Chapter 30
Such delightful scenery.
Way easier than I expected.
Almost disappointing.
I sent Wes in first to talk him down while I waited outside, killing time and patience.
As soon as I heard the gunshot, I knew Wes had killed Anderson’s man, so I barged in, but he was too scared and unfocused to understand what was going on.
I pulled a rough cloth bag over his head before he could get a good look at me. I kept my voice right by his ear while he squirmed, and made sure he understood the rules before he even thought about breaking them.
I reminded him how loud things could get if he didn’t tell his people to stand down. He made the call blind, shaking, fumbling his words.
Fear does wonders for cooperation.
That bought us the opening. We slipped in like snakes through his oversized, ego-built mansion.
And now we’re here.
His basement. A room built for screams, sweat, and panic, even if he never figured out what it was really for.
I look around, taking it in, almost fondly.
Yeah. He had the space. He just lacked the imagination.
I don’t.
Wes said Anderson wanted to give him money for Calvano. I guess that was the package I was supposed to receive, but none of it matters anymore.
I stroll up to him and prop the axe against the wall. Just a habit I picked up from someone who made my assassin days a whole lot more entertaining.
I drag the chair across the floor, slow enough that the scraping rattles his nerves, and take a seat ahead of him.
He’s trembling beneath the chains and fabric that covers his face.
I wait, just long enough for the fear to ferment and for the panic to decay into something exquisite. He’s starving for my next move, aching for it with the kind of desperation that only comes when all hope has been carved out.
“H-Hello?” he mumbles, his chest rattling faster.
I can taste it. The panic. The fear. The chemical terror. The desperate prayer to be saved by something that isn’t coming.
“I know you’re there,” he stutters.
A low, savoring-like growl vibrates in my throat. “Of course I’m here,” I murmur. “Where else would I be, now that you’re finally mine?”
He remains quiet—as much as he can at least. Funny how fragile people get when you press their mind instead of their skin.
“God, you’re more pathetic than I believed,” I say casually.
“Isn’t it weird? You slither through someone’s mind for years and then, up close, you’re disappointingly …
human. Without all the loyal dogs around you, you’re …
” I let out a soft, crooked laugh. “Just a trembling piece of meat wrapped in panic.”
“Who are you?”
“About that …” I click my tongue. “I wanna play a little game.”
“W-what? Wha-at game?”
I lean forward. “Guess.”
“Guess what?”
My eyes roll back involuntarily. “Guess who I am, genius.”
“Jesus,” Wes rasps, lighting a smoke and leaning against the wall. “How long’s this gonna take? I don’t have all day.”
“Who else is here?” Leo snaps his head towards Wes.
“Just an amateur, don’t mind him,” I drawl, casting a lazy sidelong glance at Wes. “Leslie, darling, could you do me a favor and shut the fuck up so the adults can handle this?”
He flips me the bird, sucking his cigarette.
Leo shifts his posture. His shoe scrapes against the floor as if testing his limits, or whatever piteous idea he has. It’s so mortifying he thinks there’s still a way out of this.
My chair creaks as I lean back, hands folded, watching him twitch under the fabric.
“Don’t do that.” I kick his foot. “You’ll only embarrass yourself more than you already have.”
“L-Look, I have money,” he wails. “I have as much money as you want.”
“I didn’t ask for money. I asked you to guess who I am.”
“I don’t … I don’t know you.”
A long and lazy exhale escapes my lips, almost to the point of disappointment. He’s no fun at all. I stand up, making him shrug to the sound of my chair scraping the ground, and pace closer to him.
“We can fix that,” I murmur, clamping a hand on his shoulder, intensifying his tremors. “See, for once, I actually liked my life. I had a name that made people tremble at the sound of it.”
I tilt my head and smile broadly, already playing the many ways I want to undo him in my head.
“Then my boss—oh, my fucker, delusional, asshole boss—drops the bomb. He gives me the job.” I let my fingers drum once against his shoulder.
“The one everyone else wanted but didn’t have the stomach for.
And he gave it to me because I enjoy this.
Because I don’t need to fake sympathy. I know what I am. I make this an artform.”
“Lucky you,” Wes mocks, rolling his eyes again.
“Then things went sideways, and everything got fucked up,” I hiss, voice rising.
“That’s where I come in,” Wes says, flicking the cigarette to the ground as he steps forward. He draws his gun and levels it at Leo. “Do I have to wait for the closing credits?”
I grab the gun and lock eyes with him. “It ends when I say it does,” I say, not moving anything but my lips.
