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Sire lifted his glass to the sentiment, tapped it against his protégé’s with a satisfying clink of quality crystal. He’d broken out one of his most prized bottles of whisky for the occasion—it was rare for his protégé to visit, and this was a visit worth celebrating with his Glenfarclas 1955.
Not the most expensive in his collection at eleven-thousand dollars, but one of his favorites.
Seated in deep leather chairs in front of a roaring wood fire on a bitterly cold winter’s eve, anyone would think they were simply two gentlemen settled in for the evening, discussing business and politics.
No one would guess the reality.
Two predatory monsters secluded in their lair, plotting the demise of the only one who ever got away.
Two months without Twenty-Two was long enough.
“Does this mean I’ve got the go-ahead to pick the whiny little bitch up now?” The man across from Sire drank deep of the rich whisky like a peasant, gulping it rather than savoring the fine flavor. If he hadn’t been so useful over the years, and Sire’s fondness had waned instead of grown, he would have been terminated a decade ago. “The situation is making me edgy.”
Sire sipped from his own glass, let the whisky sit on his tongue for a moment. “You refer to the situation regarding FBI presence within that sleepy shithole she’s hiding in.”
Stormy eyes rolled. “Yes, that one.”
“You need to fuck your whore more, boy. That temper of yours is slipping.” It was a warning, subtle but effective. “I appreciate your concern, but Agent Hadley doesn’t worry me. Our songbird will have taken wing before he knows she’s flown the nest.”
“Can’t fuck the whore. I took care of that earlier.”
“Are you telling me you ended Twelve’s contract?” Sire referred to his protégé’s latest acquisition. The master had trained the student well, in all walks of life, but the student could still be headstrong and impulsive, even after eighteen years of guidance. “For what reason?”
The sulky shrug and stare annoyed him. “The feds are crawling all over the town. They have no reason to suspect me, but if they do, I don’t want any trace of her in my place. I dropped her over the state line this morning.”
Sire closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was he always surrounded by such cowardice? “Decisions made in haste lead to mistakes. How often have I told you that? The FBI have been trying to find me for nearly two decades, boy, and have never come close. They won’t now.”
“Times have changed, Sire. Technology has changed, improved.”
“Have you changed your mind about partaking in the lifestyle?”
“What? No. You changed my life back then. Opened my eyes to what I’m supposed to be. I’d just rather cover my ass—and yours—before they strap me down in the electric chair.”
“No faith, boy—that will be your downfall. We are above the law. Above morality and the common man. Women serve their true purpose under our hands and we balance life and death in our palms. We do not fear death,” Sire said solemnly.
“Death fears us,” the man finished with a nod. “I remember. It was the first lesson you taught me outside the classroom. After our first joint kill.”
Ah, a pleasant memory. Although setting the scene for the police had been more satisfying than the kill itself. Tampering with a coroner’s report had proved most thrilling. “I’m pleased you recall the basics. Well, Twelve was yours to do with as you wished. May Thirteen give you as much enjoyment.”
They lifted glasses again.
“Now, back to our errant songbird. I trust you made the necessary adjustments to her cage while I was working this morning?”
A wicked grin spread over a handsome face, morphing charming into cruel. “Everything is in place. I’ve shored up the weak points and repaired the door, added several new locks. The screen is as you ordered and hooked up to the electric. Security cameras are checked, working. I added a set of manacles—hands and throat—to reinforced beams. Just in case.”
“An excellent idea.”
“Thank you. I wouldn’t mind a few hours with her in there. If Connor hasn’t popped her cherry yet, I’ll make sure it goes with a bang.”
Sire scowled. “That privilege is mine. Whether I decide to share her with you is still under consideration. I’ll re-evaluate the idea when she’s safely back in her shed.”
“This one is as much mine as yours, Sire. I’m risking everything to reacquire her.”
At least he argued with respect, Sire mused. He wouldn’t tolerate disrespect from anyone, not even someone who was working his way towards being an equal in the field of manipulation and murder.
“Very well. We’ll take her together as a final farewell. Let the songbird sing her last note with our hands around her throat.” Sire smiled over the rim of his glass before he sipped. “Take her when you’re ready, boy. I’m excited to welcome her home.”
*
