business affair
short drabble slash one shot for a kross au ive been thinking about. general warning for blood and violence
Ice clinked sharply in a glass. The alcohol it housed was expensive and bitter.
Killer took another mouthful and leaned on the carved, dark-wooden railing beside him, scanning the ever-moving crowd below the indoor balcony he stood on. This main room of the party’s venue was expansive, with high walls that turned into sky lights at the top. He fidgeted with the bottom edge of his black suit jacket, which lay undone over a matching black vest. Under that was a white button up. He was looking for someone. He hadn’t found her yet.
This party was excruciatingly boring. It was too pretty and prim and it was unbearable. If only something more exciting would get the job done. But anything else would be too messy. He had to be close, the whole way through.
He found the main entrance, a pair of large, heavy double doors, and watched it closely as guests chattered. Behind him was a row of smaller doors, each leading to its own guest room. Some were probably empty, while in others he guaranteed strangers were either making love or making deals, secretive and concealed. He peered through the keyholes of some, but didn’t find who he was looking for.
He sipped his drink and walked along the railing for another vantage point. He made shallow conversation with a handful of guests, always keeping an eye on the entrance. The door swung open countless times and guest after guest arrived. Killer grew bored.
Then, when the flow ebbed to a trickle, a woman entered that finally piqued Killer’s interest. She was a heavyset skeleton with dark bones. She wore a black, gold-decorated vest with no jacket, a black long sleeved button up underneath, a maroon tie, and various gold rings. She had a single teal eyelight, as her left eye was covered by a flow of murky tar that matched the color of her bones and merged seamlessly with her skull. A bouquet of smooth tendrils protruded from her back and dragged behind her on the floor, though with poise and deliberation, as if they were purely an extension of herself. The crowd parted for her, and many regarded her as she combined with the noise. She had influence and it was immediately evident.
Behind her, she was skirted by two other skeletons, both of which were taller than her. The larger had a crater in the left side of his skull and wore a grey and black pin-stripped suit. The second, the shorter (yet not by much; Killer guessed he was still taller than him), wore a standard black suit with a purple tie. He had a scar under his right eye. Bodyguards. They would pose an issue. He cursed himself for not expecting them.
Killer waited a moment, weighing his options, though did not let her leave his sight. He couldn’t do anything that would draw too much attention to himself. No getting up close and slitting her throat, and he couldn’t lead her away to do it in private because of her damned bodyguards. He probably couldn’t get away with a throwing knife to the throat, either. He couldn’t guarantee that would do the job from a safe distance. And a gun would be too loud, cause too much pandemonium, even if he had one on hand.
He descended the stairs, leaving the balcony in favor of the ground floor and the lobby. He glided over to the skeleton. Nightmare, as was her name. Killer remembered that well. He recognized the guard with the skull-crater as Horror, but he didn’t know who the other guy was. He gave scar-face a once over with his eyes, from head to toe. He was handsome, generally speaking, and taller than him by a good few inches. He regarded Killer with a cold distance.
Killer had been right in those guards’ shoes once, he guessed more than a year or two ago by now. He’d worked under Nightmare. Been called her right hand by some. Even got his name from working under her. And now he had been handed a once in a life time opportunity, the pleasure, to assassinate her. Her head was on a platter.
In the back of his mind, though, he became distracted by scar-face. He was immediately interested in who Nightmare had gotten to replace him. He hated him already.
“Nightmare!” Killer greeted his person of interest genially when he reached her. He didn’t necessarily need to engage this directly to execute his plan, but he wanted to have some fun before this job was over. Even if it risked escaping with too many eyes on him once the job was done.
“Killer.” Nightmare seethed. Her voice was smooth and laced with a concealed poison. “I didn’t think you’d dare show your face around me again.”
“Hey, I’m willin’ to put it all past us.” Killer said with a facade and fake friendly attitude immediately up. “Our relationship was just business, right? My choice to leave wasn’t anything personal.”
Killer showed off a conniving grin, and Nightmare scowled harder. Her tendrils writhed on her back like a collection of snakes.
“Yes, of course.” She replied, reciprocating the grin with her own thin smile.
Killer glanced at Nightmare’s guards, and noticed scar-face keeping a particularly close eye on him. He narrowed his eyes at him briefly.
“How about I treat you to a drink?” Killer offered, grin returning.
