Free Hellraiser (The Devil's Own #2) by Amo Jones

around the rundown apartment. The aged mustard wallpaper was peeling, revealing the plaster underneath it. The sound from the TV was deafening and the complex reeked.
    “I…I’m sorry, Hella, I’ll get it to you, I—” I pushed her back into the apartment, slamming the door shut with my foot. She stepped backwards slowly, her hands flying out to the back of her in search of something she could lean on. “Hella, please, I’m try—” My hand flew up to her throat. It almost covering her entire neck.
    “I’ve given you more than enough time, Genna.” Her panicked eyes searched mine, her skin turning a deep purple and her hands flying up to my grip. I let her go, pushing her body across the kitchen floor.
    “Please, Hella.” She shook her head, crawling backwards across the kitchen floor. I walked up beside her, elbowing her in the face and knocking her out cold. I swung her body over my shoulder and carried her to the bathroom. Dropping her body into the bathtub, I pulled out my leather gloves from my back pocket and walked back to the kitchen. This was the third time Genna had decided to fuck me around with her payment. I came into this with thoughts of making an example of her behavior, but the surge of adrenalin rushing through me proved that maybe there was a bit more to it than that. I could end her and get it over with, only where’s the fun in that? I pulled open the kitchen drawers, pulling out the variety of different-sized knives that were lodged inside. After taking out a few, I searched the rest of the kitchen, finding a pair of sewing scissors, a blowtorch, and lighter fluid. I dug into my pocket and pulled out some meth, flicking the bag with my finger before snatching her pipe and walking back to the bathroom. I closed the bath curtain and set all the tools I had gathered from the kitchen onto the bathroom sink. Moaning began to stir from the other side of the curtain and I chuckled. “You awake, babe?”
    “Hella?” she asked absently. “Please don’t kill me!” Her tone turned desperate. “You’re only fifteen, Hella. You don’t need this hanging over your head. Please, I’ll give you your money and you’ll never hear from me again.”
    After pouring some of the best crank you could find on the street into her little glass pipe, I took the Zippo and pulled the curtain open. “No worries, babe, but I’m going to need you to smoke up.” Her eyes lit, morphed from fear to hunger. I clenched my jaw, handing it to her. “Smoke up, babe,” I coaxed her. She took the pipe in her mouth, lighting the bottom and waiting until enough smoke had formed in the bowl before inhaling the foggy poison. She held it in, tilting her head back before blowing out. I sat and watched as she took hit after hit. Each time she inhaled, her eyes peaked more. She was amped by the tenth toke and I took the pipe from her. “Hey!” she said playfully. My plan had worked; bitches like her were too easy. Her eyes twitched, her skin prickled with her now-awareness. I smirked, placing the pipe onto the bathroom bench. “How’re you feeling?” I asked, picking up the pipe and smashing it in half so the bowl broke away from the pipe. “I feel good… awake. I need to party.” She laughed hysterically. How fucking dumb could she be? Underestimating me would be the biggest, and last, mistake she would ever make. After setting up the heroin, I took out one of the syringes from the bathroom cupboard and sucked the liquid up. Returning to the bathtub, I gestured to her arm. She held it out for me. “I knew you’d understand, Hella,” she said, her eyes shutting as I pumped the heroin into her blood. I needed her awake and aware, but sedated, hence the cocktail of drugs. Once every single drop had been taken, I walked back to the kitchen counter and waited, setting up what I needed for my next activities. When she had gone quiet, I walked back to the tub, her eyes zoning out on the roof and her head tilting back