The Seven Slayers [2]

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[Warning 18+] Still contain a cruel scene. Not suitable for undearged.

15:20, City M.

An SUV passed a welcome sign at the entrance to City M. Mr. Smith, the driver, exhaled heavily. He was about to meet this woman again—Annabel Malakov. They had a history together. A dark one. That history had been the final nail in the coffin for their team.

The fractures in the team had been growing, spreading like cracks in glass. Their affair had simply been the final blow. That hacker boy had exposed it, and the moment the truth came out, his wife, the one who had always tried to hold everyone together, finally gave up. She almost gave up on their marriage too. He had to shift the blame onto Annabel, insisting that her mind-bending ability had manipulated him. Thankfully, his wife had believed him, and Annabel… well, she hadn't said a word to defend herself.

Half an hour later, the SUV stopped in front of a small apartment building. Just last year, Akira had finally tracked down Annabel, finding her in this cheap, rundown place in the suburban outskirts of City M. He'd had an urge to contact her—not to rekindle anything, of course—but to apologize. It was the least he could do. But his wife had forbidden him.

Once again, Mr. Smith sighed before stepping out of the car. Thankfully, the building had an elevator—he wouldn't have to torture his wounded legs climbing stairs. With hesitation weighing on him, he rang the doorbell.

A young woman, maybe in her early twenties, opened the door. She smacked her lips, lazily chewing gum.

"Yes?" she asked, eyeing him up and down.

"Is… is Ms. Malakov here?" Mr. Smith asked.

"Have you made an appointment, sir?" the woman asked, still popping her gum.

"No… I'm an old friend," he answered.

"I'm afraid she has a busy schedule, sir," she said flatly.

"It's important," Mr. Smith insisted.

"I'll take him," a voice suddenly called from inside.

The young woman opened the door wider to let Mr. Smith enter. As soon as he stepped in, he froze.

Annabel Malakov stood in front of a bedroom door. Naked.

Behind her, a completely naked man pressed himself against her, kissing and groping every inch of her body. Annabel let him touch her freely, moaning slightly before bringing his face in front of hers and kissing him deeply, passionately.

"You'll be served by Sheila this time. That will be fine, right, Tony?" she purred to the man.

The man pouted but nodded involuntarily.

"Good. I'll give you extra time in your next session," Annabel whispered seductively. Then, without even sparing Mr. Smith a glance, she turned to the young woman. "Sheila, would you take care of him for me?"

The young woman nodded without hesitation. "Okay, Mom."

She then approached the man, letting him grab and kiss her just as he had with Annabel before she led him into the room. The door clicked shut behind them.

Meanwhile, Annabel Malakov walked toward an armchair, grabbed a cheap silk robe draped over it, and casually slipped it on before reclining onto the chair.

"Please, be seated," she said, gesturing toward a love seat across from her.

Awkwardly, Mr. Smith approached and sat down.

Annabel smirked. "Long time no see, Jordan," she said. Her voice was smooth, teasing—but laced with venom. "Does your lovey-dovey wifey know you're here? Or are you about to tell me you got bored with her again and that it's all my fault because I 'bent your mind'?"

"N-No… no… she knew I was coming," Mr. Smith stammered. He swallowed hard. "Annabel… I… I'm sorry…" he finally said, his voice filled with genuine regret.

Annabel tilted her head slightly, watching him like a cat would a mouse. "I hope you have a happy marriage," she said coldly, completely ignoring his apology.

"We… we do," Mr. Smith replied stiffly. "How… how are you?"

Annabel shrugged. "As you can see…" she said, gesturing lazily around the apartment.

Mr. Smith gulped.

He couldn't find a proper response for what he saw. The apartment itself wasn't poor—the furniture was fine—but the air reeked. Sweat. Saliva. Semen. Vaginal discharge. It was a suffocating cocktail of sex and desperation. Barely livable.

Annabel smirked again, watching his discomfort.

"So… you want me to go with you to your city, huh?" she asked nonchalantly.

Mr. Smith gasped softly. He never got used to how easily she could read him.

"Y… yes…" he admitted.

