There’s not a hope of anyone overhearing me over the loud bass of the hip hop song blaring through the club. “It’s almost done, Hannah,” I mutter under my breath. One more death before the mission I set for myself is complete, and I can finally move on with my life… or die in fucking peace. I don’t care much one way or the other about dying in the long run, but I refuse to die before I finish the job I set out to do. He’s over there knocking back drinks and laughing as if he’s not a lying piece of shit, but I know better. Just looking at him pisses me off, and I clench one hand into a fist. I should have known from the beginning that he was going to be nothing but trouble, but he sounded so sure-and to be honest, at the time I was desperate for any lead I could get. He’s a weaselly asshole with a pinched face and a slimy gaze. I narrow my eyes, locking onto him, determined not to let him slip away. I can see my prey through a strobe of purple, on the other side of the dance floor near the lounge area, standing with a drink in his hand. And that person has already fucked me over once. People move around me, and I don’t pay them any attention. Neither of those reasons are why I’m here.Įveryone else seems to be looking for distractions, but I’ve never been more focused.

Sin and Salvation is a pretty fucking apt name for this place, considering that most of the people here are either looking to get fucked up and get into some trouble, or hiding from their real lives and looking for some excitement. Or maybe they don’t care about that either. I guess as long as the owners have their money, they don’t care too much what else the patrons get up to, as long as it’s not outwardly illegal. I don’t know what the rules are about getting it on right there on the dance floor, but they’re clearly not stopping people from groping and dry humping each other in the dim light.

In the quiet corners, hands are roaming, and the smell of arousal and sex is in the air. Plenty of dudes lean against the bar, drooling all over themselves at the curvy women gyrating to the pulsing hip hop song blaring through the speakers, and the bartender keeps their drinks full so they don’t have a reason to leave. The drinks keep flowing, the music is good, and the girls dancing in cages along the walls and over the bar are hot. It’s one of the more popular clubs in Detroit, and I can tell why. The patrons of the club I’m in grind on each other or hold drinks over their heads as they push their way through the crowd of tangled bodies, heading from the bar to the dance floor or over to the tables and couches pressed into one corner. Coloredlights flash in time to the beat of the song thumping through the speakers.

Kings of Chaos by Eva Ashwood