“The last time I saw you, you screamed at my face and stormed out of my office, and now you’re offering to buy me a drink?”
“Like I said,” Killer pressed. “Let’s just have a good time, right?”
Nightmare thought briefly. “Fine.”
Before she got another word in, Killer turned for the bar, which was a handful of paces behind them and sat somewhat in the middle of the room. He ordered a serving of wine, something he remembered Nightmare favored. When the glass was pushed toward him he waited for the bartender to turn away before slipping a small plastic vial out of his pocket. He opened it deliberately, cupped a hand around the opening of glass, and poured the contents into the wine. The empty poison container quickly returned to his pocket. He had also procured a refill of his own drink while he was there.
Killer returned to Nightmare, smiling as he handed her the glass. When she accepted it, Killer held out his own drink in an offer to cheers her, then downed the rest of it. He’d have to make a clean escape before she went down.
In a split second a foreign weight was on him and he collided hard with carpet. He heard glass shatter and vaguely saw wine splatter to the floor with him.
Her fucking bodyguards.
The one on top of him was scar-face. He was seething silently, coldly, at him, holding an arm across his chest so closely he could smell his breath. He ran startlingly warm. Killer met his mismatched eyelights. They were bright and furious.
“Clever boy.” Killer growled, almost spat. His facade was immediately abandoned and his voice matched his attacker’s eyes in ferocity. He hated how effortlessly he had stopped him.
He realized his left arm was free. Without breaking eye contact, he strained for his empty glass, which had fallen out of his hand when scar-face tackled him, and managed to get a finger on it. He brought it up quick and slammed it against scar-face’s head so hard the glass shattered partially on impact. Thick, slow droplets of purple blood dripped down scar-face’s nose and onto Killer’s face. The color stained his white button up, and the smell was as good as any drug.
For a second scar-face’s head bowed and his eyes became vacant as the blow staggered him. But he never loosened his hold. And it only lasted a second. He lifted Killer up by the inside edges of his suit jacket and forced him hard back into the ground. Killer’s vision blurred for a moment. Then again and again when his head collided with the ground a second and third time.
He laughed. He laughed so suddenly and so intensely scar-face almost hesitated. At least things were getting fun. Out of the corner of his vision he saw that a crowd had started forming around them. And they were staring. So much for not causing a scene.
“Cross.” Killer heard Nightmare say. Killer immediately became interested; so his name was Cross. “That’s enough. Let me look at him.”
Cross brought himself and Killer up so they were both standing. He kept Killer’s arms firmly behind him, both hands restraining his wrists. Nightmare paced forward and stopped in front of Killer.
“You are pitiful.” She said, gripping his bottom jaw with one hand and twisting his face to one side. Her tendrils snaked loosely around his ankles up to his legs. “Running off to become an assassin only to fail the job.”
She let go of his face and stepped back once she had spoken.
“Just because your dog sniffed me out this time doesn’t mean I’ll stop.” Killer growled. He said the next part slowly. “I will make sure you. Are. Dead.”
“Kill him.” Nightmare ordered.
Killer’s soul whirred in front of his chest. He had to slip free.
He jerked his head backward, slamming Cross hard in the nose with the back of his skull. Cross stumbled and loosened his grip just enough that Killer could pull out and dart away. He shoved through the crowd, and after a quick glance behind him he learned Cross was not far behind. He headed for the back of the venue, thinking he could find a side door to vanish through. He passed the bar and a sea of people. He shoved limbs and torsos out of the way. Air rushed in his ears.
He stopped for a second to search for a route. Cross lunged for him and he darted to the side, narrowly out of his reach. He watched him slide past, then whirl in preparation to go for him again. Killer’s breath was so fast it began to cut his throat like daggers.
He reached inside his suit jacket and slowly brought out a tactical knife. He clenched his fist around its handle and braced himself. Cross ran again, and Killer held up his arms in front of his face to extinguish the impact with his forearms. In a blur he grabbed ahold of one of Cross’s wrists with his right hand, and brought the knife up to his throat with the other. Cross glared daggers at him, his anger so clear Killer could almost smell it. He drank it and the look on his face in. He cracked a grin, a taunt, and pressed the knife in deeper. More of that velvet purple began to trickle down the blade and stain Cross’s white bones. Cross growled.
