Page 8 of Captured

I liked it messy, but I’d forgotten how much a heavy pulsing vein could flow. I’d need a shower, but not before stopping by and picking up a couple of my favorite cheeseburgers. I was now famished, my stomach rumbling.

I kept him pinned to the desk, although it wasn’t necessary, watching his eyes began to fade, knowing he was envisioning every wretched sin he’d committed over the years. That’s what happened with the life blood was drained from someone. I truly believed there was an afterlife, only this fuck would be headed to where the sun didn’t shine and there was continued anguish every single fucking day of eternity.

When he finally slipped into the silence of death, I pulled the knife free, tugging out a handkerchief I’d brought with me just in case I’d changed my mind about using my Glock.

After wiping the blade carefully and returning it to the sheath in my pocket, I backed away, shaking my head.

Still, there was no satisfaction in the kill, no feeling of heightened power whatsoever.

The rush just wasn’t there any longer.

What the fuck was I going to do?

CHAPTER 3

Styx

I’d heard my mother scream more than once, but I remembered one time that had remained permanently in my mind, the sound something I would never forget. That had me thinking more and more about sweet Emily and what her life must be like. Her father was a powerful, brutal man just like mine had been. Three boys tolerating inexcusably cold behavior was one thing, but a sweet young girl? Sadly, one had nothing to do with the other.

Or did they?

I’d found out later from one of my brothers that my beloved mother had fled in terror from our father. I could never forget his maniacal laugh or the thunder rumbling in the distance. And God knows I’d never get used to the flash of lightning crisscrossing the sky in electric neon blue patterns as they’d done that night.

Maybe I was drawn to sweet Emily because we had something in common, our fathers nothing more than reprehensible pigs, our mothers far too good to have fallen in love with them. Or maybe I was turning another new leaf. Nah. The devil had taken hold of my soul and wasn’t planning on returning it.

Now I hungered for a delicious taste of her. Risky as fuck? Hell, yes.

But so what? You only lived once. Right?

I used to think little of my life, someone people called when they felt they had no other choice, a man considered an enigma, someone who no longer existed. Now I embraced the darkness of my soul, enjoying the extreme wealth and fabulous life I’d carved out for myself, the toys that entertained me.

As I climbed from my Mercedes, the vehicle I used most often when handling business, I glanced up at the malevolent sky. There was an electricity in the air that hadn’t been there before, the dampness creating a subtle stench of trash mixed with what had to be coming from the close-by barbeque joint. The combination was undoubtedly disgusting to those passing by but for me, it was just a part of enjoying the city limits of Boston, a location I’d grown to love over the years.

It wasn’t my hometown, but I’d tried to make it mine, embracing the strange accents and oddities with food as best I could.

Now, several years later, I felt as if I fit in, even if there was dried blood remaining on my jacket. Nothing my fabulous dry cleaner couldn’t remove. The sweet old guy was good to me, his kindness reflected in his yearly bonus for keeping his mouth shut about the condition of my clothes. I rarely accepted a job in Boston. First of all, it was risky as fuck to shit where you ate. More important, with all the evil in the world, the need for revenge rampant, I could work anywhere I wanted to in the world.

And I had clients in every location on earth.

Maybe I was just exhausted. I wasn’t a young slicer and dicer of twenty-eight any longer. Why did the thought always make the bad man inside of me smile? Now I was pushing forty, every year away from my former life pushing a fog around my twenties.

I’d graduated college at twenty with honors, medical school right after, which I’d aced with flying colors. I’d interned in one of New York City’s finest hospitals and settled down to a lucrative position in Boston. Life had been great.

Until it hadn’t been.

I’d called in the cleaning crew a little while before, Michael’s body likely already dumped into the harbor, his blood and guts feeding the fishies a big dinner. His wife would return to their fabulous estate without knowing a single thing had occurred inside their plush home. Hopefully, she’d go on with her life, finding a much better man to keep her in the upper echelon of society she’d grown used to. Not that I really gave a shit.

I hit the key fob and headed for my favorite burger joint in the entire city. Only it wasn’t located in a brick-and-mortar building but a food truck I could always find it in the same spot on Tuesday nights. I whistled as I headed in that direction, hearing music coming from somewhere down the street. I didn’t remember there were nightclubs on this street. How long had it been since I’d enjoyed going to a club, something I’d done endlessly during my more youthful days? Heck. I couldn’t remember, I’d been so busy as of late, my expertise sought after by governments and villains all over the world.

I moved behind the line of six standing outside the truck’s colorful exterior, still uncertain where the music was coming from. I’d driven down the road a thousand times over the years and hadn’t encountered a piano bar anywhere. Hold on. The dark classical music wasn’t representative of any type of club I’d been in, including those considered gothic. But the music certainly was to my liking. I found myself tapping my foot to the Rachmaninoff Prelude as I waited.

When it was finally my turn in front of the order window, I was swaying to the music, not realizing Roger, the illustrious owner, was staring at me. I lifted a single eyebrow, finally noticing his expression of amusement. He grinned and leaned over the small counter.

“You’re enjoying the music, Mr. S?” We’d conversed enough he’d wanted to call me something. Obviously, I wasn’t going to admit my full name to anyone. That was my private business. He’d been satisfied with the initial from my last name.

“I am.”

“That means you’re in a good mood. Not used to seeing you like that. What can I get you?”

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