Chapter 4
Rhylan
ELIMINATION.
Twenty-four hours.
That was how long I had to complete my test from the moment it was issued, and with every passing hour, I grew more anxious about beating the clock that was now working against me.
Execution with a gun would’ve been easier, effortless in fact. But I didn’t want to take the easy way out. I openly accepted the challenge and, in turn, wanted the same for my method of elimination.
Louie was a graduation gift from my father—a hand-carved Louisville Slugger, crafted with the hope that his son would try out for the major leagues, as intended.
I’d spent all of high school playing on the Junior and Varsity baseball teams; blood, sweat, and tears poured into hours of training and games with no time to spare for a social life.
He wasn’t too pleased with my choice in career after I’d turned twenty-one, but hey, now I can make him proud in a slightly different variation of his dream; utilizing Louie in a far more impressive manner.
While practicing my swing with fruit, watermelons specifically, I discovered that using a bat could go one of two ways. If the strike hits hard enough and doesn’t miss its intended mark—the center of the skull—the target should be dead in an instant. Lights fucking out.
But, if I felt the desire to draw out the pain and torture my target, I could intentionally… miss the sweet spot, or use less force in my swing, only to fracture and maim.
Then there’s the body overall; broken bones were agonizing, crippling—fun, as Trent would say.
Since no one was permitted to assist with the task of another Cowboy, Trent and Silas gave me a pep talk before I left the bar and drove to the address I’d been given.
The first thing that comes to mind when I hear the word felon isn’t someone who has a fuckton of money, sitting pretty in a countryside mansion.
And because of my blind assumption, upon arrival, I discovered that I was criminally underdressed for the event my target was hosting.
in dark loose-fitting jeans and a black T-shirt—a far fucking stretch from the suit and ties filtering through the grand entrance.
“Hey, you.” Fuck… me… A gravelly voice shouted from across the street, belonging to a man dressed as if he’d just finished working security detail for the president. Where the hell did he come from?
Clearing my throat, I managed to force out a weak-ass, ‘yes’, in response, all while wishing that I’d left my window rolled up and chosen a different place to park. Like a mile back from where I’d come…
“As service staff, you were instructed to use the delivery entrance to Laurent Manor, not the fucking front, which was made clear when your company was hired. Get your ass to where you belong before I have you fired from more than just this event.”
Holy fuckin’ shit.
This security guard may have been a complete fucking asshole, but he just gave me everything I needed.
Pressing my lips together to hide the broad grin at his crucial error and my dumb-fucking-luck, I nodded before switching gears and immediately swinging my truck around and up the indicated driveway.
With one problem solved, I now had to figure out how to sneak Louie inside unnoticed. Perhaps I should’ve listened to Trent and borrowed that gun when I had the chance…
I parked in line with the rest of the cars just outside the rear entrance. After shutting off the engine, I reached over to open the glove box and pulled out a roll of silver duct tape. I’d made it this far; it was go hard or go home at this point.
Exiting the driver’s seat, I pulled Louie from the back and slipped him into the right side of my jeans, lining the bat up along my leg and securing the handle against my outer thigh. Not the brightest of ideas, but we’re rolling with it.
Confident the tape would hold, and already tearing at my leg hairs, I practiced taking casual steps alongside my truck before realizing that I’d have to walk with a ridiculous limp to keep my weapon hidden.
Rhylan… you’re a fucking idiot… You just had to turn murder into a spectacle… Couldn’t be a man’s man like Trent and Silas, ohh, fuck no… Had to go for the deranged version with a baseball bat instead…
It was too late to switch gears; I was already here, the clock ticking, and had no choice but to commit to my original plan.
But if I succeeded tonight, I’d need to make sure that I always showed up to these assignments with a backup, in case running around with a giant piece of wood wasn’t fucking practical.
The concept of sneaking inside without raising suspicion proved to be more daunting in thought than reality, because once I’d entered through the kitchen door, every member of staff was so focused on their jobs, not a single one spared a second to acknowledge me or comment on my uniform— or lack thereof.
I pressed my back against the cold tile wall, pretending to be invisible while watching a hive of bees at work.
Chefs were tirelessly preparing food with their heads down, hyper-focused on the delicate details, while an endless line of waiters carrying platters of hors d'oeuvres danced by like the cast of Swan Lake.
Not a single fuck of awareness given to me.
The longer I stood there, the more I realized that I could’ve strode my ass in here with Louie resting over my shoulder, and no one would have batted an eye, too busy to spare even a single second.
With a casual shrug, and an awkward fucking limp, I quickly weaved my way through the steam-filled kitchen, heading straight toward the nearest exit, avoiding the employees that continued filtering in and out for service.
Once I’d made it through the two-way doors, a gentle hand gripped my shoulder from behind. My entire body went rigid. Oh shit...
“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
A light and airy voice spoke from behind me like a midsummer breeze, and I peered over my shoulder to find a petite young brunette, wearing a silky black floor-length strapless evening gown, trying to get my attention.
“You’ve been—”
“No time for talk. Come now, follow me. Mustn’t keep the Madame waiting. She can be quite… unforgiving when inconvenienced…” She sure was pushy for her size, I’ll give her that. But also, what the fuck?
“Madam?” I questioned, my brows knitting together.
“Yes. Second floor boardroom.” Her dainty fingers dug their way into my back like tiny needles as she shoved me in the direction of the grand staircase, evidently not giving a fuck that I was twice her size, and I fought off every subtle urge to snap at the woman.
Approaching the top of the stairs, my escort skirted around me and took the lead toward the left side of the mansion, away from the party happening downstairs.
