Perfect.
The fire is spreading much faster than I imagined. As soon as it reaches the expensive paintings on the wall, it starts eating anything in its way, the linseed oil in the paintings feeding the fire. The silk window curtains right on top of the stairs caught fire instantly and fell down, spreading the fire on the top floor.
It’s so ironic how the most expensive materials catch fire the easiest. As if they were made just to burn. A faint smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
We stand there, amazed by the power of the fire, and light a cigarette each.
The fire is getting louder, cracking of the wood, sizzling of the rug, all pleasure to my ears.
“They’ll think we died in here,” Adrien says quietly, not taking his eyes away from our work and smoking his cigarette.
“I know,” I answer with amusement in my voice, and he suddenly looks at me.
“What about Kiara?”
“She’ll live. That’s enough.” I take a drag of the cigarette and fill my lungs with the smoke.
“What if she talks?”
“She won’t.”
She’s probably scared of me anyway.
In a couple of days, maybe even tomorrow, she’ll read an article about the tragically sad fire that burned down the Varner family, philanthropic heroes of this city, together with their two beloved adopted children, Kasien and Natalya Varner.
I laugh under my breath.
The smell starts to sting in my nose so we toss the cigarettes away in the lobby and go for the SUV, leaving this hellhole behind us.
Kasien
Present
We took the bikes to get to the ball on time. I wanted to check the place and scan for all possible exits, rooms, and cameras. Kiara is arriving later with Michael and the other guys, that way it’s more natural.
The ballroom smells of money, perfume and expensive alcohol. That’s Lucien’s signature. Opulence as camouflage. He believes beauty distracts people from the rot underneath.
He’s right. It works on most. Not on me.
Thank God the old Devereaux is not here today.
Adrien is by the bar on the other side of the room, maintaining small talk with people, usually Vermilion people.
He hates all of them, so he’s probably imagining some cruel death to the person he now talks to.
Every time we need to kill one of them, because of some shit they did or just because they pissed Lucien off, Adrien can unleash himself and have some fun. There’s something satisfying about watching him. He likes to get dirty with them. But it’s heartbreaking at the same time, watching him lose himself.
I let my gaze wander around the room and go through the same drill as ever. Every person first looks at my signature hands, then nods at me and leaves. Nobody ever shakes my hand, everyone knows I hate touch.
Or they’re scared of me, as they should. I also never talk more than I need to, so nobody is annoying me with conversation.
The ball is happening in an insufferably unstylish mansion far away from the city. Three floors, too many rooms, one underground parking with our bikes and cars.
I sip my whisky, scanning all the people acting like they care about charity when in fact, this is just a big meeting of the most rotten people in this city, most of them doing business through Vermilion. Ugly fat men hold their wives, eye fucking the escorts by the bar at the same time.
There are lots of younger men, like me, but they are usually just Lucien’s foot soldiers. Some men are alone, already buying drinks for the ladies by the bar.
All those people are fucking disgusting.
