Rose's Descent

1. The Beginning of My End: The White Snake Tavern

1

The Beginning of My End: The White Snake Tavern

Rose

Twenty years later. Rose, twenty-five years old.

Hunter is late again. I look down at the note scrawled in his chicken scratch and then glance at the sign above the bar. This is the address. The tavern is a place where people come to share their secrets. To exchange information. Hunter has a new assignment for me. I’m moving up in the ranks, no longer a recruit. I’m two promotions away from being an officer--and just in time. My cravings for blood are starting to get worse. Bloodlust. Who knew watching the blood of another flow could be so satisfying? It’s a constant need. Like a junkie and their next fix. Life isn’t right unless I see the spilling of blood.

“What are you drinking?” the seedy barkeep asks. There’s hardly any light in this place. Nothing but dark corners and shadows. It reminds me of an old noir film. No color, only greys and black.

Like your soul. There’s that voice again. Mother. She keeps taunting me. Although, calling her Mom is a bit of a stretch. Like fifty football fields worth. I ignore it and put in my order.

“I’ll take a Golden Apple.”

“That’s top-shelf.”

I lean across the bar, making sure the man knows I’m not someone he wants to mess with and snarl. “I said, I’ll take a Golden Apple.” I slap a large bill on the counter. He doesn’t have to be asked twice. He quickly goes and starts making my drink. But the look on his face tells me that while he wants my money, he doesn’t like that I can afford it.

“Haven’t seen you in here before,” a smooth voice rumbles next to my ear. Too bad his breath smells like stale alcohol and cigarettes. His aftershave of choice seems to be Five Days Without a Shower and Counting. I want to laugh, but I’m afraid I’ll pull in more of his stench if I do. So, I lean away from him.

“That’s because you haven’t seen me before.”

“I see you now.”

Frustrated by his attention, I turn to face him. “Do I have a sign on my head that says, willing to talk to douchebags?”

It takes him a moment to realize I’ve insulted him. His face morphs into an angry scowl. His left hand goes to his back pocket, while his right hand reaches out to grip my wrist in a tight hold. Men always underestimate me. They see the long, brown hair and the big, brown eyes and think I’m someone who can’t fend for themselves. I can tell this prick feels entitled. My lip twitches at his evident annoyance. This should be fun. I’m not small, but I’m not tall either. My black leather boots are thigh-high. I don’t wear them because they’re cute. They serve a purpose. I tried wearing regular boots once and found that when there’s a large amount of bloodshed, getting your pants soaked can prove bothersome.

I still have my pants, but now they’re leather. I’ve learned these last few months how to improvise. My gear currently consists of brown leathers with black stitching on the sides, and black, thigh-high boots. The outside is leather, but the insides are made from the finest Egyptian cotton. Comfort is my biggest concern. My heels are flat, which comes in handy when I need to scale a building or two. Tonight, a black leather vest covers a black tank top. My daggers are situated in the inner lining of the vest. I’ve stowed two more in my boots, and another pair is holstered to the outside of my hips. I also keep two pistols on me.

I’m curvy, but I’m also built. Most men don’t even notice the bulge of my guns until it’s too late. Like this fool. He still hasn’t caught on to the fact that I’m the predator and he’s the prey.

“You might want to remove your hand from my person, sir.”

“I tried to be nice, but you’re acting like a bitch.”

“True, but in what world does that give you the right to put hands on me?”

The man looks even more confused by my choice of words. His hand’s been there too long. I’m starting to feel dirty just from being in his presence.

“I’ll say it again. I haven’t seen you around here before.”

The fogginess in his eyes clears and is replaced by an intelligence that wasn’t there before. I’m not some woman that needs rescuing. I can take care of myself. His grip on my wrist tightens. It isn’t painful, and I don’t think he means it to be. At least, not yet.

“Fish, she’s just here for a drink, man. Leave her alone,” a female voice says from somewhere behind me.

“Shut your mouth, Stony. This isn’t your concern.”

“Everything that happens in this place is my concern. You know that. Now, back off before I go and get Ant.”

“f**k you, Stony,” Fish says, spittle spraying from his mouth as he hisses at my would-be rescuer.

I’ve had about all I can take, so I remind Fish again to remove his hand. “I’ll ask you again, remove your hand from my wrist.”

“Ask nicely, bitch.”

I grin at the fool. I don’t ask him again, but I do assist him. The dagger at my hip is the easiest to reach. With my free hand, I go for my knife, pull it from the sheath, and yank the wrist Fish is holding back so his arm is flush with the bar top. Then I introduce him to six inches of steel. My serrated blade. Fish wails in agony, his fingers finally letting go of my wrist. I step back, one hand stuck inside of my vest in case I need to go for my gun and watch as Fish attempts to pull the knife from his arm.

