MONTHS EARLIER

Skipping the line completely, I ignore the indignant scoffs and shouts echoing in the long line of underage party goers and strut into the dimly lit club.

My eyes faintly flick to the glowing sign above, pulsing in time with the blood in my veins.

Scythe.

My black heels wrap securely around my ankles and climb like vines up to my thighs. They finish just inches from my black backless mini dress, the long blood red of my hair flowing down my back like a waterfall, the tail of a dragon's tattoo peeking beneath the waves.

A warning for what's to come.

The time it took to have the dragon painted on my back was excruciating but worth it, the fierce protectiveness of the beast heightening my sex appeal.

Clouds of fog lay across the floor, a sweet incense hitting my nose the further I walk into the club.

My eyes, hidden by a film of vibrant green scan the sea of faces before finding my intended victim tonight. A burgundy velvet jacket adorns his physique, white collared shirt rumpled under the questionable fashion choice. He lifts a glass of water to his lips, condensation dripping onto his hands, highlighting the reddish spots splattered over the otherwise smooth skin.

Latex allergy rash, common in doctors and other professions that use latex gloves daily.

Like a medical examiner.

The strobe lights that hang where the walls meet the roof flicker in time with the music, a synthetic beat that grates on my nerves. The same drum beats and runs you hear at every club these days.

I look back at my target, Draco Tatsumi, my eyes drawn to the figurehead stitched on his pocket.

The gold-scaled dragon twists menacingly around a blood dipped arrow head. Piercing red eyes glaring at any who walk past its master. The scene almost riveting, drawing you in just to strike you down.

For a second I almost believe the dragon moves, slithering its scaly head my direction but I pass it off as imagination - or whatever the club owner puts in the fog that crawls along the floor.

The owner of the stitched dragon moves, leaning his elbows back on the bar behind him.

I look up and connect our eyes.

Mr. Tatsumi has been working for my father for years, hiding the deaths he triggers and putting the cause of death as accidental.

It's enough for me to want his death on my hands, though it doesn't take much for me to want to kill someone these days.

Not since the experiments he helped hide.

I hum at the thought, and sway froward, taking a seat nearby, keeping one between us.

I lay a palm flat on the bar, ordering a martini from the woman who serves me, smiling gratefully when she turns to make it.

While waiting, I look from the corner of my eye, seeing Draco's eyes still on me and use the opportunity to tilt my head and bring my curtain of red hair to the front of my body, leaving the dragon painted on my back for all to see.

A warning to the man I've chosen to target. Or a threat, depends how you look at it.

Fangs unfurl in my mind at the thought of the hunt.

I tap my nails against the bar rhythmically in reply.

The martini is placed in front of me, and my palm lays flat on the bar before my fingers slither around the stem and raise the glass to my lips.

Seconds later a shot is placed in front of me, a vibrant red liquid with flames licking at the rim of the cup and rising to the sky.

"Dragon's blood, for the lady." A new bartender informs me, though this one looks nothing like a bartender and more like hired security.

I take the shot with nimble fingers and shoot it back in less time than it takes me to catalogue the weapons adorning his figure. He leaves before I can analyse him more, my eyes tracking his movements.

I drop the glass back on the table and slide it away with the tip of my nail, my hands clasping the stem of my martini glass once more.

I relax my shoulders and turn on the stool, crossing my legs and causing the already short dress to ride up and expose my upper thigh as I look toward Draco Tatsumi.

"You, look exquisite." A husky voice whispers across my exposed skin as they fall into the seat left vacant between me and my target.

I breathe out though my nose, kissing my teeth in annoyance.

"John." He introduces himself again. Holding out a scarred palm, the grin on his face aggravating.

He must see the displeasure on my face because his grin only widens, dimple appearing. He flicks his chin to the bar and holds up two fingers. "Scotch, please."

Seconds later two glasses rest at his fingertips, condensation already dripping down the crystalline glass.

He grabs one and lifts it to his lip, sipping from it before lifting a brow and glancing at the other one.

"It's yours if you want it."

Frustration unfurls in my stomach, the fangs in my mind glinting and sharpening as I glance over my shoulder and see Draco Tatsumi getting up from his seat and walking away, further into the darkened club.

I snatch the glass and down the contents in one gulp before slamming it back down. John raises a brow in amusement, his scarred palm held out to mine.

"Care for a dance?"

I narrow my gaze back but slip my hand into his, letting him pull me into the swath of gyrating bodies, sweat already clinging to my skin.

"I've asked around about you, Angel." His voice begins as hands settle on my hips from behind, voice pitched low.

"Oh, have you just?" I spin in his hold, hands clasped to his shoulders. "And what have you heard?"

Johns' lips lift at the sides as he answers gruffly, "You're a contract killer and I have a proposition for you."

A soft laugh escapes past my lips, lingering in the air between us as the bodies around crowd closer. The heat ratcheting up a notch. "I don't know who you've been getting your information from." I press myself closer to his body, eyes tracking over his shoulder and catching Tatsumi entering my line of sight once more before I look back at John. "But you need a new informant."

He laughs lowly, the sounds tingling along my senses, eyes swinging back to the bar we just occupied before he turns back to me, leaning down. "Did I ruin your fun?" He whispers against my ear, a thrill racing down my spine.

I could've sworn the dragon on my back writhed and slithered in anticipation.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye and catch his night dark eyes. "Depends on your definition of fun."

He only blinks slowly, his ever present grin darkening.

