“I’ve been watching you for quite a while, Mark,” he says lowly. Almost impossibly, his voice deepens even further. “Do you know why?”
Mark frantically shakes his head, staring at Zade like a friend that betrayed him.
The man, Mark, shouts something but the duct tape prevents his words from being clear. Zade rips the tape from the man’s mouth, leaving a red welt in its wake. The old man grunts from the pain.
“Zack, I don’t understand what’s going on. Whatever is wrong, please don’t do this. We were friends!”
Zack? Why is he calling him Zack?
“My name isn’t Zack. Call me Z.”
At the mention of his nickname, Mark’s eyes widen almost comically. Like one of those anime characters with eyes too big for their faces.
“Z? Y-you’re Z? The Z?”
I roll my eyes, sighing dramatically. Zade looks like he kills people often, but I don’t see what’s so scary about him.
No matter, Z obviously has some type of reputation and whatever it is has Mark vibrating in his chair from fear, as if an earthquake is tearing through his insides.
“The very one, Mark.”
“Look, Z, I don’t know what you think I did but you have it all wrong.”
“Do I?” Zade queries, his dry tone bored.
“You do! Look. This is about that leaked video, isn’t it? I don’t know anything about
that, I swear! My partner was the one in that video.”
At the mention of his partner, another old man comes to life—the one with numb legs. Muffled screams vibrate the tape on his mouth, and he fights his binds with renewed energy. He has random tufts of white hair on his bald head and is glaring at Mark with the heat of a supernova.
“Really, Mark, you’re going to blame your sadistic ritual all on Jack? How unoriginal. Your face can be seen clear as day, dickhead.”
I sigh, growing bored of this conversation.
“Yes, we knew these men were evil and exploiting innocent girls. Let’s get a move on with the killing, Z,” I whine.
Zade looks over his shoulder at me and gives me a what are you waiting for look.
“By all means, start the killing,” he says, waving his hand towards the other three men. “Don’t let me stop your demon-slaying.”
I almost throw my knife at him. The worst part is the asshole keeps his back to me, meaning he doesn’t feel threatened by me.
Big mistake.
Very big mistake.
Deciding I no longer care, my anger gets the best of me. I whip my knife straight towards the back of his head. With cat-like instincts, Zade swerves and the knife lodges into Mark’s stomach instead. A loud, garbled yell bursts from the man’s throat. Bright red blood sprouts from the wound.
Slowly, Zade turns his head to look at me. Instinctively, I swallow and take a small step back. His face is a blank mask, but something dark and animalistic is glittering in the depths of his eyes. It’s the most chilling look I’ve ever seen and ices my bones from the marrow out.
I’ve never seen anyone dodge a knife without even seeing it was coming. Or where it was coming from.
“You good, demon slayer?” he asks, cocking his brow. I want to stab something every time he gives me that stupid look. I hate how intimidating the action is. The way his eyebrow arches is as undeniably alluring as it is threatening.
“Stop mocking me,” I spit. As much as this man likes to look scary, I’m confident he can’t hurt me.
“Consider it a pet name,” he says off-handedly before turning back around.