Bargain with the Devil Chapters One and Two

I

"Sounds like there are a lot of losers around you, Sloane,” my date says before a slow smirk forms on his lips. “Lucky for you, you’re sitting with an alpha.”

The laugh that tumbles out of my mouth is met with a rather dead stare. Oh no, I instantly think. He’s serious. My lips press together as an awkwardness settles over the table, my fingers toying with the base of my glass cup as I size him up and down for the third time that night.

He’s stereotypically attractive. The kind of attractive that society has drilled into us to swoon over. Chiseled cheekbones, dark blonde hair, expressive brown eyes, a well–kept physique, and a summer tan on his otherwise pale skin. He probably has no shortage of people interested in getting to know him. And if he were to boast about a talent agent approaching him about work, I’d only be mildly surprised.

My eyes stall on the salmon–colored polo shirt he’s wearing; I can almost hear him saying masculine guys wear pink. The color does nothing for his skin tone, but he smartly paired the shirt with dark blue jeans. The flip flops he’s decided to wear tonight would have made a better impression on me if we had picked a date out in the park. But inside the restaurant, the casual shoes look a little out of place.

Gradually, my attention shifts back up to those striking brown eyes. Unironically, his name is Chad and I fear he’s living up to the name.

My tongue wets my lips as I contemplate what to say and settle diplomatically on, “What does being an alpha mean to you?”

He gestures his arms as he speaks a little too emphatically and confidently. “It means protecting your woman, bringing home the money, getting shit done. I’ll do all the hard work so you can stay home with the kids and look pretty.”

My teeth bite down hard on my lip as I inhale sharply at his words. It shouldn’t surprise me how much misogyny can appear in such short sentences, but it always does. I refrain from burying my face in my hands and instead, focus my attention on the glass of water, on the small droplets that slowly trickle down towards my hand. I don’t know why Chad is bringing up children when I made it very clear I wanted to meet up for sex. I had objected to going on this date, but his persistence and my lack of other suitors had me caving. I can handle a measly date if it means getting laid except…

Men who think they’re alpha males are horrible in bed. Regrettably, and embarrassingly, I have too much data to back that statement up.

I should leave, I think as my eyes slide shut. It would be the wiser choice. Men like Chad are not worth the headache. Yet, there’s that trickle of irritation running down my spine as his words replay over in my head. He’s sincere in his opinion and I consider it might be because no one’s bothered to help him see the error in his beliefs. I could get up and leave, but I also could help him realize how toxic his mindset is to people who don’t fit the hetero, cis male profile.

“What if I don’t want you to provide for me?” I ask as I attempt to keep my tone as even as possible. He might not know how pompous he sounds. “What if I don’t even want to have kids?”

His smile is frozen on his face, but I don’t miss the small pulse in his temple before he answers. “You’re joking, right?”

My eyebrow cocks up at his rude tone and I ask him flatly, “Does it look like I’m joking?”

Something about my question snaps him out of his stupor and he willfully digs his feet in. The expression on his face darkens as he speaks, “Ok, well, first of all, what’s the purpose of women if you don’t have kids? Secondly, every girl wants a man who can provide for them. Anyone who says otherwise is lying.”

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline as my jaw goes slack. He can’t be serious. Except he is. This asshole believes the sole purpose of a woman is to bear children and be entirely dependent on a man who can up and leave her anytime he desires, leaving her to burn in a ditch somewhere.

“I don’t even…” I trail off as my mind races to form a singular thought. There are too many things wrong with everything he’s said. Then my words come out all at once. “A woman has every right to not have children, same as men. Life isn’t about procreating, it’s about living. If you’re so concerned about the population, you be the stay–at–home parent.

“Also, women provide for themselves. We have jobs, we have our own money, we pay our own bills. What we want is a man who adds to our lives–”

“Bullshit,” Chad replies with a roll of his eyes and a too cocky grin on his face. “Women only care about money. If we don’t make enough by your standards, you won’t even look our way, let alone give us a chance to prove our worth.”

My fingers curl tightly around the base of my drink as my jaw works back and forth. I have now learned it’s officially pointless to try and reason with him. It’s no better than talking to a brick wall. But the anger and irritation running through my veins has me plowing forward against my better judgement.

“It sounds like to me you’re actively seeking out women who want a wealthy man,” I state.

