31. Brian

THIRTY-ONE

brian

Fifteen minutes ago.

I haven’t been able to get Windsor alone all evening. I had thought it would be easy to lure him away, but his security detail tonight is even more intense than it was on the night of the cocktail party. And he’s constantly got important people around him wanting to discuss important things. So he certainly has no time for the likes of me. It would look suspicious if he put these people off to talk to a complete stranger who doesn’t seem particularly important in comparison to themselves.

I grab a gun and one of the knives my target allowed me to hide throughout the house. I was careful to stash weapons without marks or prints, that hadn’t been used in any kill before, with no provenance or traceability. I get all my weapons on the dark web… mostly ghost guns, but some are standard with the serial numbers filed off. Every bullet was inserted with gloves on, so not even a fingerprint on a shell casing will be left behind. I have thought of everything, just in case there’s some sort of double cross waiting for me.

I would never blindly trust that I could just leave weapons at his house. I made sure there was no security footage rolling —or hidden cameras—while I planted them, and I’ve checked again tonight to make sure the state of things remains the same. Everything is clear and clean and ready. The only problem is, I can’t get the target alone. If I thought it would do any good, I’d try to get Mina to seduce him into my trap.

Dante is at this party. I don’t know why he’d accept an invitation from his target when they seem locked in this tug-of-war of who can kill who first. Nothing about any of this smells right, but it’s far too late to pull the plug. Plus I don’t want to. I feel genuine glee at the prospect of killing Drake Windsor tonight. And Halloween is the only holiday I like. The one night of the year that celebrates death and puts a glittering orange bow on it, so of course I have to celebrate with blood.

I slip away from the party and make my way to the second floor study. I wasn’t kidding about that fountain pen. It’ll be my most extravagant trophy so far. Maybe I’ll use it to write the condolence card for the flowers I send to his funeral. I slip on a pair of black gloves before trying the door. I don’t expect it to be unlocked, but I try anyway.

It’s not. I retrieve a lock picking kit from my pocket and get to work. A few minutes later I’m in. I open the drawer to find the Montblanc pen inside its case. The last time I killed for Windsor, he told me about the history of this pen. It is one of only 81 ever made after the death of Prince Rainier of Monaco. The body of the pen is 18k white gold and there are eight carats worth of inlaid diamonds and rubies. Incredibly this is far from the most expensive fountain pen in the world, but it still irritates me that anyone would own such a thing.

I take the case with the pen and slip it in my inside jacket pocket. I’ve just stepped out into the hallway when I find Drake Windsor himself coming out of the bathroom… without his security detail. He slipped his own guard for the pleasure of a few short moments of freedom to piss in peace, and here we are.

He eyes me warily, sizing up what to him probably now looks like a hungry wolf seeing dinner. I think for a moment that he’ll run. It would be the wisest choice, but I’d still catch him. I’m far younger and in far better shape.

“Sloan, you surprised me. Have you done it yet?”

“No, not yet. Just about to.”

He takes a step back that I don’t think he’s even conscious he’s taken. I reach out and grab him by the collar and shove him back into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me.

“Brian, what… why? It’s nine million dollars. Dante is only paying you two!”

“You know about the contract?”

“Of course I know. I have a mole inside Dante’s organization. He isn’t as smart as he thinks he is.”

“Well, judging by your current predicament, neither are you.”

I hold him by the throat against the wall. He claws at me, but he can’t even escape my weaker hand.

“If you had a mole, why didn’t you get him to kill Dante?”

He struggles to speak, and I ease the pressure on his throat enough so he can get the words out.

“B-because he’s not… a killer like you. He would have gotten caught. He would have squealed. I needed a professional who could do it right. I thought you’d take the higher contract. That’s all you care about. You have no honor.”

My jaw clenches at this piece of shit even thinking to pass judgment on me, knowing what he is underneath his bespoke suits, ridiculous pens, and rare car collection.

“The offer is still on the table. You have no reason to be loyal to Dante. He’s making a mockery of you. He offered the contract to someone else if he could get to me before you, it’s why my security detail has been so tight for the last several weeks. And I know I can’t make him an offer. This guy would kill me for free.”

So would I. But I don’t say this out loud.

“Who?” I growl, tightening my grip on his throat.

“Gregor McDonald.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

If Gregor can’t get to Windsor, he’ll take the next best thing.

“That woman with you? She’s not an escort is she?” Windsor says, mirroring my own thoughts.

His eyes widen when I pull out my knife. “You let me hide the weapon that was going to kill you inside your own house, you stupid motherfucker.”

“I don’t understand. I’ve done nothing to you! We’ve always been on friendly terms. Dante is making a joke of you and your reputation. He sent Gregor after me for fuck’s sake. Just take the money and take out the true threat.”

“I am taking out the threat. I saw the sick shit on your computer. The sad part though? If you hadn’t left me alone in your study to find it, I would have taken your offer and taken out Dante instead. You could be breathing happy free air right now without a target over your head if you weren’t so fucking cavalier about your own crimes.”

“W-w-wait! I can’t explain.”

I have no interest in hearing Drake Windsor’s pathetic explanations. I drive the knife into his gut, stabbing him over and over until his screams stop and he slumps forward.

I look around frantically. This wasn’t part of any version of this plan. I haul the body into the tub and pull the curtain around it. I’m surprised this bathroom doesn’t have a more modern glass-walled shower or a free standing tub with no curtain at all, but it’s one of likely thirty bathrooms in this house. They can’t all be architectural magazine porn. I scrub my hands and the knife in the sink, then sheath the blade and return it to its holster.

I let out a sigh of relief when I find bleach under the sink. I scrub the tiles and all the places where blood splattered. I open the window to air out the noxious bleach smell, then I take a look at my own clothes. All the blood hit the jacket, nothing on the shirt. I scrub at it to get out as much as I can, but it isn’t noticeable against the black fabric.

I lock the bathroom door behind me, hoping no one else will stray this far from the party before I can get this all cleaned up.