He only got to hold it there for a second before Cross struck him across the face with his free hand, knocking him away. Before he could react Cross punched him again, harder, and Killer felt warm liquid run from his nose. Cross went for a third but Killer whirled and sunk his knife’s blade into the oncoming forearm. He held it for a second, ripped the knife out, then he was on the run again. Cross wasn’t far behind.
He flew through the first opening in his route he saw, which led him to a small back hallway with doors dotting the walls. All of them were locked. He slammed on the last one he checked a series of times with both fists.
“God dammit!” He exclaimed before then quickly turning to meet Cross’s eyes. He was closing in.
Dead end. Shit.
Killer laughed and showed teeth. He lifted a fingerless-gloved wrist to wipe at the blood now making its way to his bottom lip. He could taste it.
“Come fetch.” He sneered.
Cross collided with him again, and Killer’s back hit the door behind him. He was almost winded. The grin persevered, though it became skewed, and Killer brought a hand up to messily claw his tie undone. He felt the weight of Cross’s body on him. His hold was so tight it began to hurt.
Killer thrashed and struck Cross in the leg hard with his knee, knocking him back a length. Then he got his arm free and quickly slashed out with his knife a series of times in rapid succession. The first produced a deep gash across Cross’s chest, which cut through his suit and gradually became purple with his blood. Cross blocked the next two strikes with his arms, but the last stabbed into his side. He grunted and stiffened, hands immediately going to grasp at Killer’s.
Killer jerked the knife out, but Cross grabbed his wrist before he could withdraw completely. Killer pushed against him, though Cross held firm, and pulled him much closer. He wrestled with him to free the knife from his fingers, limbs tangling and clothing brushing. Killer fought him, but Cross inevitably retrieved the weapon. Killer kicked again and thrashed against Cross’s hold, and eventually jerked himself free. Cross came at him with the knife, trying to regain close quarters and draw blood.
Killer darted backward, but only made it a few steps before his back made contact with the door again, and he cursed under his breath. Cross brought the knife down hard on his shoulder.
No, on wood.
Killer had moved quickly to the side, leaving the blade to cut a tear in the door behind him. Cross tried to strike Killer another two times, all of which were avoided. Except for the third. This time a sharp, almost blinding pain shot up through Killer’s left shoulder. His good arm. Fuck.
He only laughed. Cross scowled.
Killer pushed against him, and after a period of struggle they went down together. Killer leaned over Cross, closely, because he had to stretch to keep the hand holding his knife pinned. He cast the unbridled frustration on Cross’s face into shadow. Blood from Killer’s fresh wound dripped onto Cross’s suit. Red mixed with purple. Killer still had blood from Cross’s head wound on his shirt, and the crimson from his shoulder gash bled its way down to it.
Killer felt alive. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something about Cross made him relish in the way he looked at him. Seeing the handsome face of this stranger get skewed by the anger he caused, seeing purple drench his now-messied clothes, was endlessly satisfying. He was having fun.
He glanced down from Cross’s face briefly, and saw a tease of collarbone, now visible as the top button of his undershirt had come undone in the commotion. Killer showed teeth in a grin. Cross showed teeth in a snarl.
He struggled, there was a tussling and clawing at limbs. They turned and Cross ended up now above Killer as his back heavily met carpet. Slow drops of his purple blood fell onto Killer’s shoulder wound. His suit was messy and ruffled. A shiver struck through Killer’s spine.
“Not even gonna take me out to dinner first?” He couldn’t resist.
Immediately, Cross’s forearm slammed down hard on his throat to silence him. It worked, and Killer choked.
Killer landed a punch on Cross’s jaw and quickly got to his feet. He brought a foot harshly down on the wrist holding his knife as Cross recovered from the punch. He barely had the chance to before Killer hit him again. His fists began to bruise. Though, he couldn’t really tell it was a bruise or blood.
Killer leaned over toward him until he could feel his ragged breath again. “I can see it in your face. Your eyes. This is just as fun for you as it is for me, huh?” He grinned, whispering. Cross’s anger burned hotter.
Killer increased the pressure on Cross’s wrist, then reached down and pried the knife from his fingers. He bounced back, and then he was running again, trying to find an exit.