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. If you’d venture to broaden your options, you’ll be pleasantly surprised by how many of us don’t hold those views. We want a man who will contribute, but he doesn’t have to provide. We’re looking for a partnership where we’re equal–”

“In what world are men and women equal?” Chad asks, arms crossing over his chest as he rolls his eyes. Again.

“We could be equal in this world if men weren’t so threatened by a successful woman.”

He laughs loudly, head falling back as he draws the attention of the people sitting near us. It sounds forced, as if he’s trying to make me feel embarrassed by all the new attention on us. He’s probably used this tactic successfully more than once, but I’ve never been someone to shy away from confrontation.

“You think a successful woman is funny?” I challenge him, placing my elbows on the table as I lean forward, intentionally giving off the vibe of invading his space.

His back straightens at my bold move and his eyes narrow in response. His lips quirk up slightly at the edges, like what he’s about to say will be clever and smart. “When I see one, I’ll let you know if I laugh or not.”

He walked right into this one.

“Ouch,” I breathe out. “You don’t even consider your own mother successful. Poor thing wasted the best years of her life raising you and you aren’t even grateful enough to consider her a successful person. If I needed any more reasons not to have kids, I’d add that to the list.”

His face turns a nice shade of red before he nearly shouts, “At least she doesn’t walk around dressed like a slut.”

Only somewhat surprised by his words, I sit back in my seat as I inspect my outfit. A cute lace bodysuit, an oversized cardigan, skinny jeans, and a pair of nude pumps. I didn’t wear a lot of jewelry because my intent for tonight was to get naked and I didn’t want the hassle of one too many necklaces getting tangled with each other. The outfit is meant to entice him to take off my clothes. Except he’s a total dick so there’s no chance in hell that’ll be happening.

As his statement finally settles into my head, anger trickles down my spine. Of course he insults my looks and slut shames me. He’s too dumb to think of an actual rebuttal.

My shoulders tense as I clench my jaw, but I can’t hold back the words that leave my mouth, “She probably does when she wants to get laid.”

His face darkens even more and I briefly worry he’s about to have an aneurysm. I’ve never seen someone’s face turn that red before. It can’t be good for him, but I am satisfied by how infuriated he looks. Good. He deserves it.

“My mom’s classy,” he snaps at me. “She knows an outfit like that makes you look easy and she’s not that kind of person. She’s the type you take out to a nice meal and walk around the Common and then you drive her home. She wants to fall in love first. She won’t give it up easily.”

“Um… it sounds like you’ve slept with your mother,” I blurt out, unable to tame my inner thoughts or shock at what he’s said. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with a mommy kink, but your interest in her sounds inappropriate.”

Someone at a nearby table snorts and instinctively I glance over. Two women who look to be around my age are quietly eating their food, but the shit eating grins on their faces let me know they’re invested in my conversation with Chad. The snort doesn’t go unnoticed by Chad either.

Rage washes over him as his hand clenches so tightly his knuckles turn stark white. Those brown eyes I had once viewed as inviting now look at me with murderous intent. My stomach flips as I unconsciously sit a little further back in my chair. The restaurant is crowded. It’s not likely he’ll attack me, but the chances are never zero.

“At least she’s prettier than you,” he spits out. “You won’t look half as good as her when you’re her age.”

I shouldn’t provoke him. I really shouldn’t, but… it’s too easy.

“Just to be clear, you’re not denying sleeping with your mom?” I ask and can’t bite back the smile as the two women one table over poorly attempt to hide their laughter.

Chad moves forward, leaning all the way over the table as he grips the edges of it. A dark glare has settled on his face and unease runs through my veins.

“You think you’re so funny until it’s dark out and you’re walking by yourself,” he says in a near whisper. “You’re nothing but a fucking cunt who’s one bad guy away from learning a lesson.”

I react on fear and instinct. My hand grips my glass cup tightly as I lift it and toss the water at Chad’s face. He immediately shoves himself back from the table, wiping his eyes as he searches for a napkin.

“What the fuck?” he shouts, earning the attention of more than half the restaurant.

I stand to my feet, my legs feeling a bit like jelly as my heart beats too fast for comfort. As quickly as I can, I gather my things and toss a twenty onto the table.

“Do you think cunts play fairly?” I ask, adding fuel to the fire despite knowing better.

I don’t wait for him to reply and make my way towards the exit of the restaurant.

