Page 15 of Seizing Control: Part Two

As they set about planning their extraction of Noah St. James’ battered body, I steal another look at Layla. She’s still zoned out, staring off into the middle distance. The clean-up team gives her a wide berth, aside from an initial furtive glance. Their breathing is loud in the quiet room. The occasional questions murmured between them are at a level too low for me to make out. Persistent scuffing, of their covered shoes against the floor and the waterproof overalls they wear, eventually turns into white noise while I clean the remaining implements.

The truth I wrung from the twenty-two-year-old over the past twenty-four hours came at a brutal price. For him. Noah screamed for his dad. Prayed for his oldest brother, Jack, to save him. Pleaded with his middle brother, Hugh, to somehow end his suffering. It took less time than I anticipated, and his age definitely played a part in that, but when he broke, he turned into a geyser. His information is incomplete filled with holes big enough to fit an elephant. The role he holds in the clan that of a lowly captain. Still, I’m as certain as I can be that he spilt every ounce of knowledge he possessed before I sent him to meet the reaper.

Despite that, I’m still left with more questions than answers.

The reason for Brutus’ continued alliance with the Maddison’s remains elusive.

It is maddening.

Two steps forward, one step backward.

Another day, another delay in returning to the light to claim Lily.

“We’re ready to unchain him,” Henry tells me. Acknowledging him with a nod, I wipe my hands, then pass him the clear plastic bag containing Noah’s missing fingers, toes, and teeth. After a cursory glance at the contents, Henry hands off the amputated appendages to one of his underlings before redirecting his attention back to me. “Do you want him stored at the facility or?—”

“Take him to Atlas,” I interject. It’s not optimal, and tonight’s little side-mission will get back to Gabriel whether I like it or not since I called in the official clean-up team, but I’d prefer to have Nadia’s brother storing the body than anyone else. My trust for the Adjudicator took a hit after reading Everett’s suicide note, and it’s unlikely to return to previous levels, even with our new deal in place. “Have him ring me when he takes possession.”

“Of course.”

Stepping aside, I give the four men dressed in while overalls, foot and head coverings, and masks the space they need to lower Noah’s bulk to the floor. As they zip him into a body bag with quick and efficient movements, Layla makes a sound that’s almost a whimper. My gaze darts in her direction and a lump wedges in my throat. She’s deathly pale. Whiter than I’ve ever seen her, which is saying something considering her normal goth girl getup.

The tattered Hello Kitty dress she’s clutching to her chest concerns me most.

It was an odd choice for a gag.

I didn’t pay it much mind when I sliced it from Noah’s face, but I’m interested now.

The garment seems to hold an extreme level of significance to her.

Rather than question my clearly traumatised colleague in front of underlings, I arrange the tools I’ve washed in the industrial sized steriliser. This step is something Slash always insisted on, and I’ve taken it into my new life as basic protocol. While my victims are unlikely to leave the basement alive, accidentally self-inflicted injuries are an occupational hazard, so it’s better to be safe than sorry.

It takes me a few minutes to set everything in place, and in that time the clean-up team carries Noah’s body, my bloodied clothes, and every other piece of incriminating evidence out to their vehicle. The door closes behind them with a satisfying hiss as they depart, sealing us in together in silence. Once I’ve washed and dried my hands again, I slowly approach Layla.

She stiffens, but doesn’t tell me to go away.

“Goth girl,” I say in a low, steady tone. Dropping to my haunches, I smooth my palm over the top of her jet-black head. She exhales slowly, and I can tell that she’s working through the same parasympathetic nervous system regulation technique that I employ to maintain my control. “Wanna talk about it?”

My choice to drop formal language Gabriel prefers brings a spark of life to her dead gaze. She lifts her head, and the keen intelligence that I’ve come to respect brightens Layla’s expression. Still, the younger woman continues to clench the pink dress in a white-knuckled grip. Tension radiates from her. A heaviness that it takes me a moment to name.

A paralysing mix of grief and fury.

“He’s dead.” Layla jerks like I’ve struck her. My fingers grip her slim shoulder to keep her in place when it appears that she’s about to curl in on herself even further. “And he deserves to be. There isn’t anything human about the Maddison’s. The horrible bullshit—” A prickle of wariness runs the length of my spine as I immediately brace for Gabriel’s punishment for cursing. “—they put women through makes them monsters. I won’t stop until every single one of them is six feet under.”

“Good.” Layla’s voice is hoarse hiss. It’s the kind of whisper that comes from screaming too long. A physical reaction that’s at odds with the reality that the upset woman before me hasn’t spoken a word since I promised her that I’d let her stay to watch me question Noah St. James. After clearing her throat, she bites out, “Two down, two to go.”

Initially, Layla’s remark makes no sense.

Until the pertinent information from her personnel file pops into my head.

Two attacks. Four perpetrators.

Alexander Kingsley. Hugh St. James. His younger brother, Noah.

And Blanka Du Bois...

The mysterious redhead, sister to Bebe, is high on my list of people to take out, so it’s interesting to realise that the woman charged with guiding me through my first months in the curia has a hitlist containing familiar enemies. Our work relationship is precarious. Discovering that she’s also All-Seeing Skye, and has successfully stirred trouble for the Shamrocks and mine and Lily’s relationship with her social media posts, has made me wary of her. She flip-flops between professionalism and snark—which is actually better than how most of the curia treats me.

I am the newest recruit to Gabriel’s team. Everyone is suspicious of me. There’s unhidden bitterness that I’m leapfrogging longstanding members without doing my time on the frontline. Irritation that Apollo and Isaiah refused to step up and claim their legacy. Envy over the resources put into the protecting the Shamrocks and securing their turf when the curia prides itself on remaining unbiased.

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