Chapter 7
VICTORIA
This job is taking way longer than it should.
First, he moved the drop-off location, jumping from one continent to another as if he were collecting SkyMiles.
Tracking him took long enough. The cost will cover Alex’s mortgage for the next ten years.
We finally got him in Seoul, planning to finish the job in a parking building next to the hospital in Dongguk.
And if the jet lag is not enough to infuriate me, the fact that I’m in motherfucking Asia definitely is. Here, the pre-summer is sticky, the people are unnecessarily loud, and everything smells like fish. But I need to deal with it for just one kill.
The entire mission should have been a red flag, starting with the moment when the government asked for the little fucker to be killed only after he sold the information.
Or the fact that the location moved so many times.
Or, if that wasn’t enough of a warning sign, when the deal had to happen in fucking South Korea.
Why on earth would he choose this location?
It beats me. But if I’ve learned one thing, it’s not to bother understanding official missions. Again, Poland.
Everything was perfect according to the plan until it wasn’t. What did the target do?
He flinched.
Mid-transaction. Like some rat sniffing danger, he bolted before the deal even closed.
Now I’m chasing a trembling idiot because he couldn’t die like a professional.
Not to mention that the walking embarrassment managed to wriggle through a maintenance hatch I didn’t account for because who the hell runs through a maintenance hatch when they are bold enough to sell secret governmental information? Little Daniel, that’s who.
The problem with rats like him? They don’t think long-term. They succumb to the first hole they see and pray it’s not already occupied.
Alex crackles in my ear. “He ran away.”
“No shit,” I snap. “Did the cameras pick up which direction his cowardice took him?”
“South side.”
Where else would a trembling little rat scurry but toward the quiet, rotting places? He probably thinks the narrow alleys of the market that starts at the exit of this very building can hide him.
“You said this was a fucking simple job!”
He said that, repeatedly. But guess what? Here I am, with an overdue deadline, and I still run after the spoon-stabbable little shit. Now I really regret not bringing the spoon. He deserves a painful death.
“Guess he has other plans.”
Plans that apparently include me threading stairwells and cutting through corridors I hadn’t planned to use, tracking him through half-functional security cameras, while my most reliable tool is simply the echo of his footsteps.
“Block all the access ways. Don’t let the target leave, or you will become my forty-three.”
Instead of a reply, I hear the keyboard tapping, and I can only hope Alex finds a way to keep this walking dead man inside.
The target keeps on turning left and right at every corner randomly to the point he runs twice through the same corridor.
But this time, instead of turning right, he takes a left, which brings him to a dead end caused by a broken access door.
Pushing and kicking, he tries everything possible to open the entrance, but he can’t.
Alex just pulled himself off of the shit list with this one.
When he spins to face me, his terror is visible from thirty feet away. The man who was about to sell government secrets to the Italian Mafia is gone, replaced by the pathetic figure that wears mismatched socks to official meetings.
“You weren’t supposed to run,” I say calmly, walking carefree toward him.
I shake my head while twisting the blade in my hand. “Did you really have to make this ugly? You made me chase you.”
He continues to spin around, looking for another exit. There is none. It’s either me and my dagger, or the metal door behind him.
“Please—look, I don’t know—I just get scared, but I need the money—”
“Stop fucking talking. I need to think.” I cut him short.
Do I kill him now? Do I take him back to sell the inside info and then kill him? Fucking government.
“Alex, how much trouble would you be in if I kill him right now?” I’m talking to the air, but I know he’s listening.
“Not more than we already are because of the delay.”
“Good enough for me.”
The excitement must be visible on my face because the little fucker is now panicking, trying to retreat, his back almost glued to the locked door.
As I step closer, I continue, “You were supposed to be easy. Quick. I have already wiped your file. You never existed.”
In under a second, I’m breathing his air. He tries to run, but it doesn’t matter. Fifteen years of training makes restraining someone a reflex.
I stab the blade into his stomach, while my other hand grabs his throat, cutting off the air supply.
“You made me…”
Another stab in his groin. His knees buckle, and the screams get louder and louder, Death joining my hand as I press harder on the blade’s handle. He coughs, and some blood stains my face while most of it flows like a waterfall, puddling on the floor.
I pull his head by the neck and bring his face to my level so I can press my forehead to his. I’m anything if not a darling killer. Holding him in place, I look him straight in his eyes.
“You made me miss his class.”
With one last move, I shove the blade from the base of his neck directly into his unused brain, twisting the last two remaining neurons.
“Forty-three,” I whisper, as I watch his body fall to the ground.
I walk away before Alex buzzes in again.
“Done?”
“Done.”
“Your plans are getting sloppy, Victoria.”
I light a cigarette as I walk back to the hotel, the smoke burning my throat with each inhale.
