A purple streak ripples in the moody blue sky. It contrasts against the orangish hue swirling in the blue sky, left behind by the earth's sunlight. The moon's brilliance diminishes because of the foggy, polluted atmosphere. It's strong enough to leave a shadow on the moist rocks. White furious waves clash against the golden sand, sprinkling water onto my jeans.

It's been a while since one of these nights.

When the dark shadow consumes me, letting Mika dive into the back seat and go along for the ride. Unlike times before, my heart weighs heavily on my shoulders. It's a hindrance now. I'm not sure what I'm doing and why I'm doing things anymore. There's a purpose and cause, but I'm not so sure I stand with them anymore. Why do I keep covering my hands with blood? Why am I doing the dirty work for anyone?

Can I ever stop thinking?

My eyes bounce to the stumbling, five-foot-eleven man with a six-pack in his hands. His floppy brunette hair tumbles over his eyes, giving him a two-thousand emo look. I've been shadowing this man for a few days, ever since Diablo gave me the new instructions. See, Mictlantecuhtli doesn't dive right into her kills-- she has a grace period.

Kills take time.

Even if the time period is cut short, you still need enough to know the ins and outs of your victim--their routine, likes and dislikes, hidden affairs. You have to decide where's the perfect place to commit the crime or steer them into an alleyway. Anything really- it's all up to me as long as I get the job done. Just never get caught. I don't want a repeat of Luka, giving someone a reason to hold something over me.

My victim tonight is a lovely man that goes by Jared Campanelli. From my late-night stakeouts, I figured out he's a low-rank man in one of the Italian families. He often gets stuck with the shitty jobs like stealing plasma TVs and shit. I'm not exactly sure who's put the hit out on him, but my radar says his wife.

See, Jared has a beautiful Colombian wife, but we, Latina women, tend to have short fuses. Not always. It's definitely a stereotype, but what people forget is it's the men that make us like this. Apparently, marriage life isn't all it's cracked out to be, and his wife, Luna, had suspicions. Rightfully so, as I followed Jared to his whore's house last night. Pretty messy, to be honest. Did I mention how Luna is six months pregnant? Or how she wanted to get back at him by sleeping with his sister?

I don't normally get invested in my kills since it blurs the lines when you have to kill them. You can start having sympathy for the victim, and that's treacherous. But the tea overflowed the mug. These idiots laid everything out on the table. If it's my educational guess, Luna hired me to kill Jared so she could be with his sister.

Okay, fine, it wasn't an educational guess.

I bugged their entire house and was eavesdropping on their conversation earlier. A lot of swears from both parties, smashing of vases and plates, and a beating. For carrying a six-month fetus in her belly, Luna knows how to beat someone's ass. All because he refused to sign the divorce papers. Why can't people admit when they've lost?

Reality is merely an illusion in the eyes of the beholder.

Like a ripple in the ocean when tossing rocks in it.

Life is cruel.

Jared will meet his demise tonight while his pretty wife lives happily ever after with his sister.

He tosses another beer, devouring it in one full swing before crushing the can in his fingers. His eyes gloss over, heavy with a drunken haze. The alcohol fuels his adrenaline as he runs down the mountain of sand to a secluded part of the beach. Perfect. I have to be cold, distant. I need to be. Anything less could fracture the new dimensions of my sanity, and I might walk away.

I can't do that.

I've worked too hard to give my life up for a man whore.

Shaking off the residue of weakness, I blow out a harsh breath and follow in his footsteps. The golden sand is cool on my toes, inching up my ankles from the flick of my legs. There's no one for miles. The lights are sparse, giving the illusion of an opaque blanket laying over us. Jared drops the six-pack on the ground, causing sand to spatter everywhere.

He sniffles, wiping his nose with one hand as the other digs into his back pocket. My eyes dart to the little plastic bag in his palm. It's filled with a powdery substance. Coke or heroin? He brings the drug up to his nose, inhaling it and shaking his head with a loud groan. It takes a second for the effects to hit as he blows out a sigh of relief, falling onto his ass.

"Nothing for me?" I ask, patting the comfortable dent in the sand so I can sit.

His eyebrows are taut, forming a crease in between his eyebrows. "Who... Who are you?"

I laugh, extending my legs out. "No one. A fragment of your imagination."

He snorts, clapping his hands together like a seal. "I'm high, but I'm not that fucking high. Besides." He pauses, shifting to his side to push a strand of my hair behind my ear. "You're too hot to only be a fragment of my imagination. Maybe you're an angel to save me from my misery. Blow my night away."

"Maybe." My face remains stoic. "Maybe I am."

Jared chuckles, forcing a bottle out of the pack and handing it over. "Want some? That's all I got. I used up all the heroin."

"I'm good," I reply, relaxing my muscles by cracking them. "It's beautiful, isn't it? The water is calm, soothing to watch. The breeze isn't too much on our skin. Only thing missing is the shining moon, but I'm sure I can find another solution. Something that can make this night more beautiful than all the ones before it."

