He swore he could feel his pulse racing and his sweat dripping down his clammy hands. His heart pounded in his chest and he never thought himself to be overly religious but now he found himself praying. There was nothing like a woman scorned.
Emily Thorne otherwise known as Amanda Clarke and Nolan Ross otherwise known as the genius billionaire had found him in Florida where he worked out of. The warehouse he rotted in now was a front. He let people believe he had retired since that was where most old people went but the reality was he didn't consider himself old, but he did still consider himself a hit man. If the right people could get to him about the right job and had the money to show he would come out of retirement every now and again.
He had come out of retirement and on his way to a hit he was intercepted by the dynamic duo of young attractive blondes which made him feel like he was on a reality show and he was part of the cosmic joke that the audience was in on.
Being thrown to sit onto a metal chair wasn't the most fun he wanted to have on a Saturday or a Sunday for that matter. The chair made a clang as it slightly lifted off the ground and then slammed back into the concrete with the weight of his body on it.
He was too old for this shit.
Looking up into Amanda Clarke's eyes all he could see was fury and hatred, there didn't seem to be a warm bag of blood in her. Most likely she ran cold like a fish but he imagined that he was a part of her downwards spiral when he stabbed David Clarke in the belly and gutted him like a wounded animal needing to be put out of its misery.
This rang true for her, all of it. He had made her a much colder person.
Before she learned David was dead she had been stuck in this brainwashed rebellious world thinking her father was a traitor on American soil. She grew to hate him as she felt he abandoned her in foster homes just so he could destroy the United States but when she learned the truth she had hoped she could forgive her father and speak with him. The White Haired Man ruined her chance and for that she despised him. He had also known and worked with her mother at The Initiative years ago, but that was a whole different story. She tried not to think of the past but it was all very harrowing.
Both she and Nolan had a run in with him before and it did not end well for either parties as her act of kindness, by letting him leave with his life, did not warm his heart and make him change his ways. Little could. After losing his son to yellow fever on their vacation to Ghana in 1991 he wasn't the same man. He did a complete 180 as a person since then.
"Speak," Emily said to him as if he was a dog and she was trying to train him. If he was bad she would hit him with a rolled up newspaper.
Nolan tightened the ropes, his hands tied behind his back and then knotted to the chair. Nolan Ross was a boy scout so if there was one thing he could do it was trying ropes. Getting out of them was harder, but again, that was a different story.
"Well well, we meet again Amanda Clarke…" he said as he gazed up at her. It was almost as if he was longing to see her again. As if all the other times weren't enough.
"I assume you knew Marjorie Blaisson…" she said as she opened her bag of tricks provided to her by Nolan. Taking out a scalpel she just toyed with it, letting it slip through her fingers and dance on top of them like some kind of vaudevillian magic trick.
"Knew? You make it sound as if she were dead…well…that's good, I did find her rather unpleasant. The same went for her mother, I seem to enjoy this mother daughter team thing very well…" he said, making him sound like a regular serial killer.
"She's dead, don't act like you don't know who's responsible," she said as her grip tightened on the slim silver that could do much damage with just the right amount of pressure.
"Maybe I don't. I'm in Florida; I'm out of the loop Amanda. How could I know when I spent most of my days at Disney World? Look at this old face, I just love Mickey Mouse," he wisecracked making her punch him hard across the jaw.
Feeling blood in his mouth he wiggled his tongue around, finding a tooth loose at the back. As he got older his teeth just didn't like to stay inside, mostly because of past mistakes and also his gums were receding much like his hairline.
"Tell me what you know," she said as Nolan circled him like a hawk, knowing this man could have been the end of him all those years ago. He hated when people had the upper hand thanks to their physical strength, it pissed him off. He had been bullied enough to know what that was like.
"I know a lot of things," he said in a smug fashion, loving to play the game. Usually he was the one in Amanda's position but he figured if he was on this side of things he wouldn't make it easy.
Nolan crossed his arms and heard the pitter patter of the rain from outside of the abandoned warehouse. He figured that Mr. Ferry had used this place as a front for something and wondered if his Florida home was kept by a sweet middle aged woman who would be his wife. Maybe they lived with a bunch of cats and she gardened. Maybe he liked fresh tomatoes and made the best pecan pie in his neighborhood.
None of that mattered. They would probably never know what he was like as a person because for this man what came first was his job.
