Cold is merely discomfort that will eventually go away. Being cold, hungry, or in pain are only phases. I’ve been through worse and I’m still here.

After some time, both of them exit the restaurant. Petal’s steps are slow, probably because she’s drunk as fuck and should’ve stopped at the first glass.

Dr. Asshole reaches a hand to steady her when she trips. She giggles, then hides the sound with the back of her hand.

She fucking giggles. I don’t hear her, but I see it loud and clear.

The doctor hears her though. Not only he wined and dined her, but he also hears her giggling.

Fucking giggling.

They stop in front of a car. I move in the other cars’ blindspots, making sure I give my side profile and back to the restaurant’s two blinking cameras.

I stand opposite them behind the corner. This close, I have no need for the binoculars. It’s dark in the parking lot, but it’s not too dark so I can’t see. There’s a faint light in the distance that gives a perfect view of my little Petal and her cheater doctor.

Petal has her back against a car as Dr. Asshole closes in on her, almost flattening his body against hers.

I notice it before I see it.

She’s uncomfortable. Her unfocused eyes keep straying sideways as if finally realizing she shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine —or the fucking third one. Her small delicate hand plants on the doctor’s shoulder and she subtly pushes him away.

He doesn’t move. If anything, he goes in for a kiss like a hormonal teenager. I’m about to go in there and remove him, when she moves her head last second and his lips land on her cheek.

Petal goes back to fighting him off, saying something about having to go home.

To her cats, no doubt. She’d hold them and tell them she made a fucking mistake coming here today.

That’s when the doctor makes his mistake. He lifts his hand and backhands her, harshly, violently. Petal remains frozen, but moisture pools in her eyes. Slowly, too slowly, she raises a hand and cradles her cheek as if she can’t believe what just happened.

I believe it, though.

My body believes it, too. Earlier, I barely had an itch to reach for my knife, but now it’s become a necessity as important as air.

He’s just made his first strike.

My little Petal is still focused on the violence of his slap when his fat hand reaches under her black dress. She opens her mouth, probably to scream. He slaps her again and continues with his hand between her legs.

Second and final strike.

Petal’s useless struggles get her nowhere. If anything, she’s only making him get closer and flattening his body against hers.

I click the control to my car and the beeping sound interrupts his ministrations. My little Petal, although a bit drunk, pushes the doctor away enough to run towards her car.

He yells after her like a madman with no reprieve. Someone needs some anger management classes. But he’s too late. Petal’s eyes are wide, face pale, but she has floored the gas and she’s out of the parking lot.

The doctor curses, stomping like a child who didn’t get his toy.

I don’t think twice before creeping up to him, making sure to leave the cameras behind me.

He doesn’t feel me until I’m standing right at his back. He startles like a pig, dropping his keys.

“What the fuck?” He stares up at me. “What do you want?”

“Your blood.”

He doesn’t get a warning. His stupified expression is the only thing that remains as I swiftly jam my knife into his throat.

I twist it a few times for good measure until his eyes stare nowhere.

I only remove my blade when he drops on the ground like a useless sack.

His blood. Red and vibrant, trickles onto the asphalt.

It’s the only type of payment I take.

Ah fuck.

I just killed someone without a reason —well, no reason that relates to Costa. I can’t ask his cleaning boys to take care of this.

Doesn’t matter though. I wipe the knife on his clothes then sheathe it. Retrieving my gloves, I pull them on then search for his wallet. I take the few bills inside it then throw it on his corpse.

Cause of death: a fatal wound to the jugular artery.

Motive: robbery went wrong.

Case closed.

Making sure I stay in the cameras’ blind spots, I head back to my car and drive to the apartment — Petal’s, not mine.

Her lights are out, and I sneak in through the fire escape, which is the easiest shit I’ve done in my life. As I said, no security whatsoever in this building.

A low hiss stops me in the living room. One of her cats stares at me with glinting demon eyes in the dark. The other one winks at me from his position on the sofa.

I place a hand in front of my mouth, but the cat growls then jumps behind the TV.

Crazy fucking cat.

My steps are silent and fast as I move in the shadows. Yes, she can come out and see me, and maybe that’s what I want. If she sees me, she’ll think twice about wearing lingerie and getting drunk with a perverted fucker.

I stop at the threshold of her bedroom. Her eyes are shut as she sleeps, still in her black dress. Waves of her hair cocoon her face like some sort of a mask, different from the one she wears every day.

My feet move of their own volition until I’m standing over her bed. Her face is flushed, probably from the wine, or the fright. Maybe both.

The sheet falls to her middle, revealing the curve of her pale breast. My fingers latch on the covers and I tuck her in like she’s a child.

She can be fragile and small, my little Petal.

Lucio always told me to take contract jobs for his friends, but none of their money interested me. With the exception of Lucio, I never kill for people.

Until now.

My little Petal made me kill for her without a word or a penny. Well, she didn’t exactly make me, but it counts.

I killed for her.

And the best part? I would do it all over again.

My fingers touch her forehead, tucking a stray strand behind her ear as I whisper, “Keep away from that brand of assholes if you don’t want them all dead.”

6

Georgina

My alarm clock blares and I wake up with a sigh.

The duvet is tucked in around me and I realize I just had the best night's sleep in years. My cats are excited as ever and I feed them before remembering the previous night, groaning. Facing Andrew Martin at work today will not be ideal, but at least I have my friends, who will stay on my side no matter what.

I already know today is going to be hellish, but nothing prepares me for the shitshow I walk into as soon as I arrive at work.

There are cop cars everywhere, officers glancing at me as I pass them by. I furrow my brows with worry. We do get policemen coming by sometimes, usually to deal with an especially difficult, violent patient. But this seems like more than that – like something's seriously wrong.

I walk to the ER where I find a shaken-up Katya answering questions. She looks pale as a ghost, and when her eyes meet mine, she breathes, "Oh, thank God. There she is now!"

Instantly, the heads of three policemen who are surrounding my friend turn toward me. My stomach tightens into a thousand knots and I nod at the officers as I near my friend, squeezing her arm in an attempt to comfort her. "What's going on? Is everything alright?"