Kiss the Devil

Part 5

You sit in the bar, staring down into your drink, absently swirling the amber liquid in the glass.
Huh.
Well, somehow you didn't lose your spot in the band; you'd been sure they'd kick you out after you'd hit Riley.
But nope.
You're still in the show.
You'd gone to the doctor, so your hand is bandaged and he'd been kind enough to give you some pain pills for when you need them. Riley isn't speaking to you, it's like you don't exist. He just plays the drums, a white bandage on his discolored face.
You know the fans are loving that.
Becca and Shannon had screamed and ranted at you for an hour until you'd finally threatened to quit, and they'd backed off once they realized you were serious.
You don't need their petty band, you have other ways of survival.
They know that, and they know they won't find another bassist so quickly, plus you're one of the best.
So fuck them.
Stupidheads.
You'd left for the night, needing to get away from them, needing some time to yourself.
You're feeling sad and mopey, and you hate that. You never should have kissed Ricky, not when you didn't have intentions of taking his soul.
It feels like a betrayal.
Yoltan kissing you is one thing, he means the world to you and you care for him deeply.
But kissing Ricky.... fuck, you don't even know him other then what you'd researched. You doubt he even knows your name, and if he does it makes no difference.
You've been attracted to him for some reason since the beginning, and that's never good.
Attachments don't work for you.
If you stick with someone, eventually they'll notice you're not aging, and explaining the whole "oh, I was dying back in the forties and I made a deal with a demon," isn't going to be an easy conversation.
Plus you've souls to collect, and usually that involves being physical; if someone isn't in love with you or drunk off their ass, why the hell else would they agree, even if they think you're joking, to give up their soul?
Fucking came with the territory, even if you didn't like it. At least you have control, you know what's happening, you know the outcome and you know you're stronger then any human who might get any bright ideas.
No one will ever force themselves on you again.
You sink a little closer to the bar, waving for another drink, needing something to lessen your nostalgia. At least if you're drunk off your ass, you'll eventually stop thinking about the past.
Oh, who are you kidding?
Nothings going to help!
"Looks like someone has the blues," someone comments beside you, and you slowly turn your head, blearily looking at the red-lipped woman sitting a stool across from you.
"I've had better weeks." You reply, studying her.
"I understand that," the woman snorts, sipping from her martini glass. "My husband's divorcing me."
"Sucks for you. He's probably a dick."
"He is." The woman agrees, gazing at you. "I'm Lydia."
"Megan." You say, propping your chin on your hand as you look at her. She's older, probably in her forties with her hair done in a professional twist, makeup dark yet simple, her suit expensive, the slit in her skirt long yet still elegant.
Well, well.
Future divorcee is looking you over, you can tell she's interested; this might be an easy picking for you.
You give her a couple more drinks, giggle along with her and listen to her woes, moving a seat closer so you're able to touch her at all the right moments, easily drawing her into your Web.
It's not an hour later you're kissing her drunken lips, your fingers locked in her red hair as she impatiently drags your clothes off. Her apartment is nice, she's probably a CEO or some important secretary.
Her soul is like all the others, though.
Yours.
One little whisper, that's all it takes for her to give you her most prized possession and not even know it, to give you what makes her her own person.
You should be ashamed at how easy it is for you, but you're not.
Even as you straddle her, lacing your fingers through hers and pinning them by her head, kissing her deeply --- you feel absolutely nothing.
Nothing at all.
~~~~~
Ricky fidgets, unable to hold still. He should have asked for your number, just in case he ever needed it. He should have asked your name. He should have asked ---.
"Your fidgeting is making me nervous," Vinny grumbles at him, frowning as they stand in line for food. "What's up with you, dude? You're all weird."
"Nothing." Ricky mutters, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. He knows your name now, Ryan seems to know everything about you and is always ready to spout off information. Do you have a phone? He's never seen you use one.
Your band had to miss two shows because of the drummers injuries; what a fucking prima donna. You're the one with a busted up hand!
