Chapter 5: Renewed
1835 Words
Nicholas
No one has ever made me lose control like Daynara. All the Confradia assassins who know me can tell you that I’m cold and emotionless. Some have even called me a psychopath, and I have never refuted their words.
However, whenever I’m around Daynara, that tight control that I steadily cling to shatters. It doesn’t help that Daynara has done everything she could to provoke me. Seeing her body displayed so exquisitely in the dress opened up a chasm in my self-control, making it impossible for me to resist kissing her after I stopped her from running away.
At this point, I feel the thread of my restraint growing thin. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help taunting Daynara in return.
Rolling up my sleeves, I take the elevator to the ground floor. I bought that building’s section to use if I ever need to question a mark. The cleaners delivered Daynara’s attacker there. The room is deep in the vowels of the ground floor. Inside the room, there’s a metal table and chair. A single lightbulb hangs from the ceiling, and the walls are painted black.
The light illuminates the pitch-black room as soon as I open the door, rousing its occupant. Like most killers, this man has no outstanding features. He’s not tall or short, his frame is wiry, and his features are average, making it easy for him to blend in. He blinks as he awakens, a startled cry escaping his lips when he sees his arms tied behind his back and his legs bound to the chair.
His face is bloody, and his neck is torn and bruised where I kicked it.
My deadly mask slips in place as I approach.
He reels back when he sees my intent, “Qui es-tu?” Who are you?
Angling my head, I cross my arms in front of my chest and state clearly, “Vous vous appelez Robert Granier. Vous habitez actuellement à” Your name is Robert Granier. You currently live at….
His eyes widen with trepidation when I deliver his biographical information, “Comment savez-vous ces informations sur moi? How do you know this information about me?
My gaze is steady on his as I pull out a plastic bag and wave it in front of him. It takes Robert a minute to figure out what’s in the bag. Once he does, he screams, making satisfaction course through my body. His chest heaves and saliva drips from his meaty lips. Jaw tight, I toss his thumb on the ground between his feet. Robert flinches when the bloody thumb rolls around the bag and lands with a thud.
I squat down to his level and gaze intently into his eyes, “Je sais tout de vous. Mais cela n'a pas d'importance. Ce qui compte, c'est qui vous a envoyé pour prendre la femme? Je sais tout de vous. Mais cela n'a pas d'importance. Ce qui compte, c'est qui vous a envoyé pour prendre la femme?” I know all about you. But that doesn't matter. What matters is who sent you to take the woman?
Robert shakes his head fearfully. He understands now that he’s not dealing with a victim─now he’s dealing with a killer. “Je ne sais pas qui c'était. Un gestionnaire nous expédie une fois qu'un coup est commandé.” I don’t know who it was. A handler dispatches us once a hit is ordered.
“Quel est le processus pour que quelqu'un commande un hit?” What is the process for someone to order a hit? I ask.
Robert closes his eyes with a pained grimace and swallows deeply, “Je jure que je ne sais pas. Tout ce qu'ils font, c'est nous envoyer une photo de notre marque par SMS. Une fois que la localisation de la marque est identifiée, celui qui est le plus proche reçoit un ping sur son emplacement. Tout se fait de manière anonyme. Je ne sais même pas à quoi ressemble mon maître. S'il te plaît, dis-moi que tu me crois.” I swear I don't know. All they do is text us a picture of our marks. Once the marks’ whereabouts are identified, whoever is closest gets a ping on their location. It's all done anonymously. I don't even know what my handler looks like. Please tell me you believe me.
I consider his answer for a moment, “Je te crois.” I believe you.
Before he can say another word, I raise my gun, shoot him between the eyes and walk back out the door. After I call a cleaning crew to take the body, I shower and discard my clothes in the rubbish bin.
I didn’t question Robert further because his answers matched what I knew about a cell in France that uses the same modus Operandi. The group is called Mort Noire’s “Black Death.” The name may sound ostentatious, but its reach across Europe is outstanding. They discovered Daynara’s location minutes after she used her call code, so I need to be more careful since I’m not sure of Dion’s motives.
Feeling edgy, I consider searching Daynara out, but somehow, I manage to push the urge away. Instead, I head to my office and contact one of my sources at the Mort Noire. My contact will be able to give me more information on the hit.
My mobile vibrates a moment later. I look down at the screen and see that it’s Logan.
