Kissed by the Killer

Chapter Two : Twist of the Tuck.

Vincent Virenson.

The night air was cool, laced with the faint tang of burnt rubber-Marco's brilliant idea of "warming up" his motorcycle tires earlier. We leaned against the graffiti-smeared wall near Carmelo's Garage, talking about tomorrow's race like it was the apocalypse.

"Bro, I'm telling you," Marco bragged, eyes glittering under the streetlight, "my baby, he said pointing to his car, tuned to perfection. You'll be eating my dust."

I smirked. "Marco, your car wheezes like an asthmatic grandma going uphill. The only dust I'll be eating is the one you cough up."

He punched my shoulder. "Keep talking. Tomorrow, you're-"

"Vincent."

The sound of my name cut through the night like a whip.

I turned-

-white-hot pain tore into my side.

For a moment, I didn't even register it. My brain scrambled: What the hell? Did someone just hug me with a knife?!

And then I saw him.

Tattoo Neck.

The same guy I'd fought yesterday for messing with Violet. His snake-like ink seemed to coil under the flickering streetlight, alive, hissing.

"You-" I choked, teeth clenching as the blade twisted deeper. My vision pulsed red.

"Tell your little princess," he growled, voice dripping venom, "this is just the beginning."

He yanked the knife free, shoved me, and disappeared into the shadows.

I staggered, blood slick and hot under my palm. "Marco-" I gasped.

But my so-called best friend? He froze, eyes wide-then bolted. Just... gone.

Traitor. My ride-or-die just chose ride.

My knees hit the pavement hard. The cold seeped into my bones. My mouth filled with iron.

"Oh no... am I really dying?" The thought slithered in, calm and absurd. "Great. I didn't even finish my pizza."

The world tilted, the streetlights blurring into stars.

Alone.

Bleeding.

And then-

---

Violet Virgilson

Something was wrong.

I'd been pacing my room for twenty minutes, chewing my lip raw. Vincent was late. Too late. For him, lateness was normal. But this? This felt different. My stomach twisted.

"Pick up," I muttered, calling his phone. No answer. Again. Nothing.

Enough.

I grabbed his leather jacket from his closet (yes, I have access, don't ask why) and stormed out. It smelled like him-motor oil, mint gum, and trouble.

The streets were eerily quiet. My boots echoed. Every step was heavy.

And then I saw him.

Vincent.

Collapsed on the ground. Blood. Too much blood.

"Vincent!"

I dropped beside him, hands pressing frantically against the wound. His skin was ghost-pale, breaths shallow.

"Stay with me! Don't you dare close your eyes!"

He groaned.

"Vincent, if you die on me, I swear I'll drag you back just to kill you myself!"

His lashes fluttered, and then-he smiled. Actually smiled.

"For you," he whispered, voice weak but steady, "I'd die with a smile... even if the world ended."

My heart stuttered. I smacked his shoulder. "Idiot! This is not the time to be romantic!"

He chuckled faintly, before his eyes closed again.

"Vincent!"

I half-carried, half-dragged him all the way home, swearing under my breath. By the time I got him onto my couch, I was drenched in sweat.

"Take your shirt off," I snapped, yanking the first-aid kit open.

He cracked one eye. "Normally, I'd make a suggestive comment, but since I'm bleeding out, I'll... save it."

"Shut up."

I cleaned the wound. He hissed like a cat.

"Oh, stop being dramatic."

"Try getting stabbed and then tell me who's dramatic."

I paused, frowning. "What happened?"

His gaze softened. "Tattoo Neck. The guy from yesterday... stabbed me. Said it's just the beginning." His lopsided smile chilled me.

"What?!"

"Guess I made an impression."

My hands trembled as I patched him up. "Vincent..."

"I'll die for you, V," he murmured, voice fading.

"...Don't you dare," I whispered back.

"Too late. Already decided." His eyes slipped shut.

"Idiot," I muttered, brushing his hair back. "Go to sleep. I'll stay."

---

Vincent Virenson

I woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Violet humming in the kitchen. My side throbbed, but the blanket over me was warm.

I heard her muttering. "Stupid tattoo guy... stupid Vincent... making me worry like this..."

A smile tugged at my lips. For a moment, the pain didn't matter.

But then-footsteps creaked outside. Heavy. Slow.

Not Violet's.

The front door handle rattled.

And I realized-I wasn't as alone as I thought.