Remnants before dusk || kairosteele

III

Joules Kastrati

I don't get caught. It's a skill you develop after being surrounded by some of the most diseased people on earth. In any case, I don't blame the police for being unable to cuff me. After all, they never managed to apprehend those responsible for my suffering, so it's safe to say I learned the art of escape from the best. Men driven by their own sick and hormonal desires.

Due to those sick desires, sneaking into this underground casino, disguised with a push-up bra, wig, makeup, contacts, and a tight dress proved to be a more than simple task. I transformed myself from a sixteen-year-old girl with brown eyes and auburn here into a twenty-year-old prostitute with long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a penchant for plastic surgery. I showcased a plastic, fake persona. Cassandra Park. A one-night stand ready for one encounter. A woman prepared to send a reprehensible man on a one-way trip to hell, devoid of an opportunity at redemption.

Convincing him to leave his assistant in charge of the casino for the night while he took 'me' home was easy enough. Cassandra was a woman who sought to be impressed, one who didn't settle for a rendezvous in an underground illegal club. She had standards and an insatiable thirst for blood. The absence of witnesses, well-placed back entrance, and lack of cameras all ensured getting to him was a smooth encounter. She's also a woman of privacy.

However, as soon as he pulled his old Audi RS7 into his stoned driveway, Casandra vanished, silently stalking behind him. Her high heels were gone, footsteps now muffled on the concrete path, as was her previous blonde hair that shimmered under the pale moonlight and I was left . A predator stalking her prey. There were no cameras to capture this encounter, I made sure of that prior to this mission, so it would be us. Alone. Together. And by the time my victim entered his house and finally turned around, fully intending on subjecting a Mrs Park to a night of horror, he was met with an unfamiliar face. \

"Nice to finally meet you, Jason," I savour the sweet shock reflected in his gross gaze.

His brows furrow and he blinks as if questioning his own vision while I close the door to his isolated home behind us. "Who the fuck are you? Where's Cassie?"

I scoff at the too quickly given nickname and introduce myself, my voice laced with saccharine sweetness. "My name is Joules. But that won't matter in a few hours, I promise."

Amusement flickers in his gaze as he appraises me. He isn't scared, and in hindsight, he has no reason to be. Why would a fifty-two-year-old self proclaimed gym rat, standing over six feet tall, feel threatened by a 5'7 sixteen-year-old? A child—the kind he'd relish the idea of forcing himself upon, especially the unwilling type. The pride and lust dancing in his eyes is undeniable. This is a fight he truly believes he can dominate, a victory he thinks he deserves.

Jason McDenvor is a fool.

He takes a predatory step towards me, but I do not retreat. Instead, I told my head upwards to permit myself an unfortunately better view of the repugnant and poor excuse of a man in my personal bubble. A man whose days are numbered. His hand rises, twirling a strand of my freshly trimmed hair between his dactylics fingers, while his dying grey eyes locked on my brown ones. He traced the strand up and closer to my head where he gripped a handful of my hair at the roots, pulling with enough force to make me stumble slightly.

A smirk tugged at his dry, neglected lips. "How old are you, Joules?"

I answer willingly. "Sixteen."

His smirk twists into a sinister grin as he pushes me against his door, his hand still entranced in an immoral dance with my hair, and presses his sin-ridden body against mine. I burry the memories of my past deeper in a grave deeper than the one awaiting my next victim and maintain my stance. Don't back down, Joules. This is a fight you've won before.