I spin before he can answer, grabbing his hand and dragging him through the crowd of bodies to a stool against the wall.

I push him into it, and he stumbles back, a strong hand gripping to the stool and the other flat against the wall to steady himself.

Still the grin doesn't leave his face as his dark gaze stares down at me.

I take a step forward, pushing a finger into his torso and using another to crawl up his chest before flattening at the centre. I push him into the seat.

He falls into place unsteadily, his eyes tracing the contours of my neck.

I lean forward, dragging my lips over his jawline toward his ear.

My hand drops to rest again his thigh.

"Don't." I whisper, a slight growl entering my words. "Get in my way." I pat his pocket, feeling a weapon beneath it - or it could be his dick. "Find someone else to do your dirty work."

"You haven't even heard the terms yet, Angel."

I lift a brow and smile charmingly as I pull back. "I don't know who you are, but it's no coincidence that I've seen you twice in as many weeks."

John only smirks, a strong palm tracing up my hip and pulling me closer.

"You don't believe in fate?"

"I don't believe in anything but death."

He chuckles, the darkness of the tone slithering over my skin and causing heat to pool in my stomach.

"Then we have something in common."

I smile but it's anything but sweet as I finally pull away.

"Have a good night."

I turn, feeling his eyes boring into my back as I stalk away and through the exit.

I walk the block to my car and unlock it, reaching in and grabbing my coat as the cold of the night begins to seep into my bones.

I turn and stare back the way I came, at the club that sits on the street and the target that still resides inside.

Shutting the door, I tap my finger rhythmically against my hip before walking back to the club, turning towards the darkened alley sitting unassuming beside it, waiting patiently.

Though no one ever claimed I was patient.

• • •

I lean against the brick wall opposite the back exit of the club, shadows shielding me.

The door swings open on silent hinges, and I sink further into the shadows, ruling them beneath my shoes.

Draco Tatsumi exits into the darkening night, gait overconfident for someone being stalked.

Though I don't blame him, he doesn't know I'm here.

I tilt my head to the side cautiously, predator watching prey as he walks away from the building.

Draco stumbles, hand slapping against the wall as he slowly slides down it.

A bloody print is left above his head, almost like a halo.

I kiss my teeth and stalk closer, crouching down in front of him.

"You just had to go and get yourself hurt, didn't you Tatsumi?"

His brown eyes look up at me but register nothing, blood splattering his olive skin tone.

With a flick of my wrist, a dagger falls from my coat sleeve and into my awaiting hand.

"Such a shame, you have such a pretty face." I purr and enjoy the fear that enters his eyes.

"Who-"

"My name is of no importance, but the people you helped Samael Gordon sweep under the rug. Their names matter."

He blinks, dread rolling over his face like thunder.

I don't allow another second of his choked silence to continue before I angle the dagger up and shove it between his ribcage and twist.

His shoulders tense before curling in, a whispered breath leaving his bloodied lips.

I retrieve the vial from my pocket, placing it into the man's palm, curling his fingers around it gently.

"Cut the head off a dragon, and the body will die, isn't that the saying?" A voice pierces the deathly silence and I spin, glaring at the man that exits through the same door, wiping his bloodied fingers on a rag before shoving it into his pockets out of sight.

"Snake." I mutter.

John takes one measured step forward before stopping and sneering at the dead man by my side.

"Pardon?"

I stand from my crouch slowly and face him, holding my dagger at the ready in my hand.

"Cut the head off a snake, and the body will die."

"Point stands, Angel." He grins back at me. "You can thank me with a drink." John says, starting to walk out of the darkened alley.

"Thank you?"

"Oh, you didn't know Angel?" He holds his hands out to encompass the club beside us. "I own this establishment. Nobody dies without my say so."

My silence stretches.

He turns, lifting both dark brows. "Are you planning on having a tea party with the man?"

I begin moving with him, but not because he told me to. But because the alley is starting to smell.

"Why?" I finally voice as we enter into the open night.

"Why what?"

"Why help?"

He opens his mouth to reply when a gunshot hits the air, it tears through muscles and bone as blood splatters against my neck.

I fall to the ground, shoving my back against the wall and letting the shadows pull me back into their safe embrace once more.

John follows, holding his shoulder as blood seeps between his fingertips.

"What the fuck?" He sneers, glaring at his shoulder as if that could fix the bullet hole weeping blood.

I take a chance and reach for his pocket, hoping what I felt earlier in the night was a weapon and not a body part.

"Where's your gun?"

He stretches out, using his injured arm to steady himself as he pulls a gun from the back of his pants.

I snatch my hand off his leg and don't think about what I might have been searching for before grabbing the gun and scanning the silent street.

I slowly stand up and make my way along the wall, listening for any sounds. I step beneath a street light, letting the warmth coat me, the sounds of buzzing insects in my ears as I scan the building.

Another shot cleaves the air in half as brick explodes by my face. I duck and rush back to stand beside John. Making sure we both are once again bathed in shadows.

"It's coming from that building." John groans out and points at the building opposite. My eyes go straight to the roof, knowing that's where the person would be.

I let the silence of the night sink in for ten minutes before realising the shooter has left and turn to the man.

I prod around his gunshot. "That looks like it hurts."

With that I turn and stalk towards my car, leaving him behind me.

"C'mon Angel, not even going to help an injured man?"

"That sounds like your problem."

I glance back to see his hand placed firmly on his chest, blood stained and covering his heart. "You wound me"

I scoff, leaving him behind me.