#releasing wayyyyyyy earlier than usual bc

[vostara]

hypnophobia — 03

drei — wherever you bite, black scabs grow

pairing: ares x original female character (beatrix)

blurb: “You should be focusing your attention on me.”

word count: 6.2k+

title inspiration: tarantulas - akira the don, jordan peterson

A quick, special shoutout to my friend Tati for proofreading this chapter for me. Thank you for listening to me cry for a week straight about how much editing needed to get done for this piece lol.

Please read the author’s notes at the end of this chapter! It contains important information regarding a specific aspect explored in this chapter.

This work is cross-posted on AO3.

... | 02 | 03 | 04 | … series masterlist

Beatrix had left the bar, confident that she would be seeing the return of her lipstick in just a couple of days. But each evening, when she approached the front desk of the Continental, she was told that she had not received any mail. And as each day drew to a close, Eli’s patience with her was falling at a steady, but rapid, decline.

During one of their meetings, secluded in the privacy of his hotel room, Eli had backhanded Beatrix across the face. He had yelled at her. He had screamed that she was wasting not only the client’s time, but his time, as well.

What the fuck are you doing?

Beatrix had uttered a simple, I’m handling it, in response.

Eli had not responded favorably to those words. He had snaked his fingers into her hair and tugged at the roots so hard that Beatrix released a small gasp of pain.

Don’t fuck this up, he hissed into her ears.

But as the clock shifts from 11:59pm into 12:00am, Beatrix enters her sixth day awaiting a response from Santino D’Antonio.

She had planted her seed, hadn’t she?

Left a bait that should be too tempting to ignore.

And yet, she had heard absolutely nothing.

It shouldn’t take this long. It had never taken this long before. People were always a little too quick to jump on opportunities of extreme convenience.

But not Santino.

Has he rejected her proposal? Did she actually fuck up this time? Misread his signals?

But he must know that she would be doing him a favor, eliminating Angelo. It would be easy for him to avoid the blame. She would take the fall and no one would even bat an eyelash in Santino’s direction.

Beatrix needed Santino to be squirming in his seat, impatient for the bliss that will arrive after this thorn is finally plucked out of his skin. She needed him to be ready to have this trigger pulled, to have this headache relieved before it has a chance to bloom.

What had she done wrong? What had she left out? Why was he—

A phone rings, pulling Beatrix away from her thoughts.

The woman blinks.

She lifts her head off the back of the plush gray armchair and shifts her eyes away from the popcorn texturing of the white ceiling. Beatrix focuses her stare in the direction of the bedside table, almost entranced by the constant ringing from the hotel’s black phone. The alarm clock sitting beside it displays a glaring red 12:27am.

After the fourth ring, the woman stands up and approaches the phone. She holds it up to her ear. “Hello,” she answers.

“Good evening, Miss Amsler,” a woman responds. “I am so terribly sorry to disturb you in the middle of the night. However, there is a gentleman here and he insists that he must speak with you immediately.”

Beatrix sighs and rolls back her shoulders. “Could you tell me that man’s name?”

A momentary pause of silence.

Finally, a response. “Santino D’Antonio.”

“Tell him that I will be with him shortly,” Beatrix smiles, “and that I will meet him at the bar.”

“Of course, Miss Amsler. Do have a good evening.” The woman hangs up.

Beatrix places the phone back in its proper position and glances at the open doors of her closet.

~ ~ ~

Dressed in a black pant suit that is trimmed with navy edges, a pair of white high heels, and a fresh spritz of perfume, Beatrix approaches the bar just ten minutes after the phone call. At this time of the night, the bar is far from crowded, but there are several lingering patrons. All of whom are focused on individually squashing away their sorrows with sips of fine brandy or shots of smooth vodka.

Upon entering the bar, her eyes dart straight to Santino. The man is sitting at a small table in the center of the room. His fingers circle around the edge of his glass, which contains an untouched serving of bourbon.

Beatrix flicks her gaze away from Santino, to focus on the table behind him. Ares is occupying the space. Her legs are crossed and her left arm is pulled back slightly behind her, resting on top of the chair. Her right hand is placed on the table, allowing her fingers to repeatedly tap against the dark wood.