“Cunt! You stabbed me.”

“I did ask you twice to remove your hand.”

Fish looks over his shoulder and screams. “Don’t just f*****g stand there. Get her!”

Three men come out of the shadows, all of them wielding weapons. None of them are guns. Idiots. They remind me of the vampire coven I took down. What is it with people?

With no time to react, I grip the handle of my Heckler and Koch and start firing. Three shots in quick succession, and all of them headshots. When I turn to point the gun at another attacker, I stop short when I see a sword-wielding female. A dead, sword-wielding female. No one else can see her but me. It’s a shame really, ‘cause at one point in time, I might have welcomed the crazy. But, unfortunately, now is not the time for a ghostly assist.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says calmly.

“Do you now?” I toss back. There’s six in the chamber. I can’t shoot her and ask questions later. ‘Cause the chick is already dead. As in buried six feet under, flesh rotting and hair and nails growing like crazy. Fish still hasn’t gotten the knife out of his arm, but he seems more concerned with the chunks of brain and blood covering his face now. He’s cursing up a storm, calling me all kinds of lovely names.

“Fish and his men…they’re harmless,” the sword-wielding ghost says.

I look on the ground at the three dead men. “Well, they are now.”

Her face splits into a huge smile at my response. She has her sword in hand, but it rests against her shoulder. She’s assumed a non-threatening stance.

“Anyone ever tell you not to bring a gun to a knife fight?” she asks.

I shake my head and grin back. “Only when I want the odds in my favor. I came here to meet a friend, not to kill anyone.”

“You here to see Ant?”

“Nope.”

Before I get to answer her question fully, Hunter walks in, and ghost girl disappears. He takes in the bodies on the floor before looking up at me. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just stands there taking in the scene. He notices Fish at the bar, trying to pull the knife loose, and still screaming obscenities at me like a b***h.

“I can’t take you anywhere can I, Rose?”

“Technically, you didn’t take me anywhere. You asked me to meet you.”

Hunter looks between me and the bodies on the floor and grins. “Right, I guess we need to get down to business.”

Hunter walks up to Fish and presses the hilt of my knife, which releases the serrated part of the dagger. Then he pulls it from the man’s arm, wipes it off, and hands it back to me.

“Go get cleaned up, Fish. Tell Ant I’m down at the bar.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hunter slaps his hand down on the bar top and, out of nowhere, the slimy bartender returns—with both my drink and Hunter’s. I watch as my commanding officer downs his shot. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then looks at the bartender and says with a grin on his face, “Cleanup on aisle seven.”

I down my Golden Apple in one shot and wait for Hunter to speak. In my peripheral, I can see the sword-wielding ghost. She’s back and over in the corner now, and she has an eerie smile on her face.

“It’s like this, Rose, no one wants to work with you,” Hunter says.

I don’t say anything, and I hope he isn’t expecting an answer. I prefer to work alone, but I know that some jobs are bigger than others and take team effort.

“Tell me something I don’t already know, Hunter.”

“s**t, Rose, I need you to step up your communication skills. Get with the program. Hell, go on a date.”

I almost laugh at his last comment. The two of us have been seeing each other on and off for a few months now. Me, on a date? Yeah, the f**k right. When pigs fly and horses s**t sunshine. That isn’t me. Been there, done that, and killed people because of it. I’ll take friends with benefits for one hundred, please.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t play well with others.” I nod my head in the direction of Fish .

“Fish will grow on you.”

“Yeah, but no.”

I’m serious. If Hunter even thinks to try and stick me with that dude, I’ll legit walk out of this tavern, but not before I set the b***h on fire.

“Rose, Fish will be your contact.”

I stand up straighter and cross my arms. “I’ll torch this place to the ground and everyone in it if you make me speak to that nasty f**k. He’s rude, and if you think my people skills are gone, his are obsolete. At least I speak on occasion.”

Hunter grins. “Rosy, come on, you know I need you to work this job, and Fish has the intel we need.”

“Fine, you get it from him and pass it on to me.”

Hunter shakes his head. “That’s not gonna work.”

“Why?”

The bartender interrupts our argument. “You two fight like sister and brother.”

We both glare at the bartender, who promptly returns to his cleaning duties—which now include cleaning up Fish’s blood and the brains and blood and whatnot from the guys I killed.

“Go home and think about what I said. I’m done here.”

I watch as Hunter stands and walks out. The bartender looks at me and grins. “Tab’s on you, babe.”

“Fuck.” I shake my head and pay for Hunter’s drinks and then walk out.

I don’t remember what happens when I walk out of the bar. Nor do I know how I make it home. I just wake up naked on my living room floor, covered in blood from head to toe. It isn’t the first time, and deep down, I know it won’t be the last.