The Black Wolf (In the Company of Killers, #5)(23)

Uninterested in talking about my sexual encounters, which have only been with one women as of late, I don’t respond. Dante isn’t my conversational type—he’s disgusting and unprofessional and has never said anything I can recall that came close to being profound or intelligent. I only keep him around because he can get me the criminals I need to put in my chair. He knows where to find them at a moment’s notice, how to lure them into dark alleys and abandoned buildings to knock them out and bring them to me. Of course, I’m perfectly capable of doing these things myself, but I haven’t the time. And I pay him well to do it for me.

Dante starts for the front door, and stops in front of it, looking back at me.

“Maybe you could…you know, find me a woman like that.” He smiles squeamishly, unsure if he should be suggesting such a thing.

“I pay you enough that you can buy your own woman, Dante.” I wave a hand, palm up, in front of me. “Every city has its high-dollar whores.”

“Oh, but I don’t want to pay for one,” he says. “I want one who wants to sleep with me, y’know? Just like they do you.”

I shake my head and drop my dress shirt on the arm of the sofa.

“I’m sorry, but that’s not really something I can help you with.”

He sighs with disappointment and then reaches for the door knob.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “But maybe you could at least tell me how you do it—give me a few pointers sometime.”

“I’ll think about it.” This is a ridiculous conversation, but it won’t do any good to tell him that.

When he opens the front door, which I realize far too late had never been closed all the way, I’m surprised to see Emily standing on the other side of it, clothed in her dress uniform from the diner she works at.

I close my eyes momentarily and inhale a breath laced with regret—because I know she must’ve heard everything.

Dante looks back and forth between us, as surprised as I am to see this young woman standing there. I never bring women to my home—always to hotels—but I have been bringing Emily here. Because I was beginning to like her. I’d never told Dante about her.

Emily, with long, golden-brown hair draping her shoulders, folds her hands down in front of her; her face is downcast, wounded.

“I-I’m sorry…” she says, pausing, searching, but instead of continuing, she turns on her heels and goes to leave.

“Emily, wait a second.” I move past Dante, shutting him off inside the house and following Emily down the rocks steps. “I don’t know what all you heard”—suddenly I feel panicky inside, hoping, more than anything that she didn’t hear the parts about the man in the trunk—that’s a much larger problem to fix.

Emily stops on the sidewalk and turns around to me.

“Look, you’re a wonderful guy—at least, I thought you were—but I’m just…sorry Fredrik, but I’m not going to be one of your whores.”

Her long hair swishes behind her as she whips back around and heads for her car parked on the street.

I don’t go after her.

I never should’ve perused her to begin with. She’s a sweet, innocent, beautiful girl who wants to be a nurse to help save lives—I’m a dark, wicked monster that feels great pleasure in bringing bastards to the brink of the end of their lives. And that darkness grows inside of me more every day. Sometimes the torture isn’t enough anymore. And that scares me. A little.

The red glow of her brake lights light up the darkness as Emily drives away.

“You think she heard anything about the guy in my trunk?” I hear Dante say nervously when I step back inside the house.

I shake my head. “No, she didn’t hear anything about that.”

Dante makes a breathy noise with his lips.

“That’s a relief,” he says. “But are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I tell him, confident in my ability to read a person; it is, after all, part of my job. “She wasn’t afraid,” I go on. “Just disappointed.”

“Hey, I’m sorry, boss—she seemed like a nice girl.”

“She was.”

“Well hey, you can do better,” Dante says, and I really wish he would just stop talking and bring the man in from the trunk. “You don’t need a nice girl anyway—shit boss, you need someone like you.”

Perhaps I wasn’t giving the guy enough credit—that’s the first intelligent thing I’ve ever heard him say.

I head for the shower with bloodshed heavy on my mind.





Izabel





“Do you think he’ll show?” Nora asks, sitting next to me on the private jet.

Ten minutes before we’re to leave, and still no sign of Niklas. I glance over at a tool of a woman named Blythe who stands near the entrance of the plane wearing military boots and dark mauve lipstick and eye shadow; long dark hair tumbles over both shoulders; a scowl is etched on her mouth. Blythe looks about as much the submissive type as Nora looks weak and vulnerable. But Victor believes in her ability to pull off a Jekyll and Hyde act, so I guess I should have more trust in his judgment—I just don’t want her taking my place on this mission.

“He’ll be here,” I answer Nora, feeling only about forty percent confident anymore. Anxiously I glance at the time on my phone in my hand.