Page 130 of Precious Hazard

The Greek is starting to come around, something I cannot allow. Can’t have him getting any crazy ideas at this time.

I approach the semi-conscious man and squat beside him. Young Zacharie Allard roughed him up quite a bit, but there’s still a risk when it comes to Katrakis. And I understand all too well the value of mitigating residual risks.

Grabbing ahold of his foot with my right hand, I lay my left just above his ankle. Some pressure, and a loud snap resonates through the room. Immediately followed by the scream of a poor dumbass unlucky enough to suffer a broken bone.

That’ll do.

Straightening up, I stride across the office, collecting my jacket on my way to the door.

I’ve always been pragmatic. Unhealthy fixations, desires, and petty delusional feelings have never existed in my life. Those are for the common man who cannot aim higher to reach his ambitions. Too easily swayed, distracted, and turned useless, incapable of separating fiction from reality.

Which makes it impossible for me to comprehend my new, inexplicable, and all-consuming obsession. This fascination I’ve developed and can’t seem to shake off no matter how hard I try. Like a junkie, I keep thinking that one more fix will be enough to break me out of my addiction. Only to be proved wrong.

It all started with a single cellophane-wrapped confection. An Italian cookie. Half-squished when she offered it to me. Yet, the tri-colored layers of the filling were still distinct. Still tempting. Magical.

Rainbow.

The symbol of her name.

Iris.

The End

Bonus Scene 1 – Kidnapped

This bonus scene is from Kurt’s point of view.

For the story below to make sense, you need to have read Book 5 (Stolen Touches) and the previous bonus scene (Kurt), which can be accessed on my website (here).

Kurt

Clink…

I crack open one eye.

The sound is barely distinguishable, but I recognize the turning of a key in a lock. Are the love birds returning already? That’d be good because I’ve had enough of this uncomfortable recliner. The Mean One had shut every door to other parts of the penthouse before taking Milene on some fancy date and leaving me trapped in the living room. I’m certain he did it on purpose. He doesn’t want me in any of the bedrooms. Too greedy to share the fluffy pillows that are piled on top of the soft beds. Rat-bastard.

The front door closes with a muted thud.

Yup, they’re back.

Squeezing my eye shut again, I push the Mean One’s phone charger under my belly so he won’t notice it. The furless meatstick just loves taking away all my toys. But I really like this one. I’ve got it chewed up so nicely. The stringy thingy is now almost flat. Like bacon.

Ahhhh… I love bacon! Nearly as much as I love tuna. But cuddly Milene put me on a diet last month.Hiss. It’s because of that vet bitch. She told my human that I was slightly overweight. Overweight! Me? How dare she insult me! I do not need any changes to my nutritional plan. Unless it means more tuna and bacon. I am the prime specimen of a male feline. Strong, and agile, and perfectly groomed! I lick my balls and asshole daily. Would an overweight cat have the flexibility for that?

Tap. Tap.

I crane my neck, glancing in the direction of the entry hall, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps. It’s dark in the room, but that makes no difference to me. My vision is as sharp as my claws, and my hearing is better than that of the subway mouse. Just the slightest off-squeak is enough for me to determine the source. And those footfalls are too even. They don’t belong to the Mean One’s gait. And they are too heavy to be Milene’s.

Intruder!

Hairballs! We have a problem!

Alert! Alert! Alert!

I leap onto the back of the recliner, then jump over to the top of the bookshelf. My movements are swift and graceful—definitely way beyond what a tubby cat could ever pull off. (You can’t convince me otherwise. I’ve seen the video evidence. The record of fat cats trapped inside the screen of Milene’s phone. Some of them were even called… Cheezburger. For shame, I say, for shame!)

But there’s no time now to contemplate the poor choices made by the less-sensible felines in the world. I take up my observation post. Listening. Waiting.