Annabel's smirk widened. "Why do you think I'd care about your son?" she asked, her voice laced with mockery.

"Please, Annabel… have mercy on us…" Mr. Smith pleaded, his voice desperate. He didn't need to explain the situation—he was sure she already knew.

Annabel chuckled darkly. "Like your Evie had mercy on me?"

Mr. Smith's eyes flickered down to her right arm. The stump.

Her hand was gone. Eve had done that.

As punishment, his wife had poisoned her. The toxin had started at Annabel's right index finger, the very one she had used to touch the poison. In just five minutes, it had devoured her flesh and bones, consuming her entire hand before she'd had no choice but to chop off her own wrist to stop it from spreading further.

Mr. Smith winced at the memory.

"Please…" he said, his voice raw. "You may hate us, but my son did nothing to you."

Annabel leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other.

"Why?" she mused. "So you three can live happily ever after again?"

Moans and groans echoed from the room behind them, filling the space between their conversation.

"Do you like that sound, Jordan?" Annabel suddenly asked.

Mr. Smith shook his head.

"You're lying. It turns you on, doesn't it?" Annabel smirked. "Which of us are you imagining to be with right now, Jordan?"

Mr. Smith closed his eyes, rubbing his hands nervously. "No one."

"It's her, isn't it?" Annabel's laughter came sharp and cold. "You scum! You wanna have sex with your own daughter!" She laughed harder, ignoring the sheer shock and horror on Mr. Smith's face.

"My daughter?!" he exclaimed, his voice unsteady.

Annabel nodded without stopping her laughter. "She's your daughter! Hahaha! Don't you recognize your own blood, Jordan?"

Mr. Smith sat there, stunned, unable to process her words. Annabel only laughed harder, her amusement growing the longer he sat there in disbelief. The laughter stretched on, cruel and mocking, until it finally died down two minutes later.

"Tell me, Jordan..." Annabel leaned in, her voice dropping into something more bitter. "Why should I help you three be happy again, when me and our daughter never could?"

Mr. Smith stared at her, his jaw tightening. "What do you want from me, Anna? It's not my fault I never knew about her. You never told me."

Annabel's expression didn't change. "If you had known, would it have been any different?"

"Yes!" Mr. Smith said firmly. "You know I always wanted a child. And Eve… Eve had trouble conceiving. If you had told me… I would have… I would have—"

"So you wanted the child," Annabel cut him off, clicking her tongue. "Not me."

Mr. Smith lowered his head.

Annabel let out a bitter chuckle. "You've never loved me, have you?"

Silence.

Annabel sighed deeply, shaking her head. "I knew it."

"I will acknowledge her as my daughter—legitimately," Mr. Smith said, desperate to find a solution. "How about that?"

Annabel laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"It might be late, but she can still live in a proper home, inherit part of my wealth. She can live with us."

"She's not your daughter," Annabel said flatly.

Mr. Smith froze. "What?"

"I lied to you," she admitted, her voice now eerily calm. "She's not your daughter."

"Are you—"

"I was testing you," she interrupted. "She's only 21. Our thing ended 23 years ago."

A small, sad smile crossed Annabel's lips. "You didn't even remember that, did you?"

Mr. Smith clenched his fists, frustration boiling beneath his skin. "Please, Anna… I'll do whatever you ask."

Annabel shook her head slowly. "All I ever wanted… was for you to love me," she murmured. "But you can't give me that, can you? I can bend your mind, but I can't bend your heart."

"Please, Anna… please…" Mr. Smith pleaded.

Annabel smirked. "What are you so afraid of anyway? The kidnapper is just some guy. You and Eve were both elite assassins. How the hell are you letting yourselves be bullied by him?"

Mr. Smith clenched his jaw, then finally pulled away the shawl covering his neck. The moment Annabel saw it, her smirk vanished.

A black explosive collar.

Annabel's breath hitched.

"I woke up with this," Mr. Smith hissed, his voice sharp. "And explosions on my legs. And… and…" He hesitated before saying the next words, his face grim.

"Johnson and Akira are dead."

Annabel gasped.