He had a lot alike with Amanda, though neither would ever admit to it. He too had a story.
"You better answer or she's going to give you one hell of a knuckle sandwich," Nolan said as he stood behind her, as if he was her bodyguard or something.
If anything she was Nolan's bodyguard and that was how he liked it. He liked being protected but he would also take care of her if she asked. Sometimes he would surprise her. He still could and that was something.
"You know the story, you were there. For five years you've tormented me…haunted my work, I kept getting wrapped up in your storyline. I moved away to get away from The Graysons but it seems I can't move far enough," he said as he leaned back, trying to break the chair with his weight, wishing it would snap like a twig.
"Forgive me if I don't want to talk much right now, I'm focusing on the fact that you killed Marjorie," Emily said in reference to his little, well she would consider it monologue since he never talked for that amount of time.
"Why do you think it was me? Do all signs point to yes?" he asked, testing her patience.
Nolan shrugged and cocked his head like a newborn puppy trying to figure out the world. "Just a hunch."
"People get imprisoned for just having hunches, or because other people have hunches about them. Innocent people," the white haired man replied, the top of his head thinning with age.
"But you're not innocent. You have blood on your hands," Emily said as she took the scalpel and pushed it underneath his finger nail, the thumb.
Hearing a pained cry, Nolan turned around, always a bit squeamish even though he shouldn't have been at this point. Nolan spoke, trying to distract himself.
"A stain that will never come out," he said taking a breath and turning back to him.
"I…The Initiative is down to a final few, you've gotten some of the members. After you took down Champ Williams I was given a hit," he said as he looked around, trying to find a way out but realizing it was useless. He wanted out on the game anyway, it was time for him to retire but perhaps the damage had already been done.
"You killed her…" Emily said as she shook her head, pushing the scalpel deep under the nail and making the man scream and twist in his chair.
Nolan watched.
"I'm not surprised…" she said with bitterness in her voice that was indescribable.
The genius tech savy billionaire shook in his boots so to speak as he watched darkness consume Emily's face.
Mr. White as they sometimes called him had gone too far this time.
"I did what I had to," he said as he looked the ties of his work boots, the pair made for construction but he was never very good with wood or DIY projects. He had always hired people to work on his home. While he trusted himself with tools during torture, he wasn't very good with a hammer otherwise.
"And you had to accept the payment too I wonder?" she said rhetorically as she listed to him pant and digest his misery beneath her.
Moving to the next nail she smirked and looked back at Nolan who kept his arms crossed, his foot tapping like he was waiting for something to happen. Anticipation filled the room.
"This little piggy...went to market," he murmured with a hiss like a serpent wrapped around a ruby red apple.
Emily went to yank a nail off like it was a scute on a turtle's back but the white haired man spoke again and they listened like he was some wise all telling owl on the tree of knowledge. He may have had what they needed which was confirmation about the list, the things written in the little black book.
"I'm out, she was my last mark…" he said with honest eyes but Emily shook her head, quick to dismiss him.
"It's too late for apologies. Your last minute, last hurrah in the business won't go unnoticed," she said as she cut him with the scalpel, letting the blood run across his face, his cheek primarily. That would leave a scar, it cut deep.
The main part that scared her about this, about torturing a man was that she enjoyed it. Inflicting pain on others gave her a strange sense of satisfaction. Maybe Nolan was right, maybe she was a sociopath and things were becoming clear to her with each slice, each tug, and each pull in the wrong direction. Or was it the right direction? She didn't know.
"Why do you think I came here? I was hiding, laying low. I'm done with this business. It's been too long…" he said eyeing her.
Gripping his throat she squeezed and listened to the guttural sounds easing out from his voice box. Her handle on him elicited quite a reaction and Nolan had to fight his limbs to keep from pulling her off of him.
"You slaughtered my friend!" she said as she let him choke and push into her, his eyes bulging and his face flushing.
"You…have…no friends…" he said, his voice holding back.
She released him and cocked her head, curious. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"These people you pal around with, do you really think they'll accept you once they learn what you've done?" he asked as he eyed her. "You're not like all of them. They can never know what you've done…"
Emily rolled her eyes but bit her lip, her face twisting as she didn't know what she was thinking or feeling.
"You shouldn't act like you know me, or anyone for that matter. All you know is the sound of a gun and the feel of a trigger. All you are is death… my mother warned me about you. She trusted you and you betrayed her," she said as she handed the scalpel to Nolan who kept his eyes on the crimson covered the shiny metal.
