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In the basement parking garage, a shiny black stretch limousine is waiting for us. I raise my eyes heavenward at the ostentatious show of wealth. Tonight’s delivery method tells me all I need to know about our newest target.
Wealth.
Prestige.
Corruption.
Night opens the door and we step into the limo’s plush surroundings. A tumbler of whiskey, neat, waits for Night in a sparkling crystal tumbler, not a hint of ice in sight. An image of the media’s earlier claim about the victim making his own ice cubes by the bucketful flashes into my head. No one ever expects theiceto be poisoned.
I sit as far away from Kayla as I can, but somehow she ends up diagonally across from me, flirting up a storm with Honey.
I turn away. Outside, the bright lights of the city soon start to fade away, and within half an hour we’re out in the countryside. Not like, the actual rural landscape, but definitely the suburbs these rich, entitled pricks like to refer to as being in the country.
The limo stops and Night opens the door allowing the cool night air to blow in, reminding us all that we’re still flesh and blood. Even if Snow likes to think he’s fucking invincible.
We exit the vehicle and head towards a large, custard yellow, mock Tudor mansion that sits surrounded on three sides by a moat. A fucking moat. On the fourth, a lake stretches out for miles.
Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with these people? A Chelsea Tractor is parked on the driveway, personalised plates declaring ‘BIGDNRGY’. Fuck my life. Is the D for dick or dollar?
As we cross the bridge that takes us over the moat on foot, none of the home’s extensive security lights come on. They’re either all for show, or the powers that be have done us a solid and disabled all the alarms, cameras and additional security measures to save us some time.
As we approach the front door, I turn to Snow, “That gonna be fucking open for us too?”
He scans the grounds, not even looking at me, “Yep.”
He raises a hand to knock, but the door swings open before he makes contact. I smirk.
The inside of the home is even more ostentatious than the outside. Rich, dark woods, deep reds and greens dominate the decorating scheme.
A quick look around shows paintings from the likes of Picasso, Van Gogh, Dali and Rembrandt, all tastefully lit, hanging on the walls. A large, inlaid, stained-glass chandelier hangs from the ceiling. It looks like a fucking kaleidoscope of colour. There must be something wrong with the lights—the intense glare makes me squint.
Just like that, I realise this is just another rich fuck with too much time on their hands.
Night turns to the rest of us, “Just like we usually do.”
He leads us through the wide open foyer, past a statue that looks like it’s made from gold. When I get a good look at it, I’m not sure if it is or not. If so, it’s got to be worth a fucking mint. If not, it’s a ridiculous copy.
I eye the large staircase that splits the room in two, up to the second floor. The staircase itself is a work of art. I know nothing about architecture or design, but that shit looks good, in an Op-Art kind of way.
Night leads us up the stairs. I fall in behind him. Kayla’s smiling at me, a come-hither look in her gaze. I can’t take those cat-like eyes. I glance away.
Night stops at a door, kicks it open and I follow him inside, stepping over large splinters of broken wood. A large bed dominates the centre of the room. Two women in sexy-as-hell lingerie lie on the bed, tied up in a variety of positions and gagged.
He walks towards the bed and the pair start kicking and screaming – as much as they’re able.
My stomach churns as I take in the scene. These women are probably someone’s daughters, sisters, friends… I don’t feel guilt or remorse, just a cool sense of acceptance that these women are going to meet a nasty end because they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Night turns to us with a smirk, “Well, boys, this is what we came for. Let’s get to work.”
I watch as the others start to pull out their weapons, eager to have their moment of madness unleashed.
I back away towards the door. It doesn’t take seven psychos to kill two women. Besides, I want to fuck shit up.
“Mind if I tag along?” Kayla asks just as I reach the broken bedroom door.
“That’s not exactly keeping up your end of our deal now, is it?”
“You’ll hardly notice I’m here.”
