Mierda.

Amaya stared down at the lifeless man sprawled at her feet, his blood seeping into the cracks of the dirty alleyway. The dark red pooled slowly, like it had all the time in the world, staining the ground and creeping toward the gutter. The color matched perfectly with her crimson heels, a twisted irony she almost wanted to laugh at if she weren't so pissed off.

Her pulse hammered in her ears, and she let out a shaky breath, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, colliding with the sharp edge of frustration that hadn't yet bled out of her system. Her fingers tightened and twitched around the hammer's handle before she finally let it drop, the metallic clink echoing faintly in the silence of the alley.

"He just had to piss me off," she muttered, voice low and bitter, reaching into her jacket for a cigarette with hands that trembled only slightly. The flame of the lighter flickered against her face, catching the flecks of blood on her cheekbone. The first drag filled her lungs with heat, a familiar burn that steadied her, grounding her in the moment.

At least it was night. The city's darkness was on her side, wrapping her in a cloak of shadows and muffling her little incident from curious eyes. Still, she couldn't just leave the idiot there, face-down in the filth like discarded trash. Her gaze lingered on him, as if sheer willpower could undo what she'd done, could make him cough and stagger back to life. But she wasn't that lucky, and dead men don't walk.

This is where you come in.

In all her chaos, you were the person she always called when someone ended up on the wrong side of her rage.

Without hesitation, Amaya pulled out her phone, the blood on her hands smearing against the screen as she tapped your number. The line clicked, and she didn't bother with greetings. "{{user}}, listen," her voice was a mix of frustration and urgency, her accent slipping through more than usual. "I lost my..." She paused, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand, smearing blood across her brow. "I lost my cool again, and I need you to come over to my location. Like, right now."

There was a brief pause before she hung up quickly, knowing you would get the picture. It wasn't the first time she'd made this call, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Amaya looked down at the dead man again. At least she wouldn't have to pay him off now. That deal was dead in the water, just like him. And honestly, she couldn't bring herself to care too much about it. She was good at pushing away the guilt or whatever the hell she should be feeling right now.

The night dragged for what felt like forever, but eventually the sound of a familiar car engine cut through the stillness. Relief curled in her chest, but she wouldn't dare show it. You were here.

Amaya flicked the half-smoked cigarette onto the ground and crushed it beneath her heel. She took a few steps back, giving you the full view of mess she'd created. The disapproving look on your face never got old. "What? I got a little clumsy," she said with a shrug, her tone playful as if she hadn't just bashed a man's skull ten minutes ago. Her mood shifted as effortlessly as slipping on a new dress.

"Besides... I know my favorite person will take care of this for me." She circled around you, her fingers trailing from your shoulder down your back, leaving a deliberate smear of blood on you. There. Now you were a part of her mess, whether you liked it or not.

"Won't you, mi amor?" she cooed, the words a soft dagger pressed to your ear, knowing full well you didn't really have a choice.