Valerian
“Everything okay?” asks Nikolai, joining us outside.
I turn and flash him a look. “Everything is fine. But perhaps you could show Joy back to her room. She seems to have lost her way.”
“Not a problem.”
Joy issues me an evil look and kicks off from the stone wall, following Nikolai. Good. She’s learning, knowing not to cause a scene. Niko has a gun on him at all times, which she must be aware of.
The good news is, Joy still values her life. I trapped her here, and she doesn’t see suicide as a way out. At least not yet. That tells me a lot about her. She thinks she’s happy. Which she is definitely not.
After some light research, I found that she’s been working at the same fashion magazine since she was eighteen years old. Her portfolio is impressive. But disappointing, when you compare it to how much she’s getting paid each month.
She’s talented at what she does.
I think she underestimates herself in that way.
In other departments, she does too much. She knows how to use her mouth, which suggests she’s trying to cover something up. Sometimes, the loudest people in the room have the most to hide.
I stay outside on the stone cloister, adjusting my cufflinks.
I prefer being out here in the courtyard. It’s much better than hiding between the shadows in the city, like I was doing tonight.
Niko and I had some business to take care of. Some people still underestimate me, thinking they can wriggle out of their debt and live to tell the tale.
That’s why I shot the client tonight. I was tempted to send an assassin out to kill him for me. But I enjoy assassinating people myself. I force them to look me square in the eyes. They beg for mercy. Fall onto their knees, pleading, saying they have a family, all of this bullshit.
I make sure my eyes are the last pair they see before I kill them.
No one ever gets away from me.
I watch Niko escort Joy upstairs. She looks agitated, keeping her head held high.
This captures my attention. I turn away from the corridor, gazing back indoors as they finish climbing the staircase. Such a little spitfire. Reluctant to give in. I’m sure a lot of people in her position—those feeling the same way as her—would have pulled the pin by now.
A few things happen when I raise my gun. Some victims run away. Others freeze. Some collapse onto their knees, pleading for mercy.
I know Joy would fight until the very end for what she believes in.
I narrow my eyes, watching her as she sticks her nose into the air, keeping her chin high. Never let them see you fall.
A lot of people do when I present my gun.
Her side profile has my cock stirring in my pants. I imagine that mouth around me. She’s a small, feisty thing. But she could handle me. I bet she could take all of me into her throat and still find a way to talk back.
She must feel me watching her. She turns her head, flashing me evils again. Little does she know how turned on that makes me.
I brush off my suit jacket and slip back indoors, my Italian leather shoes clacking against the polished floor as I walk into the kitchen for a glass of water. Killing is thirsty work.
So is being in the same room as Joy.
I better get used to it. People who challenge me always face punishment. And I won’t let her be the exception.
Not when I have an entire dynasty resting on my shoulders.