Her eyes are focused on Beatrix, analyzing every tiny detail. She notes the woman’s breathing patterns. The way her eyes take a sweeping glance to gauge the room. She notices how Beatrix’s first reaction is to ignore Santino, rather than approach him.

The assassin walks towards the bartender and orders herself a glass of Riesling wine.

After he places the requested glass in front of her, she pulls a gold coin out of her pocket and sets it on the bar. Beatrix smiles at the man and wraps her fingers around the stem of the glass. She steps away from the bar and heads directly to Santino’s table.

The man raises his head as she approaches, locking himself in unwavering eye contact.

Beatrix remains quiet, as she pulls out a chair and takes a seat across from the man. She brings the wine glass to her lips and takes a long sip, before placing it on the table.

The corners of her lips are curled downward, marking her face with open confusion. “When I told you to send me the lipstick,” she begins, “I assumed you would understand my hint of discretion.”

Santino lifts his own glass, and takes his first sip of the bourbon.

“Instead,” Beatrix continues, “you choose to come here in the middle of the night. A location crowded with people that are guaranteed to recognize you. And some of those people are likely to recognize me. Does any piece of this scenario indicate a discrete means of contact, Mr. D’Antonio?”

The Camorra man reaches into the right pocket of his navy dress slacks. He pulls out a familiar tube of lipstick and places it in the center of the table. “Beatrix Amsler,” he says, “it is surprisingly difficult to track down any information about you. Your known resume is barely five years old.”

So that had been the reason for delay. A background check.

“You’ve been researching me,” she states. Beatrix picks up the lipstick with her right hand and twirls it between her fingers.

Santino reaches across the table and wraps his fingers around the top of the woman’s left hand. He gently turns it over, exposing the inside of her wrist to him. His eyes dart down towards the area, focusing solely on the black ink that is etched into her skin. A delicate rose, no larger than a half-dollar coin, is tattooed. In the bottom right petal, an “L” blemishes the simplicity.

“I was under the impression that Lilith didn’t allow her girls to seek out their own contracts,” Santino muses.

Beatrix tries to maintain her composure, but she isn’t able to stop her body from instinctively tensing up. She raises her eyes to look at Santino and attempts to ignore the knots forming in her stomach.

“Lilith also cheats her girls out of proper compensation for their work,” she says.

Santino responds with a soft chuckle. “I don’t imagine your boss would be too pleased to hear those words, no?”

Beatrix lowers her gaze back down to her wrist, distracted by the thumb rubbing against her skin. “Do you plan on ratting me out?”

The man shrugs and ignores her question. “Where is your handler?”

Beatrix does not respond.

“I’ve heard that they tend to keep a very close eye on their girls,” Santino continues. “Should I be expecting extra company tonight?”

The woman blinks and then pulls her wrist out of the man’s fingers. “You should be focusing your attention on me.”

“Is he watching?” Santino questions.

“He’s preoccupied.”

Santino retracts his hand back onto his side of the table. He picks up his glass for another sip and then leans back in his seat. “You’ve arranged a distraction?”

“Are you here for business?” Beatrix questions, with a tilt of her head. “I told you that I was interested in your money.”

“You did,” the man agrees.

“Yet, it seems that you’ve only called me here to sate your curiosity.”

Santino leans back towards the woman, pressing an elbow on the table. “Why take the risk?” He asks, after a prolonged silence.

“You’re much more inquisitive than I anticipated,” Beatrix says.

“Lilith despises me.” The man narrows his eyes. “But here you are, pursuing the man that she hates the most.”

“You flatter yourself,” the woman remarks.

Santino’s lip twitches, irritation bleeding through his calm facade. “How do you think she will feel about you, once she finds out?”

“Does it matter?” Beatrix lifts her glass and swirls the liquid inside.

The man quirks an eyebrow, confused.

