When the two detectives from the restaurant come in with a stack of files to try it as an intimidating tactic where they think I will spill my heart out from the amount of evidence presented to me.

  I have been on the receiving end of torture, and I still didn’t tell them what they wanted; these weak-minded cops won’t get a sound out of me.

  “John Wilson,” the man, Hans, sneers.

  He sits down aggressively, establishing what little dominance he has in the room. Hans is intimidated by me. I didn’t give him the results he wanted when he had arrested me and put me in this room to let me stew in my thoughts.

  The foolish man thinks he can go up against a professional killer.

  “That isn’t even your real name,” he gruffly grunts, crossing his arms like a precocious child.

  “Let’s make this easier for all of us,” he says, flipping open a file that has the word classified on it.

  The logo is FBI territory, and I knew this fake hoax to get me to talk is not going to work. That federal agency is known to be anal-retentive, and they like to piss all over other jurisdictions to get their name as the lead investigators as long as there is one factor that categorizes the case as FBI jurisdiction.

  When Interpol was tracking me years ago, they at least had the decency to use the local precinct to help. The FBI is just a bunch of dogs trying to get the biggest bone for the credit so they would look good on national television.

  Speaking of dogs, my mind goes back to the incident.

  I have never felt more useless than the moment I laid eyes on an unconscious Holly with a manic creature on top of her, with a sharp scalpel and the intention to put that blood-rusted instrument on her creamy thighs.

  I froze, and I felt ashamed that I had that reaction; my body is trained to have a certain type of speed that gives me an advantage in close quarter hand-to-hand combat, but I froze like a fucking amateur.

  If I was one second late, that scalpel would have scarred my Holly, and that would not be acceptable.

  Everything went red just a moment later. Nothing comes near me as I blocked out all stimulus: the sirens, the lights shining in my eyes, the shouting, and the rawness in my knuckles when I wailed on the unconscious form of The Butcher.

  None of that made it to me because I was angry, being shrouded by wrath that scorches my blood, fueling my strength to reel back and shatter every bone I come in contact with.

  I hit with the intention to kill.

  Whether I succeeded or not, that remains to be seen when I listen to the charges being brought up against me.

  A hand slams on the table, “Are you listening to me?”

  My eyes focus on the mirror, arms extended to have my wrist cuffed to the metal ring in the middle of the table. The ink on my arms darkens under the artificial light that can’t choose between yellow or white. It’s a wash of both colors. There is hardly a word to describe what it is.

  “Fine, if you are unwilling to cooperate…” Hans closes his file and smirks, “We will have to question Ms. Price; our captain gave us the green light to question her.”

  My eyes flash over to the smug reaction he has when he notices the slight waiver in my form. Taking in his features, I memorize him and plan his death in the back of my head. I will execute that plan if he dares to make Holly upset, and I know police use dirty tactics to get a confession.

  Holly is too weak, too vulnerable to be under the manipulation of Hans. She gets scared easily, especially when she doesn’t have a great track record of saying no to authoritative figures.

  Isaac and I are two prime examples of how she is unable to decline anything we say; we were never demanding nor threatening, she just can’t say no, and Holly isn’t upset over it.

  She’s eager to please us.

  A knock interrupts his dramatic exit. Hans releases a provoked sigh and the color on his face drains.

  Isaac strolls in with a briefcase, the white bandages on his forearm contrast his own ink as his sleeves are rolled to the elbows. His hair that is usually neatly combed is disheveled, hastily brushed back with blond strands falling to his cold, blue eyes.

  “Detectives, unless you are charging my client, we are leaving,” Isaac says, straight to the point and blunt.

  Hans opens his mouth to answer when his phone rings; he’s practically saved by the bell when his eyes light up with a glint of evil. He snaps his flip-phone shut for dramatic efforts, it’s a century with flourishing technology, and he chooses a model so old that it’s ancient in the eyes of millennials.

