Page 78

SEVENTY-EIGHT

XERO

As expected, Amethyst failed at escaping a hogtie. Most civilians would, considering it took us an entire lesson at the academy to free ourselves from this form of bondage.

The trick to it is starting with simpler restraints and building up from there, but I needed to impress upon her the seriousness of her situation. When I took her down to the basement, she cringed at the sight of her attackers, even knowing that they were sent to make her the victim of a snuff movie.

Every woman I know would fly into a murderous rage, shove me aside, and slash at those men until she got all the answers. Amethyst stood in the corner with her back turned.

Being in the clutches of an assassin is like tiptoeing through a graveyard compared to this shit. If getting attacked by four men wasn’t enough to sharpen her resolve, then feeling helpless while hogtied might make her come to her senses.

After leaving her whining in the green room, I gather a small team in the kitchen. Jynxson to take the lead, Tyler for his hacking skills, and the Spring brothers, fraternal twins I recruited from the first graduation run I raided, for backup.

They are the best people I know for making themselves inconspicuous. Their talents have allowed us to infiltrate any organization and get the lowdown on their inner workings .

After updating Tyler and Jynxson on the situation, I take the twins down to the basement, where we continue the interrogation. When Paul stopped being talkative, he joined Dale on the pile of bodies. Between the next two men, we extracted more information about X-Cite Media’s operations, including the name and phone number of a talent scout.

I untie Amethyst for brunch and check on her throughout the day, dishing out basic instructions on how to tie knots and untie them, along with the tips and tricks required to break free from numerous bindings. By the time I’m ready to meet the X-Cite Media scout, I take her upstairs and leave her in a hogtie.

Number 13 is heavily guarded. We’ve changed the doors, reinforced the locks, and have people stationed in the basement, in cars parked on Parisii Drive, and in her backyard. Anyone trying to get to Amethyst will be captured and interrogated. The hunch that someone connected to Father is behind the snuff movies is too impossible to resist.

After sundown, I drive to a less salubrious neighborhood within Beaumont City, where the townhouses that aren’t owned by slum landlords are run by pimps. This red-light district is so shitty that no one bothers to change the streetlights, and the only illumination comes from headlights.

Hookers march the sidewalks, dodging addicts that shuffle past like the walking dead. As I park outside the address Paul gave up, I can’t help but wonder what kind of corruption allows an entire section of town to fall to such ruin.

“I’m in place,” I say into my earpiece.

“We’ve stopped around the corner,” Jynxson replies.

We’ve come in separate vehicles because any organization that can lose five enforcers is large enough to have people watching their recruiter. The twins are already scoping out the out-of-town studio with a view to infiltrate the operation.

The purpose of tonight’s meeting is to get close enough to meet their leader, who may or may not be Father. Failing that, I want to learn more about its business operations, including how they obtain the women they murder on camera.

I step out of the car and walk up the stairs of the only townhouse with boarded-up windows from its basement level to the roof. It’s sandwiched between two crumbling buildings, yet security lights flare to life, illuminating an unusually sturdy-looking front door.

“Who’s there?” a voice asks through the intercom.

“Xavier Wetwang,” I mutter, wanting to throttle Tyler for choosing that name.

He snickers. “Come through.”

According to my hacker, the male talent working for X-Cite Media give themselves stage names like Long Dong Netherthong, Hugh Cockermouth, and Doug Fingringhoe. Tyler looked up the last names, and they’re all places in England. According to him, Wetwang is a village in Yorkshire.

The door buzzes, and I step into a darkened mailroom with security cameras on all four corners of the ceiling. Mail lockers fill the walls on the left and right, and another door stands straight ahead.

“Close the door behind you,” says the voice.

I pull it shut.

After the locking mechanisms click into place, he asks, “Are you armed?”

“Yeah,” I reply.

“Leave your shit in a locker.” A hatch on my left swings open. “And I mean everything.”

This was to be expected, although I thought the security staff would pat me down. Moirai assassins are trained to enter situations unarmed and able to fashion weapons or shields out of anything–including our kicking and screaming enemies. Our most lethal possessions are our brains, followed by our hands.

After depositing the knife and pistol I brought, the door ahead swings open into a chandelier-lit hallway of white walls and marble-tiled floors.

This is exactly the level of sophistication Father would enjoy, and my anticipation rises. I doubt he or his associates would be holed up in a district like this, but I’m not taking any chances.

My hair is darkened with a temporary pigment, and I’m wearing contacts, contouring, fake tan, and temporary facial tattoos to obscure the features that went viral on social media. And just in case their cameras have facial recognition technology, I’ve inserted prosthetics to alter my jawline and cheeks.

Two armed men step out from a doorway and order me to get into position for a pat down. I take an inventory of their weapons in case I’ll need them later. Once satisfied I’m unarmed, they march me to a room at the back of the house, where the recruiter awaits.