“I am the one making this decision,” the woman elaborates. “I am the one choosing to help the enemy of the person who keeps me wrapped, oh so tightly, between their fingers.” She stops briefly, to take a sip of her wine. “Life is just boring, without a little risk involved.”

“Are you really this desperate?” Santino rests his glass on the table and inches his body closer to the woman. “Are you truly so bored that you would risk doing something so profoundly stupid?”

The assassin leans forward and laughs in the man’s face. “Do you really care, Santino?”

He pauses, mulling over his response. “Lilith will do more than kill you,” he says. “She will torment you, ruin you, if she finds out.”

“Is that not where the excitement originates from?” The woman’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “The possibility of if? If I get caught, I’ll certainly be terminated,” she pauses, “in a more permanent manner. But if I don’t get caught, I’ve got quite the little secret hidden in my resume.”

Santino takes a moment to ponder her response. He then raises a hand and snaps his fingers.

Movement behind the man causes Beatrix to dart her eyes away from him. She focuses on Ares, whom had risen from her seat. The woman approaches the table and positions herself next to her boss.

“I need Angelo to disappear,” Santino states, “within the next two days.”

Beatrix glances back at the man. “And the price on his head?”

“That depends.”

“Oh?” The woman raises an eyebrow.

From the corner of her eye, she watches as Ares reaches into the pockets of her dark charcoal colored trousers. When she pulls out her hands, her fingers are wrapped around a couple of knives. The very same ones that she had taken from Beatrix, the night they had met. Ares sets the items gently on the table, right in front of the assassin.

“I see that your loyalty to Lilith is,” Santino pauses, “thin, but will the chord be completely snapped?”

Beatrix reaches forward, brushing her fingers against the handles of her beloved weapons. “Do you wish to break it?” She wonders.

The man sighs. “I won’t deny the truth. There is a certain… convenience in having an outsider perform the tasks that neither I, nor the Camorra as a whole, can be associated with. Should you complete this request, I can provide you with more lucrative opportunities.”

The woman smirks. “You’re turning Angelo into a job interview.”

“An employer should always confirm if one’s skills are up to par.”

Beatrix raises her glass of wine and then brings it to her lips. Throwing her head back, she drinks the remaining Riesling. After setting down the glass, she wraps her fingers around her knives, and slips them into her pockets. She rises from the table and, while staring down at Santino, she says, “I look forward to continued employment, Mr. D’Antonio.”

~ ~ ~

Approximately twenty-four hours later, Beatrix is perched on the same stool she had occupied at this bar, just a week prior. With a glass of Pinot Noir gripped in her left hand, her eyes are glued on her target for the evening.

Angelo Ricci.

A man who refuses to blend in with the shadows.

A man who boasts about his status, who flaunts his wealth. The moment he had entered the bar, Beatrix had focused her attention solely on the man. He had waltzed in, dressed in a maroon three-piece suit, a matching tie, and a collection of chunky silver rings decorating his long fingers. He had strolled by her, failing to notice the assassin, and proceeded directly to his reserved booth. Within moments, he was showered with the finest liquor and several women in skimpy outfits.

As the night progressed, the man had grown more disheveled. Brunette hair, that was once pulled up in a neat bun, had escaped from its place to hang loosely around his face. Shot after shot of smooth tequila had warmed his skin and introduced a red flush to his cheeks. His jacket and tie had been discarded, allowing one of his playthings to unbutton his black shirt and expose the artwork inked on his chest. When Angelo had rolled up his sleeves, a smug smile plastered on his face, the women had thrown themselves all over him, cooing at the newly revealed tattoos.

It doesn’t take long for Angelo to notice the woman observing him. When the blonde beside him plants her lips on his neck to place open-mouthed kisses, Angelo makes a point of meeting Beatrix’s stare. A cocky grin sewn on his lips, he winks at her and lifts his fingers to send a small wave.

And even though the blonde’s hands have traveled beneath the table to slide up the man’s leg, Beatrix maintains her pointed gaze. She brings her glass of red wine to her lips and takes a long sip of the liquid.

Angelo chuckles and shoves the woman away from him. He leans back in his seat, laughing, and shoos everyone out of his booth. The man turns to look at one of his guards and gestures for them to approach the table.