“You bitch!” he shouts after me. “Get back here, I’m not done talking!”

“I’m done listening,” I throw over my shoulder before hurrying to the door and slipping out.

The humid air threatens to suffocate me as an invisible layer of water coats my skin the second I exit the building. I itch to remove my cardigan to alleviate my discomfort, but instead, I keep my pace quick in case Chad comes barreling out the restaurant after me.

My hand trembles slightly as adrenaline floods my system and I dig through my purse for my phone. I can’t help but glance behind me to see if Chad’s following. I don’t see him among the few people coming and going from the restaurant and I breathe a sigh of relief.

As much as I hate to admit it, Chad’s subtle threat has left me unnerved. Woman had been killed for less than what I just did to Chad. I humiliated him and there were people to bear witness to it. My own stubborn stupidity could have gotten me killed because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

I finally locate my phone and quickly FaceTime Ella. Best to have a witness in case Chad’s creeping around a corner somewhere. She picks up almost immediately.

“Damn, Sloane, didn’t your date just start?”

Her dark brown hair is tossed up into a messy bun and she’s dressed in her pajamas for the night. I spot a Ben and Jerry’s pint towards the left of the screen as she sits at the kitchen island of our apartment. Her tanned skin is a little redder than usual, a tell–tale sign she spent too long out in the sun yesterday.

A calmness washes over me at the sight of my friend. She’s seen me through the most embarrassing moments of my life as I figured out who I was during our college years. We were instant best friends at freshman orientation and haven’t looked back since.

I quickly look both ways of the street before scampering over towards the stairwell that’ll take me down to the T. Boston may be the perfect place for a woman in her mid–twenties who’s eager to build her career and social life, but it’s a flurry of chaos. Constant construction, unpredictable New England weather, grumpy people even with their cup of coffee, and tourists who never know where the hell they’re going. Still, I love it, chaos and all.

“My date was a total bust. We didn’t even make it to ordering our food,” I answer as I descend the stairs.

There’s a slight reprieve from the humidity as I make it below street level, but it’s quickly diminished by the heat of an underground subway system. It’s crowded, unsurprisingly.

Honestly, I’m a little surprised it’s not more crowded. After all, it’s Friday night.  

“That bad, huh?” Ella asks before shoving an overly large spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

“He called himself an alpha male,” I tell her as I make it to the platform.

“Ew, no,” she shouts as she knocks over her phone.

“It gets worse.”

“No, it can’t get worse than that,” she says as she places her phone back in its original spot.

“We’re mid argument on his beliefs when his mom comes up in the topic. It makes sense, I promise you,” I assure her when her face scrunches into confusion. “Anyway, he starts comparing me to his mom.”

“What?”

Her mouth drops open and her eyes go wide as her spoon clatters against the counter.

“Yeah,” I laugh out. “He said I dressed like a slut and that his mom was a classy woman who would never hand it out so easily.”

“What the fuh…” Ella trails off as her eyebrows pinch together.

“I may or may not have told him it sounded like he slept with his mother.”

Ella bursts out laughing, her hand slapping against the counter as she gasps for air. “You did not!”

“And the table next to us may or may not have been eavesdropping and laughed at him.”

Her laughter escalates at the news and she tumbles out of her seat. The phone topples over and for a few seconds, I’m staring at our ceiling as Ella’s laughter echoes in the apartment. Her fingers come into view as she fumbles with propping the phone up, her other hand wiping tears from her eyes.

“Sloane, you’re savage.”

“It didn’t go over so well because he threatened me and called me a cunt.”

That instantly sobers her up. “He did what?”

“I threw my water in his face if that makes you feel any better.”

“Sloane, what did he say?”

“Something about walking alone at dark and being one bad guy away from learning a lesson.”

“You should’ve done more than throw water in his face.”

“What can I do? It’s not like I can file a police report against him. They won’t take it seriously.”

Ella bites her lower lip as she digs her spoon through a particularly stubborn spot in her ice cream.

“Mm, well you met him through a dating app, right?” she asks as the piece of ice cream pops free. “Why don’t you make a PSA on him?”

My eyes shift sideways as I think about her suggestion. A PSA isn’t a bad idea. I’ve seen my fair share of them on social media, what’s one more? And it would be helping a lot of women who want to avoid a guy like Chad.

“That’s actually a pretty good idea,” I say.

