sous le velours

AVA DUVAL

I staggered out of the club, my arm barely clutching my purse. Someone spiked my drink for the second time this week and I needed to head home as soon as possible — at least before my father got home from his trip. But turning nineteen was something I personally wanted to celebrate, and that was what led me to this twenty one plus party where everybody was either rubbing their sweaty bodies against each other or inhaling smoke from the goddamned pipe. I walked slowly, my heels doing a bad job at keeping me steady. 

My eyes were drowsy, but I was determined to get home without any ounce of suspicion from my father. I knowingly didn't take my car and now I regretted it. But I was too drugged to drive, and that was why when a car pulled up before me, I yanked it open and threw myself in. 

“Duval's estate,” I slurred, holding my head, though it did nothing to stop the pounding headache that had resurfaced after popping two pain relief pills in my mouth.

Wait?

I didn't have any pain relief pills on me, then how…!

“It's quite easy getting my hands on the state's most valuable asset-” the driver chuckled, his face hidden behind dim light, plus my eyes were a blur. 

“Tch! Kids these days, all they do is party… well, it came in handy I'll have to admit.”

  The man faced me, I could hardly picture his face, but his eyes pierced my soul — dark, dangerous with a sheer intent to kill. 

No. It wasn't mere intention. 

He wanted to kill me!

  My eyes watered as my escape senses kicked in. Pushing open the door, I stumbled out unable to move. 

“I have to run,” I muttered struggling to stand.

Fuck these heels. 

  The man jumped out of the car, his hand gripping tight a club as he dragged it along with him. The metal clanked in rhythm with the heaviness of his feet. 

I gulped.

“I love it when they run… It makes it fun. Right?” 

I moved back, my hands guiding my movement. Each step made my heart thump in my ears. Today was my birthday and the last day I would see the light of day.  

My fingers ached as I forced myself to move backwards… I couldn't see, nor could I scream. 

“You're so easy to kill, yes, kitten?” 

“Don't call me that!” I finally spoke, but my words came out broken and jumbled. 

  My voice seemed to make the man irritated. He raised the club smacking me to soberness. 

I screamed holding my left arm. The pain spread through my bones… my brain couldn't process anything.

“I need to run…” I muttered again, his shadow hovering over me. 

Out of sync, my body reacted, I scrambled to my feet and fled — or staggered. Whichever way, all I wanted to do was go home to the safety of the Duval estate. To the safety of my room. 

  My right hand clasped against the other as I struggled to run, but he was gaining in on me. His large figure walked briskly like a shadow over me. 

I needed to escape to a safe place then call father, or the police, but then again, there was no safe zone. 

   The sound coming from the party was now a distance away, almost out of earshot. The man cackled like he enjoyed every bit of my misery. Like my pain brought some kind of ecstasy sex couldn't give. 

“I'm getting pretty worn out, kitten. It was fun watching you try!” He raved, grinning widely like I was some kind of sport to him. He swung the club towards me with full force. A missed step. A broken heel. I fell to the tarred road and let out a shrill. 

Things were going way too fast. Father must have gotten home and here I lay, screaming to my death. 

“Someone help,” I whimpered, praying… hoping someone would come to my rescue. 

My hands trembled, scratching on the tarred road. The blood made my heart beat fast. Sweat poured from my face... I couldn't breathe.

At this point, I needed a saviour — a fucking prince charming.

I shut my eyes waiting for the absolute worst. Waiting for the bat to hit a vital point in my body. 

   I heard a clanking sound like the metal club had hit the ground. It rolled to my feet, the cold metal making me shudder. 

My lips twisted in horror, did he choose another method to end my life? 

   The night stood silent with the breeze caressing my face… and someone coughing?

My trembling hands found its way to my neck as I searched for a sign of injury. 

No. I'm not dead. Someone helped!

  I raised my head, opening my eyes slightly, trying to put together the face of the man that stood before me. 

His hands were pressed tightly against my attacker's throat, making sure his legs were in the air. 

“Wh… who… cough… who the fuck are you!”

  My attacker strained, his feet kicked the air while he stuttered.

I saw the man grin like he loved it and was used to it. The preciseness, the way his fingers pressed at his gut ready to squeeze the life out of him. This man knew the human body too well.

My senses kicked in once more; this man was dangerous. But my body failed to move no matter how I tried.

“I kill your kind for fun,” the man muttered, his voice sending shivers through me. 

   Before the attacker could object, he dropped to the floor unconscious — barely breathing. 

“Thank you,” I muttered although I knew he didn't hear me. My body felt too tired to function and my weighty eyes did nothing to help.

I found my eyes shutting and the last thing I saw was a faint red and blue light with the loud siren blaring from the cars. 

***

ETHAN COLE

I dragged my feet, counting my step when my shoe hit the floor board. The air was tight and so was my suit. It felt like the tie around my neck was intent on choking me.

“Goddamn it!” I cursed, plunging on the seat in front of the bar counter. I loosed the tie and hung it on my neck. 

“Your regular?” The bar attendant sang, her voice, a nuisance I had grown used to. 

“Yes, add a lot of sweetener,” I replied in a gruff. She flashed a knowing smile, turned on the TV and started her usual mixing. 

  The news played, each headline just like the last. Deaths… a lot of deaths. 

“You left so suddenly, why's that?” She asked adding ice in the alcohol mix before sliding the cup my way. I caught it before it reached the edge of the counter and gulped it down. 

“Fuck,” I groaned sliding the cup back at her.

“I had an emergency Winnie. Unlike you, my life's interesting.”

Winnie chuckled, pouring another glass with a lot of sweetener. 

   We stayed silent for sometime, with her cleaning cups while I glanced at the TV occasionally, until one caught my attention. 

‘HEIRESS OF THE DUVAL CONGLOMERATE FOUND UNCONSCIOUS, ALMOST LIFELESS!’

  Cameras flashed as she was being taken into the ambulance, her eyes shut. The police cuffed the criminal as he screamed curses at everyone. Reporters hovered around the area shoving their mics at her father, the most powerful man in the state — Mr Han Duval. 

To be exact, the scene looked like a total mess.

“Teenagers are such rash beings. Imagine the nation's asset lying unconscious!” Winnie exclaimed, rolling her eyes at the word ‘asset’.

“Hmm, she seems interesting,” I retorted, taking another glass from her, this time I savoured the bittersweet taste of the content, sipping it bit by bit. 

“She's dangerous,” Winnie cautioned.

Dangerous? If danger were a person, it would be me.

A dirty smile played on my lips as I recalled her scared face when the bastard raised his metal club at her. Ava Chrys Duval.

She certainly was an interesting character.