Page 3

2

KAI

I replace my mask over my face and catch a whiff of the metallic scent of blood as I glance at the man sprawling at my feet.

The stark contrast between his pale skin and my warm brown complexion is accentuated by the swelling on his face, a result of the punches I had landed.

Missions like that are usually a breeze for me, but this one presented some unexpected obstacles.

The sting from the impact I delivered resonates through my hand, causing pain to radiate even in the space where my left pinky finger used to be.

Yeah, this one didn’t surrender easily.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I know right away it’s Elijah.

“Crim, I’m busy right now.”

The guy at my feet groans as he tries to move in the darkness.

I thought it would be easier to do that in his garage. He’s living alone; it shouldn’t be an issue.

“Where are you?”

“Mission.”

“I thought you were going to wait for us.”

Not a chance. The guys know my way to work.

We’ve been doing this job for more than a decade, and I’ve never done a mission with them.

I’m operating solo.

I need things to be in order and executed a certain way.

That’s how I’m the most productive.

He sighs on the other side of the line. “Alright. Let me know once it’s done.” He pauses for a second before reminding me. “Don’t forget we’re eating at my mum’s tonight.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me, and hang up without saying anything else.

We created The Order years back. Our name would lead you to believe that we are the heroic figures dedicated to safeguarding the community.

In a sense, it could be.

But we’re hitmen.

We kill without asking questions.

I’m not their mama to care why people want them dead. I get paid, and I get the job done.

Simple as that.

Placing my phone in my back pocket, I bend down to be face-to-face with the fucker.

“Mr O. It’s time to bite the dust.”

I yank his hair, but he tries to resist and ends up scratching my arm.

I growl and tighten my grip even more.

“Nobody touches me.”

My left hand moves in a flash, landing a solid blow on his jaw. He stumbles backwards, and my hand lets go of his hair.

The force of my foot kicking sends his face reeling, the sound of bone cracking echoing through the air as his head smacks against the ground.

I guess this will be faster than what I intended.

Bending down, I place my hand on his neck, my fingers instinctively seeking the pulse that should be there, but it is absent.

Good.

Squinting my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I realise that this place is filled with an assortment of tools that couldn’t have come at a better time.

I gather the necessary tools—a machete, bucket, and saw—before kneeling down beside his lifeless body.

The cracking sound of bones fills the space around me as I grip the machete tightly. With a forceful motion, I bring it down, slicing through his shoulder and severing his arm.

The heat radiates from my body as I raise the machete again, feeling the beads of sweat trickling down my arms.

Fuck, I love the view of blood.

I throw one arm into the bucket and keep the other one on the side.

With my machete still clasped in my hands, I methodically repeat the process for each of his limbs until only his torso and his head remain in front of me.

Our client was specific—he wants the remaining limbs arranged neatly on a chair in the centre of the garage.

Who am I to refuse a request?

He’s the one paying me, after all.

The blood is seeping through my T-shirt, leaving a warm and uncomfortable feeling on my chest.

Breathe.

The touch of anything other than fabric against my body triggers an overwhelming desire to tear my skin apart, but I manage to redirect this impulse and quickly scan the area.

The scene appears to resemble a battlefield, with blood staining the ground.

Beautiful.

My eyes land on the saw. It is larger than what I initially planned to use, but it will get the job done.

I grab it, feeling its weight in my hand, and set to work flattening his hand before slicing through the flesh and bones of his pinky.

Each cartilage crack beneath my touch resonates like a symphony in my ears.

The silver lining is that he’s no longer alive to experience the agony of his limb being ripped apart, a pain so unbearable that it could cause unconsciousness, leaving him unable to defend himself.

As I apply one last, determined push on the saw, the finger breaks free, and I instinctively catch it in my hand, bringing it closer to inspect.

Still warm.

I pull out my knife from my pocket and position it at the edge where the skin is loose, ready to trim it away. I feel the texture of the skin as I place the finger between my palms and start to peel it off.

The act may not be as smooth as peeling the skin of a potato, but it is essentially the same.

My knife pushes against the tough flesh, straining against the resistance of the muscles, but I apply even more pressure.

One by one, I strip away the layers until all that remains is a gruesome sight of a bloodied bone.

I place what’s left of the finger in my back pocket before grabbing his torso and placing it on a chair in the middle of the garage.

I grab the rope from the tools table and loop it around the body, making sure it is secure.

Stepping back, I take a moment to appreciate my work before carefully placing each piece into the bucket.

Fuck!

No, no, no.

Where the hell did I put the bleach?

I never forget it.

Grabbing my phone, it doesn’t take two rings before he answers.

“Theo, I need bleach.”

I pace back and forth, feeling the weight of the mask as I pull it over my head and run my fingers through my hair.

“Afraid you’ll need to be more explicit.”

“I forgot the bleach,” I almost shout.