“I have them from time to time,” Ella says with a self–deprecating laugh.

My eyes roll skyward as the edge of my mouth quirks up. “Shut up. You’re full of good ideas.”

“Like getting some wine for us to enjoy while we write up the PSA.”

“Exactly. That’s more than a good idea. It’s a great one.”

We share a laugh as the train finally pulls in. People quickly file out as others file in.

“Alright, I’ve got to go. The train’s here.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you when you get home.”

I quickly place my phone back into my purse before entering the train. As the doors close and I scan the cabin, the lingering fear I’d been feeling finally dissipates. I’ve put enough distance between Chad and me. I can rest easy. My head slumps back against the wall as a heavy sigh falls from my mouth. Hopefully, my next attempt at a hookup goes a lot smoother.

[-]

“DID YOU SHOW me his profile before you went on your date?”

Ella and I are snuggled up on the couch, a bottle of wine sitting atop the coffee table as we review Chad’s dating profile. Her question has me squirming in embarrassment. I did not show her his profile because I knew exactly what she’d say.

“No,” I mumble and she slaps me on the shoulder.

“Sloane,” she chastises me. “He’s clearly a douchebag!”

“I know,” I whine, drawing out the word as my eyebrows pinch together and I openly frown. “But admit it, he’s good looking.”

“Sure, if you like no flavor in your food.”

A loud laugh tumbles out of me as Ella continues to swipe through his profile pictures. She’s not wrong. His profile screams Grade A douchebag. He’s shirtless in almost all of them. Sunglasses when he doesn’t need them. Tongue out as he flips off the camera. Some random picture on a boat.

My only saving grace in swiping right on him was that I wasn’t looking for a long–time partner. I was looking for a one–night stand. It’s been five gruesome months since I last had sex. I wasn’t particularly convinced he’d be any good based on the types of photos he posted, but I was willing to give him a chance to prove me wrong. I was in desperate need of some D and he was the first guy who matched with me who was willing to meet up.

“Look, in my defense, I really needed to get laid.”

“Next time just use Mr. Rabbit,” Ella says offhandedly.

“What do you think I’ve been doing all the is time?” I nearly shout as I playfully shove her. “Be real with me, El, haven’t you ever just needed the weight of a man pressed on top of you?”

“Too many times,” she sighs out into her wine glass.

“Then stop with your judgment.”

“Uh–uh, not gonna happen. You deserve to be shamed over this so hopefully next time you won’t say yes to an asshole. Mr. Rabbit is always better than a dick with a dick.”

I burst out laughing, nearly knocking over my wine glass in the process. Ella soon joins in and we’re an uncontrollable mess of laughter. When it finally dies down, we’re wiping tears from our eyes.

“Ok, ok. Points were made,” I say before taking a sip of my wine.

Ella can’t stop smiling even as her attention goes back to my phone. “We should use the same pictures he used for his profile,” she suggests as she snuggles a bit deeper into my side.

We spend the next ten minutes screenshotting his pictures, properly cropping them, and setting up a secondary account in his name. We fill out his basic info the same as his real account, but when we get to his bio, I get a little more creative.

I'm an alpha male

I protect and bring home the money

You better bring home the kids even if you don’t want them

I’ve never f––ked my mom I SWEAR

I threaten women who are strong, independent, and embarrass me

DON’T DO THAT and you’ll be safe – I mean fine

“Put buyer beware at the top of his bio,” Ella suggests.

“You, my friend, are a genius,” I gush.

In large, bold capital letters, I type out the phrase just below Chad’s name.

II

"Where are we at with applicants for the Financial Analyst position?” my supervisor asks over our video call.

My gaze shifts to the spreadsheet on my second monitor. I know the answer off the top of my head, but I can’t help but double, triple, quadruple check the answer before I reply.

“We’ve had three new applications since last week,” I inform her, but my gaze remains on the spreadsheet.

It’s a shared file, one I know my boss, Chelsea, also has pulled up. Her initials dart around the page, the subtle clicking of her mouse filtering in through my laptop’s sound system. I know the information is good. I made sure to update it before the meeting. I gave myself plenty of time to double check and cross reference the information beforehand. It’s accurate. It’s good. I don’t need to stress about it.