The guard leans down towards Angelo. After the boss shouts something into his ear, the guard nods his head and turns his attention to Beatrix.

The woman sighs and chugs the rest of the wine, as the guard draws near. She places her glass on the counter, before giving him her full attention. “Does Angelo wish to play?”

The guard’s expression remains stoic, unamused. “Mr. Ricci would like to speak with you,” he says.

Beatrix hums. She stands up from her seat and brushes by the guard, walking towards the booth.

When the woman is within hearing distance, Angelo exclaims, “My dear sweet Beatrix!”

“Angelo,” Beatrix responds, with a slight tilt of her head.

The man raises his arms and drapes them beside him, across the tops of the booth. “Come on, baby, relax. Have a seat.” He nods at the empty space on his left side. “It’s been awhile since you’ve spent time in this city.”

Beatrix slides into the booth, sitting just close enough for Angelo’s left hand to brush against her right shoulder. “I was here last week,” she pouts, “but you ignored me.”

“Really?” He enquires. “Not sure how I could have missed you.”

“You were probably too busy,” the woman shrugs, “being a prick.”

Angelo grins. “You’re still upset with me.”

A pause, then, “I’m disappointed.”

“Babe, it’s been, what, five years?”

Beatrix places her forearms on the table and leans into them. “Four years and seven months, actually.”

“You counting the days, too?”

The woman blinks. “Thirteen.”

Angelo smirks and lowers his fingers, rubbing them against the woman’s shoulder. “You are definitely still pissed.”

Beatrix responds with silence.

“Why are you so upset, huh?” The man frowns. “It was all just business, right? You? Me? All of those fun nights between the sheets? Everything was a fucking business transaction.”

The woman turns her head to glare at him. “You fucking shot me.”

“Oh, baby,” Angelo smiles again. “But you’re still alive, ain’t you? Still fucking breathing and shit. Life must feel fantastic, compared to the alternative.”

“Yeah, fantastic.” Beatrix rolls her eyes and shifts her gaze away from him.

One of the bartenders approaches the booth. In one hand, he holds a bottle of champagne. In the other, he carries two glass flutes. Carefully, the man places the glasses on the table. A moment later, he pops the cork off of the bottle and pours the liquid into the flutes. With a nod of his head, the bartender places the bottle on the table, before making a brisk walk back to the bar.

Angelo lifts his arms from the booth and reaches for the glasses. He slides one of them towards Beatrix.

The woman hesitates, and then reaches out for it.

“I mean, it’s gotta be, right? Must be full of some wild fucking shit, if it’s got you waltzing right back into Romano territory.” The man smiles and raises his glass for a toast. “That was one of the hottest things about you. You did whatever you fucking wanted to, babe. Just bat those pretty lashes of yours and you’ve got everyone wrapped around your tiny fucking fingers.”

“It worked on you,” Beatrix comments.

“Might have worked a little too well.” Angelo takes a sip of champagne.

“Not well enough, considering the bullets you sent my direction.”

Angelo shrugs, brushing off her comment. “I missed your vital organs,” he responds.

Beatrix shifts her eyes towards the man. As she raises her own glass to her lips, she notes that Angelo’s eyes are focused on her wrist tattoo.

“Lilith’s rose is untouched,” he says. “You still one of her girls?”

“I think you already know the answer.”

The man gives a slight nod of his head. “I’m surprised the bitch hasn’t killed you, yet.”

Beatrix chuckles and sets her glass on the table. “It’s just a matter of time, really.”

Angelo wraps his hand around the woman’s right arm and tugs her towards him. Using his free hand, he reaches for her and tucks soft strands of her hair behind an ear. The motion exposes a large sapphire gemstone, dangling from a delicate gold chain. “Eli still has you chained up,” he mutters.

The woman inches closer to Angelo, briefly brushing her nose against his. “I doubt that anyone else would want to take me.”

Angelo shakes his head. “Baby, they want you. They just don’t want to start a war that they can’t win. Everyone knows you’re his favorite.”

