Angel's POV
Today was the day I'd get to deal with that bastard, trashcan of a human being that is called Robert. I was already feeling overjoyed at the thought of torturing him alone. I dressed up and after making sure my disguise was complete (or so I thought), I went ahead to the location Roman sent to me.
When I got there, I gave the bouncer at the gate of the club my fake ID of some plain-ass Vicky Jane and went straight to the VIP section after taking a shot of vodka (you think I'd do this without any alcohol? Hell no) since he was expecting me anyways.
When I got inside the room, I met the bastard rolling up a blunt.
"Hey pretty face, you want some?" he said, holding up the blunt.
"No thank you," I said shyly while looking at my heels to mask the hatred and disgust in my eyes.
"Timid. I love it."
I smirked at the absurdity of his words. "I'm not timid, actually. I just don't like being outspoken if we aren't in bed."
"Ooh, you loud in bed?"
"Not really."
"Enough of the chit-chat, let's get this on with."
"O--okay."
"What's it?"
"N--nothing."
"You scared?"
"A little."
"What to do? I don't really care."
"Can we please go somewhere private?" He eyed me unsurely as if he could see through my disguise and my mind, and I didn't like it one bit. I had to bite back the snarky response at the tip of my tongue.
"Fine. I have this guest house close by, let's go there."
On arriving at the guest house, I saw lots of his men around and then I realized why he did that. So I paused and turned around to face him.
"Since when have you known?"
"I knew since the moment you opened your smart-ass mouth."
"Well, I guess I really can't hide my disdain for you."
"You'll regret talking to me like that. Boys, go get her and teach her a good lesson."
I smirked as I stepped into the dimly lit alley, my eyes locked onto Robert's sneering, smug face. The air reeked of garbage and desperation. Perfect backdrop for this confrontation.
"You think you can disrespect Roman and walk away?" I spat, finally letting my rage show. I clenched my fists when I saw his disgustingly disgusting face snickering.
He snickered, his goons flanking him. "You're just a pawn, Angel. A pretty face with a bad attitude."
My gaze narrowed. "You're going down for what you said about Roman."
"But am I wrong for calling him a faggot? 'Cause he clearly takes it up the ass. Or am I wrong?" he taunted.
"You know what's funny?"
"What, bitch?"
I ignored the last part of his sentence because I was going to be dealing with him soon anyway. "You just outright assumed he's the bottom."
With a swift kick, I sent the nearest goon that was trying to sneak up on me crashing into a dumpster. Robert lunged, swinging wildly. I dodged, countering with a sharp jab to his jaw. His head snapped back, but he recovered quickly.
We exchanged blows, our footsteps echoing off the alley walls. Robert's goons tried to intervene, but I took them down with swift efficiency. Broken nose, broken limbs, cracked rib, and a concussion—they wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.
Robert stumbled back, eyes widening as I landed a series of rapid-fire punches. His arms flailed, desperate to block the onslaught. I seized his wrist, twisting it until the bone cracked. He screamed, but I silenced his bratty mouth with a knee to the stomach.
As he doubled over, I delivered a vicious kick to his chest. Robert crashed into the wall, gasping. I pinned him, my forearm pressed against his throat.
"Respect," I hissed, my eyes blazing. "You should've shown some."
Robert's face turned purple, his struggles weakening. I released him, letting him slump to the ground.
"It's over for you, Mr. Anti-Romantic," I declared, standing tall.
His eyes fell closed, and he lost consciousness. Tsking, I dragged Robert into the guest house.
I tied him to the chair, his broken wrist throbbing. The abandoned guest house creaked around us, the only sound his ragged breathing.
"Wake up, Robert," I cooed, slapping his cheek.
He groaned, eyes fluttering open. Defiance flashed in his gaze.
"You're a hard man to please, Robert," I said, knife glinting in the dim light.
Robert sneered. "You think you're better than me? You're just a puppet, Angel. Just a puppet that he'll discard when he feels like it."
My smile was cold. "I am not a puppet. And I really respect Roman. No one except me disrespects him—and you did that. And you are getting something wrong here: he can't discard me. He won't discard me because I am more important, and he cherishes me more than you'll ever imagine or even dream of being."
Robert's expression turned ugly. "That freak? He's nothing but a faggot. And you're not a better human. If anything, you're worse."
I laughed coldly. "And you think you're the better human?" My grip on the knife tightened, my knuckles turning white, my hands itching to slap his mouth shut.
