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Stewart's eyebrows shot up in a you're-the-one-to-talk look. "Worry about yourself, mate. It's your head on the trial, not mine."
Xavier sighed, and all humor evaporated. "I need you to take care of the orphanage."
Stewart rolled his eyes as he said, "God! I might as well start calling myself Mister Nanny."
Xavier shook his head. "Lame. Even for you."
And they entered the house.
~*~
Sean wiped his hands on the towel, staining it red. Some people deserved the fire they gathered for themselves by breaking his rules. Torture, he mused, was a great teacher, and he loved getting his lackeys in line.
He took off his blood-stained shirt and wore a new one. Looking at himself in the mirror, he smiled and tore off the pocket over his chest.
He liked it. It gave him a personality quirk. Why did anything have to have a deep reason?
Rais knocked on his door.
"What?" barked Sean.
"Xavier."
Sean sighed. He was done with Xavier's tantrums. It was time to get him in line. It was time to settle the score. So, he walked out with his chin high.
Upon seeing Xavier, he plastered a smile on his face, wondering why he hadn't been signed for an award-winning movie yet, the amazing actor that he was, and said, "Ah, Xavier, my boy!"
Sure, among all the men working under him, Xavier was his best assassin. There was no doubting that. He killed quickly, never missed, and left no traces. Blah. Blah. Blah. However talented he was, it didn't give him the right to glower at him the way he always did.
Sean tilted his head as he measured him up. His eyes filled with the clouds of his past that fogged his reality. No one seemed to notice. Did they think he'd forget?
Xavier was his culprit.
He looked up at the young man and smirked at his troubled expression. "What is it, Xavier? Unable to satisfy your plaything? Need me to help her with it?"
A fire crackled in his eyes. Sean liked how he could affect him in an instant with the game of mere words.
When Xavier didn't answer, he said, "Now, my boy, what are you here for, then?" Sean turned his back to him; waiting, anticipating.
His eyes were fixed on the frame hanging over the wall in front of him. It was a painting—a man was making a useless attempt to save his dying wife by holding her in his arms, looking up at the sky, and pleading to God. Sean grimaced. God. What a useless propaganda.
Xavier's words echoed through the room as he announced, "I'm leaving."
He smiled, not that Xavier could see. Part of his decision to leave led him to his end, and part of it lost Sean his best killer. "No."
"I am not asking for your permission."
Sean whirled around, after once glancing at Ashley and ignoring her troubled expressions. "You might not be asking for my permission, but I intend to remind you of what you signed up for."
His culprit's mouth was a thin line. "I signed up to survive."
"And you forget the rules once your life has been changed. I gave you this life and I own it."
Xavier took two quick breaths, and his voice dropped a tone as he pleaded, "Let me go..."
Much better.
Sean turned back around, smiling as he sat on his seat. Scratch that. His throne. He took his phone from the table on his right side. He opened the gallery to see it. Her photo. Sasha.
