Love in a Murderous Place Chapters 3 & 4

Hi all, been a while since I posted this story. Many of you may not be familiar with it at all, so feel free to check out the beginning by browsing the tag!

Chapter 3

At the stern of the Horizon Sapphire, on its seventh floor, just past one of its many rec rooms and through a long, garishly decorated corridor was a dimly lit bar. Its speakers blasted the same sort of music which was doubtlessly playing at some middle school dance somewhere in suburban America, only without all the bad words censored. Leaning against the bar and swirling a mediocre piña colada, Diana worked her mark.

“Listen, just about every casino is familiar with this strategy, they’re on the lookout for this exact thing. So if I show up to the casino tomorrow with more chips than I should have, they’ll be suspicious. Which is why you need to give me the cash now, and I’ll buy them when I go in tomorrow.” She spoke cleanly, confidently, leaving no room for interjection until the exact moment she needed this guy—Jason or whatever—to speak, plying him with enough alcohol and skin-to-skin contact to keep her victim distracted.

“And so when I give you the money, you buy the chips and use your amazing card-counting strategy to double what I give you?” he asked Diana’s cleavage.

“At least double. And remember, this is an averages game, an attrition game. It’s about winnings over time; I’m not guaranteed to win every round, so I need to play a lot of games and therefore need a lot of chips to sink into this thing. The higher the initial buy in, the higher the payout, so if you can get your friends to buy in, we could like triple, hell, quadruple the winnings.” She reached forward and squeezed his shoulder, leaning in close. “And I would really appreciate it,” she cooed, her voice going low and husky.

His face grew flush as he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “W-well, I um. I mean, it sounds like a good plan and all, but how can I y-y’know...” He shrunk into his stool, looking away as Diana leaned closer. “How can I trust you? Like, how do I know you’re even telling the truth about being able to count cards and that you won’t just run off with my money?”

Diana gave her best approximation of a demure giggle and lightly punched the man’s arm. “What, you think I’m a liar?” She shot a look over her shoulder. “Can you believe this guy?” she said to the patron behind her, not bothering to actually check if they even acknowledged her. Nonetheless, that little bit of added social pressure did its job, causing her target to bluster and fidget. She scooted closer, leaning in to tilt his chin up. “Listen, I know I may just look like some girl, but I have a PhD in mathematics from Princeton. Want me to pull up a photo of my diploma?” Idly, she began to fish through her purse, waiting for him to stop her.

“Oh, no no, that’s fine, I just... I’m nervous about the whole thing, I guess. Five hundred dollars is a lot to just give a stranger,” he stammered. He was starting to break; Diana could hear it in his voice.

“Five hundred? That’s nothing. It’s what, two of those planned excursions on this overpriced boat? I mean come on, I can tell just by looking at you you’re a man who has money to spend.” Gently, she slid her hand down his arm, wrapping a finger around his wrist and gently caressing it. “Besides, you’re getting at least a thousand back. And it’s not like I could run out on you. Where would I go?”

“Well, that’s a good point, yeah.” He bounced his leg nervously, and his hand moved ever so slightly toward his back pocket. Sensing victory, Diana went in for the closer, the secret weapon she hadn’t even realized she would have until arriving at the bar.

“Here,” she said, clapping her hands together, as though the idea had only just come to her. “I’ve got the perfect thing to convince you.” Spinning in her stool, she faced the bar and flagged down the fresh-faced, thick slice of man that served as the bartender. Like some kind of sad puppy with chestnut curls, his face lit up the second he saw a pretty girl waving to him, and he strode over.

“Hi,” he said brightly, pausing for a few moments, as he stared at Diana expectantly, before those rusty gears in his head turned. “Oh, uh, sorry I’m still new at this. What can I get you?”

“Don’t worry,” Diana crooned. “This is a really hard job. I’m sure you’ll get it soon.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Thanks!”

“Right, anyway, it was Josh, right?—”

“Wow, you know my name?”

