“You’re not going to kill me?” he choked out, nursing his broken wrist.
I tilted my head. “Did I say that?”
He frowned. “Then how would I tell him?”
“You won’t but your arrogance will.”
I struck. Clean. Precise. The steel sliced through the air and into flesh, a wet tear silenced by my hand over his mouth. His body shuddered beneath the blade, the struggle weak and fleeting. Eyes wide open, he finally grasped the true meaning of terror as I held him there, feeling the life quiver beneath my palm, waiting until the light faded from his gaze completely.
When he was still, I cleaned the blade on the sheet and sheathed it. Today wasn’t about the kill, I’d done plenty of that. Today it was about fear that would remain long after I was gone, about the dismantling the self-importance that shielded them once they discovered you can’t escape death, especially one you couldn’t predict.
Opening the door, I checked the corridor, aware that on my left I’d find guarding soldiers and on my right, further down, I’d find my intended target. I closed the door, stripped the sheet off the bed and laid it down on the carpet then rolled his dead weight onto it. Covering him, I wrapped the ends together, curled it around my wrists and opened the door again.
Slowly, I dragged him through the hallway, the sheet gliding smoothly over the marble tiles. I didn’t care about the bloodtrail today. If someone approached, I’d walk away, message delivered, just not to the right door.
No one came. Once I reached Veer’s bedroom door, I positioned the dead man carefully. Not just lying down. I arranged him facing the door, his hands crossed over his chest in a mockery of peace, but I left his eyes open. Staring. Waiting. Let Veer open his door and find the man who was supposed to protect him reduced to a corpse on his threshold. Let him wonder how they got in. Let him wonder who walked through his walls without a sound. Let him feel the power slip from his fingers.
Let him wonder what secrets I knew.
Retracing my steps, I moved back through the shadows, past the cameras, past the guards who stood watch over nothing. Scaling the wall was easier than the descent, my muscles burning with the exertion, and I dropped to the street beyond without a sound. The city waited, vast and dark, hiding a thousand mysteries. I pulled the hood lower over my mask and walked away.
Only, my phone vibrated in my pocket before I could melt into the shadows where I belonged.
I tapped the earpiece. “Yeah?”
“He needs you.” Katarina didn’t waste time with details, just the location.
Remo was at Strikers, a bar where he drank when the weight of the crown grew too heavy. I should’ve ignored it, should’ve kept running, kept hunting, maintained the distance between us that kept him safe from the truth. Ishika needed this time to recover, to make the right decision not just for herself but the life growing inside her which was why Uncle Haru’s suggestion to go back to Japan with him was the right choice even if Remo burned down the city.
Instead, I turned toward the neon glow, drawn by a gravity I couldn’t fight.
The bar was underground, the air thick with smoke and the low hum of bass that vibrated in the floorboards. I slipped past the bouncers with a nod. Having been here plenty of times, taking care of business, they’d seen me in action and knew better than to stop me. Moving through the crowd, most ignored me, while others backed away until I reached the private room at the back. The door was ajar, light spilling out along with the scent of whiskey and blood. I pushed it open, the hinges silent, and found him slumped over the round table, a glass dangling from his fingers, his knuckles split and raw.
He wasn’t alone. One man looked ready to drive his fist into Remo’s face, while the other watched. Both turned at the same time, recognizing the mask as I stepped into the light.
Immediately the man’s fist dropped, his hands coming up, palms out. “He’s yours.”
“I know.” I tilted my head, waiting for their next move.
“Son of a bitch deserves what’s coming to him. Can we watch?” They assumed I was there to take Remo out.
“Sure, as long as I can invite another guest.”
“The more the merrier,” the other replied.
My sword slipped into my fingers with the ease of an eel through water. Both men’s eyes widened. “Hey…” one began.
It was the last one word he’d ever use. I didn’t linger over the bodies, merely sheathed my sword and stepped past them. Swapping the yin-yang mask for the cat-like one, I approached Remo
He didn’t look up, just stared at the amber liquid, his shoulders heavy with a grief I knew too well. “Go away,” he muttered, his voice slurred at the edges.
“I’m not here to talk.” I stepped closer, the heels of my boots clicking softly on the wood.
He lifted his head then, eyes bloodshot, focus sharpening as he recognized me. “Koro.” He laughed, a bitter sound that cracked in the middle. “Come to kill me too? Save me the trouble.”
“I’m not here to kill you.” I sat opposite him, reaching across the table to cover his broken hand with mine. He flinched, then leaned into the touch, his eyes closing as if the contact was the only thing anchoring him to the earth. “Ishika is missing. Gone.” He opened his eyes; the blue clouded with pain. “Someone took her. And I can’t find her.”
“You will.” I didn’t promise what I couldn’t guarantee, but he needed the hope more than the truth. “But not like this.”
