3. Work
3
Work
N ame: Esteban Larios
Address: 314 East side
Job Description: Eliminate him and whoever stands in your way. Bring his ring finger back to me.
This is all the information in the file, followed by one terrible mug shot of this guy. He looks to be no older than I am. What could he have done to cross the path with Marklov, and better yet, why the fuck does Marklov want his finger for? You know what, I don’t even care. “Alright, Esteban, let’s play.”
After the warehouse incident and discovering just a fraction of the information Marklov has on me, I decided to double the security measures at the club and around Esmé.
The stress is overwhelming, and it’s gotten to the point where I feel like I’m about to pull my damn hair out. The situation is precarious, and every step I take feels like walking on a tightrope, trying to ensure everyone’s safety while managing this chaos.
My bike roars to life as I get ready to track down Esteban. I will do whatever it takes. However, I need to do it to protect what’s mine. Taking the life of another human is easy work. I have no mercy in this field, especially concerning those I love who are at stake.
My bike cuts through the roads with each twist and turn, bringing me closer to my first chance at proving myself to Marklov. Thoughts run through my head. Who says we can’t have fun while working? I’ll get him his damn finger. Better yet, I’ll bring Marklov Esteban’s hand instead.
I’m closing in on the house’s location. The neighborhood is quiet, almost too quiet. The houses are spaced out evenly, not too close to one another, but close enough that someone would surely hear it if I made too much noise. I park my bike a few houses down to avoid being noticed. The glow of streetlights casts long shadows of the other houses and the trees that are slightly swaying in a light breeze of this warm night. I need to play this smart. Every move was calculated, every step silent.
When I was a kid, I had a sick obsession with Ghostface. Here I am, an adult with a sick and twisted fascination for the macabre and pulling out my mask to resemble it. It’s late, and I see no foot traffic. Let’s get this over with.
His house is small but meticulously maintained, the kind of place that looks like it belongs in a postcard. The exterior is spotless, with not a blade of grass out of place. In the driveway sits a sleek, black Camaro, its polished surface gleaming under the faint moonlight—damn, she’s a beauty. The house appears dark and lifeless from the outside, with no lights visible through the windows. Dear old Esteban, you must be sleeping.
His back door seems to be the best route for most people in my position, but I will take my chances and use the front door. I reach for the doorknob, my hand hovering over it momentarily before gripping it. I twist it, but it is locked.
This is just a little bump, but it is an easy fix. I glance up at the small window just above the door knob. Taking a deep breath, I smash it with the hilt of my knife that I keep on me. The glass shatters with a sharp, satisfying sound. If he had been asleep, he would have probably been awake now. I quickly reach through the broken window and unlock the door from the inside.
I’m ready. Let’s go. I need to be fast and get the fuck out of here. As I step inside, darkness surrounds me. A low, steady music echoes from somewhere within the house. Just follow those tunes.
I move forward, my eyes adjusting to the darkness in the front rooms. At least outside, I had the moon’s light. Each step is calculated and deliberate. The air is cool and carries a faint scent of cologne and fresh soap. I navigate through the narrow hallway, my senses heightened, picking up every subtle sound and listening for any movement.
The music grows slightly louder as I approach a room at the end of the hall. I push the door open and step inside. The room is clean and aesthetically pleasing, with a single lamp casting a warm, golden glow over a small table. On the table, an old record player spins the source of the music, a soothing, classical tune that contrasts sharply with the tension in the air.
I quickly scan the room, taking in every detail. Steam is billowing from the bathroom door, which is slightly ajar, blending the strong scents of cologne and soap in the air. That explains the mixed scents I smelled when I got in. Esteban is in the shower, and I can hear the water running. Esteban is showering. God forbid if I see this man’s cock…
“Oh darling, you are the epitome of perfection.”
A giggle follows after that. A woman’s giggle. He’s not alone.
“Eliminate him and whoever stands in your way.” Marklovs note from Esteban’s file resonates in my head. Is she really considered a threat? I guess I will just have to find out.
The quickest way to take him down would be a gunshot to the head. However, it’s late, and I don’t want to create any unwanted attention for myself.
The best approach would be just to go in there and slit his throat and let him bleed out in the tub. However, his little fun toy is in there, making things more challenging.