Gingerly, Diana lifted a hand to push her jaw—which seemed stuck wide open—back in place. “Uh, yup. Read that nametag. Anyway, you were bartending at the casino earlier. Remember me? I was really impressive, wasn’t I?” She winked slyly, and flashed him the sort of bubbly smile that made her want to vomit.

“Oh yeah, I’d never seen anything like that, the way you unhin—”

“Yeah, very impressive. You’ve never seen someone get that many chips, right?” Diana prayed to every god she knew that this fucking golden retriever of a man would keep his answer vague enough to not reveal that she’d made a bet with someone that she could fit ten potato chips in her mouth at once and won.

“Oh definitely that was crazy, I’ve never seen anything like—”

“Actually, I think I’m ready to order. Just get me a water.” Her unwitting accomplice gave a big smile and a nod, then stumbled off on what were definitely uncertain sea-legs to fulfill her order. Swiveling her chair around, Diana took an emphatic sip of her drink, fixed her mark with an expectant stare, and raised an eyebrow. “Well? Believe me now? He’d never seen that many chips.”

She watched her sucker intently as his eyes flitted about nervously, fingers lightly twitching over his hip like the world’s lamest cowboy readying to draw—and lose. Still, despite his nerves, Diana had no doubt about it now, he saw dollar signs, she’d hooked him. “I… well, if you’re that good, I guess. Is um, is five hundred the most you’ll take?”

Hopefully the music covered up her coughing, as she’d nearly choked on her drink, but recovered her composure quickly, and made a big show of thinking it over. “Hmm, well, normally I’d say yes, since I wouldn’t want you to incur unnecessary risk. But see, I feel really confident about this one. And I like you a whole lot, so I’ll do you a favor and let you have a bigger cut if we make it an even thousand.”

A smile bloomed on the moron’s face. “Wow! Thanks, let me just...” He drunkenly fumbled for his wallet, drawing it, pulling out his debit card, then looked around uselessly.

“There’s an ATM by the duty free on the sixth deck,” she urged gently. He nodded, and stood, trotting off. “Thanks, Jackson, I’ll be here,” she called after him. He slowed, then paused, turning around slowly.

“My name’s James,” he protested.

Casually, Diana shrugged. “That’s what I said.” Without another word, she waved goodbye to him, and turned back to the bar, giggling maniacally to herself. The bartender returned with the water she’d ordered; she gave Josh an aloof thanks, and set the glass aside for later. Wistfully, Diana took another sip of her piña colada, and fantasized about all the things she could do with another thousand dollars.

“You know, you’re not as subtle as you think. I can tell what you’re up to.” Diana turned, to follow the voice. A few seats down, she saw a tall woman with long, almost silvery-white hair dyed the slightest, subtlest shade of teal. Her pale gray eyes were narrowed with mistrust and disapproval. She clearly wanted to come off as above Diana’s petty games; like it or not, though, Diana clearly had her undivided attention. Her lips, painted a dark wine-red, pursed in a scowl as they hung a hair away from the lipstick-stained straw of her margarita. She wore a long-sleeve cocktail dress, colored a deep navy on one side, and pure black on the other. She was easily the prettiest woman Diana had seen all night—by far the most interesting-looking person in the room, too.

“Normally I’d play coy, but I can tell that won’t work on you, you’re clearly in a different league than that moron.” Diana offered a smile, then grabbed her drinks and walked across the bar, taking the seat next to her lady in blue and black. “So, you want in? Half the reason that worked is ‘cause two-pump-chump back there hasn't touched a woman’s breasts since he was sucking the milk from his mom’s. With two pretty girls working this ship, we could make a fortune. And cons are always easier to pull off with a partner,” she winked, and her expectant gaze was met with silence. “You don’t approve; is that what’s gotten you all stoic? I saw you earlier, all nervous but bubbly, making eyes at strangers.”

“You’re damn right I don’t approve,” she growled, her tone taking on a surprisingly intimidating fire.  “What you’re doing is wrong.”