"Beautiful?" He scoffs, flinging the beer onto the sand. "Not anymore. It used to be when my wife and I came here to walk around. Seems like ages ago. Now, she wants to leave me for my fucking sister. My own fucking blood, like seriously. She's creating her perfect dream, and I'm not in it."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"No need." He swats the air. "My life's a pity party. Everything goes fucking wrong. Sometimes I think I should just fuck off and die. The world would be better off without me."

"What if you could?" I blurt, wiggling my toes in the sand, closing my eyes in satisfaction.

"Huh?" An uneasy chuckle crawls from his throat.

"What if all your nightmares could disappear? What if you could die?" I turn my head to face him, giving him a death glare. "To be honest, I've been sent to kill you."

His dark, thick eyebrows knit together. "What? Stop fucking joking man! You're going to ruin my trip. It's not funny. It's creepy."

I sigh, stroking my fingers down my hair. "I'm not joking."

My words cause a frenzy to glimmer in his eyes. Concern mars his face as the beer can drop from his hand, landing on the sand. There were a few fleeting seconds, but I knew what to expect. Everyone always does the same thing. He boosts off his ass like a jack-in-the-box and makes a run for it.

Or tries, too.

Screams pierce my ears when my knife comes down, slicing hard against his Achilles heel. His screams fuel the horror harboring within me, and I feel like I'm on the cloud. I get off on the terror. It's a guilty pleasure. Jared collapses to the ground, using his arms to drag himself away from me.

He doesn't get far.

Maybe a centimeter away from me.

Dropping the blade into my pocket, I seize him by the collar of his shirt and drag him towards the beach. It's always been on my bucket list to murder someone by drowning them on the beach. The clashing of waves would give the entire scenery a mystic feeling. He screams, but the sounds of the waves drown him out.

It's not like anyone could hear him, anyway.

Jared digs his hands into the sand, trying to fight back against my dragging, but I'm stronger. I've trained for years to make sure nobody gets the better of me. It's like carrying a fine line of string.

His eyes grow even wider, and he pales when I retain his face above the water. "Please! Please! You don't have to do this! I have money! Way more than what they're paying you. I'm begging you! Don't kill me. Please." Tears burst from his eyes, decorating his cheeks.

Nothing.

I'm completely consumed by the black void, staring at my victim minutes from his death. Right now, Jared's realizing how quickly the universe can do a one-eighty on him, and his entire life vanishes in the blink of an eye. For my entertainment, I loosen my grip around his collar and knee him in the stomach. He takes the full brunt of the force, hacking his lungs as he falls into the water with a -slam-.

Surprisingly, Jared carries around a lot of hope and tries to make a run for it. The universe is playing tricks on him, making him think he stands a chance to make it out of this alive. I see the hope glimmering in his irises. Just like it appeared, the hope quickly vanishes into fine dust as he trips over the sand and slams his face into the sand.

I squat down, noticing the way his eyes widen. "Wakey, wakey. Does the sand taste good? I know what can help you wash it down." With a spiteful grin, I yank him by the collar. "Water."

There is sudden desperation in his voice as he begs, "Why are you doing this? Please, just let me leave. I'll do anything. Please! Please!"

It's my job.

Didn't you just want to die a while ago?

Human beings are such odd creatures.

I dunk his head under the water, feeling the freezing liquid spill on my arm. My eyes observe the clock on my wrist, and the hand ticks and ticks before I pull his head up.

He gasps, water spilling from his mouth. "Please. I-I have a baby on the way. She will need her father. Let me go home to her! Please. Isn't there anyone you love?"

There is.

My two separate identities clash, fighting for the dominance of my body. I wonder if Jared knows what his words are doing to me. It's not like he hasn't been whispering into my ear all night. The devil and angel weigh on my shoulders, swaying me in both directions. I can't let him go. If he goes, I'm done for.

Enough seconds tick by, and I withdraw him from under the water. Jared gasps for air as his eyes widen, leaving them bloodshot red. The wind drifts by, moving my hair across my face. My stomach roils. Instead of Jared lying in front of me, another individual stare at me. A gleam of Mika breaks through, the familiarity of this person tugging on my heartstrings.

It's tearing me apart.

My blood runs cold, and I lost any vigor to continue this job. I couldn't bring myself to drown him again.

His face pinches with sadness as he drills his nails into my hand, pleading, "What if I'm the person you loved? What would you do? Still kill me? Think about the person you love, please!"

You're nothing like him.

Just like his words brought Mika out from under the covers, Mictlantecuhtli resumes dominance. The stone-cold demeanor stares emotionlessly at the victim in my hands. You know what-- he would make a beautiful painting. Freeze frame his sobbing face with water droplets dripping onto him. A flash of anger courses through my veins and I plunge his head under the water.

This time, I wasn't pulling back.

Asiel.

Just the thought of Asiel dying rips my heart into tiny pieces. Basically nonexistent. How dare he go as low as mentioning my loved one? My breath gets shaky as the imagines of Asiel pop into my head. Jared struggles, clawing at my hand and wrist. It feels like a baby pulling at your hair, but nothing compares to the agony pulsating in my chest.

I close my eyes, focusing on the crashing waves.

