Page 4 of One Rule

Alfred swallows hard at that. “You misunderstood me, Mr. Royce. My apologies if I confused you.”

That statement gets no reaction from me. I’m neither surprised nor upset by the blatant insult to my intelligence. Instead, I’m finding myself amused and retaking my earlier stance. Leaning back in my chair, I lift my glass in a silent toast because give an idiot enough rope and he will hang himself.

And he will. The way he exhales and his shoulders relax tell me as much.

Fucking idiot.

Most people have a certain level of self-preservation they cling to in moments of distress. That fight-or-flight response helps most people stay alive, while others negate the possibility of ever being a victim of a crime while knowing their executioner.

Yet most crimes committed are done by someone close or an acquaintance. They know you.

Your schedule. Your weaknesses. Or in this case, someone with a loose tongue coming forward to sell you out for a few dollars. The degrees of separation between you and the weapon that steals your last breath don’t matter when the cause and effect come from the same well.

Too bad your partner wasn’t smart enough to protect himself.

Because killers don’t hide; I thrive in it.

My darkness isn’t afraid of the light.

Instead, I dominate both while to the outside world, I’m nothing more than the product of nepotism. A rich man by birth who inherited his father’s cruise ship company while never dirtying his hands; I enjoy their idiocy.

I’m not a saint, and there isn’t enough bleach in this world to cleanse the blood from my hands. Moreover, I’m proud of every spec. Power comes with sacrifices and knowledge; my price to inherit the position as head of the business was steep, but not something I didn’t welcome.

Others' naivete over my persona is what makes me a dangerous man.

I have friends in every facet of corruption, politicians and organized crime alike.

“Who is he?” Three words, and they destroy his illusion of safety.

“W-Who? I-I swear I’m here by myself, sir.” His voice is high pitched. Stuttering. “You can check your surveillance systems. There’s a camera right outside of—”

“How long did you study the layout of this ship? Who gave you the access?”

“No one. I swear…fuck!” The idiot cries out in pain seconds after the impact. At once, the tumbler and remaining contents shatter, fragments scattering while the largest shard remains in my grip. It’s against his flesh, digging in deep and flaying open the top layer of skin while I saw it back and forth, working deeper with each pass.

It’s his blood that drips from my fingertips and onto the white polo shirt he’d worn today.

His plan had been a simple one: blend in with my staff and dress the part.

His mistake had been thinking I’m unaware of every single move on and off my ships.

“Liars never make it to heaven. Try again.”

“Please.” A plea. A pathetic whimper I glare at. “Let’s talk this out. No need for violence.”

“Now where would the fun be in that?” The bottom edge of the glass sits just about mid-cheek and I move it toward his nose and back toward the ear, creating a bigger, jagged mess. Slowly. No rush as the flesh tears and rivulets of red drip down my hand and his body. “How much time does he have left?”

At my open question, the guard managing the clock looks at me. “Time’s up.”

“You lost your chance. Bring him in.” No sooner has the last word slipped past my lips that my right hand comes in, dragging the accomplice by the hair. He kept it long and in a bun, but now it’s in Isaac’s grip while he walks him in. Herbert doesn’t look up at Alfred’s gasp, nor does he react when the latter mutters a lowDios mio ayudame.

Little do they know that I’m bilingual, and God will not help him either.

In fact, the man doesn’t react at all, and a second later Alfred understands why. It dawns on him how steep his repayment will be. His business partner’s mouth is destroyed. Lips torn and cut, the direct damage from a baseball bat striking repeatedly. No teeth in the front, the small serrated pieces left are sharp and add to the already painful damage each time his lower face so much as twitches.

Then there are his eyes; swollen and black to the point he can’t see.

At this moment, all Herbert has to rely on is his hearing, and even the tiniest noise makes him jump.

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