Diana made a show of choking on the half scoff, half chorted she gave in reply. “You’re kidding. Listen, you know what’s wrong about that guy? It’s that he didn’t begin and end his life as a stain in his dad’s shorts. He’s just some fuckin’ dweeby incel trust-fund kid. If I weren’t taking his money, he’d probably be dumping it into some fucking crypto pyramid scheme. I’m doing the world a favor by taking his money; at least this way it gets spread around a little. I mean, come on, he’s on a singles cruise, guy’s already getting scammed.” Diana paused for a moment as her words caught up to her. “No offense.”

Throwing her hands up in exasperation, the woman gestured around the room. “Then why are you here?”

With a roll of her eyes, Diana melodramatically slumped forward onto the bar. “I’m here because my friend dragged me onto this stupid boat. She needed a wing-woman or whatever to pick up guys. Not that she’s actually using me for that. I guess she was hoping I’d find someone too. Probably so I’d shut up about my ex.”

“Tough breakup?”

“You could say that. He also happens to be dead.”

Suddenly, the judgment in her bar companion’s eye’s all but vanished into a look of genuine sympathy. “Oh, fuck. I’m sorry.” Suddenly she seemed to be looking past Diana. Her voice quivered, carrying with it  understanding, patience, and a distant, nostalgic wistfulness.

A dismissive hand wave, and a shrug. That was Diana’s default response to any sympathy she got regarding Desmond. “Don’t be, it was a couple years ago at this point. And the guy was an abusive piece of shit. I’d probably have ended up killing him myself if he hadn’t done himself in on accident.” She certainly would have; that or he’d have killed her. Half truths were best when discussing the issue. Desmond had been an abusive piece of shit, of course. It just so happened that he’d been a perfect gentleman right until he turned on her and joined his sadistic family in their little sport. It was fucked up how much she missed him, or at least, the person he’d been before what happened. Diana huffed, she needed a stronger drink.

“You know, I also had an ex die recently, who... also happened to be a piece of shit.” It took every ounce of willpower for Diana to not reply with something sarcastically cute like ‘Huh, small world.’ Instead, she just kept her mouth shut and averted her eyes. There was a long pause as her new acquaintance took a similarly long drink, then huffed. “So you said your friend brought you here? Must be a good friend.”

“Who, Laura? Nah, she fucking blows. She’s over there.” Without bothering to turn around, Diana pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the corner where her friend sat chatting up some techbro-looking beefcake. “She’s been talking to that guy for two hours now; I guarantee she hasn’t asked his name once. A couple weeks ago I brought up my dead ex; she literally told me that she knew this whole thing was ‘hard for me, or whatever’ but that I was ‘being a real downer,’ then she said we should do shots to take my mind off it, and ordered two shots, for herself.”

Never had Diana seen someone look so horrified as her new drinking companion, and she’d accidentally lit Desmond’s aunt on fire. “God, this woman sounds like the worst.”

“I know, right?” Diana ginned. “She’s a fucking inspiration; god, I love her, but also I can’t fucking stand her.”

A baffled chortle rumbled in her companion’s throat. “You’re strange, you know that?”

After another slow sip of her drink, Diana shrugged. “I guess so, just doing the best with the bad hand life dealt me.”

“I suppose I can relate. I guess…” she paused, then grimaced, and drummed her fingernails on the bar, biting her lip as she disappeared into her own thoughts. Diana watched from her stool, and took a slow sip of her drink. She felt a reflexive huff rising in her throat; this woman had butted into her con to judge her, now she had the gall to waste Diana’s time by drifting off mid-sentence? And yet, to Diana’s surprise, she actually really wasn’t all that annoyed. At least this girl could hold a conversation. That was far more than anyone else Diana had met on this ship could say. In the long run, it didn’t matter, as Diana had barely finished getting her thoughts in order when the woman across from her seemed to snap out of thoughts, blush rather cutely, and mutter a quick apology. Before Diana could respond, she continued, “By the way, to avoid being anything at all like your friend back there, what’s your name? I’m Ashley.”

