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After the locking mechanisms click into place, he asks, “Are you armed?”
“Yeah,” I reply.
“Leave your shit in a locker.” A hatch on my left swings open. “And I mean everything.”
This was to be expected, although I thought the security staff would pat me down. Moirai assassins are trained to enter situations unarmed and able to fashion weapons or shields out of anything–including our kicking and screaming enemies. Our most lethal possessions are our brains, followed by our hands.
After depositing the knife and pistol I brought, the door ahead swings open into a chandelier-lit hallway of white walls and marble-tiled floors.
This is exactly the level of sophistication Father would enjoy, and my anticipation rises. I doubt he or his associates would be holed up in a district like this, but I’m not taking any chances.
My hair is darkened with a temporary pigment, and I’m wearing contacts, contouring, fake tan, and temporary facial tattoos to obscure the features that went viral on social media.And just in case their cameras have facial recognition technology, I’ve inserted prosthetics to alter my jawline and cheeks.
Two armed men step out from a doorway and order me to get into position for a pat down. I take an inventory of their weapons in case I’ll need them later. Once satisfied I’m unarmed, they march me to a room at the back of the house, where the recruiter awaits.
A floppy-haired bastard in his thirties dressed in a tweed suit peers up at me through round spectacles. He looks more at home balancing books than shooting snuff, but I maintain a poker face.
“Mr. Wetwang?” he asks.
I nod.
“Leave us.” He waves the men away but doesn’t offer me a seat.
The recruiter leans back in his chair, resting his steepled fingers on his narrow chest. “What brings you to X-Cite Media? You don’t look like the type of man who needs help satisfying his darker urges.”
“I’m not looking for a place on Death Row,” I mutter.
He snorts, the corner of his lip lifting into a smile. “And you think you have what it takes to perform for our company?”
“If you’re asking if I can maintain a hard-on while the camera rolls, that depends on who I have to fuck,” I reply.
“That’s not what I mean,” he says with a frown.
I raise a shoulder. “I figured anyone can snap a neck or stick someone with a knife. The hardest part is maintaining an erection, knowing you’re producing other men’s jerk-off material.”
He nods. “Let me tell you how the organization works. You submit a video of at least ten minutes, which will go through an authenticity and quality control process. If we accept it, then we remit fifty percent of net receipts.”
My jaw ticks, but I smooth out my expression. The Spring brothers already confirmed the existence of a studio on the outskirts of town. I shouldn’t expect this asshole to lay out the inner workings of his business to a stranger who may or may not be an undercover cop.
“Don’t you hire actors to perform on camera for you?” I ask.
He inclines his head. “All our male talent submit videosthey’ve shot. If they’re popular with our subscribers, we’ll invite them to our studio.”
In other words, the only way I can penetrate their inner circle is through making my own snuff movies. That’s the kind of requirement undercover cops are reluctant to fulfill for fear of public uproar.
“That’s fair.” I reach into my pocket and extract my phone. “Before I leave, I want you to take a look at my portfolio.”
He leans forward in his seat as I slide the handset across the desk. It’s prefilled with a bunch of kills I made before allowing myself to get arrested.
One of the reasons I didn’t want Amethyst to publish my letters was because they contained more than just kernels of the truth. After defecting from the Moirai, we really did set up a rival organization to undercut our former employers.
With the help of operatives that maintained the firm’s computer system, we would reroute client calls. Not only would we perform assassinations at a discount, but we would provide video evidence of the work. It made us the fastest-growing firm of assassins and also the Moirai’s biggest threat.
The recruiter scrolls through the videos, his breath quickening. “So, you do both men and women?”
I incline my head. “Of course.”
He continues to some of the shirtless footage I shot earlier of myself, jerking off to the sight of Amethyst whining and struggling within her bindings. I try not to cringe when he replays a cum shot and force myself not to wring his neck when he reaches beneath the desk to adjust his erection.
