The Devil’s Dance
BLOOD DRIPPED DOWN Spade's ivory skin, falling onto the snow white petals of the roses beneath. It wasn't just one drop that fell, but two, three, and eventually, Alice could feel her face pale just at the sight.
"Missed," Spade commented, tutting. "You're not very good for someone who's supposed to be a professional. No wonder even those imbeciles at the Ragan's can take care of you."
He flicked the dagger onto the ground. It lodged itself into the dirt, the blade buried in the mud but the hilt still above ground, mingling with the grass. As if the blood on his hands was nothing more than just water, Spade wiped it on his outerwear nonchalantly.
A small smirk curved Spade's lips. "Surely she has trained you better than this?"
The assassin said nothing despite Spade's taunts. However, the slight squint of his eyes was telling enough, all that Spade needed to know that he had hit the nail on the head.