As he ran he shouldered off his suit jacket, now hot and hindered by it. He winced briefly at the pain in his bones. Blood soaked his vest. A hand was kept clasped firmly over the wound in his shoulder as he ran.
He had to lose Cross. He was persistent to no end; Killer had to shake him and quickly. He found himself amidst the main event room again, and melded with the other guests. He kept to crowds, or the bar, places where he could blend in. He sat hunched, or didn’t stay around the same people for long. Kept the blood on his clothes concealed. He made a roundabout trip around the event hall to make sure Cross hadn’t found him. Then he slipped once again to the back of the venue, on the opposite side this time. He had taken note of exits before Nightmare arrived, and there had been one in this part of the building. When he was running from Cross he hadn’t been able to think clearly and got backed into a dead end. But now his preparation came back to him.
He was in a wide hallway that went on and on, and took several turns. It was decorated by busts and expensive furniture, was mostly void of people, save for the few guests who snuck back here for more privacy. Someplace in this hallway should lead to a dining hall, and that should have a door to an open back patio. And then he would be home free.
He had enough time to check more doors than he could count on one hand. But after long enough he heard voices and footsteps quickly approaching from behind him. He had passed a turn, so they wouldn’t have seen him yet. But he recognized Nightmare’s inflection. Without hesitation he ducked into the nearest door, one he hadn’t checked yet. It led nowhere and was only a small maintenance closest that housed a small number of electrical boxes and tools. He crouched to peer through the door’s keyhole as they approached.
“You let him get away?” Nightmare seethed. Killer could only make out the vague shapes of her and her bodyguards.
“Not without a fight.” Cross said. Killer could barely see him clutching an arm to his stomach where he’d been stabbed.
That was the first Killer had heard him talk. His voice wasn’t deep and gravely like Horror’s, but it was low and smooth. A deep body of water. As firm as his eyes had been, with the same chilled distance.
“When we find him, let me handle it. You’ve lost enough blood.” Killer heard Horror say.
“No.” Cross said immediately, his voice quickly and briefly gaining an edge it hadn’t had before. “I want him.”
Another shiver went up Killer’s spine.
He watched them move away from view, and he exhaled. But he soon heard doors click open, then closed, and saw them reappear through the keyhole. They were checking rooms. His breath quickened.
He frantically searched his room for somewhere to hide. But he found nowhere. He’d have to force his way through. But he couldn’t waste time fighting this time, he’d have to get away as quick as possible. He held his knife between his teeth and picked up one of the metal toolboxes that sat in the room with both hands. He waited, feet firmly on the ground as he readied himself for the door to open.
Light streamed into the small room and Horror gradually came into view. The door was open. Killer launched the toolbox at Horror, almost knocking him completely to the floor. He returned the knife to his left hand and ran, shouldering past Cross and Nightmare. He caught Cross’s eyes as he escaped.
“There’s the bastard!” He heard Horror shout.
Killer tore through the hallway as shoes thundered on hardwood behind him. He glanced back only once to see Cross in the lead.
Nightmare and her guards followed Killer through the hallway until they came to a set of large double doors that sat slightly open in the middle of the wall. They barged through the doors, opening them further to find a large elaborate dining room, the back wall of which was almost entirely windows. Incorporated into the windows was a sliding glass door. It had been pulled fully open, allowing cold, black night air to stream into the dark dining room. Behind that door, just barely visible, was a patio.
Killer watched, crouched behind a well-groomed shrub that hugged one of the venue’s walls, as his pursuers stepped slowly onto the patio. He could feel Nightmare seethe from here. She didn’t shout, she didn’t curse, but her tendrils struck out all around her and disrupted the patio’s furnishing. So much so that a few chairs and tables ended up on their sides. They stayed outside the venue a few moments before they made their way back inside and out of Killer’s view.
Killer exhaled and slowly sat down with his back to the shrub. He winced and put a hand to his shoulder; his palm was stained in blood when he retracted it. He grinned, widely. Then he laughed, leaned back onto his palms. Images of Cross flashed in his mind. His ragged breathing as he cast Killer in shadow. His deep purple blood. The malice in his eyes.
“I want him”
Killer exhaled, a smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth. There was an electricity in him that hadn’t been there before. It made him feel like, had he had any, his hair would be standing on end.
So much for that job. He knew he’d be going back for her again. Part of him only hoped Cross would be with her when he did.
