Satan's Affair by Carlton, D. (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📗

catches my wrist. I kick my leg out, my foot kicking in his kneecap. He stumbles, his hand dropping my wrist in surprise.

I bring my knife down in an arc, but he swivels out of the way.

“Feisty bitch,” he mutters, an almost amused pitch to his tone.

Growling, I continue to swipe my knife at him, backing him further into the room. I need to hurry and knock him out before someone stumbles in. My men will keep guests away as much as they can, but that doesn’t mean other staff members won’t take notice to discord in the system.

The man dodges each strike, seamlessly and swiftly. It looks as if he’s dancing and the fact that I don’t look as graceful as he does angers me further. He looks like something out of a film, the way his body curves around my knife, the strobe lights making him look like he’s skipping through time and space. It’s clear this isn’t the first time this man has been in a knife fight.

Of course it isn’t. He’s a fucking kidnapper! An evil, twisted demon who steals the innocent and auctions them off just to get money in their pockets. All for money and power.

It sickens me.

He has to die. And he’ll look so cute strung up by his entrails tonight, with his blood painting my body in red. I’ll dance on his shredded body, and let my henchmen play with me, too.

Growing frustrated, I grip my pretty knife and launch it at him. I didn’t expect it to strike true, but to cause enough distraction to wrestle him down.

He’s much bigger and stronger, but that can be limiting. I’m smaller and can slip out of positions easier than he can.

Problem is, he doesn’t fall for my trick. The prick leans to the side, the knife whistling past his head and lodging into the wall. A normal person would look back at the knife, surprised by the move. But not him. He just continues to glare at me beneath his hood.

The hood has fallen back far enough in our fight that I can now see the entirety of his face. Electrifying mismatched eyes stare back at me, rimmed by long, thick lashes. One eye so dark, it looks black. And the other an ice blue so light, it looks white. Yin and yang.

A thin, white raised scar cuts down through his left eye, giving his face a brutally masculine look.

That face is mesmerizing. It’s dangerous.

“I’ve been trying not to hurt you,” he growls, low in his chest. The sound of imminent danger in his tone forms a pit in my stomach. I never fear the demons, but this one has my heart racing and palms slick with sweat.

Which is exactly why he needs to die.

“Pity. I’ve been trying to do the exact opposite,” I snap.

A small smile graces his lips. In another life, he’d fit right in with my henchmen. He’s beautiful and terrifying all in the same breath, inhaling terror and exhaling a haunting beauty. It hurts to look at him. His face is scarred, his eyes are unsettling. A hard life lingers on the edges of his mouth. His beauty can only be seen on the face of the Devil. Tempting, but would eviscerate you in a matter of seconds.

“Your soul is made of brimstone and fire,” I whisper, stepping closer to him. “Come to me, little demon. I’ll show you what the devil really looks like.”

His smile widens and he meets me halfway, blocking every one of my strikes with ease, but not managing to make any hits of his own, either. We’re nearly evenly matched.

I’ve been fighting my entire life. Fighting Daddy and his punishments. Fighting to get out of a dangerous cult, just to fight the demons that riddle this Earth with filth. I’m no stranger to using my hands to defend myself no less than I use them to kill.

I manage to land a fist across his cheek. He doesn’t flinch from the impact but absorbs it like the towels Timothy uses to clean up demon blood.

He looks at me, his eye twitching with anger. He pauses, and despite my brain screaming at my body to keep fighting, my limbs freeze as well. And just like before, his hand whips out, striking like a viper and crunching straight into my nose.

My head snaps back as sharp pain explodes across my face. Stars dot my vision, and the force of his punch sends me stumbling backwards. My slippers lose their traction, and I’m falling backwards.

Blood spurts from my nose and I let loose a frustrated squeal.

The fucking audacity! The nerve of this lowly parasite!

I glare at him and bare my bloody teeth.

“I will fucking kill you,” I threaten. I spit out a mouthful, not enjoying the taste of my own blood any more than the blood of monsters.

“Yeah, you said that,” he mutters, before storming past me, whipping open the door and storming into the hallway.

I scramble upwards, expecting to see Jackal hauling him back into the room. But that doesn’t happen. I hear a grunt, and by the time I’m skidding out into the dark hallway, Jackal is flat on his back.

“Jackal!” I screech, stomping my foot. Squeals of laughter filters through, and I slinker back into the room before someone catches me. I breathe in deep—through my mouth—and breathe out. My nose is throbbing and clogged with blood. Blood that is still painting my face and dress in rivulets of crimson. No one would look twice at me in a setting like this, but I don’t want my face to be seen.

Gently, I prod my nose, finding that it’s completely broken.

No matter. Daddy has broken my nose a few dozen times.

“You act like a demon, I’ll make you look like one, too, Sibel.”

I take a deep breath, position my hands and snap the bone back into place. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, willing the tears to go back down. It doesn’t matter that I’ve felt