Page 55 of Azrael

I scanned the VIP section, the raised platform where the self-important sat on velvet couches and drank overpriced bottles.There he was -- Boris, though everyone called him “The Surgeon.”Not for any medical skills, but for his precision with a blade.Dark hair slicked back, designer clothes, surrounded by women who didn’t know they were pressing their bodies against a monster.Or maybe they did but just didn’t care.

Two bodyguards flanked him, thick-necked men with telltale bulges under their jackets.Guns, despite the club’s metal detectors.Then again, I’d slipped in with my knife unnoticed.I’d need to deal with them first.

I made my way to the bar, ordered a whiskey I had no intention of drinking, and studied the layout.Three exits -- main entrance, side door by the bathrooms, service entrance behind the DJ booth.The bodyguards rotated positions every fifteen minutes, a standard security protocol.Boris himself seemed relaxed, hands wandering over a blonde in a silver dress, laughing at something she said.

I checked my watch.Almost eleven o’clock.The club would reach peak capacity soon, which meant more chaos to disappear into, but also more potential witnesses and collateral damage.Not ideal, but I’d make it work.

I abandoned my untouched drink and moved toward the bathrooms, timing my approach to intersect with the path of one of the bodyguards.As expected, the man made his rounds, heading for the hallway that led to the restrooms.I stumbled slightly, bumping into him.

“Watch it, asshole,” he growled, hand instinctively moving toward his weapon.

I mumbled an apology, swaying as if drunk, and continued past him.In the dimly lit hallway, I pressed myself against the wall and waited.Three seconds later, he rounded the corner.His eyes widened in recognition -- not of me, but of the sudden danger -- a split second before I struck.

My palm slammed into his windpipe, crushing it instantly.As he gasped for air that wouldn’t come, I dragged him into the men’s room, kicked open a stall door, and finished him with a quick thrust of my knife just under his ribcage, angled upward into his heart.He twitched once, then went still.I lowered him onto the toilet, closed the stall door, and washed his blood from my hands.

One down.

Back in the club, the music had shifted to something with a harder edge, the bass so deep it seemed to rattle my teeth.The second bodyguard had noticed his partner’s absence, his eyes scanning the crowd with increasing concern.He leaned down to say something to Boris, who frowned and checked his phone.

I wouldn’t get a better chance.I moved through the dance floor, letting the surging crowd push me closer to the VIP section.A waitress with a tray of shots created the perfect opening -- I slipped past her just as she arrived at Boris’s table, momentarily blocking the bodyguard’s view.

By the time the bodyguard spotted me, I was already inside his reaction radius.His hand went for his gun, but I was faster.The knife I’d palmed slid between his ribs, the blow cushioned by our bodies pressed close together, looking to anyone watching like an embrace between friends.His eyes widened in shock as I twisted the blade.

“Nothing personal,” I whispered in his ear as he slumped against me.

I eased him down onto one of the couches, arranging him to look passed out drunk.The music swallowed his dying gurgle, the lights concealed the spreading dark stain on his shirt.Boris, focused on the woman in his lap, hadn’t even noticed.

When he finally looked up and saw me standing there, his face cycled through confusion, recognition, then fear.He shoved the woman aside roughly, reaching inside his jacket.

“You --” he started, but I was already moving.

I flipped the table between us, sending bottles and glasses crashing to the floor.The woman screamed, drawing attention our way.Boris pulled a small pistol from his jacket, but I was already too close.My hand clamped around his wrist, forcing the gun upward as it discharged into the ceiling.The shot was barely audible over the music, but people nearby began to notice something was wrong.

Boris was strong, his face contorted with rage as he wrestled against my grip.He head-butted me, stars exploding behind my eyes as pain lanced through my skull.I maintained my hold on his gun hand, but he slashed at me with a knife I hadn’t seen, opening a cut across my cheek.

We crashed over the back of the couch, landing hard on the floor behind the VIP section.The gun skittered away across the floor.Now it was just man against man, blade against blade.

“You’re dead,” he snarled, slashing at me with practiced precision.“Fucking Angel of Death.Even here, we’ve heard of you.”

I didn’t waste breath on words, focusing instead on the dance of death between us.His knife caught the pulsing lights, leaving glowing trails in the air as he attempted to open my throat.I parried with my own blade, metal striking metal with sharp clangs drowned by the music.

Blood ran down my face from the cut on my cheek, warm and sticky.Around us, people began to realize this wasn’t a standard club fight.Some screamed, others backed away, creating a clearing around us while bouncers pushed through the crowd.

Boris lunged, his technique revealing his reputation was well-earned.I barely twisted away, feeling his blade slice through my jacket and graze my ribs.The pain was distant, adrenaline keeping it at bay.I countered, my knife finding flesh at his shoulder.

He hissed but didn’t slow, coming at me again with renewed fury.We crashed into a table, sending glasses shattering across the floor.I lost my footing on the wet surface, going down on one knee.Boris saw his opening and moved in for the kill, knife arcing toward my neck.

I threw a handful of broken glass into his face.He cursed, momentarily blinded, slashing wildly.I drove my knife upward, under his sternum, feeling the resistance of muscle and tissue before the blade found his heart.

Boris’s eyes widened in shock, his own knife clattering to the floor.“How --” he gasped, blood bubbling at his lips.

“See you in hell.”I thought of all the people this asshole had tormented and killed over the years.Now they would get justice.

I twisted the knife once, ensuring the job was done, then let him collapse to the floor.Around us, chaos had fully erupted.People screamed and pushed toward exits, the music still pounding relentlessly.A bouncer broke through the crowd, saw the blood and bodies, and reached for his radio.

Time to go.

I snatched up Boris’s fallen pistol, fired two shots into the ceiling, and used the resulting panic to make my escape.Bodies pressed against me from all sides as people scrambled toward exits.I moved with the flow toward the service entrance, discarding the gun into a trash can as I passed.

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