SIN
She coughed, the sound wet and ragged, as a spray of crimson hit the floorboards. Her face was a canvas of purple and blue bruises, her pride shattered as she remained forced onto her knees on the cold ground. She had been beaten…mercilessly. But not by men. No, the Ricci men weren't the only ones with monsters in their shadows. She had been broken by her fellow girls, the very sisters she had worked beside every night.
My heels made a sharp, rhythmic impact on the floor as I paced back and forth, a slow, predatory circle. Every other girl in the room stood paralyzed, their heads bowed, eyes fixed on their own feet. They looked like statues of grief.
Silence was breathing in this room…heavy, suffocating silence. My heels were the only thing daring to make a sound, a steady clack-clack-clack that measured the remaining seconds of the girl's life. None of them dared to speak. It was quiet. Too quiet. And that's something I don't like. Silence is where betrayal grows.
Clack.
I stopped. In one fluid motion, I pointed the cold, heavy muzzle of my revolver directly between her eyes. The bitch who almost sold me out to the Ricci bastard for a few bundles of fucking change. My finger itched against the trigger, feeling the tension of the spring.
"How many times have I taught you whores never to speak of my name?" I said. My voice was flat and dead, devoid of any heat, any anger. Anger is for the weak; I was simply the judge.
I moved back and sat in my leather chair, the material creaking under my weight. I crossed one expensive, silk-clad leg over the other, head tilted, watching her pathetic spectacle. Her knees were already raw from the hard floor. Her head bowed down in a desperate plea, her entire frame shaking like a leaf caught in a gale.
Scoffing, I let out a low, rough chuckle that didn't reach my eyes. "Why are you leaking, darling?"
I stood again, moving slow and deliberate, closing the distance between us until the scent of her fear reached me. She slapped a hand over her mouth; muffled, desperate sobs filled the room while the other girls pressed themselves against the back wall. They were smart enough to stay silent. They knew better than to come to her rescue.
The cigarette smoke in the room hung thick and sweet, swirling around the mirrors that threw back our reflections like a public warning. Look at what happens to those who forget who owns them.
"I'm… I'm so sorry, Boss…"
Before the apology could even land, I lunged. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked hard, snapping her head back. She screamed…a pitiful, high-pitched sound…as her face was forced inches from mine. I wanted her to see the void in my eyes.
"I hate hearing that and you know it," I said, speaking directly into her face. She tried to cover her mouth, crying in muffled, broken sounds that grated on my nerves. "For a few fucking bundles of cash, you'd sell the only person keeping your sorry ass in silk."
"I didn't…I didn't know it was you!" she wailed, her voice cracking. "I didn't know your name was Sin… it was only after he described everything…the purple mask, the stage moves…that I realised. But I swear, Boss, I… I wasn't going to tell him…"
I pulled her hair harder, twisting the roots. Her cry ripped through the air again, raw and desperate.
"You think I'm a fool, girl?" I asked.
She shook her head so fast I thought her neck might snap. "No, no, no... I could never think that, Boss."
In a flash, I let go of her hair. I spun the pistol in my hand with practiced ease and fired a round into the cheap plaster right beside her head. BOOM.
The gunshot tore through the suffocating air, the vibration rattling the mirrors. Everyone flinched, some crying out. The girl doubled over, hands clamped over her ears as black mascara streaked ugly trails down her cheeks, mixing with the blood on her chin.
"The next time," I whispered, the ringing in the room adding to the tension, "I won't miss the target, girl."
"Boss, please, please, I beg you," she wailed. She pressed her forehead to the floor, lifting both hands in the air and rubbing them together in a frantic, prayer-like plea.
I let out a long, slow sigh. "I hate people who lie."
I kept my eyes fixed on the gun. I hit the release and dropped the magazine into my palm. One by one, I counted the bullets, the brass shining under the dim club lights. I slid one single, lethal round back into the cylinder. I spun it…a blur of silver…before clicking it home.
The metal felt cold and honest against my palm. The girls watched, paralyzed. They knew what was coming. They muttered among themselves, whispers of "not again" and "mercy." They had seen this twisted game before. They knew the rules of my Russian Roulette.
I leveled the gun at her shaking head. There wasn't a single trace of amusement on my face. My stare alone was enough to kill.
"I'm going to ask one more time, girl. You have one in six chances of dying right now. Did you intend to rat me out to Matteo Ricci?"