A vending machine at the side in the entrance catches my attention, and I keep my footsteps light as I move a couple feet towards it, dipping my hand in my pocket for change I don’t even have.
Patterson and his guest wisp in my peripheral, the familiar sound of an elevator dinging forcing back my ears as I listen to the doors opening and closing, sealing in a fake feminine laugh that’s grating across my skin.
“Card only.”
I drag my gaze towards the owner of the voice. The receptionist still hasn’t lifted her head; this time she’s scrolling through her phone, the sounds of music picking up and cutting off as she scrolls through.
Gritting my teeth, I yank my card and purchase a soda. Thank fuck it’s a fake card, but the cocky part of me hopes the Omnia look into this one, because the same name that was on my invitation is linked to this card.
A trail towards the crumbling of their empire.
My boots thump as I walk past the desk, the receptionist taking no notice as she doomscrolls through social media. When I reach the elevator, I move past it and take the stairs two at a time, reaching the second floor.
And right on time, Patterson’s greying hair is all I see slip inside the room down the long corridor. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to answer Rex.
“Do you need assistance?” he asks, a playful hint to his tone.
“Get someone up here for the girl; I’ll sort the rest.” I cut the call; the last thing I need is her raising the alarm.
I’ve never had such a lucky day bestow itself upon me. Dad being in the car means he can get into any CCTV in the area, wipe it clean.
Maybe God does still have a soft spot for his old favourite angel.
Stalking down towards the door, I wait, and I wait. The moment I hear the fake cries, my boot connects with the door. A real cry follows it as I make my way through the hotel room.
The woman clambers off the bed, grabbing her scraps of material as if that’s going to protect her modesty. Patterson jumps from the bed, rounding it as he searches for his own.
“Get the fuck out of here. Do you know who I fucking am?!” he screeches.
Maybe his voice box should go first; I can’t fucking stand to hear that for longer than necessary. My gaze shifts to the redhead behind him. “Out.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice, heels in hand as she fights with the zipper on her dress. A scream picks up from behind the door, and it’s swiftly silenced as I hear one of my men tackle her.
“All in place, boss,” he confirms, closing the door with a struggled click as the hinges work against the cracked frame. My glare remains fixed on our quivering Chief of Police.
“I said—”
“Iheardwhat you fucking said.”
His mouth clamps shut, and he backs further into the room as I take slow steps towards him.
“Craig Patterson. Male. Fifty-eight years old. Chief of Police for Kingstone. The story to his colleagues is that he had a wealthy grandparent, but the reality is, he’s in with the higher ups of the Omnia. They pay him handsomely to ensure their operation remains undisturbed.”
The remaining colour in his face vanishes like a gradient, limbs trembling, and I wait for the moment this guy pisses himself.
His large, wild eyes search my face, and I do him the honour of removing the cap and glasses, watching the realisation take his breath away when the lightbulb goes off in his head. “You’re a dead man walking!” he tries to snarl at me, but it comes out more like an adolescent male on the brink of his voice breaking.
My head cocks to the side. “Dead men don’t walk.”
The gun he didn’t realise I reached for whips out in a blur of black carbon, a bullet going into each of his kneecaps.
His cry is euphoric, firing my blood to boiling level as he collapses to the floor in a naked heap. I really didn’t need to shoot him, but my trigger finger got a bit itchy. I can’t trust myself not to beat the bastard to death, so I stay a couple inches away.
He’ll live long enough with his kneecap blown out, just might not be able to use the left one in a one-legged race anytime soon; it’s pissing with blood.
Rolling my eyes, I head towards the dresser, switching on the TV as I turn the volume up to max. “Not a very good Chief if you didn’t anticipate me reaching for a weapon. Too much time spent behind a desk?” I throw over my shoulder.
His whimpers are drowned out by the reality TV show filling the room, and I add, “What’s the deal with your little group of sociopaths?”