  “Take a seat, gentlemen,” his tone changes to a condescending hum. His partner doesn’t know what’s going on as he sits quietly to let the senior detective take the lead.

  “Since you are so pressed for time,” Hans chuckles, wrinkles crackling beside his eyes. “I can tell you what John Wilson is being charged with.”

  Isaac sits beside me. The chair screeches as it drags down the floor with his weight.

  “I would prefer if you stop wasting our time,” he remarks, impatience rolling through his form.

  Hans’ smirk widens, “The victim did not make it; she passed away just now.”

  Even I know it’s unprofessional to have so much glee over death, but Hans can’t physically contain the excitement in his voice.

  “The state’s attorney wants to prosecute you with homicide, but given the circumstances, he’s pushing for murder.”

  No one speaks in the room as Hans smug face tells me he’s letting me weigh the consequences, dwarfing my effort to stay calm because I’m going to prison.

  “If you have anything to say, now would be a good time. It might help you during the trial later,” Hans’s lip twitches upward as he sniffs haughtily.

  “A murder charge?” Isaac scoffs, his own lips twitch in humorless disdain.

  His thinks for a second, “Understandable, but I prefer the term Justifiable Homicide.”

  “Be serious, counselor,” Hans rolls his eyes, taking a picture and slapping it at the table.

  It’s the picture of my handy work on the couple that prompted me to portray them as a threat that needed to be eliminated when they harmed Holly. Their faces are too ripped to make any formal identity when I had cut off their fingers, pulled their teeth out, and drained so much of their blood they were practically white by the time the police got the calls of concerned citizens.

  “We are talking about these murders with depraved indifference, we have witnesses that saw them push Ms. Price and we know she was being filmed for her public relations presentation in a lecture in front of twenty students. Ms. Price couldn’t have done it, so that leaves the two of you that have the motive and opportunity to do it.”

  Isaac smiles, “Tread carefully, detective.”

  What these idiots don’t know is that the blast of Florida’s humid heat and the chilled temperature at night by the waters alters the time of death. I made sure to douse the bodies with a mist that attracts animals to scavenge on the livers before the coroner finds the time of death.

  “I was simply in the area for coffee,” Isaac’s eyes curve dangerously, “Do try to implicate me with more than a coincidence.”

  A tick on Hans' forehead does not leave right away. It sticks around for a while as he glares at us.

  “And you?” Hans tips his head towards me, “Why were you there?”

  I remain silent. My words can’t hurt me if I keep it in my throat. I want to get out of this shithole and go see Holly. If Isaac is here, then it means that Holly is safe.

  Whatever had knocked her out should be evaporating from her bloodstream, I don’t know where she got dosed, and it’s practically impossible to have a drug act so slow yet with such immense effects.

  “John Wilson here,” Hans clicks his tongue, “He’s being charged with murder because of malice aforethought. He deliberately killed the victim with the intention of ending her life, and he probably wouldn’t have stopped even if she had died.”

  “As I have said, detective, Justifiable Homicide,” a mockery of the man’s rank gets a bristle as Isaac smirks. “John was simply protecting my client. She was in imminent threat; The Butcher would have killed her if he hadn’t stepped in and when he saw the woman he loves in the hands of a deranged serial killer, it’s a blameless act.”

  Love, that word rattles my handcuffs as I jerk with a startling realization that I do love Holly.

  I have never been in love and voluntarily choosing a life of solitude is bound to cut off all my contacts with people. I’m alright with that because social interaction is a world that spreads hate faster than it shares kindness.

  A man as old as me with battle scars acting as a reminder as to why connections shouldn’t matter, and she breaks down the foundation that I had built up from scrap.

  With just one passing glance, I was already in love with her before I knew what that was. I thought it was an attraction that soon turned into a spiraling obsession that simultaneously sparks a desire to possess her.

