Still inside him.
“Your pulse is too fast,” I murmur as I step in front of him, scalpel dangling loosely in my fingers. “If you pass out, I’ll bring you back and do this again. So don’t.”
His eyes dart to me—terrified, pleading, stupid.
“Who ordered her hit?” I know the answer, but I need to start somewhere. I ask calmly, like I’m asking for a weather report.
He keeps his mouth shut. I don’t sigh, don’t roll my eyes. I simply take the scalpel and draw a line down the side of his forearm.
A perfect cut.
He screams like I’ve gutted him. Why is he screaming so loud? It’s just a cut. The nails were worse.
“Lucien,” he spits out immediately, words tangled with saliva.
I step back so he doesn’t spit on me.
Disgusting.
“And who else knows about the assignment?” I continue, dropping the scalpel into the tray with a soft metal click. I grab his jaw, thumb pressing into the hinge just enough to feel it shift.
“Just twins, nobody else.”
I shove his jaw aside, done with his babbling. The twins are idiots. No wonder Lucien gave the assignment to Rodrigo.
“What confirmation was Lucien expecting and when?” I ask, leaning closer, checking the cut.
Still no dripping. Nice.
Rodrigo swallows hard. “Photo,” he whispers. “With her face. He wants it by Wednesday night at the latest.”
Wednesday.
I have two days to think this through, that’s fine.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Like this was a conversation, not a death sentence. For a second he looks relieved, like he thinks cooperation buys redemption.
“I don’t like noise, so calm down,” I warn him before I walk behind him, place both my hands on his skull, one on the back of his head, the other on his chin. His sweaty hair sticks to my palms.
I tighten my grip, feel the small tremor in his neck muscles as his body realizes what’s coming a second too late. He starts to inhale—the beginning of another scream, but I don’t let it finish.
One twist, a sharp, loud pop—and finally, silence. The weight of him pulls against the cuffs, his head lolls forward at an unnatural angle.
I watch him for a moment. When his body stops twitching, I let my hands fall to my sides, then turn off the light and lock the door behind me.
Michael will clean it up. Now I need to think.
?
I’m sitting at the huge round oak table in the main living room, zoned out, my cigarette dangling between my fingers, a long trail of unbroken ash hanging from it.
“Kas,” Adrien urges me to break out of my trance, but his voice is muffled in my ears as I’m overwhelmed with thoughts.
She feels the same as she did six years ago. Her little body fits into my arms like a missing piece of a puzzle. Her hair still smells like warm vanilla.
I couldn’t stop inhaling it even after her body was already limp in my arms. The last look she gave me is annoyingly engraved in my mind now.