Beatrix hums.

Angelo presses his hand against her throat, gently grasping onto the soft skin. “Does he know that you’re here?”

Silence. The woman’s eyes shift away from him.

But he’s persistent. “Then what are you doing here?”

Beatrix closes her eyes and sighs into his touch. “Visiting an old fling,” she says.

His grip against her neck tightens. “I’d hardly consider us a fling. You were nothing more than a whore, pretending to love me. I may not have paid you for those countless nights in my bed, but someone else was.”

The woman releases a soft gasp and wraps her hand around the man’s wrist. When he loosens his grip, she says, “Many of those nights were of my own choice. I wasn’t being paid for all of the fun we had.”

“Is that why Eli hates me so much?”

Beatrix smiles. “No, he just thinks you’re an arrogant son-of-a-bitch.”

The man chuckles and pulls his hand away from her. “Beatrix, you didn’t come all the way to Chicago, just to see me, the man who shot you.”

“I was told to leave New York for a little while,” she says.

“How long have you been here?”

“Since the end of October.”

“Clearly,” Angelo scoffs, “you weren’t really missing me that much. Not if it took you nearly two months to get on the damn train.”

“I was,” Beatrix pauses, “seeing someone.”

The man leans back against the booth. “For work or pleasure?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Things didn’t really work out.”

Angelo takes a sip of champagne, examining the woman. “What did you do?”

Beatrix takes the glass away from the man and sets it on the table. She slides herself closer to him and leans in to whisper into his ear. “I shoved a knife straight into his pathetic beating heart.”

“Are you here to kill me?” He grins.

Beatrix moves her hand, resting it against the man’s thigh. “Do you want to find out?”

~ ~ ~

Before the door of the apartment is able to slam shut, Angelo is busy shoving the heavy black coat off of the woman in his arms. His hands dig themselves into her waist, before snaking behind her to tug at the zipper of her ruby dress. The straps slide off of her shoulders and the material descends to the floor. With a hand against her chest, Angelo slams the woman against the black wall. He smiles, as he leans down to capture her already swollen pink lips with his own.

Beatrix slides her hands up the man’s torso, fingers fumbling as she attempts to unbutton his shirt. She sighs into the bruising kiss, and for a single moment, she is able to forgive Angelo for his retaliation against her. The bliss of his lust clouds her memories of the excruciating pain she suffered. Clouds the memories of when the doctor had shoved his tools into her stomach, rushing to dig out the bullet lodged within. She forgets how she had cried until her throat was raw. How even though tears had blurred her vision, she could still see and feel the utter disappointment radiating from Lilith. And how Lilith had ignored the woman's screamed apologies for her failure, ignored her pleas for the anesthesia, that the pain would kill her, that she couldn’t take it anymore, help me please, help—

Angelo pulls his lips away from her, opting to dig his teeth into the crook of her neck.

The woman releases a surprised gasp and melds her body into his. Hoping to accelerate the pace, she rips open his shirt. The remaining buttons scatter across the floor, creating a mess that goes ignored by the distracted couple.

Succumbing to his impatience, Angelo wraps his hands against the back of the woman’s thighs, and lifts her up.

Beatrix responds by instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist. She tugs at his hair tie, releasing his long strands from the messy bun. Fingers bury themselves into his hair, desperately clinging onto whatever they can.

Angelo moans into another heated kiss and proceeds to stumble his way down the dark hallway. When he enters the bedroom, he tosses her onto the black sheets of the king-sized bed. He stops to unbuckle his belt and then climbs on top of her. His mouth dives right back to the side of her neck, determined to leave dark bruises that will linger for days.

Beatrix opens her eyes, taking this opportunity to examine Angelo’s new home. Unlike his previous apartment, this upgrade lacks the charming chaos of his mis-matched furniture and scratched oak floorboards. The current decor is sleek, modern, all black. His dark walnut flooring is spotless. The apartment feels empty, void of any distinctive personality. The black walls are bare of decorations. No pictures. No posters. No fancy tapestries. It feels too perfect, too much like a model home. There is nothing reminiscent of the Angelo she had once known, of the Angelo she had pretended to fall in love with.