  Somewhere along the time spent watching her, guarding her gullibility, and being someone to her, I stopped questioning my heart’s motive and let it take full reign.

  I don’t care if it’s my downfall, I want Holly so much that it’s hard to breathe when she’s not with me.

  I’m constantly worrying if she’s hurt, where is she getting the attention of predators, and whether she’s taking care of herself for not. There were times where I had things to deal with, and I can’t watch her, but Isaac comes in with as a vibrant knight in shining armor.

  I should thank him for taking care of Holly when I’m occupied with my issues. If I want to have a life with Holly in the future, I need to make sure nothing leads back to me and the name Kian remains anonymous.

  “This isn’t up to me, counselor,” Hans mocks back with a curl of his lips, “The state’s attorney wants to press murder charges.”

  “I see,” Isaac nods as he unclips his briefcase; it opens with a stack of white paper and pens.

  From a small black notebook secured with a band at the top section, Isaac takes out a document that’s stamped with red and signatures signed at the bottom.

  It’s wrapped in blue, and I have seen it from somewhere.

  “This is a motion to suppress any and all evidence from the coroner's office if you are to pursue an indictment against my client,” Isaac says as he hands the paper to the detective.

  The door bursts open and a woman in black stomps in with her heels breaking the silence of the room. She comes up to the table and rips the paper out of Hans' hand, and her eyes dart between the lines.

  The storm on her forehead is a manifestation of waves, but her forehead must have had Botox because it wouldn’t crinkle and she resembles a dumbass.

  “The lab is compromised, I do have ears in all parts of the city,” Isaac smirks at the fuming that’s coming out of her head.

  “Assistant district attorney,” he jeers with a face that would charm millions of women.

  I am glad that Isaac is a lawyer, he’s cunning and sly; it’s a type of skillset that doesn’t happen overnight, and not many can perfect it while being a bit similar to a psychopath.

  His profession allows him to destroy many people while gaining allies from all aspects of the criminal underground and also maintaining connections with influential parties.

  “What died and brought you in here,” she snaps back without a flicker of emotion in her eyes.

  The plastic surgery on her is beneficial for a duel in the courtroom. No one knows what the fuck she’s thinking.

  “I do believe that The Butcher had brought my client and I in,” Isaac thrums his fingers on the table, “You can fight this motion; however, the coroner’s office is compromised, so everything is in question with the chain of evidence.”

  “I will win,” he throws at her.

  I shift forward, leaning on my elbows as the chains rattle noisily. Hans and the other detective jerk their eyes towards me, but the fear in their eyes is delicious; my body reels in that terror and the wickedness in me wants to destroy them for wasting my time with this trivial death of a woman that took the lives of others.

  “Then we will have to speak to Ms. Price,” the woman says, grinning through her red lips.

  “Ah, yes,” Isaac pulls out another document from his briefcase, “I had a feeling you would mention that.”

  He gives the paper to her, and her fuming get stronger; the craziness in her eyes flare with boiling heat as she hisses.

  “Marriage certificate?” she shrills.

  “Yes,” Isaac confirms, and I subtly breathe through my lips.

  Seems like that Russian KGB moron did as he’s told; the funds should be wired to his hidden account by the end of this week. I had timed it and gave a couple of days for any unforeseeable events that might mess with the schedule.

  The system of money wiring is complicated; someone from the dark web had made it possible for people to wire funds without physically being on the computer to do so. It’s a way to protect the client when they get caught, and no money can be traced back to them, and it’s to also make sure I don’t get traced too when I receive the money.

  “You can confirm it with the Russian Embassy, and the ambassador is the witness. Anything she says will be spousal privileged,” Isaac snaps his briefcase shut and let the woman resent him with glaring eyes.

  Her lips pressed together and thin in anger, “Counselor, this is not over.”

  “If you wish to take this to court, know that I will be taking your job, the state’s attorney’s and these two detectives’ for defamation and foreseeable domino effects of my client’s future. Job loss, emotional damage, and ostracizing, and then I will sue the department and the attorney’s office for millions.”

