Page 7 of Exposing Adonis

He looked more K-pop than killer, purposely lost in the overflow of a crowded airport.

“Leonard Bonifacio?” Hugo asked, his voice low, disguising his French accent to something that just sounded foreign, but so fluent you couldn’t pinpoint from where.

Leo looked up, as if he hadn’t been aware of us from the moment we turned the corner. But I knew he was aware of our presence.

Leo didn’t speak, but looked between the two of us with curiosity in his eyes. The reaction might have been genuine, but I doubted it.

“Huh?” he said, his face a perfect mask of confusion, brows drawn up, eyes wide.

I was surprised. His tradecraft was amazing. Not like his sister, who wasn’t a talented actress. Either she wore her heart on her sleeve, or she wore an impenetrable mask. Deception wasn’t her game.

Leo was 5‘8”, not tall by any stretch of the imagination, but with his hunched shoulders and his arms drawn in, he looked even smaller. His eyes were wide, a great approximation of fear. He raggedly drew in a scared breath, clutching his leather satchel to his abdomen.

Hell, I was starting to believe that we had the wrong man, he was so good. But I had sat across from him at the dinner table, so I knew better. That jawline and that nose were identical to his sister, and I could sketch her with my eyes closed.

“You’re the assassin known as the Ferryman,” Hugo said, as we both reached down, grabbed him under each elbow and hauled him to his feet. I pulled out a pair of handcuffs, and bound his wrists behind him. I picked up his brown leather backpack and slumped it over my shoulder.

“What? No!” He shook his head, his blonde hair wavering. “I don’t … are you … is this a joke?”

He struggled against our hold, but we marched him right through the airport. He weakly pulled back, confused, but we pushed him on.

He twisted the hands that were held behind him, testing their restraints. Again, it was subtle and careful. I would have missed it if I wasn’t looking for the signs.

“You’re wanted for the murder of Dieter Müller and Rashid Khan.” Hugo continued in a monotone drone.

Leo’s eyes bugged out and he looked … confused? The man was just shy of being a trained actor. He felt limp in our hands. His attempts to pull were half-hearted, though the strain was etched in his face. If I hadn’t known better, I would think that he was a weak man. It was all completelyfake.

“You’ve got the wrong guy!” Leo said, planting his feet and gently resisting us. He looked around, probably to assess if he had a chance of running. After deciding that he couldn’t, he stopped and begrudgingly walked with us.

Over his head, I quirked a brow at Hugo to ask ‘What do you think?’

Hugo gave a twitch of a smile as if to say ‘He’s doing well.’

We took him to a blackened room in our own private hanger. The facility had greater applicability during the Global War on Terror, when we had operated the off-books black site for nefarious purposes. Later, it was used to keep other dark world players who had to be “tactically questioned” for other reasons.

A lamp shone over a single seat, keeping most of the room black. We deprived them of their senses, to keep them mentally on the back foot. Sometimes, their mind would give in long before we needed to land our first hit. That was often the best case scenario.

I knew that if we took too long, Lea would catch wise and break her way in to rescue her brother. Then there’d be hell to pay. At least for me. Still, the idea of her rage made my blood heat, drawing my mind to more recreational tasks. Her violence had a vice grip on my cock, and he stood at attention every time she called.

We strapped Leo to a single metal chair under the lamp, handcuffing his hands behind him, winding the cuffs around a metal bar that ran along the backrest.

“How much were you paid to assassinate Rashid Khan Junior?” Hugo asked him, as we stepped out of the light and into the darkness.

Knowing that he’d be blinded by the lamp, I took the balaclava off my face and took a deep breath. My gut was telling me something very bad, and very good was about to happen. Leo was going to pass this test with flying colors, and his sister would gut me like a fish for it later.

“I don’t know Rashid Khan,” he said, looking around, his head pivoting from one extremity to another. “You have the wrong person. I’m just a nurse. I work for Alex Baas. I have my ID!” He said as if it was some stroke of genius. “It’s in my pocket.”

“Did you kill the Butcher?” I said, putting on an American accent, and pitching my voice higher, hoping he wouldn’t recognize it.

“What butcher? I don’t even know any butchers!” he said, shaking his head, the metal chair clanking with his ragged breaths. “For fuck’s sake, I go to Trader John’s just like everyone else.”

I tried not to laugh. The man was funny.

This was not the same man who had threatened me under his breath at his parents’ dinner table a lifetime ago. I suppose it was. All of that happened before I had first tasted Lea, and made her mine. The person I was before I touched her lips no longer existed.

Hugo was about to do his favorite part … the fucking sadist.

He stomped forward, his face still covered. He backhanded Leo across the face. “We know who you are. We will kill you right here, right now, unless you tell us what you know.”

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