The older Çela claws at my wrist, kicking, thrashing as I restrict his airway. He reeks of whiskey and sweat, the most unpleasant combination. It’ll be a fucker to get out of my clothes later.
I drop him, and he scrambles toward his son, the two trying to escape. Pathetic.
Leaning down, I grab a cigarette from the old man’s pocket and thumb the lighter.
A small flame leaps, writhing a seductive and destructive dance in the air.
“No! Please,” the old man babbles. “W-We’ll do anything. Tell you anything. You can have all my money—”
I punch him across the face. Blood and spittle fly from his mouth.
Money? I have enough wealth to rival any billionaire. Can money turn back time? Can money bring back everything I’ve lost?
“Mirupafshim,asshole.”
Goodbye.
The cigarette flares, its tip glowing orange. I’m riveted by how something so tiny can cause so much destruction.
Likeher, if I let myself think it. But I don’t.
Caustic smoke reaches my nostrils as I hold the cigarette over him.
“See you in hell.”
I smile and drop it, watching the flames catch on his whiskey-soaked clothes, engulfing him in seconds.
Screams of terror fill the room as I calmly walk out the front door.
But then I fucking hear it.
“Meow.”
My feet freeze, and I look down, finding the calico cat staring at me, its back arched up, fangs showing.
Vicious little creature. Images of Lana smiling at the cat play behind my eyelids.
“I wish I could keep you.”
The spot beneath my rib cage throbs, and without thinking, I scoop up the cat.
“Your lucky day,” I murmur, and walk out the door, ignoring the cries behind me.
The cat claws my neck and draws blood. Smart, this little one.
Ren, dressed in his usual all-leather attire, hasn’t taken off his motorcycle helmet. He cocks his head and snaps up his visor, incredulity in his dark eyes when he spots the cat. Up close, he looks paler than usual. There’s a fleeting pinch in his forehead—gone in a split second—I’d miss it if I didn’t know him so well.
“Do I even want to know?”He points to the cat and signs with his free hand. The assassin of The Syndicate smirks.
“Shut up.”
“I don’t speak,”he taunts back and shakes his head, amusement in his eyes. Then he strikes a match and lights the Molotov cocktail in his grip.
“Ready? The pawn took care of the cameras. He says you can’t do shit without him.”
I roll my eyes at his mention of Aleksei Morozov, the hacker genius of The Syndicate. If it weren’t for his usefulness, I’d kick him out of the group so I wouldn’t have to hear him gloat.
“I already zapped them.” Impatient, I show Ren the debugger in my pocket.
