“So, Jedediah…” He all but spits the name. “The asshole has now opened his ownlegalboxing institution, proclaiming to have realized the true meaning behind his love for boxing. He’s also hired a network of people who come into my arenas during fight nights and influence not only my audience, but also my boxers to shift their focus from underground boxing to something that ‘actually matters’.” His expression darkens, so much so that any trace of his laidback demeanor from earlier seems like a fluke compared to the molten hatred I now see in his eyes.
“You see, Dorran; I have this policy…” he starts, then cocks his head to the side as he stares at the envelope in my hand. “I don’t like getting my hands dirty, or else I’d have ended this dickhead myself. But I’m a man of my word, so you’ll have to promise me to cause just as much pain to him as he has to my employee, and to me by trying to put an end to my business.”
I grin. “I’m sure Solo didn’t recommend me to you simply for my good looks.”
Aras chuckles. “Oh no, he didn’t.” He meets my gaze, and I see that same thrill shining through them that is currently flowingthrough my body. Too long – it’s been too fucking long since I’ve got a taste of victory; have felt a pulse stumble and diminish under my fingers.
The thought zaps a slight shiver out of me, making Aras grin.
“I want his entire ‘team’ of do-gooders to know exactly what happens when you mess with me,” he tells me. “Make it hurt, Ledger.”
I lean back in my chair and widen my legs a little. “You can count on it.” I pull out a photo from inside the envelope and study it.
Jedediah has a typical boxer’s build: lean, tall, hands large enough to squash a head like a damn watermelon. Long, black hair that he ties behind his back, and eyes so dark they appear hollow.
I can’t wait to make this fucker bleed until he’s nothing but a corpse in the ground.
“I’m surprised he agreed to come to the gala. I’m pretty sure he knows you’re aware of all the crap he’s been pulling behind your back. Why’s he willing to risk his neck by entering your turf, then?” I place the photo and envelope back on the table before grabbing the second one.
KILL #2
SELINA RUSSEL
32. BRAND OWNER.
PHYSICAL OVERVIEW INSIDE.
“I told him I wanted to celebrate him and his achievement tonight, and perhaps start things anew,” Aras states. “The idiot thought I’d seen God’s light or some shit and agreed to attendthe gala with his wife.” He points at the envelope in my hands. “Selina Russel. She owns some vegan makeup brand I don’t care enough to remember the name of. She’s been advocating her husband’s new endeavor a little too loudly to the press. Letting her live would mean giving her the freedom of accusing me of her husband’s death, and possibly causing a scandal. So, she’ll have to go. As collateral, but she’ll have to go nonetheless.”
“Fair.” I pull out her photo and glance at it.
She’s tall, blonde, and has that effortlessly photogenic face you see so frequently on the internet. Makes sense for her to have a social media following like the one she has.
“Do you think she knows what Jedediah did to your employee?” I ask. “I can’t imagine her wanting anything to do with him if she did.”
“Well, how about you let her know regardless,” Aras says darkly. “Right before you send her to Jesus, of course.”
I laugh. “It’d be my pleasure.”
“How much do you think she spent on…?” Magner starts, then circles a hand over his chest.
Aras clicks his tongue. “Have some shame, man. Do you always talk about the dead this way?”
Magner rolls his eyes. “She’s not deadyet. Besides, I have the right to be curious.”
“You need to be thrown out of here for the rest of the meeting.”
“As if you have the balls.”
Aras mutters something in Lithuanian, but Magner remains unaffected by it.
I smile to myself, then put aside Selina’s envelope before grabbing the last one. Reading the name printed on it, I find my brows rising as my curiosity grows.
KILL #3
TIMOTHY "TIM" BYRON
19. ASPIRING MOTIVATIONAL SPEAKER.
