“It is still used in many cultures, Papua New Guinea, some of the Aboriginal cultures in Australia.” Opening the armoire, he reaches up for a long, stainless-steel tray on the top shelf, hebrings it down and reverently sets it on the table next to the bed.
I see one black paw reach out from under the bedspread and my heart nearly stops before Murder Mittens pulls it back in.
“Scars can be shown as a test of strength,” he continues, “the Karo tribe in Ethiopia, for instance. Men scar their chests to show they have killed their enemies.”
He stands back, sweeping his hand over the tray. There’s a long line of scalpels, knives, some like kitchen blades, others like old daggers. There’s a couple of metal pieces that are shaped like thorns.
I sway, a storm of terror battering me back and forth. I’m not brave. I cried over the pain in my back every day in the hospital.
“Now you, my darling, are a living canvas.” Xavier takes off his jacket, folding it carefully and laying it over a chair. He grins, rolling up his sleeves, three precise folds on each sleeve. “You have come to me as a project unfinished, and I’ve dreamt of where I’ll take those scars, curving over your hip, twining down your leg like ivy. It will take years to complete you.”
He sighs, almost rapturously. “You have no idea, my canvas, how much the human body can endure.”
Wallace…
“This is not our usual operation.” I look at the faces around me, my family. “We run silent. No gunshots. No explosives. You use knives, you break necks, you use a garrote. We cannot alert Kholodov. If his alarms are triggered, Scarlett-”
“Not a fecking sound,” Michael says, squeezing my shoulder.
“Split up, pairs only. Everyone is clear on their approach?” I look around, everyone nods, deadly serious.
I dinnae work this way. I plan, I map out my target, I’m precise. It’s how I’ve always succeeded and now, I’m rushing in half-blind.
No mistakes.
Russo was able to disarm the sensors at a corner of the estate property long enough for us to cut through the fence and disperse.
“The ground floor window on the northwest side is your sweet spot,” she’d said. “The sensors in that room are always misfiring, no one will think any differently.”
Michael and I make it to the house before we freeze, back against the brick wall as two guards come around the corner. Slamming my hand over one man’s mouth, I twist his neck, wincingat the audible snap. Michael stabs the other one through the eye, pulling the blade out as the man drops bonelessly to the ground.
Lacing his hands together, Michael gives me a boost up to the window, holding steady as I raise it slowly. No screech of the wood. Silence. My fingers cramp, wanting to take out my lighter, flick it, see the reassuring glow.
Hauling Michael up, we slide the window down and head for the hall. “The back staircase is to your left,” Russo instructed. “It squeaks, but you have no choice. The guards all use the main one. Third floor.”
Michael’s listening to the activity from the other teams in his headset, holding up two fingers, then four, then six.
Six men down, eight with our two. He raises his fingers again, four more.
Everything’s silent.
We catch a pair of guards on the second floor; the giant bald fucker almost gets a shout out before my arm’s wrapped around his throat from behind. I stab him, the knife slides through his ribs, blood spraying over the walls, the rug until he stills.
Michael’s garrote is wrapped around the other guard’s neck, the man’s face is blue, mouth frozen open, trying to draw in air as he died.Pointing up, I hold up two fingers. The last two guards, standing watch. Kholodov has already entered Scarlett's room.
Chapter Forty-One
In which Scarlett is going to owe some serious cash to the Swear Jar.
Scarlett…
“You’re wasting your time with this little demonstration.”
How is my voice so calm?
Xavier picks up a long blade, appreciating the gleam of light along the metal. “How so, my sweet canvas?”
“You want the Banner Syndicate.” I stroll a little, casually putting the bed between us. “You want the money, the control over all the distribution routes.”
