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I laugh along, feeling the itch to get moving. Time is bleeding out, and there’s work to be done. “Gotta run. Business waits for no one.”

“Sure thing.” Matteo waves me off. “Be careful out there.”

“Always am,” I shoot back, though ‘careful’ isn’t my style. I’m a blunt instrument—precision through chaos.

My mind shifts gears as I step into the lift. The hit tonight—some scumbag who’s had it coming for a decade. Wife-beater, cheater—the kind of filth that needs scrubbing off this earth.

His office building is just a stone’s throw from Matteo’s as I park in the underground car park. I wait, a predator in human skin, as minutes stretch into an eternity. Finally, heappears, keys jangling, oblivious. Poor bastard won’t know what hit him.

Silent steps, a coiled spring—I’m on him before he can even turn. My fist connects with the side of his head, a satisfying crack that sings down my arm. He crumples like a sack of shit, and I drag his unconscious body to my car.

“Nighty-night, asshole,” I mutter, heaving him into the boot.

The drive home is tense, every shadow a potential witness, every light a prying eye. But darkness is my ally, and I slip through it unseen.

The basement greets me with its cold embrace, tools lined up like soldiers ready for war. I haul the body out and secure it to the chair bolted to the concrete floor—the chair that’s heard more confessions than a priest.

“Welcome to hell,” I whisper, rolling up my sleeves. The sight of him bound and helpless stirs something primal in me—a mix of disgust and exhilaration.

“Let’s see if the wife thinks you’re worth 30k,” I muse, cracking my knuckles.

Chapter Eighteen

Aurora Henry

The moment Felix’s footsteps die away, I can feel it—the press of silence like a goddamn vice squeezing my chest. The walls inch closer, the shadows in the corners of this Sydney mansion seem to loom larger, and I’m here, trapped in the middle, gasping for air.

“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging my laptop towards me. My fingers hover above the keys, each one an accusation. I’ve got to do this—spin the break-in into something digestible for the bloodthirsty public. They love a good tragedy as long as it’s not their own. ‘Aurora Henry’s Gold Coast Home Invaded,’ I type, the words stark on the screen. ‘Forced to Flee to Sydney.’ Each word is a betrayal, a little piece of my past I’m laying bare for them to pick apart.

I hit send before I can back out, delete the whole damn thing, and pretend it didn’t happen. But it did. And now it’s out there, floating in the digital abyss, waiting for my publicist to stamp it with her approval and push it out into the world.

“Done,” I whisper to myself and grab my phone to make it official.

“Hey,” I say when she picks up, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice. “It’s sent. Press release about the break-in. It’s all yours.”

“Good work, Aurora,” she replies, her voice crackling through the speaker. Her tone is too upbeat, too normal for the shitstorm I’m stirring up. “We’ll get it out today.”

“Thanks,” I reply

“Aurora,” she starts, no bullshit, straight to the point. “Why? You swore you’d never live in Sydney again. Is it just the break-in, or is there something else?”

I lick my lips and taste the metallic tang of fear and secrets. “There’s… someone,” I admit, my voice low like confessing a sin.

“Someone?” She pounces on it like a cat, all claws and curiosity. “Who’s got you tossing your vows out the window?”

My heart hammers, traitorous, eager to spill. “Met a man,” I say, and it feels like peeling my skin back. “Decided it was time to stop running from the shadows.”

“Shadows,” she repeats, a note of scepticism threading through her tone. “You mean your demons?”

“Same difference,” I snap, suddenly angry at her, at myself, at the fucking world that keeps turning no matter how much I hurt. “He understands them. Understands me.”

“Understands or exploits?” she fires back, her voice as sharp as broken glass.

“Isn’t it always a bit of both?” I challenge, feeling the edge of every word like I’m dancing on a knife blade.

“Fine,” she relents, but I can tell she’s filing this away. Another piece of the puzzle that is Aurora Henry, one she’ll try to solve later. “Just be careful.”

“Always am,” I lie, because with Felix, careful is a concept that’s lost its meaning. It’s a plunge into the depths, and there is no looking back.