Page 18 of Cozen

Sargon did not miss that choice in words. “So to speak.”

“What does that mean?” Jett asked. “He either was, or he was not. There is no gray area.”

“There is gray everywhere,” Sargon replied, smirking just a bit. “My boss is whoever pays me enough, and keeps my attention focused for the time being.”

“So your loyalty …?”

“Is flimsy.”

And fickle.

Non-existent, practically.

Jett’s gaze darted to the man Sargon was still keeping pinned to the wall. “Really, Gerald, you couldn’t even handle removing this issue for me, so I didn’t have to come out to it? You had one job.”

“He took me by—”

“He tried to make a show of it, and gave me an opening,” Sargon interrupted the man. “Someone else, and it probably would have been fine. I am not someone else, and I pay attention more so than others.”

“Fucking idiot … kill you!”

“You do realize the back of your neck looks like shredded steak right now, don’t you?” Sargon asked the man. “This is an Obsidian blade, but I don’t suspect you understand what that even means. Let me tell you. It means that this blade is so thin and sharp that on a cellular level, it slices through your cells rather than tear through them like steel. The more you move against the edge of this knife, the worse it cuts you.”

Instantly, the man stopped struggling.

Sargon rolled his gaze upwards, and then looked to Jett. “Finally, he fucking gets it. Little late, though.”

“What—”

Tilting his knife up so the tip rested against the bloody spot on the back of the man’s neck, Sargon only needed to put the slightest bit of pressure against the hilt. First, though, he looked to the man’s boss—Jett.

“I hope you’re not very fond of this man,” Sargon said.

Jett sighed. “I was … once.”

“Shame.”

It was a mantra of sorts for Sargon. Shame could be found in every corner of life, regardless of who carried the burden. Shame was not always obvious, either.

Sargon put pressure against the hilt of the knife. It sliced right through the man’s skin and into his spine like a hot blade cutting through butter. He never once took his gaze away from Jett as he pulled the knife back out, and the man fell to the floor.

A morbid thump.

It echoed, even.

The hallway had turned that silent all around them. Sargon much preferred silence to anything else. He found it comforting.

“Shame,” Jett murmured.

“Sorry, but you didn’t exactly seem like you particularly liked the man,” Sargon pointed out.

The man in black behind Jett had eyes so wide, they could be fucking saucers. He looked from the body on the floor, to Sargon, and then to his boss. Anger and disbelief colored up his features as he took a step forward like he was going to come at Sargon.

Welcome to try, asshole.

Jett stopped the man with a single hand held high. “Don’t move.”

“But, boss—”