"Who made you feel so entitled to disrespect Roman?" I asked, curiosity laced with venom.
Robert's eyes sparkled with malice. "No one. I just don't tolerate faggots that take it up the ass."
Rage ignited within me. I slashed the knife across his chest, deeper this time.
"You're going to beg for forgiveness. I'll make sure of that," I hissed, twisting the knife.
Robert screamed, but his eyes remained defiant.
"Never. You're going to realize he is weak sooner or later," he spat.
I smiled, but it was anything but warm. "The only weak person I see here is you." I carved a pattern of shallow cuts across his arms, watching as he trembled.
"Tell me, Robert, what makes you think you're above consequence?"
His response was a snarl, teeth bared.
I applied pressure to his broken wrist, twisting until he screamed.
"You're going to regret ever crossing Roman," I vowed.
With each passing moment, Robert's cries grew hoarse, his body shaking.
But still, he refused to break.
I leaned in, voice low. "You should've shown respect and kept your mouth shut no matter what you thought of him, because—to put it nicely—no one cares what you think."
The knife danced across his skin, carving a trail of agony.
Robert's pleas turned to begging, but I didn't relent.
"You disrespected Roman," I repeated, each word punctuated by a cut.
"He's nothing!" Robert screamed.
I slammed the knife into the armrest, inches from his hand.
"Look at me, Robert." I demanded.
His eyes locked onto mine, filled with hatred.
"You're going to apologize to me because you can't apologize to him—because you're not leaving here alive." I whispered.
Robert spat at my feet.
The rage boiled over. I unleashed a flurry of punches, each one aimed at shattering his resolve.
As Robert slumped, I caught his chin, forcing him to meet my gaze.
"Apologize," I growled.
"Never," he whispered.
One final, vicious cut ended Robert's suffering.
As I left the guest house, I knew this was far from over. But I didn't care. Robert's bastard friends that were close with him would want to know what happened to him, and they'd search and search. But that was none of my business. Even if it was, that'd be a problem for future me, not the present me. Because the present me is feeling accomplished and I don't regret it one bit.
Roman's safety, mental health, and the way they address him depended on eradicating this hatred. And I'd do anything to make sure it's eradicated.
This wasn't just vengeance (maybe for me)—but it was protection for Roman, the friend that stood by me when I needed someone in my fucked-up life.
FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER
I stumbled through the front door, my heels feeling like lead weights on my feet. Dealing with Robert had taken everything out of me. Ending him had been a mercy, really. No one disrespected Roman and lived to tell the tale.
As I locked the door behind me, I let out a deep sigh. A hot shower and my soft bed were all I could think about. My eyes felt gritty, my muscles ached, and my skin crawled with the memory of Robert's screams.
I shuffled toward the bathroom, peeling off my jacket and letting it fall to the floor. The fluorescent light above the sink flickered to life, illuminating my reflection.
Ugh, I looked like hell. Dark circles under my eyes, smudges of dirt on my cheeks, and a sprinkle of blood on my chin. I looked like I'd been through a war.
Just as I reached for the faucet, my reflection seemed to... twitch.
I let out a blood-curdling scream, leaping backward and slamming my elbow into the sink. My heart raced like I'd just run a marathon.
"What the...?" I yelped, spinning around to face... no one.
I turned back to the mirror, and my reflection stared back, looking equally startled.
"Seriously, self?" I muttered, laughing. "You're a freaking assassin—a badass one at that. Get a grip."
My phone buzzed on the counter. Roman's text made me chuckle:
"Hey, love. How was your day? Kill anyone?" I could practically see him raising his brows.
I rolled my eyes, typing out a response.
"Just the usual. No one important."
"The job's done?"
"Of course. He's not important. Oh, and I almost died from fright in the bathroom."
Roman's reply came instantly:
"Good to know you're still human. Sort of."
I snorted, shaking my head.
With a sigh, I began to wash away the remnants of my gruesome task. As the warm water cascaded down my face, I felt my tension ease.
"Time for a nap," I told my reflection. "And maybe a facial. And a therapist."
Wait... oh shit. I don't have time for any of these. He _samuel_ had texted me:
"Hey, hope you didn't forget we're going out tomorrow. If you did, then this is your reminder to pick out your dress."
Even when I told him I wasn't going, I seriously need to teach him a lesson as soon as possible. Cute bastard.
Ugh, forget that. I need sleep more than anything right now. I'll think about teaching him a lesson later.
I practically crawled back to my room, dumped myself on the bed, and sleep took over me instantly.