Ricky shifts a little, irritated. He hasn't seen you since that night, and he wants to talk.... Or something.
He's not sure what he wants to talk about.
Is it obvious now he likes you?
But how can he like you, he doesn't even know you!?
Fuck, it's so frustrating!
He's never felt this way before, so confused.
He runs his hand through his hair in aggravation, slowly moving up the line, glancing around the crowd.
He's so drawn to you, he can't stop thinking about you --- it doesn't make sense!
Why did he even kiss you!?
Stupid!
So fucking stupid!
He barely hears himself order something, finally making it to the front of the line. He and Vinny move towards a table, waiting for their number to be called.
His head turns, he's not even sure why he looks over, but he does. You see each other at the same time, and you stop so abruptly the person behind you crashes into you.
You hesitate, then quickly pivot, abruptly walking in a different direction.
Ricky scowls.
Seriously?
You're avoiding him?
"Wh --- dude! Where are you going?" Vinny demands as Ricky stands, his eyes on your fleeing form.
"Get my food, I'll be back," he says as he starts off, maneuvering his way through the crowd, quickly catching up with you despite your head start.
Dammit dammit!
You've managed to avoid him for days, but you fucked up! You didn't expect to see him getting food, fuck!
You glance around nervously, then dart toward the signing tents, hoping to disappear into the maze of them.
Unfortunately, you underestimate his determination to find you.
Even as you duck into an empty tent, he's right on your heels, his hand latching around your arm and stopping you from running.
"Can you seriously stop?" He wheezes, a little out of breath after chasing you. "I'm not an athletic dude!"
You hesitate, staring at him like he's some kind of wild animal, wanting nothing more then to bolt and get as far away from him as possible.
He frowns at you, letting go of you as he straightens; he really needs to stop smoking so much, he's starting to feel the effects.
"Look, Ricky, I have places to be," you hedge nervously. "I, uh, have a show ---."
"Bullshit, you don't go on until the afternoon," he interrupts, shaking his head, and you frown at him. "Why have you been avoiding me?"
"Because I know you'll want to talk about the other night." You say honestly, seeing no point in lying. "And I don't."
"Why not?" Ricky blinks; women always want to talk about that shit.
Your violet eyes flick about the tent, looking for a way out, but it seems like you've trapped yourself.
"Look, can we --- can we not make it a thing?" You shift uncomfortably, crossing your arms. "I'm not looking for anything, and it was just meant to be a thank you, alright? Doesn't have to mean anything."
Ricky hates the spark of disappointment in his chest. He doesn't understand why he even cares.
"I.... that sounds fine with me, I guess. Sorry I kissed you like that," he mutters, and you scowl.
"Don't be like that. It was a good kiss." He's a good kisser, you're not going to lie. Your eyes flick to his nervously before away, you can hardly stand still, you feel the need to keep moving.
This is weird.
You don't like this.
you've never fucked up like this before.
And you fuck up a lot.
But you don't need to get to know Ricky, you don't need to like him or even think fondly of him. Your main objective is souls, and unless he's willing to part with his, you're uninterested.
Rickys eyes are on your neck, on the blatant hickey someone has recently left there.
Well, he shouldn't feel hurt.
Why the fuck does he feel hurt!?
"I don't get it." He speaks before he can stop himself. "You're not interested in me for a relationship, and you're not interested in me to just fuck, either."
....
Shit.
You frown at him, unsure how to answer.
"I don't do relationships." You say after a moment. "I can't."
You can't...
"Why not? What's stopping you?" He challenges, not letting it go.
"Why the fuck do you even care?" You counter, irritated. "We don't even know each other! I wouldn't date someone I didn't know!"
"But you'll fuck them, right?"
You roll your eyes in exasperation.
"Fucking is different, it's impersonal. It doesn't mean anything."
At least not to you.
Ricky doesn't look pleased, but before he can speak your phone goes off. You sigh as you fish it from your pocket, annoyed.