I direct my attention back to the video call. The fluorescent lighting in my office is anything but flattering. My eyes on the screen look sunken in and my skin looks grayer than its natural ivory. There are no windows in my office to let in any natural light. The walls are white but look more yellow than anything else. None of the furniture matches. I’m pretty sure the chestnut dresser is bedroom furniture. My desk is a dark, rich mahogany and the filing cabinets are metal. The room is tiny. I barely have enough room to fit a guest chair on the other side of my desk.

Meanwhile my manager has one of the biggest offices in the whole building but spends most of her time at home. Her home office walls are a soothing blue, her furniture matches, the room is decorated immaculately with cute little trinkets here and there. And the natural light her home office gets is envy inducing.

My fingers strum against my desk as my lips purse to the side of my face. Chelsea comes into the office about once every two weeks yet the expectation is that I’m supposed to be in the office three times a week. My blood nearly boils just thinking about it. Unfortunately for her, my resume is nearly finished with my edits. I’ll be applying to jobs in no time. Fully remote jobs. I expect to have a new one within a month. Maybe two if I’m picky.

“We’ve only had three new applicants?” Chelsea asks as her clicking continues.

She’s looking for an error. I just know it. You won’t find any.

“I boosted the post on LinkedIn last Monday,” I offer without prompting. Better to be proactive in answering her usual questions. “The views are up, but people aren’t applying.”

She sighs heavily and her mouse clicking finally stops. Her initials appear on the outer edge of the spreadsheet, and she folds her hands on top of her desk as she looks at me through the computer screen.

“What are your strategies for attracting more applicants?”

She asks me this every week and my answer always remains the same. Expectations of new hires have been forever changed since the pandemic. People want more work–life balance. They don’t want to commute into an office if their job can easily be done at home. They expect higher pay or less responsibilities. No more doing the job of two people but only being paid one salary. Things are different but the older generation is having a hard time accepting that.

It’s not just me who’s saying it either. All the staffing agencies I work with are saying the same thing. Employers are having a harder and harder time hiring people with the same expectations they had pre–pandemic. It’s just not the same anymore.

I’ve told Chelsea this plenty of times. I’ve told her giving the financial analyst position more flexibility to work from home would greatly attract applicants. I’ve asked she run the idea by the hiring manager, but she always give me a weird response before waving it off. Still, I have to persevere.  

“Trends are showing a sign–on bonus and being able to work fully remote will help us attract more candidates,” I tell her and I don’t miss the way she inhales like she’s annoyed I’m bringing it up again. I do my best to ignore it and continue onward. “I really think there’s value in asking the hiring manager if we can change it to offer remote opportunities. Obviously they’ll have to come in at month end and other important times during the financial year, but I believe we’ll attract more candidates if we advertise a hybrid remote job.”

She taps her index finger against the back of her hand as her lips move back and forth. Normally by now, she’d be waving me off and asking about the technician role. This is a good sign. A few more seconds go by before she huffs out a breath.

“I’ll speak with the CEO. If he gives the go ahead, we’ll tell the Finance Director the role is now a hybrid.”

My jaw nearly drops open. I can’t hold back my smile.

“Really?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yes. This has gone on long enough. If the finance team doesn’t hire someone soon, the job will close out and we’ll run the risk of losing more people from that group.”

She’s not lying. The finance team is severely understaffed. They’re practically running on fumes at this point. If they lose even one more person, our company will be in some real trouble.

The screen of my cell phone lights up, drawing my attention. I briefly catch the logo of an app across the screen. A notification from one of the dating apps I use.

It’s been four days since I had my date with Chad and last night I finally gathered enough courage to try again. Ella made me promise her I wouldn’t agree to any dates without her approval, but she didn’t say anything about talking to men without her approval.

“Will you speak with the CEO this week?” I ask as my attention shifts back to the conversation at hand.

“I’ll let you know on Friday how it goes,” she says and I nod my head.

“Ok, well, that’s all I have for an update. Unless you have any other questions?”

“No. I’ll talk to you later, Sloane.”

“Great! Talk later.”

I click the end button before grabbing my cell phone off the desk. The FaceID unlocks my phone and I click on dating app to see who reached out. My eyebrows shoot up towards my hairline as I see Chad’s name at the top of my DMs. I hadn’t been expecting him to reach out to me.

