Page 113 of Dishonored

It wasn’t loud, either.

The guard’s—a disposable man that Angelo could afford to lose—body hitting the door was louder than the gun going off, actually. Silencers worked wonders.

Caesar quickly pressed the comm in his ear, and muttered, “Go time.” Then, to Aria, he added, “Smile—this is your show for the next ten or so minutes. And then we end him.”

All he got from her was a nod.

That was fine, too.

Caesar’s gun was already locked and loaded at his side while in his other hand, he kept a tight grip on a string of razor sharp wire. Just as he expected, Raffe didn’t try the fucking door to see if it was unlocked—it actually was—he simply kicked it in.

The scene was already set.

The moment that door flew open, there she was for him to see.

Pretty, sweet, and waiting.

Sitting on the edge of a table.

Distracting.

Dangerous.

Divine.

Raffe’s gaze was only on his wife—narrowed and angry—he didn’t even look around the room when she was the first thing he was able to see. He certainly didn’t notice Caesar pushing out of the corner from the shadows, and coming for him.

Caesar tucked his gun into the waistband of his pants, and strung the wire out straight between his two hands. He came up next to Raffe just as the man who had been left in the hall shouted, “What the fuck?”

Raffe’s head turned fast.

Too late, though.

Caesar wrapped that wire around the man’s throat, twisted hard, and pulled back for all he was worth. Raffe was one hell of a big bastard—at least forty pounds of muscle on Caesar, and a couple of inches, too. And yet, when the unexpected hit, it didn’t matter how goddamn big a man was—he still fell like Goliath.

“Fuck—”

Raffe’s words were cut off by his back slamming into the floor, and his air rushing out of his body in one hard whoosh. Another pop echoed out in the hallway—Caesar’s comm buzzed again.

“Last man down,” Cain grunted. “Coming in, man.”

Good.

Because Caesar could really use some fucking help right about now.

Cain swept into the room, and was fast to tuck his pointed gun away at the sight of Caesar struggling with Raffe to keep the man on the floor. It didn’t take long for the two of them to drag the man further away from his currently smiling wife.

Raffe was fighting; even as he was dragged across the room to the chair Caesar had set up five feet away at the opposite end of the table Aria was sitting on. He bucked, and kicked, and more. Anything to get away, but it was pointless.

He had no air.

His strength waned fast.

They got him into the chair, and Caesar kept a firm hold on that wire while Cain grabbed the rope that had been sitting underneath it. Less than a minute from the moment Raffe had kicked the door open, he was bound to a chair with a razor sharp wire cutting bleeding lines into his throat.

“Give us a few,” Caesar said to his friend when Cain stepped back.

Cain glanced at him. “What?”