“Diana. Nice to meet you, I gu—” The sound of shattering glass, followed by a blood-curdling scream cut Diana off. From the corner of her eye, Diana saw her new friend tense as she whirled about and stared in the direction of the sound with an oddly composed, alert posture. Really though, Diana didn’t care to pay Ashley’s reaction much heed. Far more important was how that pretty-boy bartender who somehow had more wrinkles on his baby-face than his in brain had also turned to follow the sound. No doubt everyone else in the bar would be looking that way too. Diana leaned forward, reached her hand over the bar, snatched a bottle of rum, and poured several generous splashes worth into her drink, then settled back into her seat and took a gratifying sip.

Some amount of time—whatever the designated amount of time for drunk horny people to lose interest in something other than being drunk or horny was—passed without any indication that anything would come of the commotion, and things returned to normal. Ashley, though, that girl was still on high fucking alert, locked up with her back straight and eyes forward. Diana didn’t exactly want to interrupt, but someone needed to tell her to chill the fuck out. “Yo, Ash,” she called, and received no response. Grumbling, Diana swiveled in the direction of the commotion. Just as she’d suspected, Diana caught sight of an open doorway leading into the hall beyond, and absolutely nothing of interest. Whatever had Ashely so riled up, it was entirely some catastrophization of an imagined worst case scenario which neither of them could actually point to in the real world.

Deciding enough was enough and she needed to do something to properly snap Ashley out of whatever headspace she’d been caught up in. Diana stood, and lay a hand on Ashley’s shoulder. She stifled a world-weary smirk, and shook her head, before calling out to Ashley once more.

Chapter 4

“You know this is a cruise ship right? It’s constantly swaying side to side from the waves, and full of drunk idiots. People crash into things.” The sheer casual indifference in Diana’s voice told Ashley all she needed to know. Diana clearly had no fucking clue. To be fair, few had ever gone toe to toe with demons. But Diana’s indifference to the sound of obvious danger being understandable didn’t change the fact that Ashley’s fight or flight instincts were turned well past eleven. Something terrible was about to happen, Ashley knew it. She could feel it in her bones. She'd felt something off about the ship ever since she first set foot on board and for some stupid reason decided to ignore her better judgment and now she was caught with her pants down and no plan for dealing with whatever fresh hell was about to unfold.

Then, as though pre-ordained to occur in such a manner as to make Ashley look like a cosmic joke, a familiar figure stumbled into view; it was Diana’s victim—Jake? He lingered in the doorway for a moment, eyes fixed groundward and over his shoulder toward the way he came. A drunk, amused smile was plastered over his face as he stifled a snicker. After taking in whatever spectacle he could see long enough to sufficiently amused himself, he turned, caught sight of Diana, waved, and staggered across the bar, slumping into the unoccupied stool to her right.

Resigned to the knowledge that whatever the fuck was going on just out of sight, it was hardly cause for alarm to this walking used dish towel of a person, Ashley shook her head, and tried to calm herself. The hairs on her arms stood on end, her heart hammered in her chest, her trigger finger itched, but there was nothing to do about any of it. Suddenly the room felt so small, cramped. Ashley was exposed, backed into a corner by nothing at all but her own paranoia. If she just had some fucker to crack over the head maybe it would be fine, but she didn’t. Instead, she was trapped on a ship in the middle of The Atlantic with the distinct sense that something was wrong, that someone’s skull needed cracking, but with nothing to do about that but throw everything she had at trying to ignore it. Regardless, her instincts were clearly shot if the sound of shattering glass and a scream was enough to send her so far over the edge that she couldn’t pull herself back. Would she even be able to relax, or would she just let her anxiety eat at her the entire trip? Even after everything, Ashley couldn’t shake that intangible sense that something was off, not that it was doing her any good.