Angelo’s hand presses against her bare stomach. As he moves to grip onto her waist, his thumb brushes against a scar he’d never felt before. He pauses and pulls away from her slightly. Holding himself above her, his fingers trace against the edges of the blemished skin. A permanent reminder of what transpired between two false lovers.

Beatrix reaches for the man’s hand and tentatively wraps her fingers around it. She brings it up towards her face, drawing his gaze upwards to meet hers. “I think we should put this on pause,” she says, “just for a few moments.”

“I’m sorry—” he begins.

“No,” Beatrix interrupts, “don’t say it.”

Angelo removes himself from the woman and lays down beside her. Together, the couple stare at the eerily smooth black ceiling. It’s devoid of the cracks, the scuff marks, and the water stains that had permeated his previous bedroom.

After a several minutes pass, Beatrix sits up and crawls to the edge of the bed. “Where’s the bathroom?” She asks, placing her feet on the floor. She leans down to release the buckles that confine her feet inside of the black heels.

Angelo runs a hand through his hair, smoothing the disheveled strands. “Turn right, second door on the left.”

“Thanks.” Beatrix settles her bare feet on the cold floor and lifts herself off of the bed. As instructed, she turns right when she enters the hallway and follows the dark path. Her eyes focus on a large door at the end of the hallway. Three locks are turned to keep the door shut in place.

A back entrance.

When she enters the bathroom, she quietly shuts and locks the door. She reaches towards the sink and turns on the tap for cold water. Taking a moment to compose herself, Beatrix takes a deep breathe, traps the air inside of her lungs, and then releases it. She presses her hands onto the black marble countertop and stares at her reflection in the mirror. She needs to breathe. Needs to calm down. Needs to focus on the task, the mission.

Zwei.

Sieben.

She inhales.

Eins.

Zwei.

And exhales.

Zwei.

Null.

Null.

Vier.

During the course of their seven month arrangement, she had examined Angelo’s every move. Beneath his mask of unyielding confidence, resides a budding cluster of paranoia. The man kept a hidden weapon in each room of his home. Weapons that were discrete, but quick and easy to grasp in an emergency. Unless his habits had changed in their years apart, Angelo had a self-defense mechanism somewhere in this room.

Beatrix reaches for the medicine cabinet and pulls it open. Aside from one electric razor and a couple bottles of medicine, it’s empty. She pulls open the top drawer beneath the counter. A tube of toothpaste and a nail clipper. The drawer beneath it also holds nothing useful. She crouches down on the ground and opens the cabinet beneath the sink. Leaning down, she peeks her head inside and scans the top surface of the area.

Just beneath the sink, near the pipes, is an object. It is held securely in place with a couple pieces of tape. She reaches forward, pressing her fingers against it, and feels the cool metallic edge of a blade. Grasping it firmly, she pulls the knife out of its hiding spot. Beatrix rips the tape off, fully exposing the small, but useful weapon.

A knock on the door captures the woman’s attention and she quietly closes the cabinet doors.

“You okay?” Angelo calls.

“Yeah,” she responds, “I’ll be out in a minute.” Beatrix stands from her crouched position and shuts off the tap. Tightening her hold on the weapon, she angles her hand so it is tucked behind her. Certain that the knife is hidden from Angelo’s immediate view, she reaches forward to unlock the door. She wraps her fingers around the doorknob and twists it open.

The door rushes towards her, smacking her in the face. She stumbles backwards and lifts a hand to check her nose for blood.

“What the fuck?” She screams.

But a body barrels its way straight at her. Long fingers wrap themselves around her throat, constricting the air flowing into her lungs. She opens her eyes and she’s confronted by the face of an irritated Angelo. The woman wraps a hand around his wrist, digging her nails into his flesh.

“Babe,” he hisses, “you’re not as fucking unpredictable as you wish to be.” Without easing his grip, the man shoves her back, until she’s pressed against the cold tiles of the wall.

