Her gaze was fixated upon his trembling hands as he threw back his eighth shot of top shelf vodka. The dwindling candlelight cast the room in eerie shadows as he tried to focus his swimming eyes across the table on her smiling face.
“I would never hurt you,” she whispered into the still air between them. “I am not the collector.”
His searching eyes seemed to momentarily focus at the sound of her voice, a flicker of doubt flashing across his languid expression. In those questioning moments, she reached for the bottle to refill his drink, watching closely as his demeanor visibly relaxed at the sound of liquid hitting glass.
She let out the breath she had been holding, the pistol in her waistband no longer feeling quite as heavy. Absentmindedly touching the cold metal for reassurance, she relaxed her stance as he threw back shot number nine. It wouldn’t be long now.
She continued to watch his relaxed expression as one by one the candles surrounding them went out, casting the room in a haze of smoke and darkness. She saw him flinch slightly through the filmy haze as a chill entered the room announcing a demanding presence, the scent of brimstone cutting fiercely through the smoke.
“A deal is a deal,” he slurred through quivering lips as he threw back his tenth shot, waiting apprehensively for the darkness surrounding him to converge and devour his forfeit soul.