A low grumble rose from her throat as she slumped forward, folded her arms across the bar and rested against herself. Cheeks burning, Ashley flitted her gaze between the doorway and Diana, then dug her nails into her palm and forced herself to redirect her attention toward Diana, and her con. On cue, the mark reached into his back pocket, withdrew a wad of bills, and offered them to Diana. As she took the bills, a condom tumbled from her mark’s pocket and onto the floor. Diana examined her money, smirked, then stooped to grab the rubber; she then gingerly reached into his jacket pocket, and placed it inside. Simultaneously, Diana’s free hand gently brushed his cheek, and she gave a flirtatious wink.

Ashley winced, she couldn’t imagine—didn’t even want to imagine—ever putting herself in that sort of position. There was no way Diana didn’t know exactly what sort of message she was sending. Was she seriously willing to go that far for this to work? Ashley was so wrapped up in how unpleasant the thought was that she barely even caught sight of Diana taking something—though Ashley couldn’t catch what—out with her. And, of course, there was no fucking way her victim noticed. He was way too enamored with the attention. As her thumb stroked his face, he scrunched up, and tensed. Ashley was at least seventy percent certain she heard him groan and pant a little. She took a mental note to not look anywhere near his shorts for the rest of the night.

More importantly, for whatever perplexing reason, the sight of Diana being so intimate with that loser seemed to air some… confused feelings within Ashley. What she could only describe as annoyance stirred in her gut. She’d been having a fucking conversation with Diana and as soon as this short-fused fuckboy stumbled back inside, Diana had blown her off entirely. Sure, their conversation had started a bit hostile, but Diana was still a way more engaging conversationalist that the rest of the people on this fucking boat. She might have been a bit sketchy, but at least she was interesting, and hadn’t spent their whole conversation bragging about her investment portfolio or some shit like the last person Ashley had tried to strike up a conversation with.

Both completely unaware of Ashley quietly simmering behind her, and absolutely unfazed by the sheer patheticism on display from her mark, Diana pressed forward. She tapped a napkin on the bar, asking for a pen so she could give the guy her room number. He was far too busy fumbling about desperately to notice Diana slipping whatever she’d taken into her purse. By the time he’d called the bartender over to ask for a pen, Diana had already written something—presumably a cabin number—on the napkin. “This way you’ll know where to find me after I make us our money,” she explained.

Ashely wanted to be disgusted by the blatant manipulation on display. Diana was taking this man's wallet for a fucking joyride and he was too buzy being puppeted to notice the string she had wrapped around his dick. This was the exact sort of display she'd expect from some shallow coed that one of Bradley's fuckboy frat brothers would have hung out with. Though perhaps she was hardly one to judge a person for being the exact sort of person who her boyfriend would associate with, all things considered.

In the end, none of that really mattered. As much as Ashley wanted to scowl at the display before her, she couldn’t look away. Diana was an artist, engaged in a well-choreographed, yet somehow ever adapting dance. Every move, every flick of her wrist seemed pre-determined, intelligently designed to draw her mark in further. She had a reaction ready for each action, even those she couldn't possibly have predicted. It was entrancing. Ashley had practically forgotten that only moments ago she was absolutely certain that some axe-wielding hell fiend with teeth for eyes and rusty nails for teeth was about to round the corner and start a killing spree. Then, as though Ashley’s very thoughts were part of the intricate dance, Diana spoke again. “By the way, what was going on in the hall back there? My new friend over there got a bit spooked by all the noise.” She cast a casual nod in Ashley’s direction, without taking her eyes off her mark. Even that tiny crumb of acknowledgment was enough to make Ashley perk up, though. The fuck had gotten into her? Was she really that desperate for attention?

Jasper—or whatever the fuck his name was—scoffed, then rolled his eyes. “Oh that?” he asked. “Just some drunk idiot and his female.” Ashley cringed hard; she could practically feel every woman on board doing so with her. With one  comment he'd probably single handedly blue-balled the entire ship as every last ounce of erotic tension in the air shriveled up and died. “Looks like he stumbled into a cart full of glasses or something, knocked them over and fell. She was freaking out. Typical hysterics, y’know?”

