Running Into The Devil's Arms

The sharp, metallic scent of gunpowder hit Evelina before she could even process the sound, thick and suffocating in the stagnant, freezing air of the underground garage.

Evie had only been walking to her parked car after a grueling doctor's appointment, but the sudden, deafening BANG echoing through the concrete chambers had forced her to dive behind a massive structural pillar. She held her breath, her phone trembling so violently in her hand that it nearly slipped from her fingers.

"Please... mercy..." a man’s voice wheezed, choked with fluid.

Through the narrow gap between the concrete pillars, Evie saw a heavily built man slumped against a black SUV, clutching a bleeding wound in his shoulder. Standing over him was a tall, sharply tailored silhouette. Even with his back turned to her, the executioner exuded a terrifying, absolute authority. A sleek, silenced pistol hung loosely in his right hand.

"You tracked my assets to the city," the man said. His voice was a deep, husky, and unyielding baritone, entirely devoid of human warmth. It was smooth, but completely heartless. "Who sent you?"

"I won't... talk..." the assassin gasped, spitting blood onto the concrete.

"I won't repeat myself," the tall man replied nonchalantly.

Before the assassin could breathe another word, the tycoon raised the pistol. A muffled thwip broke the silence of the garage.

Evie’s hands flew over her mouth to stifle a scream.

The assassin went entirely limp, sliding down the side of the SUV into a motionless heap on the floor. It was over in a second. Clean. Relentless. Absolute.

Another man stepped smoothly out from the shadows, holding a sleek tablet and completely unfazed by the body. "Mr. Malakor, the cleanup crew is already en route. The human authorities will only find an empty vehicle."

"Ensure the security cameras are wiped," Malakor ordered, his voice dropping to a harsh, chilling register. "I want no trace left behind."

Evie shivered violently, her knees knocking together. She finally snapped out of her shock and turned to flee, desperate to escape the monster who had just taken a life without a single blink.

"Come out. I know you're there. NOW!"

The command froze the blood in Evie’s veins. She knew he was talking to her, and she knew—instinctively—that this was a man who did not offer second chances. Swallowing her terror, she slowly stepped out from behind the pillar.

"Come over," he ordered.

As Evie walked forward and lifted her gaze, her breath caught. The man before her was breathtaking. "Good-looking" was a severe understatement. He had a strong, perfectly sculpted masculine jawline and sharp, aristocratic features. His inky dark hair was swept back carelessly, contrasting with the tailored elegance of his suit.

But it was his eyes that stopped her heart. They were a piercing, stormy gray—but entirely dead. There was no spark of humanity behind them, only the cold, unyielding weight of ancient stone.

"Who are you? A spy?" he demanded, his voice laced with dangerous hostility.

"No, I’m not," Evie whispered, shaking her head.

Malakor narrowed his eyes and walked closer to her. Every step he took felt like a ticking time bomb. When he stopped less than a meter away, his predatory gaze traveled over her.

"Little lamb… did you see everything?" his voice was low, lethal.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" Evie started, but stopped abruptly when Malakor raised his hand toward her face. She flinched, closing her eyes in anticipation of the pistol being raised again.

But death didn't come.

Slowly opening her eyes, she realized he hadn’t hurt her. Instead, his long, pale fingers reached out, surprisingly gentle as he tugged a stray strand of her dark hair and tucked it neatly behind her ear. For a fraction of a second, the lethal hostility in his dead gray eyes vanished, replaced by a bizarre, hollow blankness as he stared intensely at her shifting hazel eyes.

Evie’s heart hammered erratically against her ribs—a stark, painful reminder of the severe heart disease that gave her a strict 12-month expiration date.

"Green…" Malakor murmured to himself, his voice dropping to a quiet whisper as he let his hand fall away. The cold mask instantly slipped back over his face. "Go home."

He turned to leave, dismissing her as a non-threat.

Evie knew she should run. She had just watched a man get shot in cold blood. But as she watched his retreating, graceful figure, she looked inward. She thought of the hospital monitors waiting for her. She thought of her bucket list of untouched desires, and her absolute refusal to leave a trail of broken hearts behind when her time was up.

She needed a partner for her final year—someone entirely incapable of loving her, someone who wouldn't feel the pain of her death. A literal killer with a heart of stone was the perfect candidate.

Clenching her fists until her knuckles turned white, she shouted into the quiet garage.

"Wait, mister! Please wait!"

The chauffeur had already opened the door to a luxury sedan, but Malakor paused, looking back over his shoulder. "What?"

Fueled by a sudden, wild rush of adrenaline, Evie marched right up to him. The fear in her eyes had vanished, replaced by absolute, desperate resolve.

"You kill without mercy, and you don't care about human life," she said, standing directly in front of him. "That means you don't do love. Ever. Right?"

Malakor fully turned around, his gray eyes assessing her with a mix of disbelief and dark amusement. "Why are you asking?"

"I want to strike a deal," Evie said, her voice remarkably steady. "I want to hire you for a 12-month contract. You help me fulfill my bucket list of fantasies, and I promise, on everything I have, that I will never demand your love or affection."

Malakor laughed aloud this time, a smoldering, rich sound that seemed to carry a strange, hypnotic vibration. "Are you under the delusion that a little human girl can survive me? I don't possess a heart capable of feeling. Don't waste your remaining brain cells."

"Then try me," Evie countered, completely unfazed. "I won't demand a single drop of affection."

Malakor’s smile slowly faded, replaced by a sharp, lethal intensity. He stepped so close she could feel the unnatural chill radiating off him. He reached out, his long finger firmly gripping her chin and tilting her face up to meet his dead gaze.

"Little lamb, let me make this very clear to you," he whispered, his gray eyes flashing with something terrifying. "You just saw what I am. You are standing right at the gates of hell. Striking a contract with me means completely ruining your life. So leave while you still can?"

The warning in his voice was real, heavy with a darkness she couldn't possibly understand. Evie shuddered, her fragile, failing heart giving a painful thud against her ribs.

She knew the danger. But as she stared into his emotionless, stone-cold eyes, she realized there was nothing scarier than dying in a hospital bed having never truly lived. He was the perfect executioner for her final year.

Seeing her silence, Malakor let out a mocking sigh and placed a hand on her head, ruffling her hair patronizingly. "Hell is no place for a lamb. Run away while this demon is still being patient."

He turned back toward his car, dismissing her completely.

But before he could take a third step, Evie's voice cut through the dark.

"The hell you're talking about..." she whispered, her gaze locked onto him with fierce, unyielding determination. "Take me there.”