“Logan?” I answer.
Logan’s deep voice reverberates across the receiver, “Voodoo. I’m just calling to give you a heads-up. Dion asked to speak to Daynara. As you said, he’s not happy that she’s not coming home. I told him I’d let you know and get back to him. Is that all right?”
“That’s fine,” I reply, “I’ll let Dayanara know and send the invitation.”
“All right. I’ll let Dion know,” Logan sighs, “I have a meeting right now, but I’ll follow up with you later.”
I disconnect that call with an unsettling feeling curling in my belly. Daynara’s reaction to Dion forcing her back home seemed extreme. I don’t understand why she ran. She seemed almost frightened, which made no sense because Dion spoiled her. She was the untouchable princess. He might be angry at her for what she has done, but he wouldn’t hurt her. Would he?
I don’t inform her of the conference call the right way. Instead, I move on to gathering more information on Leroux.
As the evening progresses, I realize I can’t avoid Daynara any further and decide to tell her about Dion’s call.
Her expression is shuttered when she answers the door, “What do you want?”
I step past her and nod approvingly when I see she put her things away, and the bags are folded carefully on top of a nearby shelf.
“Dion has requested to speak to you,” I tell her.
Daynara flinches back as if she was slapped, “I don’t want to talk to him.”
I tilt my head and give her a calm stare, “You have no choice, Mon petit. If you don’t speak to him, he will cause problems for Logan.”
She steps back and adamantly shakes her head. Her body shakes, and her teeth begin to shatter, confusing me further, ‘No, I don’t care. Just tell him I’m fine.” Her voice quivers.
“Why don’t you wish to speak to him?” I firmly ask.
Daynara closes her lips tightly and shakes her head, refusing to answer.
Moving forward, I wrap my hands around her forearm and gaze intently into her eyes, “Answer me.”
She ignores my request and looks away.
Seeing that I’m not going to get an answer, I usher her toward the door. Daynara struggles within my grip and drags her feet, “Let me go, Nicholas. I don’t want to talk to him!”
“You’re being ridiculous, Chérie. It’s just a conference call. Quit acting like a spoiled child and do as I ask.”
Her struggles intensify, which is not what I want to happen.
“Please, Nicholas,” she pleads.
I’m conflicted by her pleas, but I have no choice but to ignore them. Dion can be unpredictable, and the last thing I want is to cause in-house warfare. We’re already concerned that there are traitors in our company. Casting suspicion on Logan would leave him open to attacks, and Dion is vindictive enough to do it.
Daynara’s struggles seize when I push her down on a chair and coldly growl, “Enough!”
She looks back at me, hatred and rage gleaming in her eyes.
Jaw tight, I open my laptop and set up the conference call.
“All you have to do is speak with him. Answer his questions and tell him you’re well. That’s all, Mon petit.”
She opens her lips as if to argue, but before she does, I lean close and clarify, “You have no choice, Daynara. Because if you disconnect the call or refuse to speak to him, he will call Logan, who will call me and force me to make you speak.”
Daynara’s lips purse closed for a moment before she nods. Once again, I notice her rubbing her wrist. Years ago, I’d observed her do that during stressful moments. I always wondered about it but never asked. Regrettably, there’s no time to ask now.
“I have something to attend to for the next several hours. There’s dinner on the table and several bath salts and soaps in the master bath if you wish to take a comforting bath. Feel free to explore the apartment, but stay away from my room,” I gaze intently into her eyes and firmly state, “I will know if you go to my room, Chérie, and I’m sure you will not like the consequences if you choose not to heed my orders. Comprendre?”
Her eyes are hollow when she gazes insolently back and answers, “Oui, I understand.”
I adjust my suit jacket and straighten up, my gaze still throwing off warnings. I’m wary of Daynara’s tone since she has defied me in the past.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving me here alone and unprotected,” she retorts.
I quirk an amused brow, “The apartment has a state-of-the-art security system. The doors will only unlock at my command, so I wouldn’t try leaving if I was you.”
My body heats when she bites her plump bottom lip and glances away. The implications of her gesture make alarm bells go off in my head.
“If you run, I will find you,” I growl before I leave.
“You’re an asshole!” Daynara calls out.
I ignore her angry tone and prepare for what is about to occur.
I’ll deal with her later.
- Writer
