4. Hyacinth
FOUR
HYACINTH
It’s fucking drizzling again. Three days of this shit already, like the city has it out for me.
It couldn’t have given me a few days of decent weather while I’m working?
I think this is worse than rain, because I can at least protect myself against rain. The humidity floats in the air though, and even if I had an umbrella—I don’t—nothing would stop it from plastering my face.
I hate New Valence.
I’ve hated New Valence for the past five years.
The only good thing I can say for this weather is that visibility is shit, which means I have no problem staying out of sight as I tail Zane through the city.
He’s smart and doesn’t keep a regular routine, but after one month of stalking him—undetected, I should add—his habits are still familiar to me.
That’s why I’m a bit surprised when instead of going to one of his casinos, he gets out at a building near the docks.
I watch him enter the building, and I debate on following versus waiting outside in the car.
On the one hand: I stay dry.
On the other: I might have a perfect opportunity to take him out.
I grumble and tighten my rain coat around myself before heading out. Stupid wetness. It’ll make it more difficult to scale any buildings, too. I don’t bother going in the same door as Zane did. That’s an easy way to get ambushed.
I find a window on the second floor at the side of the building, with a frieze that I use to hook a rope onto. My gloves do their job and keep me from slipping as I climb up. There’s just enough space on the trim and windowsill that I can perch myself there.
The window is locked, of course, but my glass cutter takes care of that. I cut a small hole into the side and take a quick look.
It’s a warehouse space. The room below is large and open, with floor to ceiling shelves lining the space. And, aren’t I lucky, I’ve got a perfect view of the clear space in the center.
Zane is with his two bodyguards and several men. They’re all standing around a single man.
“I’m sorry!” the man in the center shouts.
Zane stares down at him impassively. He looks impeccable as always, his beard perfectly groomed. He’s wearing a black button-down shirt and well-fitting trousers. Unlike my cousins, Zane never wears a full suit.
If I was closer, I wonder if I’d be able to get a good look at his ass through the pants.
I could shoot Zane from here, I think, and he’d never see me coming.
That’s if I can aim properly despite the shitty angle, and if nobody moves, and if the rain doesn’t mess up my vision.
I’ll wait for a better opportunity.
Which means I should leave, but… I have to admit I’m curious to see where this is going.
“They’re always sorry when they get caught,” Zane muses. “Did you feel guilty when you started selling information? Or were you just counting the zeros?”
“I made a mistake,” the sniveling man pleads. “Mr. Vilani, please! I’ll tell you everything.”
“Of course you will,” Zane says. He lifts his hand and gestures to another of the men. “I’ll ask the questions. Ralph will make sure you’re telling the truth. How does that sound?” There's a quiet menace in his voice despite the mild question.
A shiver goes down my spine.
One of the men drags a chair close to them, then shoves the now-terrified man into it. “Do I need to tie him up, boss?”
Zane shakes his head. “No. He’s not going to try anything stupid.
” He smiles, a terrible, brittle, beautiful smile.
“Besides, where would he go?” He turns his attention to the man who’s apparently stupid enough to sell information about Zane Vilani to someone else.
“Now, first question. Who were you talking to, Fred?”
I can’t see the man well from this angle. Is he the one we got information from? It’s plausible, but with how he’s acting now, he doesn’t seem like he has the balls to betray Zane. More to the point, my cousin wouldn’t stoop to dealing with some low level clown like this.
Unless Zane has two moles in his organization.
That would be kind of funny.
I frown.
If there’s another assassin out for him, they’re going to have to back off. Zane is my target. I’ve got my professional pride here. When Zane dies, it’s going to be by my hand.
Fred whimpers.
When he doesn’t immediately speak, Zane sighs. “Ralph?”
Ralph steps up, and without a word, he reaches out for Fred’s hand. He grabs it, then Fred’s piercing scream sounds through the warehouse.
“It was only a finger,” Zane says, disdain dripping from his voice. “Be glad we’re not ripping off fingernails or flaying you alive.”
I lick my lips.
Would he actually do that?