Diana laughed a sort of laugh which one could make an exhibit out of at one of those kitschy tourist attractions. Regardless, the living, breathing condom advertisement didn’t seem to notice the disdain, and kept truckin’. “I’m glad you’re different from other girls I’ve met, y’know? You’re clearly much more level-headed.” And with that, any remaining sympathy for the man Ashley had curled into a ball and begged for the sweet release of death; Ashley was happy to oblige.

Somehow, Diana seemed to maintain her composure through it all, though anyone with even a smidgeon of social grace could tell she was reaching her limit. That was when Diana decided to lean in closer, and whisper something in her mark’s ear. The man perked up a bit, then glanced over his shoulder, his confusion readily apparent. With his back turned, Diana casually slid her full glass of water a tad closer to his arm, and, when he turned back around to face her, he knocked the glass right over. Water spilled across the bar, drenching the napkin Diana had written her—or at least, a—cabin number upon, and then pouring into her lap. The whole display was absolutely baffling, as far as Ashley was concerned. But then Diana leapt out of her seat, groaning in frustration as the glass fell to the floor and shattered.

“The fuck are you doing man?” she shouted, fussing over her dress and not-so-subtly knocking the drenched napkin into the puddle of shattered glass and water on the floor. Her target, bug eyed and mouth half open in confusion and surprise, stammered an incomprehensible string of syllables which sounded like they might have been an attempt at an apology; Diana completely ignored him, glanced over her shoulder at Ashley, and winked. Turning back to him she pawed at the water spot on her clothing, huffed and slumped forward. “I gotta bounce, man, deal with this before it ruins my dress. Just—you know where to find me at the end of the week. Talk to me then. See ya, Jesse.” Another weak attempt at interjection from her mark went completely unacknowledged. Diana turned, grabbed Ashley by the arm, and pulled her away from the bar without even bothering to pay.

For her part, Ashley was torn between annoyance at Diana just randomly ignoring her, only to expect Ashley to run along with her the second she was done with her scam, and trying to understand why her heart suddenly skipped a beat as soon as she felt Diana’s hand grasp her arm. Then she realized she was falling behind, and rushed to keep up.

With a firm tug, Diana led Ashley out of the bar, and hung a sharp right down the hall so as to avoid the groaning shit-faced man lying in a pile of broken glass and his clearly distraught company for the night. Ashley’s gaze lingered on the scene for a moment, feeling the reality of her own misguided tension set in once more, then an insistent tug on her arm as Diana forged ahead. Diana had clearly gone from barely tipsy to quite drunk at some point. She was half-stumbling, with her weight forward through staggering steps. Then she lost her composure entirely, and burst into manic giggles before steadying herself on the wall to keep the two from tipping right over. Try as she might, Ashley couldn’t help but laugh along with her. The guy was kind of a piece of shit, and watching Diana so utterly dismantle him like that was undeniably entertaining.

Gasping for air, Diana sank to the floor; she tried, and failed to keep another fit of laughter from erupting in her throat, then pressed ahead a few more steps, pulling Ashley along with her as she grasped the handrail for support. Between breaths, Diana heaved herself up to lean against the wall and catch her breath between fits of laughter. Red in the face and gasping for air, Diana finally managed to recover, and steady herself. She smirked, gave herself a little self-satisfied shake of the head, and locked eyes with Ashley. “God, can you believe that guy? Easiest con of my fucking life.”

There was no point in Ashley making any attempt to keep the grin off her face, Diana’s enthusiasm was infectious. “You are incorrigible, you know that?”

Diana rolled her eyes. then tugged Ashley along as she set off once again. “Incorrigible, ineffable, insatiable, mostly I’m just a huge bitich. We really should get going, though. It’s only a matter of time before Jarred realizes that the napkin I wrote a fake cabin number on is too soaked to read anymore and he comes looking for us.”

Realization struck, and Ashley paused a moment, then hastened her pace to keep up. “You devious—how much of that did you plan? Why even write a fake cabin number to begin with?”

