killer instinct - || h.s. ||

27

" psychopathic but it's okay "

---

aurora astor.

I take a few solid deep breaths, fixing my hair in the mirror that I didn't have the effort to straighten for tonight. I make sure my makeup is enough and just right, dark eyeshadow and defined cheekbones and my usual mauve lipstick shade.

I feel good, slightly psychotic, but nevertheless, a smile finds its way to my lips.

I stand upright, relaxing my shoulders back, and I fix the thin straps of this black lace bodysuit tight to my body with a pair of black straight-leg pants. Every curve of my body is visible in this outfit. I show enough skin and cleavage with this underwire, showing the entirety of my sternum, to be able to do what I need tonight while staying classy.

It's not like I keep formal, floor-length dresses just sitting around in my closet for casual nights out at expensive clubs with gang leaders – who do you think I am?

If he wants fucking business, that's what he'll get because I'm playing my own game tonight.

I turn myself around as my stilettos click on the tiled floor. I hum to myself, flicking the light off in my bathroom, and my heels resound through the lonesome space.

To finish off the look tonight, I pull out a black blazer from the nightmare of a closet. I glide the material up my arms and over my shoulders, resting loosely but not too loose.

I slide my hands into my pockets, remembering the cold weapon of choice on me just in case the worst happens tonight.

I walk through my apartment with my clicking heels, grabbing the little slip of paper with the address that I've done extensive research on. I grab my phone, not having backup tonight, but I don't fucking need it.

I pull my blazer tighter around my body and know I have quite the journey to make. I lock my place up, taking notice of the ruby ring glittering on my middle finger.

I swallow down those thoughts before I have to deal with them. I shove my hands into my pockets again, walking down the hallway and the stairs in this hollow stairwell.

I push the metal door open to feel the cold air hit my skin, and I sniffle instantly, trying not to let my watering eyes from the dry air mess up my makeup.

I glance across the street, regarding none other than a familiar black car at the curb, chuckling under my breath. I just scoff slightly, beginning to walk down the sidewalk and continue on my way without caring in the slightest.

As my stilettos click on the pavement, I hear fast running footsteps accompany it behind me, and I slowly turn around. Instantly I recognize that tall figure in fine trousers and a sweater with his usual vans – we're not matching tonight.

He halts in his steps, cursing under his breath as his eyes take down my body. "Fucking hell, Ace," he comments underneath his breath, as if in a daze. "You're wearing that for him?" The fucker mumbles, almost sounding jealous, and my eyebrows only knit together.

"Fuck no–" I defend, knowing damn well that I don't need male validation by any means.

He quickly shakes it off, playing it off to look at me directly and coldly. "I mean- fuck- I know where you're going," he snaps back to reality, watching the cold air form in condensed clouds in front of him.

He grabs my arm and tugs me back across the pavement. "So don't even think about it." He harshly seethes, and I scoff at him annoyed already, yanking my arm from his grip.