So many people pretend to be violent, but they never go that hard. Even my cousin Dante shies away from real violence, and he’s the current head of the Cuore family.
I’ve never met anyone who revels in bloodshed the way I do.
Zane paces around Fred, setting a hand on his shoulder from behind. “Who were you talking to, Fred?” he repeats.
“B-Bouchard!” he stammers. “One of the Bouchards. But I didn’t tell him anything useful. He just wanted to know when you got to the office, when you left, that sort of thing.”
Huh. The Bouchards? I don’t think Forest is in contact with the Bouchards. They’re our biggest rivals, and Dante suspects it was the Bouchards who got the FBI to crack down on his father.
I probably wasn’t supposed to overhear that particular conversation, but it was trivial for me to eavesdrop.
Dante needs to up his security.
Or maybe Forest is trying to sabotage his older brother. The rivalry between them has only amped up since their father was arrested, and Forest clearly wants me on his side.
Fucking family politics.
I turn my attention back to Zane.
“So you sold out information about my whereabouts that could potentially get me killed,” Zane murmurs. “You’ll be sad to know it only almost worked.”
Fred lets out a hiss of pain, but I can’t see why. “No, no,” he says with a shake of his head. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought it was harmless.”
“Harmless,” Zane repeats. He gestures, and Ralph snaps another finger.
Another scream rings out in the warehouse.
It’s a lovely note, one that would sound better if it were longer and accompanied by more horrified screams.
“I’m s-sorry,” Fred says, his breathing coming hard and fast. “I really didn’t think—”
“No,” Zane says. “You really didn’t. What else did you tell them?”
“It was only once,” Fred says. “Only a few questions.”
“When are you supposed to meet them again?” Zane asks.
“What? I wasn’t—”
Another finger breaks.
“I wasn’t. I wasn’t!” he yells when Ralph lifts his hand again. “They didn’t want to take the risk.”
Zane waits.
Fred falters.
“Strip him from the waist up,” Zane says.
“Wait,” Fred says. “Please, boss, please. I have a wife and—”
Zane laughs at that, the sound low and humorless. “You should’ve thought about that before joining this organization and deciding to betray your boss.”
Something flashes in Ralph’s hand, and I realize it’s a knife. He doesn’t bother to try to undress Fred, instead cutting away at his shirt. He must not take too much care in doing it because Fred cries out.
I wish I could get closer.
The misty rain around me means the only thing I can smell is the water.
I contemplate opening the window somehow, or cutting a larger hole, but that would create far too much noise.
I already pushed my luck enough with the first hole.
I have to settle for seeing this play out in low quality.
Fred screeches.
Zane takes the knife from Ralph as the last shreds of Fred’s shirt are cut away. “It’s apparently been too long since I got my own hands dirty. Did you think I’d gone soft?”
“No. No, not at all!” Fred is getting increasingly desperate, and Zane hasn’t even done anything yet.
It’s pathetic.
A scream echoes through the warehouse only seconds later, with Zane at Fred’s back.
It’s a beautiful crescendo, an orchestra I get to hear only from the back row.
I want a front row seat.
“I don’t know anything else!” Fred cries out between screams, between sobs. “I’d tell you if I did!”
I lick my lips, and I imagine how I would do it. Wire garotte around the neck is easy and relatively fast, but that’s boring, too. With privacy and space, I could take my time and slowly dismember my target. Draw patterns into their skin.
Cut them open and find out just what kind of music they make.
Sloppy, my mother would say, but she’s never truly understood the art. She kills because that’s her job, not because she enjoys the thrill.
Zane chuckles. “Torture isn’t an exact science, you know,” he remarks. “People will say anything when they think it’ll make the pain stop. I don’t know if you actually are withholding information from me or not, but it doesn’t particularly matter.”
He goes back to what he’s doing, and Fred screams again.
Maybe it’s the angle, or the lighting, but the shadows on Zane’s face deepen, and he looks terrifying as he makes his next cut.
My throat goes dry.
He didn’t look like that at the BDSM party.
