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“Let me think on it.” I shut the lights off, leaving Clive crying in the dark.
Seth stands scowling at Ryan.
“Prick.”
“How did Libby go off this morning?” I query, and his eyes dim at her name.
“Okay, I guess. She didn't even react. It’s like she’s not even in there, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“She’ll get there,” Seth murmurs, pouring himself another drink and knocking it back in one.
“We’ll discuss the Israelis when I get back,” I say, finishing my drink. “But first, Marsden owes me blood.”
Pulling on my gloves and overalls, I walk along the end wall and choose a hunting knife. Keying in the code, I step inside and flick on the emergency lights, allowing myself a small amount of visibility. With quick, even strides, I close the distance between Clive and myself and drop to my haunches, bringing the knife down with me on a harsh sweep, stabbing him clean through the thigh. I feel the smallest amount of resistance from his bone, but I know I’ve cut through. He howls, bucking wildly in the chair.
“A lot of noise for a scratch.” I tut, watching the blood gathering around the knife handle. Its warmth caresses my fingers through the gloves as it pools and begins to seep over and drip onto the floor.
“I can get the money,” he gasps, sweat forming on his brow.
It’s never about the money. When will these amateur fucks get it? I sniff the air.
“Smells like weak man bullshit to me.” I twist the knife and he screams in agony. Adrenaline burns through me. I shudder and crack my neck, anticipating his death all the more.
Clive sobs loudly, begging for his life. Pathetic.
I remove the knife, watching as blood weeps from the gaping wound. His snivelling and crying splinters my ears, rupturing the last amount of patience I had left. When will these fucking children learn to die like men? I want to peel his skin and ship it to his wife, but his sobs have me roaring in fury.
“No.”Stab.“One.”Stab.“Fucks.”Stab.“With the motherfucking Panel!” I bellow, pulling my knife from his pudgy gut and pressing my forehead aggressively against his as I pant harshly. I swallow my anger and work my jaw as I fight the urge to batter him with wounds until there are more holes than flesh. Using the bloody tip, I lift his blindfold and glare at him with revulsion. He has a dazed look on his face, his pained eyes pleading with me. Pleading to a humane part of me. He has no idea I have been killing since I was a child. I was bred to kill for our cause, to excel academically and succeed in the business world. We live by our own laws. Manipulate and outsmart everybody, for something far greater than what most believe they are made for. They have no idea of what the world has to offer. If only they were brave enough to try and take it.
The Panel makes no exceptions.
And we only look out for ourselves.
His metallic breath skates across my face, and I wrinkle my nose.
“Thayer, please,” he gurgles, spittle spraying across my cheek.
I growl.
“The Panel sends their regards.” I make one final cut and watch his eyes widen in terror. His cuffed hands thrash as they desperately try to reach for his throat. “I hope you don't mind, but I need to leave. I have a date.” I wink as he twitches before me, blood seeping out the long wound at his throat. I watch the last of his life slip away, his pupils dilating, and I catch sight of myself crouched in his immobile gaze.
Exiting the room, I rip the overalls and gloves off and give my clothes a onceover before wiping my face clean.
“Feel better?” Ryan smirks.
“Not quite. Get Johnson in here with a team to clean that up.” I flick my head towards a lifeless Marsden. With that, I leave them and take the elevator to the garage.
* * *
Rubin,my driver, sets off through London at a leisurely speed until he parks outside the same hotel we drive to each week. I scan the street for Tia. Leaning against the car, I find my phone to check the time. A splash of rainwater hits my screen and I pocket it before it begins to fall harder. Turning to wait in the car, I catch sight of a woman a few feet away with her face turned up to the sky, rain pattering her face.
Unlike those around her rushing to push their umbrellas up, she welcomes the rain. I find her oddly amusing and smile at her behaviour. Her eyelids flutter as the water connects with her flushed skin. From her stance and the way her mouth is pulled down, I can tell she is sad. Her small shoulders are slouched, making her seem smaller than she actually is.
She’s been working out, what with the way she has gym leggings on that caresses her limbs in a way I want to and a loosely zipped sports jacket that exposes her delicate collarbone. She’s simply stunning. High cheekbones. Full but small lips. Her nose is petite and slightly upturned, thick lashes are the only boundary separating me from looking at eyes I know are going to be something else. Someone bangs into her, sending whatever is in her hands flying through the air and her eyes snap wide. Big blue irises flash with surprise, then annoyance. My gut clenches and I grit my teeth, annoyed by my reaction. Irritated with myself, I look away, but my head snaps back almost instantly.
She begins walking my way, her limbs elegant and dainty. Those wide eyes search the ground, and I flick a look down to see a bunch of keys at my feet. I’d been so enamoured by her I didn't even notice them drop at my feet. She weaves between the crowd, lithe and seamless. She works out a lot. I can see how toned she is and I love that she takes care of her body. As she nears me to pick up the keys, I reach down, grabbing them, wanting her attention. Her scent wafts up my nose, followed by the sweet tang of sweat from her workout. Sex. That’s all I can think of. This is how she would smell if I were fucking her. Coconut shampoo, and the slight blush of sweat.