Moonlight filtered in through the tall windows, illuminating our path and casting shadows along the walls that reminded me of several horror movies involving murder; none of them ending well.
The woman paused at the first ornate door on the right, giving a purposeful knock before turning the handle and stepping inside. I followed, of course, because what other option did I have? Run? No.
The study was bare and nearly empty, as if they’d just moved in, or someone was in the process of moving out.
A dark hardwood desk was centered along the back wall, and floor-to-ceiling windows, similar to those we’d passed in the hallway, offered a clear view of the front lawn and circular driveway.
Like the hallway, the lighting was dim; a tall lamp sat in the furthest corner, and a second, smaller one had been placed on the desk.
There were brown shipping boxes in every corner of the room, some with random crap spilling out, like dusty books and trophies. They were packed carelessly, as if the owner didn’t give a shit about what was in them.
Seated in a dark brown leather office chair right behind the desk was a woman wearing a black silk dress, sleek and fitted against her slender frame; matching heels were visible through the slit that started mid-thigh.
Her long, dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, framing her face with wild curls; a pair of bright red lips stood out against the dark tones.
She gave the term ‘lady of the night’ a whole new meaning.
“Madame Laurent. Your guest has arrived.”
“Merci, Natalie, you’re dismissed for the rest of the evening. Enjoy the soirée.” This mystery woman’s tone was refined… French, with a domineering edge that sent a shiver up my spine.
“Guest? Now hold on a goddamn second—” My gaze turned as Natalie gave a gentle curtsy before backing out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her, the click of the lock deafening over the awkward silence that followed in her absence. Shit.
“Are you not here on behalf of Monsieur Slate? Please, have a seat. I insist.” Dustin... She held a hand out, elegantly gesturing to the leather-padded chair in front of her.
“That—” I lifted a finger before curling it back into a fist, considering my next words. The truth, a lie? How the fuck do I respond to that? “…is none of your fuckin’ business.” I finished with a smug smile. Probably could have left out the F-bomb on that one…
“Fine, I suppose we can do this the old-fashioned way.” The woman sighed, her expression clearly bored, as she rose from her seat.
“I'd thought a boy like you would've been more inclined to brag about his esteemed employer rather than keep his mouth shut.” She slowly rounded the corner of the table, dragging her pointy red nails along the wood’s surface, making a scraping noise as she approached me with calculated steps.
“Boy? Now listen here, you—whoever the fuck you are—I’m not a boy, I’m a fuckin’ man—”
“You come into my mansion with a baseball bat strapped to your thigh like a teenager exaggerating his length. You are no man; not here.” The woman’s eyes dropped to my jeans before flicking back to meet mine with an arched brow, her head cocked to the side like a predator assessing its prey.
“Let me guess… duct tape, I presume? I hope you shaved beforehand… No?” She tsked with pursed lips, her question rhetorical.
“Pity. That’s going to… what is it you Americans always say—hurt like a bitch? ”
“Your mansion? I was sent here for Devon—”
“Laurent. Oui. And she is me.” Devon pressed light fingertips to her chest. “Devon Eloise Laurent. Madame of this estate. Although I’m afraid you won’t find Monsieur Laurent around anymore… Irreconcilable differences.”
I am so fucking confused…
My target was a woman? This woman?
I had the sudden urge to call Trent and ask him what the fuck I was supposed to do. I expected all of our targets to be men. But, then again, women were capable of being just as despicable.
A wisp of air blew past the side of my head, snapping me from thought, and I turned to see a letter opener embedded in the door.
“I know why you’re here. So stop feigning ignorance and let’s get this over with, oui?
While I enjoy playing with my prey, you’re failing to entertain me past your good looks and southern charm.
” Devon whipped a second knife, this one landing between my legs, severing a hole in my jeans a few inches below the crotch. She was going for my fucking balls!
“Hey, I fuckin’ need those,” I growled, attempting to remove Louie from my leg before she actually managed to take my manhood, cringing as the tape tore at my hair. She was right, this hurt like a bitch. “And for the record, I don’t hit women.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn't have brought a bat to a knife fight, pretty boy. Oh, how I relish making boys like you scream for me.”
Within seconds, I found myself pinned with my back against the wall, Devon’s hand wrapped in my shirt, and a third knife digging into my groin. Jesus Christ, where were all these tiny daggers coming from?
Cowboy up, Rhy… Do or die. It was obvious that Devon wasn’t going to let me leave this mansion with my dick intact, or alive, so… to hell with it. Fuck morals.
Biting down on my inner cheek, I leaned all my weight into a forceful shove, pushing the she-devil far enough away to give me a split second to rip the bat from my leg, freeing it from my jeans right before she came at me once more.
Time slowed as she charged toward me, my brain switching into survival mode.
Swinging hard with all of my strength, I watched as the barrel of Louie collided with the side of her skull.
Loud cracks of bone pierced through the static that filled my ears, her whole body slamming violently against the wall before falling to the floor like a lifeless rag doll.
I shuddered at the sight of her bloody face, Devon’s head visibly dented where my strike had landed.
I wanted to reach down and check for a pulse, but I’ve seen far too many movies to know that as soon as I dropped my guard, she would stab me—probably in the side of the neck, knowing my luck; and then it would all be over.
I squeezed my eyes shut, taking in a deep breath before taking two more swift swings at her face. Her bones crack and shatter on impact. When I was done, I staggered a few steps back, taking in the mess I’d made; the life I’d taken—my bat as bloody as the carpet and wall.
There was a first time for everything, and in that moment, I should’ve felt remorse over what I’d just done. But I wasn’t.
I didn’t see the body of a dead woman lying on the floor.
I saw my future.
And every fuck I no longer had to give.