Mr. Smith nodded grimly. "This guy is a pro, Anna. He's not just some guy."

Annabel exhaled slowly, staring at the floor for a long moment.

Mr. Smith took a deep breath, his time running out. "I know how dangerous this is, and I know you probably want nothing to do with it. But if you still love me… please, help me."

He leaned in and kissed her lips for a brief second before whispering against them.

"Please…"

Annabel opened her eyes, then sighed. "I hate myself for loving you," she murmured before pushing herself up from the chair.

"Give me five minutes to get dressed."

-

Mr. Smith leaned his back against the wall beside Annabel Malakov's apartment door. He regretted quitting smoking a month ago—right now, he needed it more than ever to calm his nerves. Before this, he had checked the hallway for anything suspicious, ensuring there were no traps like the one that had killed Akira. He had also warned Annabel not to eat or drink anything.

"I'm ready," Annabel said, opening her apartment door.

Mr. Smith immediately straightened. Once Annabel stepped out, he positioned himself beside her, his body covering half of her back as they walked.

When they reached the elevator, Annabel reached for the button, but before she could press it—

SMACK!

Mr. Smith slammed her hand away. "Don't touch!"

Annabel rolled her eyes but obeyed. Mr. Smith pulled out his car key and used it to press the Down button instead. He then pushed Annabel gently against the wall, standing in front of her like a shield.

"I wonder if this could happen every day," Annabel whispered teasingly. But Mr. Smith didn't budge. She traced her finger along his jawline, her voice dripping with amusement. "You look so sexy when you're tense and focused."

"Stop joking around, Anna," he hissed, grabbing her hand and pulling it away from his face.

A ding sounded—the elevator had arrived.

"Stay here. I'll check first," Mr. Smith ordered.

He stepped inside, pressing the Open button with his car key while scanning every inch of the small metal box. His eyes darted to the corners, the ceiling, the panel—anything out of place.

After ensuring nothing was suspicious, he turned back to Annabel. "It's safe. Come in."

"Such a gentleman," Annabel teased as she approached. Mr. Smith kept his finger pressed on the Open button, allowing her to step inside.

Just as Annabel was about to enter—

THUMP!

Something dropped from the ceiling.

"What's that?" Annabel muttered, bending down to inspect the small object now lying on the elevator floor.

"Don't—"

Before Mr. Smith could finish his warning—

SLAM!!

The elevator doors snapped shut—trapping Annabel's neck in the gap.

"AAAHHH!!" Annabel screamed, her hands clawing at the cold metal crushing her throat.

"Anna!!" Mr. Smith roared, jamming his finger against the Open button repeatedly.

"OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!" Annabel shrieked.

"I'm—I'm trying!!" Mr. Smith kept slamming the button, but nothing happened. Panic seized his chest like a vice.

New strategy.

He abandoned the button and threw both hands against the doors, trying to pry them open manually.

Come on… COME ON!

In his prime, they called him Snap Jordan—a man whose strength could snap a neck like a fresh baguette. But now, these goddamn doors wouldn't move an inch.

"HELP ME, JORDAN!!" Annabel screamed, her voice cracking in pure terror as the elevator whirred to life.

It was moving. Upward.

"Hang on, Anna! HANG ON!" Mr. Smith's arms shook violently as he poured every ounce of strength into pushing the doors apart. Sweat poured down his face. His heart pounded.

Annabel began rising off the ground, her body dragged along as the elevator ascended—the lintel crushing tighter around her neck.

"JORDAN!!"

"SHIT!!" Mr. Smith roared in frustration, his hands slipping, his muscles screaming in agony.

The gap in the doors was shrinking.

Annabel was being lifted higher and higher—her feet kicking, her hands desperately grabbing at anything, her face contorted in horror.

Then—

A sickening CRACK.

Blood splattered violently, spraying onto Mr. Smith's clothes, his face, the walls.

He gasped, stumbling back, falling hard on his bottom as the doors suddenly shut completely.

Something rolled toward him.

His breath caught in his throat.

Slowly, his wide, horrified eyes lowered—

And met Annabel's.

Her severed head lay at his feet, her dead eyes frozen open.