Your eyes flick over the text, and you frown.
"I gotta go," you mutter, side stepping him, keeping your gaze on everything but him.
"We'll talk about this later," you hear him say as you escape the tent, and you shake your head.
Not if you can help it.
~~~~~
You hold your arms tightly against the chill of the room, standing there by yourself.
He'd ordered you here, now where is he? You have a life to keep up, he knows that, he could at least be on time!
You scowl, irritated at how cold it is. What the hell is up with the AC?
"Hello, (Y/N)."
You jump, whirling around immediately, taking a step back as the voice is directly behind you.
"Your hair looks nice," the demon compliments you, and your eyes flick over him. Every time you see him he looks different; sometimes he's a man, sometimes a woman, a child --- whatever form suits him at the time.
"It's not been ten years," you say, nervous. Why is he calling you? Your agreement is every ten years you give him the souls you've collected, you don't see him any other times.
"I'm aware. I just thought I'd check in early, see how things are going," the demon says, his lips curling onto a pleasant smile. "You've been doing quite the collecting recently, haven't you? You've 25 more souls then usual for your decade."
You know.
You don't respond, just look at him. He's a Native American this time, his hair long and jet black, falling from his widows peak. His eyes are too brown, his nose too pointed, ears a little sharp, skin too red.
There's subtle differences, he's never quite looked completely human. He might fool some, but he doesn't you.
"Is there something you need?" You ask tightly, your nails digging into your arms.
"Mhm, yes, actually." He looks down at the folder he's holding, opening it slowly, taking his time before answering. "Two of your fellow soul collectors have died."
Okay.
You give the demon a blank look, wondering why they pertains to you in any way.
The demon sighs. "You know if you die, your soul is forfeit, yes."
"Yeah, I remember."
"Well, good. I might get your soul upon your death, but I lose the hundreds you might gather for me, it's most unfortunate, and generally we try to avoid it."
Ahuh, you're getting impatient.
"Oh, must I spell it out for you?" The demon looks irked. "I will not kill my own collectors unless they break a rule of our contract. Two of mine are dead and it's not been by my hand. Someone is out there taking out collectors, (Y/N). I want you to be on guard."
What?
You stare at him for a few seconds, letting the news process.
Someone is.... taking your kind out?
"How is that possible?" You demand, stiffening. "We're supposed ---."
"Your body is strengthened by the deal, but you're not invincible." The demon interrupts. "I'm not sure why someone wants to kill you lot off other then to undermine my business, but I find it an inconvenience. I'm only telling you this because you're one of my most successful collectors. I don't want anything happening to you," he clucks, stepping to you. It's all you can do not to flinch as his hand caresses your cheek, nails sharp against your skin.
"Have you warned Yoltan?" You ask, shifting away from his touch, hardly able to stand the vile creatures caress.
"Of course." The demon purrs, circling you slowly. You hunch, clutching you arms to yourself, your eyes on him as he circles you like prey.
"I quite like this appearance you've taken," he compliments, standing behind you. You keep your eyes straightforward, staring out the large glass windows of the conference room he'd chosen to meet in. "It's very... alluring."
You swallow at his words, feeling his hands close over your arms, long nails pressing into your skin.
Your teeth dig into your lip as he presses into you from behind, inhaling your scent. You stare at the carpet, suddenly too frightened to speak.
This demon had come to you as you laid bleeding out in the floor of your home, had promised you revenge for your murderers, had given it to you for a price. He gives you what you want, you give him what he wants, no matter how long it takes.
Collecting souls isn't as easy as it would appear. Not every is eager to give theirs up even if you spend months of your time on them. Some are easy, hardly an effort, but none of them are fun.
You never enjoy taking them.

You bring him souls, he leaves you alone.
"Mmm, how about a proposition?" He whispers in your ear, his too hot breath making you shudder. "I'll give you twelve souls for a few hours with this new look."
You go rigid, your entire body tensing. You don't speak, you can't, your heart is in your throat.
