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“In my experience, people with power seek to gain more power. They take it from others, they don’t destroy it. What did Death gain from killing Lincoln and Timo? He didn’t take over Timo’s construction empire, for example. What he gained was fame. Notoriety. But to what end? Perhaps someone told him how easy it was for you to take over and wants to try for himself.”
It was easy, wasn’t it?
Grinning, I say, “Tungsten.”
Everyone flinches, then glances at each other. I wish I could read the thoughts going through their minds in this moment of truth. Are they afraid? Is their ambivalance performative? Their expressions betray little.
After a second, Karthik lurches forward, spraying vomit. His face reddens, hands holding his chest. The next paroxysm knocks him out of his chair. He tips himself over and coughs out a bloody mass. The pressure around his heart must be unbearable, like his organs are being squeezed from within. His body spasms as if he’s been kicked when he pukes again. This time it’s more blood than anything else. Karthik tries to inhale one last breath, but he can’t even expand his lungs. He collapses, and dies.
“Don’t any of you forget: killing is easy, too. Tighten up, or it won’t be me you’ll have to worry about.”
I leave, headed for the harem to unwind. The courtesans snap to attention when I enter, likely aware that there’s trouble within the organization, even if they don’t know what.
“I’m having a bad day,” I announce. “Who would like to help me feel better?”
“I will!” one of them replies, stepping forward, a tall, skinny blonde I’ve not bothered to fuck yet. Not my type. I recognize her as one of the fashion models I brought to the Enclave as a gift to the Masters, back when I was on the cusp of my induction. She’ll do.
“Good. Come with me,” I say, leading her to a private room. “What’s your name again?”
“Angela,” she replies, adding a seductive, playful lilt to her voice.
“Angela. That’s lovely. How about you show me that beautiful body of yours?”
“It would be my pleasure, master,” she says.
She must have wanted something from me if she volunteered: protection, freedom, privileges… or maybe she’s attempting to earn my trust so she can betray me too. Get revenge for her abduction… or for Madeleine’s death. That’s what Kate would do, isn’t it?
Fucking shit. Death has me seeing daggers in the shadows everywhere I look. Angela’s just a whore.
When we get inside, I take a seat in the room’s padded wooden chair and direct her toward the bed.
“Let me see you dance.”
She smiles, gyrating her hips and shoulders. However, when I lift my gaze from her figure to her eyes, I don’t see pleasure or excitement — they stare back at mine, frozen in fear. She turns around but looks back at me, biting her lip as she twerks.
What if she tries to bite my cock off? If she thinks she’s never escaping this place…
Dammit. Dammit fucking dammit!
I let her go on like this for several minutes. As sexy as she is, my cock fails to rise. I lean back and cross one leg over the other, hiding my crotch. This isn’t her fault. I’ve never had this happen before.
“Get out,” I say.
“Master?” Angela whispers. “I can keep going…”
“Get the fuck out! Now!”
She speeds away, practically falling off the bed as she runs.
This shit with Death has to end, or I’m going to lose my fucking mind.
