Page 28 of Eternal
8
DAMIR
“Monsters” by Tommee Profitt, XEAH
Present
I’ve never been surrounded by women.
My mother left when I was born. Maybe I was an accident. Maybe she just didn’t want a child, or maybe my father was an asshole who made her hate the entire species of men.
Nonetheless she never wanted me. So, I held on to that idea: maybe I’m not warm enough to be around women.
They’re complex, strange and smart. But there’s something about them, this warmth they carry.
A softness, an energy, and yet… It was never enough to draw me in emotionally.
It’s not that I was uninterested; I was too busy with my work, if you can call it that. Killing people for money has always been my reality. It’s what I was born to do, and I’ve embraced it withboth hands. No woman has ever captivated me long enough for me to think about feeling.
Until now. I’m…Curious.
She’s interesting, so painfully interesting, it’s making me mad.
What do you call a man who intends to kill a woman he finds so achingly attractive? A maniac maybe?
Following her since last Friday has become my twisted pastime, and we haven’t even spoken. What does that say about me? That I can find pleasure in the dark while plotting her death?
Maybe.
Long, deep brown curly hair cascades down her back, framing that beautiful face that could launch a thousand obsessions. I know it because I can’t stop watching her.
I study the way her eyes narrow in concentration when she throws heavy punches, the way her chest rises and falls with every blow.
Yesterday, she was even more…interestingwith blood splattered across her face and t-shirt.
There’s something sexy about a woman smiling in the aftermath of pure violence. She demolishes her opponent in today’s underground bratva fight.
She’s not really tall or really muscular, but the rage she shows is almost insane, evenpsychotic.
I can see the intelligence in her movements, the way she anticipates her opponent's every strike.
At every break, my gaze follows her fingers as they trace the scar running from her jaw to the base of her neck. Long, red, and beautiful… it calls to me.
I don’t know where it came from, but it doesn’t matter. It’s almost old, faded but still vivid enough to make me wonder who dared to mark her. Every time she touches it, somethingdark stirs within me, probably a fascination for something so beautifully dangerous.
I’m torn between the desire to reach out and touch it and the urge to keep my distance, to remain hidden in the crowd and keep my eyes on her.
When the fight ends, she offers a shy smile to the crowd. She was so proud of herself, so relieved to have almost killed a man double her size.
For a short moment, I sense her awareness of my gaze. I’m watching her from beneath my hood, and I can’t help but mirror her smile. She’s vigilant, and that only deepens my fascination.
Smart targets are my weakness; they challenge me. When her striking blue and green eyes scan the crowd, searching for the source of her unease, I nearly chuckle.
I’m here, Voron. I’m everywhere you are and everywhere you’ll be.
Those plump lips, pursed in concentration, that red scar glowing under the artificial lights. In an ephemeral blink, our eyes meet in the dark, and she winks. She simply winks, and I crack my knuckles, trying to contain my need to smile again, wider this time.
Voron is driving me insane.