  The threat in Isaac’s tone dares these foolish people to say anything else, and I don’t think they can because if I have learned anything about Isaac over the weeks of being stuck with him—it’s that once he bites, he doesn’t let go.

  “Now, if you have nothing else, release my client at this moment,” he glares through a darkened hue of blue.

  The other detective scrambles across the table to use his key to jab into the keyhole, but his hands are shaking so much that he misses the lock completely. He gets it right after another try, and I yank my hand back, the rotation of my wrists feels fine with no damage done.

  I stand up with Isaac as he carries the briefcase, I make it through the door first without any further interruption, and he follows behind me.

  “Are you okay?” a soft voice and a softer body smack into me. My size doesn’t let Holly knock me over.

  I didn’t even move an inch when she barrels into me, her tiny arms clinging to my waist as she stuffs her face into my chest with those brown locks sticking up in places.

  I take her arms and unfurrow them to steer her towards the front door of the police station. Isaac takes her other hand as I splay my fingers around her neck.

  “I’m fine,” I answer her as she turns to ask me again.

  Isaac and I don’t take her through the front door. We find the back one as it has no reporters coming to jab their microphones in my face to ask me things about the killing. I want to avoid publicity about myself. I can’t risk someone recognizing the hidden shape of a scorpion etched on my bicep.

  That would put Holly in more risk, this storm hasn’t passed yet, and I don’t want another one to put her through an emotional trauma that she might not return from. It’s a good thing that Holly was unconscious when everything went down. She’d be too traumatized with her fragile, little heart.

  No one can bring any legal actions towards her when she hasn’t done anything; all she did was she became a fixation to a deranged woman.

  Holly is a victim, and I’d be damned if I let anyone else tell her that she is harboring an international assassin.

  “Holly, sweetheart,” Isaac coos as he turns another corner to the loading dock of the police station.

  He stops when there is no one walking near us, “I’m glad you’re alright, but I want to tell you that it’s going to be a rough month. John will be subjected to many attempts for a trail, and I will help him.”

  Isaac slants his lips over hers, muffling her words as she mewls quietly. My sharp ears pick up her shuddering breathing as Isaac devours her mouth, I knead the back of her neck to relax the tense muscles.

  “You just have to stay strong for us and be treated like a little princess. I promise it’s going to be fine.”

  Her head bobs with wide eyes as she looks up at me with big, brown eyes; the uncertainty in them claws at me to erase the fright and soothe her pure heart.

  I bend down, pressing my lips to hers as she squeals in confusion. She tastes sweet, a hint of mint that doesn’t negate the honied addiction. I nip her bottom lip and steal a quiet whimper. It’s adoring how she chases after my lips when I pull away.

  I have to or else I won’t be able to stop. Holly needs to have a bed under her when I fuck her tight, little cunt.

  Isaac’s blue eyes gleam under the fluorescent light as he tilts his head. We walk to the car that’s near the loading dock, it’s another new car, and I want to voice my snippy remark about him changing more cars than women changing their clothes.

  Neither of us gets in the car until Holly is safely in the backseat. The door is closed and locked as we scout the area. It’s still dark, I have an inkling feeling it’s near two in the morning, but I could be wrong.

  I’m not too into figuring out the time when I’m still reeling from Holly’s pink lips.

  He gets in the driver side first, and I scan the area one last time for any potential danger.

  Isaac turns to me with a voice dripping in sadism when I drop in the passenger side, snapping the door shut in return for a wave of silence.

  “You have done enough, let me take care of the rest.”

  Epilogue

  Holly

  Six Months Later.

  To say the government hates Isaac and Kian is an understatement.

  After the whole incident where I almost got killed, they have been after my men for any little crime they can think of. They tried the murder case first, and somehow Isaac beat that.

 

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