Page 129 of Emerald Malice

“You the man.”

“You’re killin’ it tonight.”

Tilting back in my chair, I peer around the corner.

Byron is reclining on a barstool like it’s a throne, both his elbows planted on the bar counter. His hair is slicked back with a thick wad of gel and he’s wearing a silk shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest.

“It’s been a good day all around.” No one asks, but he adds, “Scored a nice li’l victory at work.”

“Does this victory have something to do with that hot ass little assistant of yours?” one of his friends asks.

“Maybe.” Byron shrugs coyly. “Maybe not.”

“She finally put out?”

I can’t even pretend to be interested in the menu anymore. When the waitress walks over, I wave her away. She stalks off looking disappointed.

“Not yet,” Byron says. “But she will.”

So much confidence. It’s just another nail in his coffin.

But one of his friends is looking skeptical. “This the same woman who's been playing hard to get all this time? What changed?”

“She finally realized my worth,” Byron crows. “She wants a powerful man, and that’s what I am. It’s only a matter of time before I’m bending her over my desk and showing her how powerful I can be.”

Without even realizing it, I’m on my feet. I didn’t mean for this to become such a public spectacle, but fuck it—I’ll act first and figure out damage control later.

But before I can advance on him, Byron pushes himself to standing. “Gotta take a leak. Be right back.”

Fucking perfect. The simple act of following him across the bar to the men’s room sends a surge of adrenaline shooting through me.

This feels good.

This feels right.

This feels like the old days, before the political ploys and the shadow wars. Back when I had one simple task and it was just a matter of executing it to perfection.

The lights flicker ominously as I slip into the bathroom. I take one quick scan, confirm that Byron and I are the only ones here, and barricade the door shut.

If all goes well, this shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.

Five, if he dies quickly.

To save myself the mess, I let him finish at the urinal and shift over to the sink. It’s not until he’s washing his hands that he gives me a casual glance in the mirror, followed by a violent double-take.

His face is deathly pale as he whips around to face me. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I’m ranking the sleaziest bars in New York City. When I saw you in here, I knew I found the winner.”

He shrinks away from me, leaning into the counter so far that the running water drenches his sleeves. “L-Listen, man?—”

I take a step towards him and sweat beads across his forehead in the dim light. “I gave you a warning, didn’t I?”

He’s shaking his head frantically. “No, no… I didn’t do anything! Mr. Ewes is the one that?—”

I head-butt him so hard that his eyes roll back in their sockets. The clack of bone on bone is viciously satisfying.

“No,” he sobs through a mouth that doesn’t want to work right. “I didn’t…”

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