Mistress moved back with a laugh and sounded a buzzer to call a guard forward. When the guard reached the cage, she turned to him and said, “Fill his collar with new serum pellets I specially ordered, enough to last, and program it to dispense a dose twice a day. We need him to be at his most impressive.”
“Yes, Mistress,” the guard said obediently.
Mistress loitered by the cage door, then said, “I will miss our time together while you are gone, 194. Maybe I shall pay 152 a visit in your absence, see if she can be as effective in my pleasure as you. You share the same blood, after all.”
As I lost grip of my control, my head snapped in her direction, body braced to strike. Mistress frowned, and I forced myself to pretend that the serum still had me in its clutches. In truth it only ever lasted a little while on these pellets. I could eventually fight the fog they brought.
My eyes dropped to focus on the floor, and I heard Mistress finally walk off.
The guard held his picana—a form of cattle prod—in his hand and ordered, “Dress; we have to leave!”
Still picturing 152 on the bed, the bruises on her thighs, the broken position she was in, I dressed quickly, vowing to do my worst to this hit.
As I followed the guard down the hallway of my new prison, I opened the notebook and read out the name of the man who would soon be screaming in pain.
Zaal Kostava.
Brooklyn.
New York.
I’d never been to this place before. New York. Brooklyn. Brighton Beach. My days had been spent around the world, where the Master had his businesses and enemies. That was where I came in. Master always wanted his best man for the job—I was always it. But this was different. This was Mistress’s hit. A personal hit. Now personal to me, too, since it secured 152’s safety.
Master wanted her. I couldn’t let that happen.
152 was beautiful. It was the reason Mistress had taken us all those years ago. Even when 152 was a child Mistress could see the potential 152 had as a mona. And Mistress had used her for years. Abused her and made her life hell.
A hell I intended to stop.
Slinking into the shadows, I made my way toward one of the addresses I’d been given for the hit. When I approached the street, I noted that every fifteen minutes a car went by. It was slow in speed and had blacked-out windows. This hit was clearly important in this community. His house was well protected.
It would be a waiting game. A waiting game until one of his people made a mistake and I could take him, or someone close to him.
Leverage.
Standing in an alleyway opposite a brownstone house, I watched in silence as a car pulled up and a large male with fair hair got out of the backseat, holding his hand out to someone inside. I squinted my eyes to better focus on his features, but this male was too light in coloring to be my target. A female slipped out of the car next; she had long brown hair and blue eyes.
I committed these people to memory and waited. Fifteen minutes later another car pulled up. And exiting from the backseat was a tall dark male with black hair down to his mid-back. My nostrils flared when he turned and his stern face came into view, green eyes looking down at someone else leaving the car.
Him.
The hit.
Zaal Kostava.
Careful not to move, relying on all the years of training, I was as still as the night. But I watched. I saw there were three guards surrounding the car. Then a female was by his side. Blond. Brown eyes. A ring on her left hand.
His wife? His fiancée?
My eyes tracked them walking up stairs and entering the house. The windows were large, and I concentrated on the shadows, tilting my head as I studied the movements.
The guards in the cars continued for the next two hours, men casually dressed in everyday clothes walking in circles around the block, their hands in their pockets—holding on to guns, no doubt.
In two hours I never moved an inch. This was why I was the head assassin, the bringer of death. I never failed. And I never failed in making my victims scream out in pain. Only after they’d screamed at the sight of my disfigured face. I was their every nightmare come to life.
Movement from my left suddenly caught my eye. A figure dressed in all black was approaching the side of the street where I was hidden. I watched with focused eyes, seeing that it was a female.
Her arms were wrapped around her waist, a large hood covering her face. Her steps were quiet as she rushed down the street. I never took my eyes from her as she slipped into the darkness. She wanted to keep concealed from view.
She kept approaching until she stopped, mere feet from me. She didn’t sense me lurking at her back. They never did.
I watched. I watched her breathing increase and heard the heavy exhale leave her mouth. Flakes of snow landed on her black coat, but the female kept completely still.
Her attention was on the house I was stalking. But she made no effort to move. I watched as her hand reached into her pocket. But what I noticed more was that it was shaking.
A photograph was pulled out of her pocket. Just as she lifted it to view, I caught sight of the image—my hit and his female.
The side of my lip curled up in satisfaction. This female was someone to the hit. And she’d just made herself my prey.
Suddenly the female’s breathing hitched, and when I glanced to the house I could see the people I’d watched entering the front door move in clear view of the windows. This female’s grip was iron tight on the photo, and I could see her holding her breath.
She was waiting to see the dark male.
A sudden tightness gripped around my neck, my body jerking in shock. My jaw tensed and I shut my eyes as my collar tightened, the functions inside the metal brace moving to inject into my neck. My teeth slammed together as needles slowly pushed into my skin. And then it came. The burning of the serum flooding into my veins.
While I still had time before my triggered rage took hold, I pulled out my notebook and memorized the name of the chamber. Then I looked to the female in black and I knew what I was about to do.
The needles pulled out of my skin, and then it came. A red mist curtained over my eyes. My muscles strained as the venom filled my every vein. Rage. Uncontrollable rage took its hold, bringing with it the need to deliver pain. To hear screams. To draw blood.
To obey Mistress and all that she’d commanded.
Just before I became lost to the darkness, the bringer of death role I knew I would embrace, my gaze darted to the female dressed in black once more. I crouched, bracing to strike.
Just as the female took a deep breath and stepped out onto the road to cross the street, the venom finally peaked. My eyes widened as I felt my free will fade to nothing—my body was reacting worse than normal, submitting to the drug like Mistress had intended.