The dim glow of the neon sign outside Rosa’s apartment flickers like a dying heartbeat, casting jagged red streaks across the rain-slicked pavement. Nicklaus stands in the shadows of the alleyway, his breath steady, his body coiled like a predator ready to strike.
The knife in his boot is cold against his skin, a familiar weight, just another tool for another job. But tonight, something is different.
Through the thin curtain of her kitchen window, he watches her move. Rosa hums to herself as she washes dishes, the hem of her short nightdress riding up her thighs with every sway of her hips.
The water runs hot, steam curling around her fingers, and she tilts her head back with a sigh, stretching her arms above her head. The fabric clings to the curve of her ass, the swell of her breasts