“Well, to be fair, the cabin number isn’t really fake, it’s just not mine. It’s like way off on the other side of the ship.” Diana made a grand, sweeping gesture with her hands that turned into a drunken flail. A well timed sway of the ship nearly knocked the two of them right off balance again. Diana caught herself on the handrail again, righted herself, and kept going. “So anyway, now Jerrick won’t be able to read what I wrote, and he was way too drunk to properly remember what it was for certain tomorrow morning. So at best, in the off chance he does have a half decent memory, all he’ll have to go on is the vague memory of a number which he only got one or two quick glances at during a night of drinking. Plus, he was way, way more interested in picturing me naked, so the way I figure, the absolute worst case scenario is that maybe he’ll have some vague impression of a number in mind,” she explained. “In that case, he’ll check the other side of the ship, and come up short. After that his first instinct will be to assume he just remembered wrong. Now if I run into him again he’ll think he’s the one who fucked up, not me.”

Ashley scoffed. “One little flaw, you really think a man like that is capable of thinking he’s wrong?”

The giggle she got in return was its own little reward. “You’d be right, normally. But you’re missing one pivotal detail. He has no idea I moved the water. He thinks he knocked it over. At worst, he blames the bartender for ‘putting the water in the wrong spot’ or whatever dumb rationalization he comes up with. Either way it doesn’t come back to me. Though I guess it probably would have been easier to just roofie him, but where’s the fun in that?”

Ashley yanked herself away, glaring at Diana “You brought roofies?” she accused.

If Ashley's tone bothered Diana in the slightest, she did nothing to show it; her answer came without so much as a break in her stride. “No, but Reginald did.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small container, and shook it for emphasis. “Swiped this from him while we were chatting. You had a front row seat, you never noticed?” Her lips twitched into a smug half-smirk as she gave the container one last shake and quirked a questioning eyebrow. Ashley just groaned at how fucking cocky Diana was.

“I saw,” she answered. “Didn’t see what you stole, though. God, what a piece of shit. How the fuck did he even get those on board? What’s the point of there even being security checks if they can’t even bother to keep the women on this trash heap safe?”

“Same shit, different pile. On the bright side I netted myself a pretty penny.” With a flourish, Diana plucked the stack of bills from her purse, fanned herself with them, and took a bit off the top, which she offered to Ashley. “What do you say? This ship is full of Raymonds. I’ll cut you in now if you agree to help me take every last sucker on this boat for a ride. Hell, you could just run off with this and there wouldn’t be shit I could do about it. No honor among thieves, y’know?”

What upset Ashley most of all was how much she wanted to take Diana up on the offer. But even if this time Diana’s sucker deserved it, there was no telling if the next one would, or the next one, and Diana’s presence was bizarrely captivating. Ashley could already feel herself being pulled into the woman’s orbit. She was better off not. “I—I shouldn’t.”

Diana shrugged, and chuckled to herself, then tucked the bills back in your wallet. “You coulda just taken the money and run. That’s what I’d have done. Guess you and I aren’t all that alike, though. But I’ll see you around, Ashley.” She winked, and stumbled down the hall. Ashley had to force herself not to watch Diana leave.

In a half-drunk, mostly exhausted stupor, Ashley trudged off toward her cabin. As she walked, she passed the elevator bank which had been closed off earlier in the day, and found them back online—which was a relief, as drunkenly walking through a ship at sea was not exactly a pleasant experience, and this would save her quite a bit of that. She pressed the down button, waited for the elevator to open up, and stepped through the doors when it arrived. Leaning against the railing, Ashley pressed the button for her deck. “Girl From Ipanema” cracked through the speakers in between dings. The elevator stopped on her floor, and the doors opened. Just as Ashley stepped back out into the hall, something caught her eye. It was just a little thing, stuck to the paneling on the wall, very easy to miss. Honestly, Ashley was surprised she saw it at all. It was there, though: a tiny little speck of dried blood.