"I won't hurt you," the demon coos, his hands slowly slipping down your arms. "I wouldn't want to damage you physically, not when I still need you."
His hands come to rest on your stomach, his body now pressing fully into yours from behind, fitting perfectly.
"Twelve souls off your debt," he murmurs, his heated lips pressing softly against your neck. "Twelve innocent people you don't have to send to hell."
You feel sick.
His hands are now on your hips, inching up beneath your shirt as you don't answer, just stand there, trembling.
Twelve?
Twelve souls is a lot, that's how many you get in several years most times. That's twelve individual people, with families and lives and kind souls that won't be forced against their will into a demons service.
You can save that many people.
But the price....
Having sex with mortals is one thing, you have complete control over the situation.
This would be different.
This would be ---.
"I won't be too rough with you," he murmurs, squeezing you slightly. "Just a few hours of your time, your service. Nothing you don't do already, (Y/N). Think of all the people you're sparing."
His voice is persuasive, sending chills across your body as he draws you back. You feel the table behind you now, and he's in front of you, his hands on your shoulders, eyes burning as he awaits your answer.
"Do you agree? Will you give me use of your body for two hours, for the compensation of twelve souls?"
Twelve people......
Your lips tremble, but you nod your head, that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach intensifying as he gives a devilish grin.
"Good," he purrs. "Now strip."
~~~~~
You vomit into the toilet, your head hanging low as you lose the contents of your stomach. You shudder, pasty as you lean up, breathing hard.
You've never felt so disgusting, not in years. You're still shaking, your body still able to feel the touch of his hands on you, the degrading words he'd whispered in your ear as he had his way with you against that stupid table.
You whimper, pressing your hands against your face as you curl your knees to your chest, tears quickly greeting your palms.
You hurt all over, your hips are bruised, handprints left behind. His inhuman teeth marks are on your breasts, your thighs --- there's not one part of you he didn't touch, didn't fondle.
You quickly lean over the toilet again, half sobbing, half heaving, not realizing how low you could sink until now.
You'll never wash his scent off of you, never wash the touch of his hands, never forget the words he'd whispered to you as he fucked you from behind, making sure you felt every single thrust, his hand so tight in your hair your roots are hurt ing.
You gag just at the memory, feeling choked, shuddering violently before sinking back into the floor.
You wrap your arms tightly around yourself, weeping openly.
You'll never do that again, not even to save the souls of others, it isn't worth it you.
It's not worth it.
You'd thought you'd do anything for souls, but you've just realized your stopping point.
~~~~~
Ricky can't sleep.
He stares up at the ceiling, listening to the others on the bus shuffle in their slumber, mumbles here and there.
He can't put his finger on it, but he knows somethings wrong. He's not sure how, but he knows it.
Fuck, he needs a smoke.
It only takes him a second to roll out of bed, grabbing his shoes and cigarettes. He quietly creeps out, not bothering to turn on any lights, not wanting to disturb anyone.
He steps out into the cool night air, lighting up, stowing his lighter in his pocket as he exhales slowly, watching the smoke drift up into the night.
He's losing his mind, he just knows it. There's no other explanation for the way he's feeling, the stupid shit he's doing and saying.
He shivers at the cold breeze that cuts right through his clothing, his eyes flicking about the empty lot where the bus is parked.
Somethings out there.
He glances around uneasily, feeling his skin crawl, a prickling sensation he detests.
He takes one more puff off his cigarette before letting it drop, rubbing it out with his shoe before taking a leary step back towards the bus, his instincts practically screaming at him.
Fuck it.
He darts quickly back for the safety of the bus, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He barely makes it up the steps, whirling to slam the door shut, swearing he sees something behind him.
Ricky pants, standing completely still, staring at the door, his cigarette box crushed in his hand.
Nothing.
There's absolutely nothing.
He hesitates, slowly backing away, his body tense as he locks the bus down, going so far as to make sure every window is completely shut.
He doesn't go back to sleep.