For a brief moment, I contemplate not looking at his message, but curiosity gets the better of me.

u better fucking remove that profile on me, ducking bitch

I laugh at the obvious autocorrect before staring at the message for a few moments. The app has read receipts so he’ll know I’ve read his message. He’s probably expecting some sort of reply. I could block him. There’s no reason to engage with him. Especially after he threatened me four nights ago. But something about his message rubs me the wrong way. Why does he assume it was me who did it? Sure, we met up the night the profile was made, but any number of women he’s dated could have made that profile. How do I know he didn’t go off on another date the second I left him at the restaurant? It’s best to act as though I have no idea what he’s talking about.

I don’t know what profile you’re talking about.

The three dots pop up and my fingers strum against the desk as I wait patiently for his reply. They come rapid fire, one after the other.

u KNOW what im talking about bitch

ill make u fucking regret this cunt

TAKE IT DOWN NOW OR ELSE

Whoa there, psycho. Take it down or else? This guy seriously has a problem. Why does he think it’s acceptable to continually threaten people? Thank God he has no idea where I live other than within the Boston area. I make it a point on social media to not tag any locations that are within five miles of my apartment. A girl can never be too cautious in this day and age.

If Chad got desperate enough, he could try to defame me at my place of work, but I don’t believe Chad is smart enough to search me up on LinkedIn. Besides, even if he were to send a message to Chelsea, there’s no way anyone can prove I created the fake profile. Not unless Chad confesses to saying those horrible things during our date. He’s in a lose–lose situation.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. Take what down? Also why are you suspecting I did something? How do you know it wasn’t someone else?

The three dots pop up and I receive his final message before he blocks me.

Your funeral, Sloane.

Normally, I’d ignore a statement like that. But there’s something unsettling about how grammatically correct his response is. He took care in capitalization and punctuation. It forces the message to hold more weight. The hair along the back of my neck rises. Chad has now threatened me three times. Maybe I should be concerned.

An involuntary shiver darts down my spine as I lock my phone and place it back on my desk. He’s blocked me and the dating app was the only way we communicated with each other. He can’t use my phone number to try and pinpoint a location. I should be fine. He doesn’t know where I live and there aren’t a lot of ways he can figure it out. I’ll be fine. There’s nothing to be worried about.

Still... I can’t shake the feeling of unease for the rest of the day.

[-]

“IT’S A SHAME you’re pretty.”

I’m in that weird phase between being awake and asleep. That special spot where you can still dream, but you’re also acutely aware of the fact that you’re awake.

My body’s at peak comfort as I cuddle a pillow while the fan blows gently on my face. I may be awake but my brain has no problem taking me to a beautiful field where a handsome stranger resides. I can’t make out his facial features, but maybe it’s better that way. His clothes are nicely tailored to his frame and I more than appreciate how fit he is.

The clothes he wears are all black. Black button–down shirt tucked into black chino pants with a black belt. His ankles are exposed and he wears black leather dress shoes. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, exposing a black swirling tribal tattoo on his chest.

His right hand twirls a turquoise ring, the only color he wears, on his left index finger and I find the simple act incredibly sexy.

“I detest killing the pretty ones,” he states.

His voice is so incredibly deep it should be illegal. It takes me moment to realize what he’s said. Does he mean he’s going to kill me? That’s not right. Isn’t this supposed to be a sex dream since I haven’t been laid in forever?

Begrudgingly, my eyes flutter open and the disappointment thrumming through me is palpable. He had the type of physique that would absolutely shatter my world. Why did he have to go and threaten me like that? Stupid Chad, I automatically blame.

My hand fumbles for my phone to check the time but something rustles in front of me, and I glance at the space the sound came from. There’s someone crouching in front of me. The soft glow of my phone highlights his face for a few brief moments. He has a sharp jaw, angular monolid eyes, and near black irises peppered with bits of red. He’s wearing eyeliner, which enhances the unique color of his eyes, and makes him that much sexier. It’s impossible to tear my eyes away from him. But his hand does just that as it lifts up to push some pitch–black hair out of his face.

Most of the hair along the sides of his scalp and towards the back have been buzzed short but he’s kept the hair on the top of his head longer. It’s tousled yet somehow perfectly styled. He could be a celebrity with a face and hair like that. Seriously.

A moment later, my eyes drop to the horns jutting out of his head. They look strangely authentic. Like they might belong to a goat or ram, and they’ve been attached to a headband that he’s most likely buried under his longer hair.

