Killer

I'm looking for a club. It doesn't matter which one, doesn't matter where I go. The street is full of colour. Bright lights making me spin. The pavement swirls under my feet and my ears are blinded by thumping music. I see a door. The faceless bouncer doesn't notice me. Why would he?

It's easy to mix here. The music has a low, steady beat. The patrons are all wearing black, make-up. All they need is a pair of fangs. I slip into the crowd.
Soon, she finds me. How does she pick out my face in a see of faces? She slides her arms around me. I barely notice. We're swaying; it couldn't be described as a dance. Our bodies keep a rhythm with those around us, but she's looking into my face. She reaches into my pocket. Pulls out the knife. The rhythm breaks. It's make or break. Fight or flight. Her eyes widen in fear, or is it wonder? She drags me to a dark corner and breathes into my mouth as she kisses me. Hard.
And the question comes. "How many people have you killed?" I can't tell her the real number.
When did I discover that these women get off on danger? Was it before I became dangerous or after? She attacks my lips again, vicious. Holds the knife out, watching it flash in the fluorescent lights. Has she ever held one of these before? Thought about cutting her throat, someone else's? I could teach her so much.
I take the knife from her enthralled grasp. I wrestle with my hunger but I know I don't need her. There are others. She tries to follow me, of course. I choose clubs like this so that they can't. I let myself into the dizzying bittersweet night air. A beige coat in front of me sways, legs in fishnet tights. I feel the knife in my pocket; waits to drip rubies. I close my eyes.