“You wound me. I thought Satan wanted to be me.”
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, the long mermaid sleeves of her pink camisole a whole character on their own.
“You came because you thought Eli wasn’t here, no?”
Her gloating expression falters. “Eli who? I couldn’t care less about his presence or the lack thereof.”
“In that case, you’d be okay knowing he’s coming back home in about…” I trail off and check my watch that’s worth more than a dozen of her Louboutin heels. “Fifteen minutes.”
Her face pales and she clears her throat. “You’re bluffing just to fuck with me.”
“Am I?” I fetch my phone and send a quick text to my cousin.
Landon: Ava is here with delicious food. Yum.
He doesn’t disappoint and his reply comes in a matter of seconds.
Eli: Be there in fifteen. You better make the earth swallow your hedonistic form before I arrive.
I tap the last text so it blurs the background, then show it to Ava.
She swallows and narrows her eyes. “Did you tell him I was here?”
“Whatever makes you think that?”
“You being a twat, maybe?”
“Is that another word for Cupid?”
She growls like a cornered animal and I grin, contemplating how to play with them further before he actually arrives.
That is, if Ava doesn’t run away or disappear like a ghost since she happens to be a coward.
Speaking of cowards, I re-check some of the texts I sent to Mia over the past week that she had the audacity to leave on Read.
If you weren’t in such a hurry just now, I would’ve given you a ride as soon as I was done licking your taste off my fingers. I never thought of pussy as a five-star meal, but I’m quickly changing my mind.
Text me back when you’re done trying to bury your head in the sand. If I were you, I’d save myself the trouble. It won’t work.
If you stop running away, we might have a redo and I’ll let you suck my cock.
I’m curious. Do you usually make that expression when you come? If you don’t answer, I might track down your ex-lovers and confirm a theory. Are you interested to know what it is?
Apparently not, because you’re into this weird hard-to-get foreplay. I’m sure you figured out by now that I’m not exactly normal and these tactics don’t work on me.
Patience isn’t my forte, little muse. Don’t make me come after you.
That was my last text and it met the same fate as its predecessors. Mia doesn’t know this yet, but she’s playing a dangerous game. The more I’m tempted, the more drastic the reaction.
Ignoring the rampant chaos around me, I open my Instagram app. Her profile appears on my home screen before I even attempt to search her name.
Usually, it’s Remi’s antics that greet me first. Looks like my algorithm has found me a new source of entertainment. It might also have to do with the fact that I’ve been checking her socials like a seasoned stalker.
The picture that appears on the feed is a carousel captioned They Call Me Baby Satan.
The first one shows her staring down, wearing her brother’s yellow stitch mask. The look is enhanced by her tulle black dress, boots with chains slithered like snakes, and her platinum blonde hair that’s held in ribboned pigtails.
In the second picture, there’s no mask as she leans an elbow against Nikolai’s heavily tattooed naked shoulder while they both glare at the camera.
The third includes her and her flashy twin sister, who seems to be seducing the camera while Mia makes peace signs from the side.
The fourth is of the three of them, both girls hanging on Nikolai's arms.
In the fifth, she headlocks both Nikolai and Killian and laughs. Gareth is in the background, head thrown back in laughter. The image is blurry and seems to have been taken on a whim, probably by Maya.
I zoom in on the so-called Baby Satan, studying her free expression. I’ve never seen her laugh, not even during my admittedly limited stalking sessions. I wonder how she sounds when laughing.
She does gasp and groan when overwhelmed by pleasure. My fingers twitch in remembrance of her welcoming cunt swallowing me whole.
I suppose there are other sounds she can make, and I will pull them out one by one.
Seems that Eli and Ava are safe for the day because I prefer a much better target for my dose of mayhem.
12
MIA
My fear of the dark is a tale of missed opportunities and a different life whose ultimate development I’ll never know.
It tastes of bitterness and hollow emotions. It reeks of piss, vomit, and the promise of a horrifying death.