His tongue darts out, drawing my attention to carmine, plump lips. Damn. This guy really came here to kill me instead of fuck me? What kind of messed up dream is this?

But then the phone in my hand goes dark and I remember I’m awake.

A split second later, I violently jolt to the other side of the bed. My heart beats a mile a minute, my breaths labored and panicked. I shriek as I fall off the bed, the sheets entangling around my legs as a thud of my landing echoes within the room. Panicked, I struggle to free myself from my sheets.

My chest tightens as the seconds tick by and I worry I might pass out from my heart beating too fast. The sound of fingers snapping briefly fills the room. Barely a second later, the bedroom lights turn on. My eyes squint at the sudden onslaught of light, but I catch sight of a knitting needle that has zero business being in my room. Thank you, Ella!

My fingers curl around the cold needle and I finally free myself from the sheets.

“Stay back,” I order, wielding the knitting needle like a knife.

I haven’t found the opportunity to get to my feet and I’m forced to peer at him over the top of my bed. His expression shifts to a sweet, patronizing look; like he’s dealing with a child instead of a twenty–six year old woman. Bile creeps into the back of my throat as fear overloads my senses. There’s an unknown man standing in my bedroom and blocking my escape.

“My dear,” he hums and I hate that the deepness of his voice scratches the inside of my brain in the best way. “As much as I appreciate a good stabbing, you’ll do little harm.”

“Like I’d take your word for it,” I spit out despite the slight tremble in my hand.

The left side of his lips quirk up and his eyes squint ever–so–slightly in amusement. “You can’t harm the devil. A needle like that will do you no good against me.”

I glance up at his horns, at the impressive size of them. They protrude out of his scalp about two inches above his ears and follow the line of his shoulders before curling up towards the sky. They reach for the stars for about six inches before coming to a tapered tip. A very noticeably sharp tapered tip. Even from where I sit on the floor I can see how sharp they are. There’s nothing rounded or dull about them.

Still, even despite the literal horns, there’s no such thing as the devil. He may have an authentic cosplaying outfit, but at the end of the day, that’s all it is: an outfit.

My hand holding the needle rises up in a threatening manner. His eyebrow quirks as he stares me down.

“You expect to attack me from the floor?” he asks, mildly intrigued.

Hastily, I rush to my feet. My eyes glance past him and towards the door. Ella is only a short distance away. If I can get her attention, she can call the police. Hopefully she isn’t sleeping with her headphones in tonight.

“Ella,” I scream as loudly as I can.

An annoyed look flashes across his face as he scowls. “No one can hear you. The room has been soundproofed.”

He takes an intimidating step towards me. Just one step but it feels as though the walls are caving in. Not only that, but I finally realize how much taller he is than me. He has half a foot on me, at least. I’m not that small either. Five five, maybe fix six on a good day, but this man towers over me. I’m dead, I think as my knees go weak.

“Stay back,” I demand despite my shaky voice. I scream a second time. “Ella!”

He scowls again, eyes narrowing as he winces slightly. “I would greatly appreciate it if you stopped screaming. No one is going to hear you.”

He hates the screaming? Good.

“Fuck you,” I scream just as loudly. “Like I’m going to make this easy for you!”

“You don’t even know what I’m here for.”

“No sane person breaks into someone else’s home for good reasons.”

“That’s not true,” he states, somewhat offended. “How do you know I’m not running away from a vicious attack?”

“You said you’re the devil, right?” I ask, grateful my mind is somehow still working. “Who could be vicious enough for you that you’d be running away in fear?”

He chuckles, sinful and elegant, as a grin takes up most of his face. “You’ve got me there, my dear. Truth is, I’ve come to kill you.”

I nearly drop the knitting needle in surprise as a sea of tears flood my vision. “Why?” I ask brokenly. “You don’t even know me.”

He clicks his tongue, head bobbing to the left. “I know more than you’d like.”

I inhale a shaky breath, unable to contain the fear that’s overwhelming me. I don’t want to die. I’m not going to sit back and let this asshole murder me without a fight, but that doesn’t mean I’m not terrified out of my mind. The knitting needle is long. If I could just jam it with enough force through his neck, I should be able to kill him. But the strength required to jam the needle through his neck is going to affect my accuracy. What if I swing so hard I miss and open myself up for the perfect kill shot from him?

He smirks as he takes another step towards me and I flinch, taking a step back.

