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“I returned your money.” Those were the only words I spoke, softly, not rising to his intended slight.
“Fuck you. I thought you could do the job. Now you know my intent, you'll be on your own hit list.” Not passing to address a single issue I raised, he laughed, and I imagined if I stood in front of him he might have levelled a gun in my face, this obtuse man of emerald cloth, or of Oz.
“Good luck.” I went to end the call.
“Wit–” Mandillion coughed, as though panicked.
You should be, pretend mafia man.
He didn’t hold half the power he made out to possess, but then, most of them didn’t. Without their support crew of killers and blood runners, none of these men were. Some of the women were far more corrupt, and much better at taking that power and wielding it.
I wondered what Celeste would do if I killed her father instead of her. Would she rise, too? Or slink away into the shadows, the ones she stared at nightly?
Tonight would be different. Our silent conversation would have words, and touches. Perhaps. Or perhaps I’d slide into her room, meld with the shadows and violate her space with my presence.
Perhaps I’d return her little arrow. I’d kept it in my pocket, wondering how to best put it to use.
“I’m waiting.” The words burned my throat like so much acid.
“I’ll double the pay.”
“No.”
The fast words and faster response stalled him.
“I’ll–”
“The offer is no longer available.” I said coldly. “If I choose to kill her, it will be on my own terms. Anyone else who comes to harm her will find their eternity dues come early.”
Her father spluttered in my ear as I ended the call. I should have cut her father off as soon as he rang. Right now I had a different little morsel to tease, though anticipation was half the battle.
Did she know I was coming for her? Did she expect me to run and hide after her shot at me? I was under no disillusions that she missed; the wide shot was intentional, despite the wind. She’d taken it into consideration and placed the arrow perfectly.
I hadn’t stayed to see if she knew it was me who defiled her, or if she slept through my abuse of her perfect body, showering my seed from her skin.
Or maybe she knew, and wore it still, letting me mark her again.
I swallowed at that last thought, stroking my cock. She’d finish at her studio soon, and her guard would be there to leer at her. My bike was the fastest way to her campus from my mountain, its heel tracks easy to hide in the thick forest that grew off to one side. The lack of people made it both easy and difficult to infiltrate the building opposite hers, where I set up my rifle to target her guards.
But only if they were out of line.
I fingered the bolt in my pocket, the one with a message of my own engraved on its dulled surface. She would know I was coming for her, and this time I wouldn't allow her to sleep through my touch.
My bike purred beneath me, a living beast in its own right as I rode across the city to her campus and found my regular spot on the rooftop, an easy shot and easier escape.
This time, I didn’t have my rifle, but extracted the crossbow I salvaged from her alleyway from the night she dropped her own.
Celeste flores. Artist, illusionist. Princess, killer.
A dichotomy of innocence and depravity and I would make her mine, just like the word I engraved on the opposite side of the bolt, the one she mouthed at me across the void of shadows that night when she first showed me she knew I was there.
Tonight.
She emerged from the studio, her pale hair flowing behind her, the long gray dress she wore with her boots and a jacket strapping her into the material. Her guard shoved her forward–would they never learn?–calling her all the unoriginal names he could muster. That moment, that was when I delivered my message to his temple.
He dropped, and the difference of no audible shot turned her on her heel. Celeste kneeled as she had the first day I killed her guard, tracing her finger around the wound. She extracted the bolt with a firm yank, running her fingers along its length to paint a scarlet path into the word I etched opposite hers.
She nodded, leaving the bolt carefully on the ground and walked away.
