Driving home from work, I looked forward to stepping into an empty flat. With Hugh away on business, I didn’t have to worry about cooking. I poured myself a large glass of red and slipped into something more comfortable.
The clock on the sideboard ticked as I waited for my signal from James that the coast was clear. One ring of my doorbell for yes, two for no. I never understood why waiting for the call set my body tingling almost as much as the affair itself.
I sat down, anticipation fluttering in my stomach. When I heard the first ring, I stood and made my way to the door. But then there was another. I paused, consumed with disappointment. When the third ring came, my head went into a spin. Three rings. What does that mean?
Unsure whether to stay in my flat or go to James, I hovered with my hand over the door catch. Instinct told me to sit back down, drink more wine and make him wait. But lust is a powerful emotion, and I wanted him desperately. He was the reason I made it through a stressful workday in one piece.
Loosening a button on the top of my figure-hugging, black dress, I made my way to the elevators. I could have climbed the stairs, but thirteen floors was a lot of steps in killer heels. I waited for the elevator to reach me and stepped inside. It wasn’t until I pressed the button that I realised I had company.
A man and woman stood between me and the door. Both had marbled, sickly skin. The man smiled at me; his amber eyes full of fire. They smelled of hospitals. They smelled dangerous. The man had James’ work ID tag around his neck. Oh God.
Communicating with each other through adoring silence, the man pinned me to the wall and the woman cut my throat. As they revelled in the crimson liquid that spilled from my wound, a mixture of pain and ecstasy flooded my soul. Slowly, deliciously, I became one of them.