“You don’t need bleach. Just leave everything as it is.”

“Theo. I need to clean.” They know my routine. They know it should be cleaned.

Sensing I’m ready to lose my shit, he quickly says, “Breathe. I’ll be there in two.”

I glance at the mess around me.

How the fuck did I forget it?

I swap out my gloves for a clean pair before I get started on tidying, making sure to be as thorough as possible.

Theo’s arrival takes less time than planned as I hear the garage door opening, revealing his mask before his body emerges with a metallic sound.

“Woah. Nice job.”

Snatching the bleach from his hand, I pour a large amount onto the ground, the pungent smell filling the air.

“You good, brother?”

I nod and start wiping away the gruesome pool of blood from the floor.

“Are you coming tonight?” I ask him without lifting my head.

“I’d kill for Viv’s food, but I can’t make it tonight.”

“When are you going to come back?”

The absence of his presence disrupts the natural dynamic of our four-person unit.

“Soon.” He waits with me until everything is cleaned and murmurs, “Better?”

“Yeah.”

My phone vibrates once more, causing me to groan in annoyance, but I ignore it and divert my attention to my watch.

“Fuck.” Eli is going to be pissed.

Theo’s laughter fills the air as I quickly snatch my helmet and hastily secure it onto my head.

“Daddy is not going to be happy. You’re late.”

“Stop calling Eli, daddy. That’s creepy.” Before rushing out, I quickly shout at the door. “Thanks for that. See you later.”

I’m not afraid of Eli because I’m late. No. It’s Vivianne that I fear.

“Took you long enough,” Eli whispers behind me.

I made a necessary pit stop at our house to rinse off the blood and swap out my clothes. Of course I’d have been late.

“Boys,” sings Vivianne when she opens the door. “It’s good to see you.”

“Ma.” Eli kisses her cheek. “Tu es rayonnante ce soir. Cette couleur te va à ravir.”? 1

“Thank you. And English, son.”

“I don’t understand why,” Archer whispers in my ear. “I could listen to him speak French all day long.”

“A controlling husband should be enough of an answer,” I murmur back.

Vivianne’s warm kisses on our cheeks greet us before she graciously opens the door wider for us to step inside.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she smiles.

“Where’s Stephen?” Eli asks.

“Your stepfather is?—.”

“Here.”

Eli’s face twists into a comical expression, a subtle yet unmistakable contortion.

“How are you doing, boys?” Stephen shakes our hands firmly.

The fact that he still calls us ‘boys’ despite us being in our thirties is absolutely ridiculous.

“Good,” Arch answers. “We’re good.”

While we sit around the table, Viv takes on the role of the hostess, smoothly executing herself and promptly serving dinner.

Eli, being Eli, most likely mentioned to her that we wouldn’t be able to stay for an extended period tonight.

The scent of freshly baked bread mingles with the delicious aroma of beef bourguignon and mashed potatoes as Viv sets everything on the table.

“Do you need a hand?” I ask, rising to my feet, but Stephen firmly grips my forearm, causing me to clench my teeth.

My eyes betray me as I witness him swiftly let go of his grasp.

“She can do it. Sit.”

Fucking jerk.

Elijah’s eyes glow with intense, fiery rage as if he has the power to incinerate his stepfather.

“No need, hun. Everything is here.” Viv tries to maintain her composure, but her shifting posture and fidgeting betray her discomfort.

I don’t know what the hell she saw in this asshole.

My heart finds instant peace as Archer’s hand gently rests on my leg, filling me with a calming sensation.

That’s his specialty—he has a way of soothing us with just his presence, no words necessary.

“So, boys. Do you have any plans to have a child in the near future?” asks Stephen, sipping on his wine.

“You’re asking us to have a kid even though you haven’t experienced parenthood yourself?” Arch raises his brow.

“Touché.” Stephen chuckles.

I don’t think I’ll make it through this dinner. All I need is a good fuck and some sleep.

“Excuse me,” I utter before getting up and heading towards the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I lean against it, feeling its solidity against my back.

Shit.

I reach into my pocket and feel the familiar cold plastic of my pill box. I quickly take two pills without a sip of water.

Coming here was a bad idea.

The gentle sound of the door knocking makes me quickly turn to see it swing open.

“Everything okay?”

Why is everyone asking me that today?

Elijah’s gaze flickers from the pill box in my hand to the prominent scars and burns on my neck, knitting his brow in concern.

“Pain?”

“Yeah.” My body feels as if it is engulfed in flames. “I’ll be fine. I just need a good fuck.”

A smirk forms on the corner of his lips. “Good thing Melanie texted then. She’ll be home in an hour or so.”

Melanie and her good services.

She would take as many dicks as she could.

“Let’s get this dinner over with.” He pats my shoulder.

“If we must.” I groan as we leave the bathroom.

1 ? Mum. You look radiant tonight. This colour really suits you.