84... That's the body count I've built in thirty-two years of living. I've never been caught, leaving no trace or proof of my actions—a true professional. But my greed had to go and get the best of me in such a ridiculously stupid way.
.
.
.
Darkness... that's all I see as I try to lift my eyelids, which feel abnormally heavy. As the blur in my vision clears, I realize I'm lying naked on a bed. The harsh stench of cheap alcohol stings my nose, making me frown as a sharp, throbbing pain spikes at the back of my skull. Right, I was hit from behind before everything went black.
"What the... fuck..." I grunt.
Beside me, the mattress creaks. The room is lavishly decorated—candelabras flickering along the walls, a heavy crystal chandelier overhead, and a thick scent of iron and hot wax in the air. Next to me lies a man, bound by his hands just like I am, his skull visibly caved in from a heavy blow. He twitches slightly, his breathing faint and raspy.
"Thank God... Jeff the pedo, you're alive! Kinda, I guess," I say with fake excitement.
Jeff glares at me through a haze of pure agony, a thick rag gagging his mouth. Blood streams down the left side of his head, soaking into the mattress as he pulls against the heavy chains locking his arms to the headboard.
I grunt, straining against my own restraints, when the sharp clack of heels smacking against marble echoes down the hall.
I instantly shut my eyes, playing dead. Beside me, Jeff panics, thrashing furiously against his chains. His useless noise makes me wish I could scrape the scalding wax from the nearby candle and pour it down his throat until he chokes into silence.
"Open your eyes... I know you're awake."
I open my eyes in annoyance, realizing the ruse failed. Standing over us is a woman in a long, flowing white silk dress. Silver heels accent her stride, and a leather gun harness sits strapped across her waist. She steps onto the bed, her weight shifting the mattress. Jeff shivers in sheer panic, pulling harder against his shackles.
"Mhmmmmm! Mhahhhh!"
"Come on, Jeff. You're really scared of her?" I mock, laughing dryly. "What are those fragile little hands going to do?"
My laughter dies when she reaches behind her back and draws a thick dagger, its steel glistening with fresh blood.
"Ah. So that's why Jeff is scared." I join Jeff in desperately yanking at the chains as she steps forward, her heel coming down inches from my cock.
She sinks down onto my hips, total silence settling over the room. Pressing her weight against my cock, she brings the tip of the dagger down and slowly begins carving into the skin of my chest.
I grunt as the blade bites deep. "I beg... your finest pardon, Princess... but I don't remember agreeing to be your canvas."
She lets out a low chuckle, her eyes meeting mine. "All my targets are my canvas." She smirks as her hand moves to grab on to my cock fondling it.
"Plus, it's not every day I find out my date is a serial killer with a higher body count than Jeffrey Dahmer."
I wince against the pain. "Oh, please... I have standards. And do you usually play around with your food like this, Miss... Orphan Assassin?"
Her grip on the cock tightens as she keeps carving with one hand. "No... I just found a use for you."
I squint down, trying to read the bloody letters carved into my chest. "Arpuessec... What the fuck is an Arpuessec?"
"It's Cassandra," she says, her tone flat.
"Right... I was reading it upside down," I twitch.
"Cassandra... Huh. You do look like a Cassandra."
Her jaw tightens. Before I can finish, her palm crackles across my face, snapping my head to the side. "Rude" I mutter.
"I get that a lot."
She shifts her weight while spreading her legs, her white dress cascading over us as she presses her pussy against my cock.
"What the... Did you drug me?" I yank hard against the metal cuffs. "Why am I hard?"
"Easy there, puppy... I haven't drugged you," she purrs, rubbing against me. "Perhaps your body is just excited to finally be touched by a real woman."
Beside us, Jeff's thrashing reaches a fever pitch. "Mhmmmmm!!! Mhm!!!"
Cassandra narrows her eyes, irritation flickering across her face. Without breaking her rhythm, she unholsters the pistol at her hip, points it sideways, and fires a single round into Jeff's skull.
The gunshot deafens the room. Jeff goes instantly limp, blood spattering across the headboard and painting the white sheets crimson.
I look over at his lifeless body. "Thanks, he was being too loud."
"He was ruining my rhythm," she sighs, sliding the gun back into her holster. "Oh well. All good things come to an end."
She reverses her grip on the bloody dagger, holding it high over my heart with both hands.
"I'm going to miss you," she says with a mock-pout—and drives the blade straight down into my chest.