Page 6 of Captured

I would ordinarily end the relationship before it began but there were other assassins who would take the job without hesitation. Emily would be killed. Fuck. I wasn’t certain I could allow that to happen.

However, I was far too annoyed, turning off the phone and tossing it across my desk before reaching into one of the drawers and grabbing a new cellphone simply because I didn’t want to be bothered.

The fuckers would try to contact someone else but even if they were successful in entering into a contract, they’d come back like scuttling rats.

After all, I was the best at what I did. I had to put my filthy thoughts about Emily aside for now.

It was time to head into the killing zone.

Why was I bored to fucking death?

Hunting.

It felt different than usual. There wasn’t as much… intensity in the chase or the same rush of exhilaration I usually experienced.

The initial stalking and subsequent catching of my prey usually brought a moment of peace as well as a dazzling hint of satisfaction. Yes, it was also a twisted reminder of my past, but at least a portion of the darkness forced on me that I learned to excel in.

Yet tonight, I didn’t have the same sense of unbridled joy as usual. There was no fire surging through my veins, no blood pumping to the point I had difficulty breathing.

Maybe I was simply bored with the business of murder altogether. Well, I still had a job to do. I’d need to shove my questions into a cold, black box until I was finished. My five-million-dollar paycheck was on the line.

I’d reminded myself earlier I didn’t need the money. That was true enough, the empire I’d inherited along with my two brothers was worth billions and growing every year. So, maybe I still did enjoy getting blood underneath my fingernails as well as the sound of the marks begging for their lives.

I’d often wondered why my clients paid so much to have someone eliminated when they could pay me so much less and I’d still do it. The love of the chase and kill was in my blood, something taught to me by my father when I was a small boy. I’d abhorred his methods of training, his requirements to sit and watch documentaries on serial killers and methods of using various weapons boring the hell out of me. Of course, I’d been a child, longing to play football and go to baseball games, chasing after pretty girls who’d never given me the time of day.

Only a few years before had I truly begun to appreciate my father’s genius.

What everyone would call his extreme madness.

That had been after my life had been turned upside down from tragedy. Psychiatrists would say I’d snapped. So what?

“Oh, God. Oh, God.”

Sighing, I scanned the room quickly. The stench of urine was already present. That I didn’t like. Be a fucking man, for Christ’s sake.

“Who… Who are you?” the stupid fuck dared to ask as he backed up a few additional steps, managing to trip over his own feet in his effort to provide some distance between us.

There was something to be said for extreme darkness, the absence of light, especially when there were no shadows created by the glowing warmth of the moon floating in through open window blinds. My eyes were used to the blackness of night, most of my work done in the wee hours of the morning when the hush of the dawn was at least two hours away.

Some might call me a vampire because of the time spent in the darkness and my absolute adoration of bloodshed. In fact, my best handiwork, deeds that had captured me the nickname of Talon had been done under the cloak of darkness.

Something I was very proud of.

“Does it really matter, Michael?” I asked a few seconds later after inhaling and enjoying the scent of his terror, which was able to block out the other reprehensible odor.

“Please. Please don’t hurt me. I have money. Lots of money. I’ll pay you anything.”

There was nothing I loathed more than a whiner attempting to buy me off. Why couldn’t men be men without resorting to bribery or threats? Next, he was going to tell me he was a church-going citizen with a family. “I don’t want your money, Michael.”

“Okay. What do you want? I’m a law-abiding citizen with a family. I got to church every Sunday, for fuck’s sake.”

And there we were.

I’d forgotten all about the law-abiding part. Those carrying a guilty conscience were almost always guilty of the crime they were being accused of. And this time, Michael Wellington was accused of a doozy of a crime. I was simply here serving as judge and jury. Only in my world, there was no such thing as a pardon. I snickered inwardly from the thought.

“What do I want?” I asked and inched closer to the man’s desk where he likely kept trophies of his conquests, although I had a few to show him in case he still wasn’t certain why I’d hunted him down like the dog he was.

His labored breathing was the only answer. It was time to bring some light into the situation. I flicked on the desk lamp, shocking the pipsqueak of a man standing in front of me. He winced, cowering down a few feet as if I’d shot him in the temple. Not yet. In truth, I was bored to fucking death with my usual clean method of killing another human being. Maybe tonight I’d allow it to get messy.

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