Beatrix lifts her knife, ready to dig it into his jugular. As she swings the knife at him, Angelo wraps his fingers around her wrist and slams it against the space beside her head. She releases her grip on his wrist and shoves her hand into Angelo’s face, attempting to push the man as far away from her as she possibly can. Then she lifts her right leg and slams her knee straight into his groin.

The man’s grip loosens momentarily, but it’s enough of an opportunity for Beatrix to force her body off of the wall. She slams herself into Angelo and he stumbles backwards. When his body collides with the countertop of the sink, Beatrix buries her knife into his left shoulder.

Angelo releases a pained grunt.

Quickly, the woman pulls the knife out of his flesh and moves to stab him once again.

He twists his body, catching her wrist with his right hand. When she looses her balance, Angelo slips away from her reach and forces her body to bend over the countertop. Gripping her hair, he slams her head against the mirror. He pulls her head away from the broken glass and tilts her back until she is staring up at him.

She turns the knife in her hand, repositioning it. But right as she moves to stab Angelo in the face, the man slams her head back into the mirror. Dazed, the knife slips out of her fingers and falls onto the counter.

“Damn,” Angelo wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her off of the ground. “I was really hoping I could get laid first.” He throws her body into the oversized bathtub, before climbing inside.

“What—” Her eyes are blurry and she feels as though the world is spinning too fast. “What are you doing?” She mutters.

Angelo reaches forward, plugging the drain, and then turns the faucet to release the freezing water. “You once told me how you wanted to die,” he says. “That you didn’t want it to be quick, that you didn’t want to experience a death with no suffering. That—”

“I wanted to feel every moment, every emotion, in this once in a lifetime opportunity,” Beatrix finishes. “You remember.” The water creeps towards her and when it grazes the skin of her throbbing skull, it causes a chill to run down her spin.

“Because it’s the only truth about you that I know.”

Beatrix releases a soft chuckle in response.

“What are you doing here?” Angelo asks.

The woman’s smile fades.

“You here for revenge?”

A thin layer of water inches forward, quickly coating the bottom of the tub. Beatrix shivers and goosebumps appear on pale skin. But the chill of icy temperatures helps clear the blurriness clouding her vision. “I didn’t realize you thought I was a petty person,” she says.

A moment of realization erupts on the man’s face. “You’re working.”

“I’d say it’s more a job interview.”

Angelo leans down, reducing the space between them. “With who?”

The woman’s gaze drifts away from his face, in favor of examining the tattoos that cover his body. When they had first met, his collection was small. Just a few random pieces, placed separately apart on his chest and abdomen. But now his torso was painted with ink, tiny splotches of bare skin bleeding through.

Her eyes linger on one piece in particular.

Simple lettering.

Her name.

“Are you going to kill me?” She wonders.

Could he do it?

Would he fulfill those orders he had failed to complete once before? Would he stop her beating heart? Take away the air trapped within her lungs?

He presses his hand against her throat, but not with aggression. Angelo frowns, as his thumb brushes against her jawline. He opens his mouth, but his words don’t escape. Instead, he lifts her head out of the water, and crashes his lips against her own.

Beatrix tangles her right hand into his hair and grips the edge of the bathtub with her left. With Angelo’s help, she lifts the rest of her upper body out of the water. When he pulls his lips away from her, she opens her eyes and brushes her nose against his.

“Angelo,” she whispers with a smile. She tightens her grip on the tub. And using the object as leverage, she uses her right hand to crash the side of Angelo’s head into the tile wall.

He releases his hold on the woman, instinct forcing him to lift his hands to check his head for bleeding.

Beatrix shoves the man, using his distraction as an opportunity to pull herself away from him. Her hands grip onto the right side of the bathtub, allowing her to pull her body out of the space. She presses her feet against the side of the tub walls and uses it to hurl her body over the edge. The woman releases a pained gasp when her back slams against the black marble, but she forces herself to flip onto her stomach. She props up her body on her hands and knees, and takes a moment to breathe, before staggering up onto her feet.

Before Angelo is able to fully comprehend what has happened, Beatrix digs her fingers into his scalp. She pulls his head towards her and then, with all of the strength she can muster, she slams it back into the wall again, and again.

