Page 34 of Seizing Control: Part Two

My arrival at the facility wasn’t normal. Most members are poached from other criminal organisations, recruited directly from high school and university, or headhunted by Gabriel himself to fill a specific requirement. I wasn’t his first choice as a successor—I wasn’t even his second. It took a series of events to fall into place, like dominos of torment, despair, and bad luck, for me to find my way onto his list.

I appeared out of nowhere, close to death, then spent the next month in an induced coma.

Today’s arrival is the first new member since me.

Like the teacher’s pet Layla accuses me of being, I’m excited to see how it all functions.

“Follow me.” The older man beckons us forward. “Let’s wait for him underground.”

We venture into the copy room, squashed together while the secret elevator rumbles back to the surface. Once we’re on it, the lift lowers us deeper into the earth. Stepping out of the brightly lit box into the even brighter facility where I spent six weeks being pushed past my limits so I could recover from Brutus’ attempt to murder me, I blink twice to clear the black spots from my vision.

Every man in the subterranean building is dressed similar to me.

A fitted suit with neat hair and derby shoes.

I am the exception with my visible tattoos and biker boots.

The women are a lot more varied.

They are outfitted for their roles.

Honeypots.

Cyberpunks.

Influencers.

Gabriel prefers to use women as intelligence gathering assets because while they are more expensive to train, they are less likely to get themselves killed. Those are his words, and they have formed the basis for a lot of my understanding of the intricacies that will come with my ensuing promotion. The more women I can recruit; the better is his ethos, and I’m inclined to agree. My previous life, as a biker who thought he had to protect his woman, taught me to never underestimate the fairer sex. They are fierce. Capable of violence when it’s needed. Able to kill when warranted. The control they exhibit is unattainable for men. Their patience and understanding makes them less rash.

In every measurable metric, they outperform us.

Men are cannon fodder.

Mindless muscle.

Asset armaments.

Expendable.

If the Catalonian conclave was more progressive, I’m pretty sure Gabriel’s chosen heir would’ve been female. More likely than not, the woman entering the small meeting room with me would have been the next Adjudicator. She is beyond capable of leading, even if she harbours a bunch of demons that drive her to the edge of insanity regularly.

When I lock eyes with Layla, she pokes her tongue out at me.

Maybe I’m overestimating her leadership capabilities.

Veronica Cerulli would also be a candidate.

Even if I don’t fully trust her, everyone else does.

“Take a seat.” Without thinking, I do as my boss has directed. Layla remains standing. Her perusal of the grey walls is for show. I can read the nervous energy emanating from her, and I know Gabriel can too. “Sit and meditate, Miss De La Rue.”

There is wrath darkening Layla’s expression when she does as she’s told.

The atmosphere grows heavy as we wait for the newcomer to join us.

I practice my breathing, in for four, hold for two, exhale for six. Every cycle relaxes me a little more. My control solidifies. The worry I carry over my decision to reveal myself to Lily begins to dissipate. Centred and stable, I am ready for whatever the day may bring my way.

Casting a look Layla’s way, I discover her deep in contemplation.

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