Page 38 of Misted

So when James Croft exits from the car park lift with three of his bodyguards following suit like ducklings, I remain in my position behind the wall opposite his car.

When I went to disrupt the car park’s security footage, I watched the replay of his arrival and pinpointed his black van with tinted windows.

The bodyguards check the car with the metal detecting machine as Croft talks on the phone with a bossy, impatient tone.

“Fucking cunts,” he mutters as he throws his phone in his pocket. “No one gets a thing done without my instructions.”

The tallest bodyguard who appears on steroids nods that the car is good to go and opens the door for Croft.

Before he can step in, I sprint from the shadows and hold a gun to his temple. The bodyguards point three guns at me.

“What the fuck?” Croft spits out, seeming more angry than afraid. Good. Breaking him the fuck up will be more fun.

“Tell them to lower their guns or it’ll be your brains.”

“You fucking —” I shoot one of the bodyguards in the shoulder and the other in the leg then return to holding Croft under the barrel of the gun.

With my speed, they couldn’t even react. My guess is that these arseholes only took care of small-time problems, not a real threat like me.

“Weapons. Down,” I repeat in a cool, indifferent tone.

“Let them go.” Croft swallows audibly, the stench of fear floats from his pores.

The non-injured guard’s eyes bulge as he carefully puts the gun on the ground, never leaving my gaze. His two colleagues wail in pain, their hands soaked and dripping with blood as they clutch their wounds.

“What do you want?” Croft asks. “Is it money?”

“You’ll double your purchases of the drugs.”

“What? That’s fucking nonsense. We have to control the market.” He attempts to loosen his tie but I kick the back of his knees, forcing him to fall on his knees with a thud.

“Goodbye then.”

“N-no, no!” He screeches like a schoolgirl. “I’ll do it, I’ll fucking do it. Don’t shoot.”

It’s pitiful how he and people, in general, hold on to life with everything in their might.

What’s so bad about dying? Everyone will. Today or tomorrow means fuck.

“You’ll never show your face here again. Everything will be done from a distance.”

“I— ” I shove my feet in his back and he screams. “Fuck. Fine!”

“One more thing.” I clutch his hand, the same hand that he had on Mist’s thigh and throw him down so his chest is on the ground. He tries to fight, but I push him with my feet on his back and pull until a pop sounds and his hand snaps from its joints.

He screams so loud, it echoes around us. The non-injured bodyguard appears green and on the verge of puking.

It’ll take Croft months to heal from this.

Still not fucking enough.

“Touch Mist again and your head will be next.”

I throw his limp hand and straighten. “If you go back on any of your promises, I’ll find you and torture you until you beg to be killed.”

I wish he makes a mistake, just a tiny one would do, and I’ll take pleasure in ending his life.

Until I finish my business with Mist, no one is allowed to even look her way.

No one touches her and gets away with it.

They didn’t all those years ago when I was a lesser teen and they won’t start now.

I hate her.

I’ll destroy her.

But no one fucks with what’s mine but me.