Wes hears the seriousness in my voice, and surprisingly, he doesn’t push it. He lowers his gun and steps back.
“Now … where were we?” I ask. “Ah, right. Leo, my life actually turned out better than I expected. Sick, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t answer.
The fuck—is he dead?
He draws a shaky breath, and just like that, I feel relief.
Still mine to dismantle.
“Surprisingly, I was pretty calm in my new routine, way calmer than I figured I’d be.
Threaten a few assholes, break a few noses, make sure no one touches the only person I give a damn about.
That’s it. No grand mission or inner struggle.
” I click my tongue. “It’s clean work. Predictable, even.
I show up, make an example out of someone, and things stay quiet. If they don’t … well, I make them.”
“What do I have to do with this?” he mutters.
“That’s when things became interesting. See, Leo, that’s where you showed up.”
“I-I don’t understand … Look, I have money—”
I pull the fabric from his face in a swift motion. “I told you already. I don’t want your money, sweetheart.”
His pupils dilate, trying to recall where he knows me from. “You?”
I nod. “Me.”
“Calvano sent you to kill me?”
“Don’t give that coward the spotlight. I invited myself.”
“What do you want?” he snaps, voice rising, suddenly brave.
Shame.
Shame on him for thinking I’m something less than whatever he imagined.
Let’s fix that.
Wes rubs the bridge of his nose, irritation rolling off him. “I’m still waiting here.”
That’s my boy.
I let out a dry chuckle and drag the chair back a few inches before sitting down. Then I gesture to him.
“By all means. You can play with my toy for a while.”
Then Wes starts to move. He circles him like a vulture, that steady, quiet malice leaking off him in waves.
Without a word, he pulls out a plastic bag and slips it over Leo’s head.
The panic kicks in naturally. His limbs jerk, he gasps for air that’s no longer there, and for a second, I nearly smile.
I watch it unfold, feeling that familiar pull in my chest. The kind I used to torture when I was in the fraternity.
He’s brutal, and he makes it seem personal. It almost feels like watching a version of myself.
Leo gasps inside the plastic bag, suffocating, his chained body shaking desperately and uncontrollably.
Wes loosens the bag, just enough for Leo to suck in a desperate breath. Then, he tightens it again, ripping away the fragile hope he’d barely had time to feel.
His way is clean—efficient, for sure.
Boring.
I like the screams. The despair.
And now it’s my turn.
“Just a reminder, Leslie. I want him alive.”
“I’m not trying to kill him.”
Anderson is barely moving, as if he’s dying.
“Enough,” I growl.
Wes groans, disappointed, and loosens the bag again. Anderson coughs uncontrollably.
“Show me your masterplan, Mitch.” Wes scoffs with a fake smile, bowing mockingly.
I stand up and walk closer, taking my knife out. I let out a long, jaded exhale. “Isabella Calvano.”
“What?”
“Sound familiar, doesn’t it?”
“W-What about her?”
I click my tongue. “Which fingers did you touch her with?”
“I-I … What?” he gasps, desperation swallowing him whole.
“If you don’t answer quickly, I’ll have to improvise.”
“What kind of question is that?”
My eyes roll back. “I have a better idea.”
I glance down at his filthy, wrinkled hand. The golden rings gleam like parasites, feeding off everything he stole, everything he ruined. His wrist is chained to the arm of the chair, the metal biting deep, carving into flesh already gone gray with fear.
“Eenie, meenie, miney, moe,” I sing with a smile, each word tracing the blade along a different finger.
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Wes roars, caught between disbelief and fury.
I don’t care if he’s bored. This is the part I live for. That holy stillness before the scream, the second they realize there’s no way out.
No one in this room is getting out the same way they came in.
“Please,” Leo begs, the sobs consuming him. “I’ll give you anything.”
He makes me chuckle. Oh, how pathetic he is. He’s soaked in sweat, twitching under the weight of fear, every inch of his shriveled, disgusting face twitching.
“You still think this is a transaction.”
“T-then what is it?” he sobs.
My mind empties out completely. All that’s left is the picture of him gone—snuffed out—and the sick thrill crawling up my spine because I can’t wait to make it real.
“W-Who are you?”
How I cherish the hiccupping sound when his voice cracks and the air gets stuck in his throat.
I can feel it. That rush, that sick euphoria sinking its teeth into me as I open my eyes again and look at him. My face is still mine, but what’s moving underneath isn’t.
It wants blood.
It wants noise.
It wants him broken in ways he won’t come back from.
“Who am I?”
I drag the blade across his cheek, savoring the way he shudders beneath it.
“Bane, Bane, every mouth knows my name,”