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“I think it’s time we played a little game, don’t you?” I question, picking up the blade from my array of tools. Leaning in close to his trembling form, I award him with a smile while I slice away his shirt. I find his hairy chest, which concaves as he sucks in a breath. The asshole is nothing to look at, graying hair, beady eyes, and wrinkles on his fifty-year-old face.
“P-p-please, I c-c-can pay, anything you w-w-want.” His promise makes me chuckle. There’s only one thing I want, and it can’t be found. I reach for the bottle that travels with me on every job. I twist the cap, chucking it on the table as I turn to my mark.
I lean in close to his sniveling face. “It’s time to learn how much your payments are worth,” I tell him. Tipping the container, I watch as the clear fluid trickles over his chest, the stench of burning flesh invading my nostrils. It doesn’t make me sick since I’m used to the smell. As if there’s a steak sizzling on a hot grill, I hear the sound of skin turning to nothing as it bubbles and disintegrates.
His screams are drawn right from the gut slowly disappearing under the acid. My gaze is locked on his, noting how his eyes roll back in his head as pain takes over. The flesh that rots from his bones gives way to his intestines. Blood pools at my feet, and I know I’m going to have to clean my motherfucking boots again.
“You’re making quite a mess, Senator Hopkins.” I smile when I step back. “You know, the Cavalieri would’ve come sooner, but I had a woman on my dick last night, and she was more entertaining than you are.”
The old man attempts to shake his head, pleading for mercy. His movements are slowing, then I see it. The light flickers off, and he’s dead.
“You didn’t last as long as I thought you would,” I tell the corpse. “Too bad.” Shrugging, I pull out the crisp, white handkerchief and wipe the blade clean. Dropping the material on his corpse, I smile when I notice the white of bone peeking at me through the ripped pink flesh and pooling red.
I make sure each of the weapons I used are clean before sliding them into the briefcase. With a glance around the room, I ensure I have everything. We exact justice, and this time it’s no different. Once I’m ready, I take one last look at his shriveled insides and chuckle.
I press dial, then lift my phone to my ear. Once I hear the line click, I inform them, “Clean up,” before hanging up. I head to the exit and my SUV.
Time to go home.
After I’m in the driver’s seat, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The scent of metal is still rooted in my nostrils. I doubt I’ll ever get it out permanently, but one night with a pretty whore will sort it out temporarily.
The roads are quiet, the night sky hanging heavily with bright pinpricks of lights. The moon is full, round as if it’s watching what happens in the dark. Putting my foot down on the accelerator, I zip through the empty streets, needing to get home. I’m exhausted. I need sleep, but I know I’ll only be plagued with dreams of her.
When I pull into my parking garage, I wait till the gate is shut behind the car before exiting. My phone buzzes wildly in my jacket pocket, and when I pull it out, I notice Seth’s name on the screen.
“What?”
“Lance, beer tonight?” he questions. We’ve had some good nights, but Seth is much younger than me, and sometimes, I just need time on my own.
“Not tonight, man. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Hanging up before he can respond, I head inside and hope the rest of the evening is quiet.
Lance
In my bedroom, I shrug off my clothes, noting my laundry needs washing. I should have someone come in and sort this out, but I can’t trust anyone. I’ve learned that over the years.
The first time my life changed was the day I found my father. It was a turning point because I knew then I’d never be a normal kid. Violence ran through my veins with revenge and rage fueling me. And I enjoyed it.
The moment my life took a turn for the second time was only a few years later. We didn’t live far from the city of New Orleans, so by the time I arrived on the back of a truck, I was in awe of the beauty that surrounded me. People dressed in all sorts of strange costumes. Music, dancing, the place was alive with possibility.
As I walked through the crowds, I allowed myself to fantasize about living there, about being a normal kid for once. I wasn’t looking at where I was headed and slammed into a brick wall. Well, at first, I thought it was since the object was hard, rigid, but when I lifted my eyes, I found piercing blue ones staring back at me.
“And what do we have here,” the man practically growled at me. I had a feeling he was going to kill me, or he’d eat me for his dinner. I was much shorter than him, and at the time, as skinny as a garden rake. His hand fisted the T-shirt I was wearing, and he lifted me with one hand.
When I stuttered that I was sorry, he chuckled, set me down, and pulled me along with him into a small corner café that was almost empty. I guessed all the people were outside, but later I learned Arthur Calthorpe owned New Orleans.
He owned the city, the people, and now, he owned me.
Although I didn’t need much to survive, Arthur took me in and raised me as if I were his son, and I was no longer orphaned as I told him. At the time, he didn’t have any other children, and his beautiful wife, Guinevere, had been elated with me.
The day I turned eighteen, I was initiated into the Cavalieri, and Guinevere fell pregnant. Later in her pregnancy, we learned there would be a little girl running riot through the house.
Even though Arthur never wanted a child, I saw the love in his eyes for the tiny bump his wife carried. And even then, he still doted on me. He’d given me a family of misfits, and I found my place in this world. He trained me as if I were a soldier, and when he gifted my first weapon to me on my eighteenth birthday, I knew I would never leave the Cavalieri.
I moved into an apartment in New Orleans on a whim — I drank, fucked, and partied my way through the city. Even though I worked for Arthur, when I had time off and wasn’t scouring the country to complete my jobs, I enjoyed the delights offered to me.
I spent time with beautiful women, having them ride me while I drank myself into oblivion, until another email would come through with a mark I had to take out. Then I’d be off, flying across the world or driving across the country.
I’m proud to say I’m one of the Cavalieri Della Morte — a dark knight who saunters into homes, stealing lives, and ensuring men and women pay for their sins.
