The alley behind St. Helena’s Cathedral reeked of damp stone and holy rot. Beatrice leaned against the graffitinscarred wall, lighting a clove cigarette with fingers that did not tremble anymore, though they probably should have.
This wasn't the first time she had a date with death.
She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl like ghosts into the chill of the evening air.
Her heels clicked softly as she walked deeper into the shadows, stopping at the rusted service door behind the sacristy. She knocked…three times slow, twice fast.
A moment passed.
Then the door creaked open.
“You are late,” said a voice, low and rasping like crushed velvet.
“ Sorry! I had to finish sucking off Daddy,” Beatrice replied smoothly, arching a brow. “You know how needy he gets.”
The man snorted. “You