A floppy-haired bastard in his thirties dressed in a tweed suit peers up at me through round spectacles. He looks more at home balancing books than shooting snuff, but I maintain a poker face.

“Mr. Wetwang?” he asks.

I nod.

“Leave us.” He waves the men away but doesn’t offer me a seat.

The recruiter leans back in his chair, resting his steepled fingers on his narrow chest. “What brings you to X-Cite Media? You don’t look like the type of man who needs help satisfying his darker urges.”

“I’m not looking for a place on Death Row,” I mutter.

He snorts, the corner of his lip lifting into a smile. “And you think you have what it takes to perform for our company?”

“If you’re asking if I can maintain a hard-on while the camera rolls, that depends on who I have to fuck,” I reply.

“That’s not what I mean,” he says with a frown.

I raise a shoulder. “I figured anyone can snap a neck or stick someone with a knife. The hardest part is maintaining an erection, knowing you’re producing other men’s jerk-off material.”

He nods. “Let me tell you how the organization works. You submit a video of at least ten minutes, which will go through an authenticity and quality control process. If we accept it, then we remit fifty percent of net receipts.”

My jaw ticks, but I smooth out my expression. The Spring brothers already confirmed the existence of a studio on the outskirts of town. I shouldn’t expect this asshole to lay out the inner workings of his business to a stranger who may or may not be an undercover cop.

“Don’t you hire actors to perform on camera for you?” I ask.

He inclines his head. “All our male talent submit videos they’ve shot. If they’re popular with our subscribers, we’ll invite them to our studio.”

In other words, the only way I can penetrate their inner circle is through making my own snuff movies. That’s the kind of requirement undercover cops are reluctant to fulfill for fear of public uproar.

“That’s fair.” I reach into my pocket and extract my phone. “Before I leave, I want you to take a look at my portfolio.”

He leans forward in his seat as I slide the handset across the desk. It’s prefilled with a bunch of kills I made before allowing myself to get arrested.

One of the reasons I didn’t want Amethyst to publish my letters was because they contained more than just kernels of the truth. After defecting from the Moirai, we really did set up a rival organization to undercut our former employers.

With the help of operatives that maintained the firm’s computer system, we would reroute client calls. Not only would we perform assassinations at a discount, but we would provide video evidence of the work. It made us the fastest-growing firm of assassins and also the Moirai’s biggest threat.

The recruiter scrolls through the videos, his breath quickening. “So, you do both men and women?”

I incline my head. “Of course.”

He continues to some of the shirtless footage I shot earlier of myself, jerking off to the sight of Amethyst whining and struggling within her bindings. I try not to cringe when he replays a cum shot and force myself not to wring his neck when he reaches beneath the desk to adjust his erection.

“But where’s the fucking?” he asks.

“I have specific tastes.”

The recruiter’s gaze travels up my body and lingers on my face, and there’s a light in his eyes I’m aching to extinguish. It’s sick fucks like him who are so desensitized to real life that they have to watch torture and murder to get off.

He licks his lips. “You have that footage?”

“It’s compromised.”

“What does that mean?”

“My face is in it. ”

He nods, seeming to understand, yet still eager for more. “May I see it?”

“May I be blunt?”

His brows pull together. “About what?”

I slide into the seat that he didn’t offer and pluck the phone out of his hands. “No offense, but you don’t look like the type of man with the power to run an operation like this.”

“Meaning?”

“I don’t incriminate myself with just anyone. Arrange a meeting with the man in charge, and we can negotiate.”

“What do you want from us?”

“A six-figure signing fee, plus fifty percent of royalties for each video. You supply the girls. I perform in a mask. My only role is to slash and fuck.”

“I’m not…” He shakes his head. “I’m not authorized… I mean to say this is highly unusual.”

Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I rise to my feet.

“When your boss asks why xxxwetwang.com is stealing subscribers from X-Cite Media, be sure to explain that Xavier Wetwang offered you the opportunity for a partnership.”

He pulls out his phone, types in the URL, and gapes. “What is this?”

“My social media debut. The market is crying out for hot psychopaths, and most of the assholes online don’t know how to handle a knife, let alone their dicks. Mobfluencers have thriving channels, so why can’t I? If cartels and serial killers can become famous behind bars, then it’s time for me to get my slice of the pie.”

I walk to the door, my heart thudding. If this bluff falls flat, then I still have the Spring brothers scoping out the studio. The RFID reader case around my handset will have cloned the recruiter’s phone, and there’s already a small team waiting to follow the bastard home.

Not to mention that Tyler is hacking into the house’s surveillance.

Even if Father isn’t connected to this operation, it’s still the kind of setup I need to destroy. Anyone who plucks innocent people from their lives deserves to go down in flames. Anyone who sets attackers on my Amethyst needs to die slowly.

“Wait,” says the recruiter.

I pause at the doorway.

“If you’re as prolific as you claim, my boss will be interested in opening negotiations.”

Triumph flares in my chest, but I keep my features even. “Set up the meeting.”