Page 8 of Felix

“Hey, Aurora,” the email begins. “Just forwarding Felix Greyson’s contact info to you for future use. Cheers, Angel.”

“Future use? What the fuck does that mean?” I murmur, bewildered. The email lists Felix’s mobile number, his home address, full name, and even his goddamn date of birth. How the hell does this person have all this information on him? And why would he give it to me?

“Jesus Christ, this just keeps getting weirder,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. My mind races with questions. Who is Felix, really? And who the fuck is Angel?

“Okay, so what do I do?” I ask myself, my resolve wavering. My gut tells me to reach out to Felix, but my brain screams that it’s a bad idea. ‘Trust nobody’ has been mymantra for years, and now some stranger wants me to contact him.

Fuck it. I finally decide, punching in Felix’s number on my phone.Let’s see what this bastard has to say for himself.

As the phone rings, I clench my jaw, bracing myself for whatever comes next. And deep down, I know there’s no turning back.

“Hello?” A deep, velvety voice answers. Jesus Christ, even his voice is hot.

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound tough despite the tremor in my voice. “It’s Aurora. The chick from the restaurant.”

“Ah, Aurora. I’ve been expecting your call.” His words send chills down my spine, making me wonder how the fuck he knew I’d call him.

“Cut the crap,” I snap, anger flaring up inside me. “Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck is Angel? And how the hell did you get my email?”

“Easy there, darling.” He chuckles through the phone. “I’ll answer your questions, but first, let’s talk about why you called me.”

As I come to a halt, I pause for a moment and allow my thoughts to wander. Why did I feel the need to reach out to him? The words hang in the air, waiting for me to grasp them. “To be honest…” I finally reply, “… I’m not entirely sure.”

Chapter Seven

Felix Greyson

It’s seven in the morning, and I’m in the fucking basement again. Sweat drips down my face as I heave Maxwell’s bloody carcass off the chains anchored into the ceiling. I have to love my night job. I spent all last night peeling away flesh, one slow slice after another. The sick bastard had it coming.

“Ugh, you’re heavier than you look.” I grunt, my muscles straining. My tattoos glisten with sweat as I work.

“Please… stop…” Maxwell wheezes, his voice barely a whisper. Pathetic.

“Too late for that now, isn’t it?” I sneer, giving the chains a vicious yank.

My mind wanders to Aurora. My darling. I can’t fucking help it—she’s always there, lurking in my thoughts. What would she think of this shit? I chuckle darkly. She’d probably fear me even more if that’s possible.

“Is this what you do for fun?” Maxwell croaks, blood bubbling from his lips.

“Only on special occasions,” I tell him, smirking. “You should be honoured.”

“Fuck… you…”

“Feisty till the end.” I laugh, admiring his spirit despite hating the man.

Finally, the body is off the chains.

I lower him down into the old bathtub filled with salt water and alcohol, my dark eyes never leaving his face. The anticipation is intoxicating.

“Hope you’re ready for the grand finale, asshole,” I sneer, watching his remaining eye widen in terror.

Maxwell gasps in pain as the water touches his raw flesh, his tortured screams echoing off the basement walls. His body convulses violently, desperation clawing at his throat, but there is no escaping this. Not for him.

“Too much for ya?” I taunt, a cruel smile playing on my lips.

His life flickers out like a snuffed candle, and I can’t help but smirk. It was a long night, but fuck, it was enjoyable enough. To make sure he’s dead, I swiftly cut across Maxwell’s neck, my fingers brushing against the scar that runs along the base of my throat. If anyone knows you can rise from death, it’s me. I’ve done it before.

“Rest in pieces, motherfucker,” I mutter under my breath, stepping back from the bloody mess in front of me.

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