I close my eyes momentarily and inhale a breath laced with regret—because I know she must’ve heard everything.
Dante looks back and forth between us, as surprised as I am to see this young woman standing there. I never bring women to my home—always to hotels—but I have been bringing Emily here. Because I was beginning to like her. I’d never told Dante about her.
Emily, with long, golden-brown hair draping her shoulders, folds her hands down in front of her; her face is downcast, wounded.
“I-I’m sorry…” she says, pausing, searching, but instead of continuing, she turns on her heels and goes to leave.
“Emily, wait a second.” I move past Dante, shutting him off inside the house and following Emily down the rocks steps. “I don’t know what all you heard”—suddenly I feel panicky inside, hoping, more than anything that she didn’t hear the parts about the man in the trunk—that’s a much larger problem to fix.
Emily stops on the sidewalk and turns around to me.
“Look, you’re a wonderful guy—at least, I thought you were—but I’m just…sorry Fredrik, but I’m not going to be one of your whores.”
Her long hair swishes behind her as she whips back around and heads for her car parked on the street.
I don’t go after her.
I never should’ve perused her to begin with. She’s a sweet, innocent, beautiful girl who wants to be a nurse to help save lives—I’m a dark, wicked monster that feels great pleasure in bringing bastards to the brink of the end of their lives. And that darkness grows inside of me more every day. Sometimes the torture isn’t enough anymore. And that scares me. A little.
The red glow of her brake lights light up the darkness as Emily drives away.
“You think she heard anything about the guy in my trunk?” I hear Dante say nervously when I step back inside the house.
I shake my head. “No, she didn’t hear anything about that.”
Dante makes a breathy noise with his lips.
“That’s a relief,” he says. “But are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I tell him, confident in my ability to read a person; it is, after all, part of my job. “She wasn’t afraid,” I go on. “Just disappointed.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, boss—she seemed like a nice girl.”
“She was.”
“Well hey, you can do better,” Dante says, and I really wish he would just stop talking and bring the man in from the trunk. “You don’t need a nice girl anyway—shit boss, you need someone like you.”
Perhaps I wasn’t giving the guy enough credit—that’s the first intelligent thing I’ve ever heard him say.
I head for the shower with bloodshed heavy on my mind.
Izabel
“Do you think he’ll show?” Nora asks, sitting next to me on the private jet.
Ten minutes before we’re to leave, and still no sign of Niklas. I glance over at a tool of a woman named Blythe who stands near the entrance of the plane wearing military boots and dark mauve lipstick and eye shadow; long dark hair tumbles over both shoulders; a scowl is etched on her mouth. Blythe looks about as much the submissive type as Nora looks weak and vulnerable. But Victor believes in her ability to pull off a Jekyll and Hyde act, so I guess I should have more trust in his judgment—I just don’t want her taking my place on this mission.
“He’ll be here,” I answer Nora, feeling only about forty percent confident anymore. Anxiously I glance at the time on my phone in my hand.
Another operative from the First Division stands outside the plane, waiting; some guy named Elric, who’s supposed to be the fill-in for Niklas if he doesn’t show up.
I look over at Nora sitting by the window. She doesn’t look convinced.
“He’ll be here,” I repeat.
I glance down at the time again and my confidence begins to plummet.
Nora shrugs with an if-you-say-so expression.
Minutes later Blythe’s statuesque form finally moves when something outside garners her attention. She moves down the stairs and out of the plane. I get up immediately and cross the aisle to see out the window on the other side, my heart beating two hundred beats per minute.
Relief washes over me when I see Niklas, dressed in a black suit, striped tie, and dress shoes, walking toward the plane with two briefcases, one clutched in each hand and a garment bag tossed over a shoulder—definitely not used to seeing him in a suit.
“He’s here,” I tell Nora quickly as I’m leaving the seats and make my way to the plane’s entrance.
I head down the stairs and onto the tarmac.
“You’re late,” I say, stepping up.
Niklas looks at the thick, expensive Rolex on his wrist. He says nothing in return, turns away from me and gives Blythe and Elric all of his attention. It pisses me off for about two seconds, but I’m just glad he’s here.
After Niklas sees Blythe and Elric off, he steps up to me, his bluish-green eyes sweeping over me from top to bottom in a scrutinizing manner.