Page 5 of Echoes

The two of us head down the deserted hallway until we reach the end where Connor is. He's by far my favorite guard—and best of all, we don't have to pay him a cent. If only Arthur knew just how much control we had now. He's making it too easy for us.

"Move," Damon orders, shooing him with his hand.

Connor steps aside, leaning against the wall. No matter how many guards they hire, they will never take control of them. Sure, a few try to stand up to us. But we promptly cut their legs out from underneath them, letting them crawl around at our feet. They learn quickly after that.

The access pad lights up as Damon's fingers punch in the code, before we find ourselves on the other side. Immediately, I spot Arthur's office door wide open, his grumbling figure behind his desk, barking down the phone. Our footsteps are quiet, but it's not them he hears. He senses us, eyes shooting up and finding our figures lurking in the darkness as we approach.

"I have to go," he says, slamming the phone down.

I smirk as he rises to his feet, just in time for us to enter his office.

"No security?" I mock. "Tsk. Didn't you hear? There's a killer on the loose."

Arthur scowls at me, but not before Damon holds his hand up, silencing both of us.

"Arthur," Damon lulls. "Always a pleasure. Stressful day?"

Damon rounds the desk, making the tight cunt scatter. I laugh, distracting him for a split second as Damon sits on the counterfeit throne. Whittingham might pretend he has reign over us, but we all know that's a lie. He should be afraid—very afraid.

Stuck between the two of us, he has no choice but to dig into those deep pockets to find his balls.

"What do you want?" he snaps at Damon. "I'm up to my eyeballs with police and board calls."

"So, you're aware of the situation then?" Damon replies.

I'm perplexed, because obviously, we're all aware of the situation. Unless there's another situation I'm not familiar with yet…

Arthur's face darkens. "Yes. I'm not happy about it."

"That sounds like ayouproblem, Arthur. Now, here's what's going to happen. My team is going to give your pathetic excuse for administration access to camera footage. If your IT people are worth a fraction of their money, you'll find what you're looking for. In the meantime, youwill notbe dishing out any punishments for this. Things will continue on as normal."

"I knew you had something to do with that," Whittingham hisses. "Do you have any idea how much money the facility has poured out to fix the cameras?"

Damon shrugs. "At the risk of sounding like a broken record, that's your problem. But what we are giving you will close the investigation. Hallman's death will be marked as a suicide. If you want to put on some show and dance about his death, make everyone mourn, be my guest. But that's the end ofthatmatter."

"So, I hand the footage to the police and then what?"

I smirk as Damon tilts the chair back, kicking his feet up onto Arthur's desk. He makes a point of tipping over a mug of coffee with his foot, the liquid spilling all over scattered paperwork. "Then you do what you do best. Carry on with the recruitmentprocess. I'm sure the board already has a candidate in mind to replace Hallman. A long list, no doubt."

Ahh, yes. The only topic that matters to Whittingham—money. The cog that keeps the wheels turning in this death hole.

"And the other thing?" Whittingham snipes.

I don't like his tone toward Damon so I take a casual step, smirking when he quickly scuffles back at my movement.

Damon looks at me, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I believe that should be resolving itself any minute now. Handle it delicately. Or else," he adds in a sinister tone.

"You're a real piece of shit."

It strikes a nerve in me, and I close the distance between myself and Arthur in two strides. I shove him against the wall hard, hand around his throat. Fearful eyes dart down to my hand, knuckles still coated in dried blood.

"Don't speak to him that way again," I murmur, tightening my fingers around his windpipe. "Or it will be the last thing you do."

I have to give it to the old cunt, he quickly swallows that fear, eyes narrowing on Damon.

"Had to bring your lapdog with you?" he snarls.

"Scary dog privilege," Damon corrects casually. "He needed some cheering up. But I'd take his advice and watch your tone. He's out for blood." He winks at me, and I squeeze Arthur's throat until he's a spluttering mess.

---