“I like the fire in your eyes,” he confesses. “So many become an incoherent mess of tears and snot. It’s not so often I meet someone so determined to survive.”

“If you appreciate it so much then don’t kill me,” I tell him.

“No can do,” he replies. “You see, you’ve upset Chad and he simply couldn’t let it go. Now, you must die.”

“What?” I ask in utter disbelief.

Did I hear him correctly? Did he just say Chad’s name? How does he even know Chad? Maybe they’re friends… Or Chad hired hitman. That must have been what Chad meant when he said I’d regret it and that it’d be my funeral.

“How much?” I ask and he cocks an eyebrow. “How much did he pay you?”

“Oh dear, it’s not like that,” he replies as a sickly sweet grin spreads across his lips.

“What are you saying? That you’re doing it just because he asked?”

“Not in the slightest,” he answers. “Chad, my boy, sold his soul for your death.”

The knitting needle drops from my hand. My knees buckle and I nearly fall to the floor as shock slams into me. Is this guy off his meds or something? Am I going to die because I can’t reason with him?

“So, you… you genuinely think you’re the devil,” I say as my brain desperately tries to make sense of what I’m hearing. “And Chad, what? He also believes you’re the devil and sold his imaginary soul to you for you to kill me?”

“Sure,” he replies.

“What if you just… don’t kill me and pretend you did?”

“A deal’s a deal, my dear. It’s nothing personal against you. It’s just business.”

He takes another step towards me, eyes sizing me up and down. “But I’ll tell you what. I’ll forgo the gruesome aspect of your death. It’s a shame to dirty a masterpiece.”

“Stop, just stop,” I order as my hand gives him the universal stop sign. “Chad doesn’t have to know about this. Just tell him you killed me. I promise I won’t tell the police you were a part of this. I’ll say it was Chad who showed up to my house, threatening to kill me.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. If I don’t kill you then my life is forfeit.”

Desperation floods me as my heartbeat thuds in my ears. My eyes shift down to my feet where the knitting needle resides. Damnit. I shouldn’t have dropped it. It’ll waste time picking it up, but it’s my only weapon.

Without hesitating, I snatch the needle up from the floor. Just as I stand to my full height with the needle raised, he slams me into the wall. Ice cold fingers wrap tightly around my wrist that has the knitting needle. His other hand curls around my throat, his fingers colder than ice, and I gasp in shock at the sensation. He shoves a leg between mine, pushing against me to prevent my escape. A sudden gust of smoke invades my senses as he leans towards me.

“Naughty, naughty,” he practically growls in delight. His head dips downwards as his face brushes against mine. “Just how I like my prey.”

My blood runs cold and instinct takes over. I start thrashing against him in desperation to escape. His freezing cold fingers dig into my wrist and neck as he effortlessly holds me in place.

It’s clear my struggle is useless. He’s too strong. Plus, with his body trapping mine against the wall, there’s little room for me to wiggle free. His grip on my throat is tight; not enough to cut off my air supply, but enough that I hesitate struggling against him.

Tears stream down my cheeks as the realization hits me. I’m going to die. My left hand slams against the wall and I realize, stupidly, it’s not held down. Without thinking, my fingers curl around his horn and yank as hard as I can. His head abruptly jerks to the side. If I had any doubts about the legitimacy of his horns, they evaporate in that second. The horns are solidly attached to his head.

His speckled eyes fade to black before burning red. “You don’t have the privilege of touching my horns,” he growls low and throaty.

His hand cinches tight around my throat and he lifts me completely off the floor. My heart drops into my stomach as my feet start kicking in empty air. I buck against him, hit him as hard as I can with my free hand, I yank on his arm; anything to stop him from killing me. He doesn’t budge.

This is really the end for me. Why? What did I do to deserve this? A disastrous date and a fake dating profile don’t warrant being murdered over. I’m going to die because of a man–child. Because he couldn’t handle being embarrassed by a strong, independent woman. Would he be reacting this way if I were a man? Would he sell his soul to have a man killed? I don’t think he–

Wait, that’s it!

“Stop,” I rasp out as my hand starts hitting him incessantly on the shoulder. “Wait! I have something you want!”

His eyes narrow, but his hand doesn’t ease up on my throat. Desperation fills me to the brim and I force out the words before he takes away my ability to speak.

“I want to sell you my soul!”

END