Angelo groans and slumps down into the tub.

Blood coats the walls, sliding its way down towards the water.

Beatrix untangles her fingers and takes a few shaky steps backwards, until her body hits the doorframe. After giving herself a moment to regain her composure, she exits the bathroom and makes her way back to the bedroom. The woman heads straight for the bedside table and pulls the drawer open.

As expected, there’s a gun tucked inside. Beatrix picks up the semi-automatic pistol and makes sure that it’s loaded and ready to shoot. With the gun poised in front of her, she exits the bedroom and reenters the bathroom.

Angelo’s hand is gripping the edge of the bathtub, as he attempts, but fails, to pull himself out of the water. His blood is smeared all over his face, and when he notices Beatrix, an amused smile taints his lips. “I should have fucking killed you,” he says.

“Probably,” Beatrix responds. She fires the gun, lodging a bullet into the chest. Automatically, she repositions the weapon, and sends a shot right into the center of his head.

The man’s body collapses.

Without a moment to spare, Beatrix sets the gun on the counter. She sprints down the hall, towards the main entrance. Spotting a chair in the kitchen, she grabs it and shoves it underneath the handle of the door. The woman twists both of the locks, ensuring that the door is secured in place.

Picking up her discarded dress, she slips back into the material. While pulling up the zipper, she is interrupted by loud pounding against the front door. Beatrix freezes, taking a moment to assess the situation. A voice shouts for Angelo, followed by more fists banging against the door. There’s more than one person outside.

Beatrix glides her arms into her coat and then snatches her purse up from the floor. Racing down the hall, she makes a quick stop in the bedroom, to pick up her shoes, before heading back to Angelo’s body.

She steps around the pooling blood and reaches for the man’s right hand. Beatrix pries off one of his rings, a large silver signet, with a lion’s head etched into the metal. A gift from the head of the Romano family. After placing the ring inside of her purse, she slips the high heels onto her feet and tightens the straps at her ankles.

By the time she steps back into the hallway, the shouting and the pounding of the door has increased in urgency. Quickly, she proceeds down the hallway and unlocks the back door. She slips outside before Angelo’s men ever enter the apartment.

The winter air coats her damp hair with a layer of ice, causing Beatrix to shiver and pull the coat tighter around her body. Her wet stockings become stiff, introducing her legs to the inconvenience of painful chills and the beginning embers of numbness. She fights through the discomfort as she descends the backstairs, heels clattering against the wooden steps.

During her last few steps, she glances at the street. A black car is parked on the other side. Beatrix can see the outline of a person sitting inside. And though she can’t make out any of their facial details, she can sense that they are watching her, studying her every move.

Beatrix pauses at the bottom of the stairs. She reaches into her purse and her fingers grip onto the handle of a pocket knife. She tucks her armed hand into the pocket of her coat, before approaching the car.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this chapter! Just to throw this out there, in case anyone is curious, I will not be exploring or truly addressing Beatrix and Angelo’s previous relationship. That particular relationship is irrelevant to current events. Though I do want to assure you that Lilith and all that jazz is going to receive further development, which should hopefully provide enough context clues to figure out how Bee got involved with Angelo.

If you happen to be curious about Beatrix and Angelo, you can go ahead and shoot me a message and I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have!

Once again, thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, it would really help me out if you could reblog, like, and/or send me a message letting me know! 

If you would like to be informed when future updates are posted, send me a message and I’ll personally send you a message every time a chapter is posted! :)

The writer’s notes for this chapter will be posted tomorrow, May 24th. You can check out the notes for the previous chapter right here.

anticipated release date for chapter 4 is June 6th.

#john wick fic #ares john wick #ares fic #ares x reader #ares x original character #ares x original female character #ruby rose #ruby rose fic #ruby rose x original character #ruby rose x original female character #film: john wick #john wick #v.writing #fic: hypnophobia #vostara #releasing wayyyyyyy earlier than usual bc #ahhh just felt like it lol #series: she drowns in liquid gold