He didn’t look like that when I almost murdered him.
My cock begins to harden as I listen to Fred’s screams. My eyes never leave Zane’s form. He’s a master at work, smiling as he conducts his orchestra.
Zane must think he made his point after the man has screamed himself hoarse, because he hands the knife back to Ralph. “Does anyone else think selling information is a good idea?” Zane asks with a humorless smile playing on his lips.
His hands are dripping with blood.
“We’d never,” one of the other men says with a shake of his head.
“Good.” Zane surveys them a moment, then he pauses. I don’t know what draws his attention upward.
Our eyes meet.
I’m outside. The warehouse lights would reflect anything on the windows. There’s no way he can see me.
Except I’m looking through the cutout I’d made, desperate to take in every moment of the scene.
“Ralph!” Zane barks out, gesturing up in my direction. “Outside, now.”
Ralph follows his gaze, but I’m already on the move.
I grab my rope and hook and scramble to the small roof. It’s slippery, but I don’t have time to worry about my footing. I dash to the other end and throw my hook to the balcony of the building next door.
I hear shouting from below.
“Where the fuck—”
“Up there!”
I swing over to the other building, wincing when I collide with the balcony. No time to worry about injuries, though.
My gloved hands slip on the metal, but I manage to catch myself in time to pull myself up.
The balcony belongs to another warehouse, and I’m not going to risk going inside and getting trapped there.
My only chance is to get back to my car. I pull my rope up, then use the gutter to slide down to the ground. It’s hard pavement below, but that beats mud in my underwear.
“Over here!” somebody shouts.
Run.
I take off, already reaching for my car keys. If I’d known in advance where he was going, I’d have ten different escape plans, but right now, I’ve got… two.
I prefer the car over the river.
I turn the corner, my lungs heaving from the exertion. My car is in sight. I press the key fob to unlock it.
There’s something really interesting about how time dilates.
It couldn’t have taken me more than five seconds to reach the car door and pull on the handle.
But the world seems to go in slow motion as somebody grabs me and slams me back into the side of the car.
I gasp.
Then I’m staring at beautiful, angry brown eyes. Even this short time in the drizzle has soaked his hair, making it cling to his forehead.
One of his bloody hands grasps and twists my hair, and he keeps me pinned between his body and the car.
“Caught you,” he snarls.
Yes.
I shiver, and part of me considers bending for him. I could submit to him, the way all those other people do.
He trails his bloody hand along my jaw. “Now what should I do with you?” he asks, his smile dark and promising danger.
Pain.
“Because we can’t keep meeting like this, Sin.” Zane strokes my cheek.
I part my lips.
“We can’t,” I agree. I grab his shirt and push forward.
He stands his ground, but that’s exactly what I want.
I kiss him, blood and rain on our lips.
My skin is on fire, and every part of me wants to yield to his dominance, to Zane. I want to be part of this man who so easily flayed a person alive. The man who fought me off. The man who found me so easily, like an invisible string ties us to each other.
He groans against my mouth, letting go of my hair to grab my wrists so he can twist my hands behind my back. I test the hold.
I could get out of it.
But I don’t want to.
This is a bad idea.
This is a really, really bad idea.
But I let Zane ravage me, and I’m almost ready to sink to my knees in this wet and filth.
“Boss!” somebody calls out from down the street.
Zane jerks back, abruptly dropping my wrists like they’d burned him.
Fuck. I grab the car door and slam it open as hard as I can. Zane doesn’t have time to evade, and he gasps in pain.
“Next time,” I promise as I get into the car. I blow him a kiss before I close the door, lock it, and start the engine.
Zane pounds on the car door.
No. I might be able to kill him, but not without witnesses and not without then having to fight off all his goons.
I drive off. One glance at the rearview mirror reveals Zane staring after me.
Killing him might be harder than I thought.
Not on a technical level.
But I know I had the chance to strangle him during our kiss. The garotte was in my pocket, ready to be used.
And instead, the only thing my body wanted to do was submit.
I’m in so much trouble.