As I head back down the hallway, I remember seeing a breaker box on my way in. Cutting the electricity will definitely isolate him and keep tonight’s casualties to a minimum. Moans echo through the house, not the usual low sounds, but something straight out of a porno. Gotta hand it to him for getting it in.
My cock starts demanding attention. Not now. I can’t kill this man while I have a fucking hard-on. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did. I close my eyes, picturing anything that may distract me from the need—no want to touch myself. This isn’t the time or place. Damn it, why must I be a man.
I keep my eyes shut tight, but the noise from the bathroom is impossible to ignore. Esteban’s moans are low and grotesque, mingling with her desperate, life-or-death screams. The relentless sound of flesh slapping against flesh reverberates through the walls, making me acutely aware of my own unfulfilled desires. It’s almost maddening, the way they’re going at it, and I can’t help but feel a pang of regret for never surrendering to my own primal urges.
Esteban’s grunts become more uneven as he and his lady friend moan loudly in release at the same time.
I did it. I survived not jacking off in this man’s house, but my cock is aching in need of some damn attention.
I take a deep breath and refocus on the task at hand. Carefully opening the breaker box door, I hear the heavy breaths of the soon-to-be-dead man and his lady. Neither of them knows what is coming.
The music silences and the once-lit room becomes dark.
“What the fuck?” Esteban lets out.
“Go check it out. I’ll be here waiting for you, papi.”
I quickly make my way to the room adjacent to the breaker box, blending into the shadows cast by the moonlight streaming through the window. The silvery light dances across the floor, creating a surreal, almost dreamlike atmosphere. I take a moment to readjust my mask, ensuring it provides a clear view and is securely in place. The last thing I need is for it to slip at a crucial moment. With a steady hand, I pull out my knife, feeling the cool, reassuring weight of the blade. The anticipation builds within me. Each step he takes brings him closer to my own salvation.
I’m sorry, hombre. It’s better for you than for anyone I love.
I hear Esteban cursing under his breath.
“God damn it, what the fuck.”
I hear his footsteps following one after the other as he approaches the box, peaking around ever so slightly. I see him holding up a white towel covering his lower body. Thank fuck. No cock in sight.
The box’s latch clicks open, giving me the signal. If I’m being honest, I don’t think he knows what to look for. He flicks one breaker, then another, and his tone is clearly full of frustration.
I quickly step out of the room, grabbing Esteban from behind and covering his mouth to muffle any sound he may try to make. His body tenses under my grip, but I hold firm, feeling the adrenaline surge through my veins. With swift precision, I bring my knife blade up to his throat, the cold steel glinting in the moonlight. I slice through his skin like silk, the blade moving effortlessly through flesh. Warm blood gushes over my hand, and I feel his body go limp as the life drains from his poor soul.
The house is silent, save for the soft gurgle of his final breaths and the hum of the woman waiting for him in the bathroom. She is so unaware of anything going on right under her nose.
I slowly lower Esteban’s body to the ground, dragging it out of sight. His eyes are wide open but drained from any sign of life.
The finger.
Reaching down, I grasp his hand, feeling the warmth that still lingers despite his recent death. It’s a strange sensation, the life slowly ebbing away, leaving behind a shell that was so full of vitality just moments ago. The gurgling sounds are muffled, followed by the fascinating sight of crimson bubbles rising through the gash in his neck. This grotesque display stirs a familiar, twisted arousal within me. I’m not one for that necrophilia, that sick perversion shit, but there’s something about the sight of blood that drives me completely mad.
I hurry but try to savor the moment as I make a precise slice into his finger. With a firm push, I snap the remaining flesh and bone, separating the digit from his hand. The sound is both satisfying and chilling. His once-white towel is now drenched in blood, and I managed to keep his cock and balls covered.
I reach into my back pocket and pull out the cloth I usually reserve for working on my bike. Tonight, however, it serves a darker purpose. Carefully, I wrap the severed finger, ensuring it’s secure for transport and ready for whatever the fuck Marklov has planned for it. Maybe he just has a collection of fingers from those who cross him. Let’s hope my family or mine never ends up there. Or he could just be testing my ability to obey orders.
I send a text to the number that Marklov has saved into the burner phone.
Mission accomplished. Where do you want to meet?
Not even 2 minutes later, a response comes through.
Marklov: Let’s keep it simple. Same place at 2100 hours.
Got it. See you there.
Short, sweet, and simple. Too easy.