Page 4 of Pretty Monsters

Shaking his head, he whispers, "I don't like it either, but he's my father. What am I supposed to do?"

My knuckles clench tight around the hilt as I imagine delivering my brand of justice to Damien Blackthorne. "You know he expects you to take over his empire someday."

Lucien hangs his head. He's just as much a monster as I am, but neither of us meets the realm of his bastard father. "I know you won't let that happen."

He was right. I'd never let him sit on a throne built from the blood and pain of innocents. "Do you want me to?"

"We're wasting time. We don't think about tomorrow, remember?"

I nod my head. Tomorrow is something I'd given up on before time had meaning to me. Tomorrow is for people who have hope; I barely have morals.

* * *

The soundof snoring grows as I climb the stairs to the second floor. Lucien managed to snag a copy of the blue prints for the house when we were ordered to make this trip. It is standard protocol for us to know the layout of any place we go so we have escape routes preplanned.

Blue prints list master suites, and unless there is an off book build, they show things like reinforced basements. It doesn't guarantee that the owner of the house actually used the master bedroom, but considering there was also an elevator installed that opened into that room, and that the owner of the house was a fat fucker, it seemed pretty likely.

While Lucien explores the steel and concrete reinforced basement, my job is what it always is, find the target and take them out. I do as I'm told, but not without a bit of coaxing. Damien always provides evidence of guilt to motivate me. Little does he seem to realize I understand the most likely scenario for one person to amass so much evidence against the scum he sends me after. Considering he isn't a vigilante or in law enforcement, the only remaining possibility is he has been in business with my prey at one time or another.

Lucien told me to go and have my fun, as if I actually get my rocks off ending people like the unfortunate bastard I am about to meet. Not feeling guilty about killing them, and actually wanting to aren't the same thing. The world is most certainly better without them in it, but left to myself I wouldn't go out of my way to take responsibility to send them on their path to hell.

With a gloved hand, I turn the knob to the master bedroom. Quickly, I assess my best move. There's about twenty minutes until the maid returns, and Lucien and I need to be waiting near the gate to slip out undetected.

When I first saw the pictures I allowed myself to feel the only feeling I have with any regularity, anger. The rage burns hot, but it burns fast the older I get. There was a time I reveled in retribution, but I've dispensed enough justice in my life.

I take my knife out of the sheath at my thigh. It's a standard hunting knife. I'm not so stupid to buy a special order knife that can easily be traced. The problem is that we still have to make our way back through the woods, and a bloody crime scene is bound to have a search party head out for us. The only sure way to avoid getting busted by the police, aside from not actually killing people, is not to have the deaths labeled murder.

The snoring stops for a few seconds, and I realize he isn't breathing. There are lots of pillows propped up underneath him, and I realize he's on oxygen. This might be easier than I thought.

I slip my knife back in it's sheath and slip the pillows out from underneath him as would happen if he moved a lot during sleep. Making sure one of them catches the hose delivering his oxygen, I let both fall to the floor.

He continues to snore, until he's flat on his back, and then the sound stops again. I expect him to wake up, but he doesn't respond. On his night stand there's a bottle of sleeping pills. It's like he wanted me to kill him, because he did most of the work for me.

After about a minute he starts thrashing around, and I realize he's having a seizure. This is the moment where a normal person would back out. Actually, a normal person never would have entered this house, but this is the moment I decide this man who's name I don't know is going to die.

I don't need his name though. There were only two pieces of information that sent me here to hold this man's life in my gloved hands. One, Damien Blackthorne wanted him dead. For that reason alone this sad sack's life is over. The other is what Lucien showed me in the envelope. I am only willing to handle the sickest cases. The ones that deserve the fate I bring them.

This time felt anticlimactic. I mean, am I really responsible for this man's health issues? Sure, I sped him along, but it's clear he was going to end up in this exact same situation some day.

I watch as his skin slowly becomes a bluish grey color. His movements become jerkier before slowing to a stop. The entire process takes about five minutes. I need to confirm he's dead, but I'm not willing to take off my gloves and feel for a pulse. I grab a small mirror off the other end table and hold it up to his mouth and nose. There's no fog showing signs of breathing.

I leave the mirror out and find a small vial of cocaine in the drawer. I put it back where it belongs, confident that even in the drawer the police will still suspect drugs played a role in his death. And who knows, Damien might want him dead for exactly that reason. It’s hardly a secret Damien is one of the biggest smugglers in the Midwest. The only reason he hasn't been caught is thanks to the notorious political corruption rampant in Devil's Crossing.

Downstairs I find Lucien shoving some electronics in his bag. "Did you take those?"

He shook his head. "No, I used them to corrupt his files. After I made a few copies first."

"Good, because I made his death look like an accident. Unless we fucked something up, no one will ever suspect anyone was here, let alone us."

His head tips to the side, and he nods once. "I'm surprised. Pleased, but surprised."

I look at my watch and gauge that we have about five minutes before the maid opens the gate. "Let's ghost. We've done everything we were sent here for."

The last minutes waiting in the shadows for the motor of the gate to be triggered by the remote control in the maids car feel the longest. Even longer than the minutes I stood watching another man die, and doing nothing to help.

"Remind me again why we don't just go over the wall," I demand.

"Because there's a motion sensor there that can't be shut off remotely. I told you, the security here is tight. You can only enter and leave with either the code or the remote," he whispered back to me.

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