Taking out his gun, the silencer fastened on she closed her eyes for a moment.
"You'll live if you can confirm the remaining members of The Initiative. Victoria Grayson, Conrad Grayson, Champ Williams and you…that leaves a grand total of three," she said as she pressed the gun to his head, working her way up to things.
"I don't know their names…" he said, clearly lying.
"Anonymous be damned…" Nolan murmured as he shook his head not believing that this man wasn't ready to give names. The white haired man seemed to flip flop in his own head. Did he want to stay or go? No one had time for him to make up his mind; he had enough time to choose a side. Even sitting in this chair was long enough. How desperate was he?
Emily, angry by his refusal stuck him in the gut with the scalpel she pulled from Nolan's hands. Twisting the knife she listened to him cry out. Nolan was shocked as he watched blood spill and the gun fall to the floor.
Picking it up he remembered what it was like to pull the trigger. The noise was always so loud, louder than most people thought they were. It left a ringing sensation in his ear after but he had heard it enough after meeting Amanda Clarke and all their allotted time together. It was heavier than he always thought it would be as well, his memory blanking out the feel until his steady hands reached for it again.
"Malcom Holden!" he cried out, giving her a name and she looked to Nolan so he could check to see if it was on the list. Before he could she remembered and shook the tall blonde off, letting him resume his gun swaddling. "I owe your father that."
"That's one…" she said with a smirk, pleased with her progress. The little things in life had to do it for her.
"Winner winner chicken dinner," Nolan said in response to the truth peeking out. They were close to a full list. Two names left.
"That's all you're going to get from me…" he responded, his voice sounding parched but no one had water. They would all have to suffer.
Throwing the scalpel down she sighed, hardly thinking but also thinking quite a lot. She was reckless and controlled by her anger but she could see through him. She could see he was telling the truth. He could withstand torture and this could virtually go on forever.
She didn't have forever; she was at her wits end.
Taking the gun from Nolan she didn't think twice before shooting him the chest, right through the heart. It was a clean shot; she knew where the vital organs were. It was easier to do on a piece of paper but she managed.
"You don't owe my father anything…" she said in a cool tone before tossing the gun down and heading toward the big warehouse door.
Nolan was left to clean up the mess. He could take care of it since he knew the right people. He felt like he was part of the mob sometimes with her but this was just the way some things had to be.
She kept telling herself that this was the way things had to be, making it a mantra in her head. Whole Nolan had cleaned everything up by talking to the right people; both of them were feeling guilty. She made the mess but he cleaned it up. She pressed her fingers to her temples, massaging the pain away, the sound of the gun still ringing in her ears and giving her a migraine.
Both she and the white haired man had blood on their hands now. They were both stained.
Sitting in the square hotel room in Florida with the palm trees swaying in the wind and the air cool from the rain she ran her fingers through her hair, finding it course. Her hair was usually so soft so she suddenly felt grimy even though she had already showered and scrubbed till her skin was raw. Nolan could tell because when she exited the bathroom her skin was almost blushing under the natural light.
At first he thought it was beautiful but then he realized it was a mistake, a design flaw on her point, much like depressed birds, how they would pull their feathers out when they were stressed, heartbroken or feeling not quite like themselves.
Something was awry. Nolan could feel it clinging to the air, the heat not helping. He heard a sniffle from across the room and first assumed it was his allergies because he was allergic to pollen and dust. Approaching her slowly, afraid to scare her like a wild animal in the forest, perhaps a bunny he almost nearly crouched.
"It's okay Ems…" he said as he pat her knee, not sure of what comfort would float her boat.
"No it's not Nolan, I killed a man and I liked it…" she said as she wiped her eyes, looking as lost and lonely as ever. He couldn't compare, he was just the cleanup crew.
"He deserved worse," Nolan said as he moved his head about, trying to crack his neck and feel human again. He was a bit stiff and not in the fun places.
"I pulled the trigger too soon," she said as she rubbed her eyes, the lids dry of tears. Her makeup was semi smudged but most of it came off in the shower anyway. The only thing that stayed on was some light eyeliner.
"Yeah well then I had my crew work too fast," he said shrugging his shoulders. "Well that was the first time and the last, we're at home base," he said as he tried to relate life to something many Americans enjoyed, baseball.
"I'm not done yet Nolan, this is only the beginning…"