“No,” I answer, exhaling the toxins. “He was just too dumb for my plan.”
The apartment greets me just as I left it—empty and cold.
There is no use in turning on the lights, as the street signs outside cast enough light through the window to illuminate the kitchen in a dull, bluish haze.
I open the wine cooler, finding the bottle that has waited for me for far too long.
It’s a Gewürztraminer from 2016. The floral tones contrast with the subtle bitterness, so unusual for a white wine.
Unusual. This is such a suitable word for everything that has happened recently: my lack of self-control, the mission, the Professor.
The first sip is colder than it should be, coiling through me, making me cough painfully.
Pain for satisfaction, almost a transaction.
Blood for wine.
I lean in against the counter and stare into the dim kitchen like something might move if I looked long enough, letting the pleasure of the moment take over.
I can clearly discern three or four emotions: thrill from the killing, rage from his stupidity, and pleasure from the wine. And then possessiveness, newly discovered and totally uncontrollable, for Azrael.
I push off the counter and move toward the office where my home laptop waits.
The cameras in his office didn’t catch everything, but they’d caught enough, especially the one positioned on the shelf.
Every moment of Azrael’s day in the office from the past five days—since the last time I could check on him—plays out on the screen in front of me. Most of it is mundane, nothing more than him doing whatever professors do.
I’m almost disappointed until the recording plays out what happened last night after the lecture.
A girl, crawling. Her pathetic pretense of innocence.
Her cheap shirt-unbuttoning performance.
The ropes, the words, the way his eyes remained indifferent even when hers begged to stop, although she kept on sucking, with her mouth full of his cock—my cock.
Is this what Azrael likes?
Judging by how his expression remained flat throughout the entire time, betraying nothing but pure disinterest, I can confidently say no.
He was monstrous.
I sit there watching as he reduces her to an object. He didn’t fuck her. He used her and didn’t even enjoy it. Every second of their little interaction was meant just for him, and she was nothing but a mere hole that fulfilled his needs.
Nothing is more appealing than a man who knows exactly what he wants and has no issue taking it without asking for permission. That’s exactly what he’s gonna do to me. Oh, I can only wish.
I don’t touch myself at first, that would make it feel cheap, like porn. But the way he dominated her, the way he humiliated her—he broke her down to nothing.
And for a second—I swear—he looked straight into the camera, straight at me.
Not her. Not the girl on the floor who was sucking him off.
Me.
Once he was done with her, with the little show, he threw the useless garbage to the side, where no one would want to claim her again. Seeing all this, I feel something move under my skin, a strange combination of admiration, hunger, and rage.
I’m uncertain about a lot of things with the Professor, but I know one thing for sure. That whole thing? It was for me.
She thought it was about her. It wasn’t—not that this will save her from an imminent death in the next five-to-seven business days.
I snap the laptop shut and pick up my phone. It’s time to end this dry foreplay and let the Professor know that the game is about to begin. What he did can be excused, but it will never happen again, and he needs to learn this sooner rather than later, or I might not be nice anymore.
Victoria: I’m back.
I barely have time to send it, and he’s already answering.
Azrael: Seems like someone missed a class.
Azrael: Already bored of stalking me?
Victoria: Never.
Victoria: I just wanted to see if you’d notice the empty seat.
Azrael: I noticed.
He’s been thinking about me. The Professor finally understands I belong in his life. Maybe not in words, but I live in the space behind his eyes now, and this is all I need—an entrance.
Victoria: Yet you filled your time quite thoroughly.
Victoria: That girl?
Victoria: She sounded more useful gagged.
Azrael: Jealousy doesn’t suit you. Though I admit, the surveillance kink? Unexpected.
I almost blush. At least he confirms what I knew already.
Victoria: But you knew and still let me watch.
Victoria: You did all that just to make me jealous?
Azrael: Jealous, delusional. Anything else I should know about?
Victoria: I’m also very possessive, apparently. I really don’t like useless whores playing with my toys.
Azrael: Your man? What are you going to do about it?
Victoria: She opened her mouth, and now I have to open her throat.
Victoria: You just gave me more work.
Victoria: Next time, keep your dick where it belongs.
Azrael: Charming.
Azrael: You really don’t have a limit, do you?
Victoria: Not with you.
Azrael: That’s your brain damage talking.
I’m the one with brain damage, but fucking a student just to grab my attention is not? Sure. Let him lie to himself, pretending I’m the only one intrigued by our situation. He knows. I know. The game has officially begun.
Victoria: Professor, just imagine how much better last night would have been with me there.
Victoria: And stop acting like you’re not hard from this idea alone.
Azrael: Is this why you’re here? For a quick fuck?
Victoria: No. I want you to break me and piece me back together again. But fucking is on the table.