It's soothing, like Asiel's hugs, flushing the sounds of Jared's struggles. He stops moving, dying almost instantly, and I revel in the peace of this situation. Slowly, I pick his head from under the water and earn nothing but silence. His eyes widened with terror, his cheeks wet, and his mouth parted slightly. There. I did it.

The blood-cold killer within me still has it.

His body lays by the shallow water as I walk to where I hid my supplies. Rope, rocks, and more knives. I've over thirty different types of knives. A collection I have to hide from Asiel. It's like no matter how much I reveal of myself to Asiel--there's always going to be something lingering over our heads.

Maybe I'm assuming the worst.

Maybe he wouldn't hate me if he discovered the truth.

Carrying the materials on my back, I trudge through the sand to his limp corpse and drag us both into the middle of the water. Eugene used to be a boy's scout and learned over twenty knots. He spent our first years together, demonstrating them in fine detail until I could do them with my eyes closed.

The rocks weigh his body down, yanking them deeper into the ocean, enough time for the evidence to rot. The water swallows him like a sinkhole. Slowly, I somberly stride towards the shallow end and release a sigh.

It's almost finished.

Just one more thing.

My hand searches in my hoodie pocket, sensing the faint feathers on my fingertips. It's impossibly hard tonight. My entire hand trembles, struggling to drop the feather into the abyss. What's wrong with me? My breaths grow labor as I use my other hand to grab my wrist to stop the shaking.

The feather drops from my hands, wavering in the wind as if the time stood still. It flops with a quiet -plop- before following the current of the water, drifting into the distance.

"I'm sorry."

Mika. Mictlantecuhtli. Both? I don't know. My concrete shield is dwindling, splitting into pebbles. I don't know what to do anymore. Killing had been ingrained in my skin since I was a baby. My parents being my first kill to this moment with Jared-- my three hundred and fifty-two kill. It's been my personal trait, but I don't want it to be anymore.

I don't want to be a monster anymore.

But is it too late?

Strolling out of a hidden entrance of the beach, I hop in my sports car, zooming through the streets with my windows open. The wind cools my sizzling skin, swirling my hair into ringlets. It takes two hours of tires burning against asphalt until I'm at Diablo Paraiso. The night is still young, the line from the front entrance reaching five blocks. Thank God I'm free for the night.

Sergio's stern face turns a cherry red when I blow him a kiss, and he unhooks the red rope, practically hyperventilating. Goddamn, at least I know I still got it, even in a ragged grey hoodie and leggings. A part of me wants to keep my gaze locked on the floor, avoiding everyone, but I have an image to uphold.

Act like nothing is bothering you at all times.

I wave to the bodyguards, Angeles, and waitress until I'm in front of his door. It's cracked open, revealing Diablo in his black-rim glasses while reading paperwork. His blazer lies on the back of his chair as he flicks his pen back and forth.

I knock on the door. "Hey, Diablo."

He barely acknowledges me writing shit on the paper on his desk. "I'm guessing it's done, then?"

"Yup." I nod.

Diablo sighs, dropping his pen on the papers, and drags his hand down his face. A permanent scowl on his forehead from all the stress. God, I don't ever want to get old. He digs into one of his drawers, pulling out a large brown folder-- another job?

"You have another job," he says, placing the folder on his desk.

My nose scrunches. "That fast? I literally just finished the other one."

"Yeah. It seems like your pussy isn't the only thing in demand nowadays." An arrogant smirk crawls across his face. "By the way, good job. You never fail."

My lips press together as my gaze drops to converse sneakers squeaking with water. I couldn't agree. It's been my worse job since when I started. The guilt seeped in, no matter how much I tried to ignore it. I hesitated-- that could get me caught, or worse-- killed.

"Well? Take it." Diablo's tone comes off annoyed, tilting his head towards the folder. "Are you okay? We haven't had any time to catch up. You look stressed. I thought these kills were like therapy to you."

I force a natural smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Probably tired. Just been a busy gal lately. Anyway, what's the next job?"

With an uneasy giggle escaping my chest, I extend my hand to pick up the folder, flipping it over. A piece of scotch tape covers the seam until I tear it open. I project the ripped chunk into the garbage can and pull out the paper with the contents.

Seconds felt like years. My heart sinks to the bottom of the fucking ocean. The paper in my hands is the rocks, weighing me down to my ultimate death. Words get caught in my throat. It's like God planned this from the very beginning. My punishment for following Satan down this dark passage.

The world waited for me to experience love before taking everything away from me in the blink of an eye.

One name stands out on the stark white page, written in black cursive ink.

Asiel Morterero.

🤭🤭🤭Don't kill me... at least not yet 😂😂... what do you guys think? Who did you think wants Asiel dead? Who did you think brought Mika to kill Ander? I'm desperate to hear everyone's theories because 👀👀the truth is coming out sooner rather than later

😜

Do you feel bad for Mika? Struggling to, I guess for the better word find an identity🥺? It's like someone she's supposed to be against someone she wants to be... I wonder which she will end up choosing by the end ☺️

Thank you for reading this chapter and I can't wait to read all your comments and chat with you guys in the comments🤍💜❤️

Thank you for always giving Mika so much love I wouldn't be able to finish this story without your support

I Love you ❤️❤️