Page 13 of Dark Therapy
“Location?” I asked, tapping my fingers against the wheel, already running through possible plans in my mind.
“I’ll send you the coordinates. Tonight would be ideal. And Damien?” Her voice dropped, a tone of caution seeping through. “Make sure this one doesn’t come back to bite us.”
I let out a low, amused laugh. “When have I ever let that happen?”
“Touché,” she shot back, her voice smooth but strained. “Good luck. And remember… discretion.”
The line clicked dead, and I sat in the silence, my fingers still against the wheel, feeling the familiar thrill rise within me. Today’s job would be a challenge—a reminder of the control I wielded, of the power I held over life and death.
But Millie’s face lingered in my mind, an uninvited guest that hadn’t left since our session. Her questions, the way she’d looked at me with that quiet determination, as if she thought she understood something about me.
The thrill of tonight’s job tugged me back, but so did the memory of her—mysweet obsession.
As night settled over the city, I prepped for the job. All black, head to toe—a uniform of shadows. I pulled on a leather jacket, gloves, boots that could silence my steps. My reflection in the mirror stared back, the man who lived in the spaces most people avoided: the dark, the ruthless, the unspoken.
Tonight’s job was more intricate than most. Claire had sent over details, a file that I’d memorized down to the smallest nuance. A powerful figure in his world, wrapped in the comfort of his wealth and security, too arrogant to think he could ever be touched. That kind of arrogance needed a fucking lesson. And I was more than happy to deliver it.
I grabbed my helmet and headed to the garage, where my bike waited. Sleek, black, built for speed and silence. As I swung a leg over and started the engine, I felt the hum of it beneath me, a steady, low growl that promised power with every twist of the throttle. This was the part that I liked best—the anticipation, thecontrol.
The city lights blurred as I maneuvered through the streets, weaving between cars, taking shortcuts only I knew. I was a ghost, a shadow that no one noticed, invisible until it was too late. With each block, the thrill grew, that edge of adrenaline and focus sharp as a knife.
I parked a block away from the mark’s building, slipping off the bike and scanning the scene. Security was tight, but not airtight. I’d studied the rotations, knew when they were at theirweakest. All it would take was timing and patience. Two things I excelled at.
Moving through the shadows, I slipped past cameras, each step calculated, methodical. The window I needed was up ahead, slightly ajar. He probably thought no one would dare come this close. But in this city, there was always someone willing to push boundaries, to test limits.
Once inside, I navigated the darkened hallways like they were made for me, until I reached his study. He was there, reading, completely oblivious to the presence now lingering just a breath away.
I stepped forward, the floor creaking just enough for him to notice. His eyes widened, fear taking root as he finally saw me. And in that moment, he knew.
“Who—” he stammered, voice barely a whisper.
I stepped closer, watching him. “A message,” I murmured, almost conversational. I watched the shift in his expression as he registered that his control, his power, meant nothing in this moment.
He tried to back away, stumbling over his chair as he pressed himself against the wall. I took my time, savoring the fear that twisted his features, that silent plea in his eyes. It was always the same—when they realized they’d lost control, that their power was just an illusion.They all looked the same.
I knelt down beside him, my movements slow and deliberate, letting the weight of the moment sink in. “You thought you were untouchable,” I whispered, leaning close enough that he could feel my breath against his ear. “But even kings have their reckoning.”
He flinched, choking on words he couldn’t force out. I drew my knife—a simple tool, but it held a language of its own. I pressed the flat of the blade against his cheek, feeling his pulse hammer through the metal as his breath came in sharp, shallow gasps. His hands trembled as they hovered in the air, unsure whether to push me away or plead.
“Please…” he whispered, finally managing to find his voice. But it wasn’t the voice of the powerful man I’d seen in the file. This was the voice of someone stripped bare, someone with nothing left.
I leaned back, giving him a moment to think he might have a chance. He tried to compose himself, to muster a shred of dignity, but I could see it slipping through his fingers.
“You’re going to make this easy,” I said softly, drawing the blade just enough to scratch the skin, leaving a thin, barely noticeable line. He jolted, the shock of it snapping him back into silence. “You’re going torememberthis. You’re going to remember what fear tastes like.”
With a single, swift motion, I let the blade graze his neck, just enough to draw a line of crimson— enough to mark him. Enough for him to remember. I stood, slipping the knife back into my pocket as he crumpled to the floor, clutching his neck, his eyes wide with terror.
“Deliver the message,” I said coldly, my voice slicing through the silence.
Without another word, I turned and walked away, leaving him with his dignity shattered, his power broken. The fear would stay with him, haunt him long after I was gone. And that, I thought with a dark satisfaction, was the real punishment.
THE HUNT
Amelia
The first sensation that registered was the cold. The floor beneath me was damp, almost slick, chilling me to the bone as I tried to focus. I blinked, slowly piecing together shapes in the darkness, though it was impossible to make sense of my surroundings. A thick haze clung to my mind, muddling my thoughts and making my head throb with a slow, pulsing ache.
I tried to move, but something held my wrists and feet firmly in place. I tugged instinctively, feeling the bite of tape against my skin as I pulled, the rough texture grating against my wrists, each movement sharp and unforgiving. My breathing quickened as I tried to push away the dizzying panic creeping up my spine.