIâm making an offer, and itâs best you accept it! But while weâre on that, Iâve got to say: your customer service really needs improvement!â she complains, and her lack of self-preservation can only be blamed by her immense confidence in any situation, given that she is a careful planner, âhow about you let go of the poor lady, big boy, and we can get to the business part of the deal? Hmm?â
Slim fingers reach up to pat his chiselled jaw twice, as though signalling for him to move, because such is her audacity. Jennie moves on tip-toes as her lips edges closer to his ear, and she barely whispers, âoh, and if you kill me here, I hate to break the news to you but youâre probably gonna die, too. Iâd hate to kill you, hot stuff, but we gotta do what we gotta do!â
And then she assumes the original position heâs put her in, her back firmly against the door and her teeth tugging at her bottom lip as she curiously awaits for his reaction. She looks up at him through her fluttering lashes, and the innocent smile that tugs at her lips is aimed to taunt him. She waits a beat, two beats, and then because Jennie is overcome with impatience, her once perfect posture sinks as she whines, âoh, come on. Please? I havenât even gotten to the part where everyone kills each other! You know: the fun part!â
A cutesy pout and furrowed eyebrows that grace her feline features do terribly at expressing her annoyance at the situation, and for that, she has her wired personality to blame. But it doesnât stop her from the semi-glare she throws his way as her eyes study his handsome features in disdain.
the groan that emanates from soft pink lips sends a pleasant shiver down deanâs spine and it takes everything in his being not to want to elicit more of them. the thought of having that pretty little mouth of hers cry out for mercy in his name seizes him and before any involuntary chemical reaction could cause trouble for him, dean banishes it to the far recesses of his mind. as if on cue, her smile suddenly causes his to falter and heâs amiss at what she could possibly be smiling at. surely sheâs at a loss here⌠he could draw her life to an unfortunate end, heâs certain sheâs aware of what he can do. somehow, her actions translate to him as her being fearless and this strikes a rather discordant chord within him. itâs not entirely jarring, in fact he fails to place a finger on what he feels towards her. perhaps an amalgamation of contempt, admiration, and he even dares, desire.
as she closes the single iota of space between them, deanâs fury seems to subside and curiosity takes its place. her words reek of confidence, a trait he holds ever so dearly to his marble heart, and in the face of danger, he must give it to her; sheâs making quite the impression. so, he takes in her iron gaze and her declarations to match, allows them to sink in as he attempts to make sense of what this situation will exactly transpire to. she definitely cannot do without his help, that much is evident in her persistence, and of course he finds a way for that fact to elevate his ego. which is why he filters her comment about his insufficient customer service, refusing to let such a slight make any place in his thought processes, the hitman already on cloud nine.
yet the sudden touch solicits a small smirk to shift across his lips and he has half a mind to bite at the appendages that graze his skin before they disappear from range. her audacity is one he can reckon with; in any other instance, an offence like this one would render her fingerless but dean laps her outlandish behaviour up, the woman before him an exception to the rules. âdonât tell me youâre getting all soft for some pussyâ a voice inside his head taunts him.
would that be so wrong? he retorts inwardly.
chuckling, he finds it amusing how she has to tiptoe to find his ear, yet the words she utters into them coaxes more of throaty laugh to escape him. how cute. she thinks i can be killed. with a roll of his neck, he releases her before black smoke engulfs him once again and he appears a few paces away from her. that smile on her lips, oh the many ways he could wipe it off clean. he wonders, if she could still maintain that smile if he had her luscious locks wrapped around his fist as he ravages her neck with his lips, his teeth⌠but before he could picture the scene any further, his curiosity piques at her next set of words.
âwhat are you proposing?â he demands, regarding her expression with an acute irritation that taints his words. he notes how she pairs killing and fun in the same sentence and for a second he wonders if heâs looking at his female counterpart. sure, thereâs people who kill for fun, but there are very few for that matter.
âyou have my full attention⌠if i remember correctly, itâs jennie, right?â he asks, an eyebrow arching. now that his rage is nonexistent, clarity assumes. a plethora of questions deluge him instantaneously, but most importantly his interest lies in whoâs life, or lives, heâs going to end. Â
âtake a seat.â he orders, rather than requests, and with another step (at this point the peacock is immersing himself in a flashy display), he resumes his seat on couch, a leg draping itself over the other. taking his glass in his hand, he gestures towards the adjacent sofa, not once casting a look in her direction. âthis better be good, jennie, because iâll be honest with you; killing you seems much more ideal.â he remarks playfully, although his words come out all too sinisterly, failing miserably to to achieve its desired effect.