Liam turned his back on the quivering wreck that was Colton. The man still knelt on the floor, his forehead pressed against the tiles, mumbling for rcy through bloodied lips. But Liam wasn’t interested in him anymore. Not yet.
His steps were slow, quiet—too quiet—as he walked over to Amara, who lay trembling where Colton had left her. Her back was slumped against the cabinet, her hands bound tightly behind her, and the thick silver tape still pressed over her mouth.
When she saw the old man approaching again, her body jolted in fear. She tried to scream, to shout for help, but her muffled cries were too weak, too late. She twisted against the tape, desperate to free herself, but it was no use. The bonds were tight. Ruthless.
Liam crouched slowly in front of her.
His voice was quiet. But every syllable dripped with venom.
"So," he said, almost conversationally, "you were involved in the plan to ruin Lana’s face?"
Amara shook her head violently, tears already welling in her eyes. She let out a long, trembling moan under the tape, trying to speak, trying to beg. Her eyes pleaded with him—desperate, terrified—but Liam wasn’t moved.
He didn’t care.
He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small, thin blade.
Amara’s eyes widened.
Before she could flinch away—
Slash!
She scread beneath the tape, her body jerking hard as pain lit up her left cheek. Then—
Slash!
Her right cheek. Blood spilled instantly, warm and red, running down her smooth skin in twin trails.
Amara’s cries turned to panicked sobs. Her head flailed side to side, but she couldn’t move far. Couldn’t escape. Her eyes darted toward the side of the desk where a tallic surface reflected her image.
She caught a glimpse.
And what she saw made her stomach turn.
Two red lines—deep, angry slashes—carved down her once-beautiful face. Her tears had sared her mascara into inky trails, her face now a twisted ss of blood and black streaks.
But Liam wasn’t done.
Slash! Slash! Slash!
Three more cuts, jagged and cruel, each slicing new paths across her cheeks, her jaw, even her chin. Blood gushed down, dripping onto her chest and staining her blouse a deep crimson.
Her whimpers were weak now. She trembled like a leaf in a storm.
And then Liam leaned closer... and smiled.
In a swift, rciless move, the blade sliced through her right ear.
Snip.
A flash of flesh. A squirt of blood. The severed piece hit the floor with a soft wet slap.
Amara tried to scream—but it never made it out of her throat. Her eyes rolled back as her body slumped over. A low, choked sound escaped her gagged lips before her head drooped to the side.
She had passed out.
Liam looked down at her with cold, empty eyes.
There was no satisfaction. No remorse. No pity.
He stood up silently, cleaning the blade against her ruined blouse, then turned back toward the center of the room—just in ti to feel the faint buzz of his phone.
He looked down at the screen.
And his eyes narrowed.
The silent alarm.
Triggered.
Liam’s gaze slowly rose to Colton, who was still lying flat on the floor like a pathetic dog. Pretending. Motionless. But Liam knew better. The system’s logs didn’t lie.
"You pushed the button," Liam said coldly.
Colton didn’t move.
"You really thought I wouldn’t know?"
Liam took a single step forward.
Colton remained still—playing ignorance. Hoping.
That was his final mistake.
Liam raised the pistol, still fitted with the silencer, and aid at Colton’s hand.
Pfft!
The shot struck the top of his right hand. Flesh and blood sprayed as the bone shattered. Colton scread—high, broken, and loud.
He clutched at the wound with his other hand—
Pfft!
Another shot. His left hand exploded in agony. Colton howled again, writhing like a worm on the floor.
He didn’t even have ti to think.
Pfft! Pfft!
Two to the right leg.
Pfft! Pfft!
Two to the left.
Colton’s screams rose to a pitch that barely sounded human. His body twisted uncontrollably as blood pooled under him, soaking his pants, his shirt, everything.
Then ca the convulsions.
His limbs began to jerk violently. Foam gathered at the corners of his mouth as his eyes rolled back. His body seized from the trauma, his nervous system overwheld.
Liam didn’t move. He just stared.
Until Colton’s spasming slowed, until he was a twitching, broken ss on the blood-soaked floor.
And then, without a word, Liam bent down.
He lowered the pistol to Colton’s groin. Pressed the barrel directly into the man’s crotch.
Colton’s eyes widened in terror, just as his mouth opened to beg.
But it was too late.
Pfft.
A single muffled shot.
Colton’s entire body jolted. His mouth opened—but no sound ca out.
His eyes were wide, frozen. Tears ran down his face.
The sll of blood was now thick and heavy in the air.
Liam stood up slowly. The pistol still smoked faintly in his hand. And behind him, Amara lay unconscious and disfigured.
The silent alarm had already gone out.
He had no more ti to waste.
He moved quickly, silently.
With chanical precision, he slid the silenced pistol and blood-stained knives back into the secret compartnt in the base of his trolley. His fingers didn’t shake. Not even slightly. Once the weapons were secured, he locked the compartnt, adjusted the rags covering it, and pulled the janitor’s cap lower over his face, shadowing his sharp eyes.
Then, without a single backward glance at the blood-soaked office behind him, he grabbed the handle of the trolley and pushed it forward—his pace calm, unhurried. Like any other janitor just finishing a long shift.
The hallway lights humd overhead. The quiet buzz of the building’s energy system filled the silence as he turned the corner and headed toward the elevators.
His boots clicked softly against the polished tiles.
When he reached the elevator, he pressed the button marked "B3 – Maintenance & Utilities."
The car dinged. The doors opened.
He stepped inside alone.
As the elevator descended, Liam’s mind remained calm, calculating. He had accounted for response ti. He knew how long it would take for the silent alarm to reach the private security. He knew the layout. The patrol shifts. Every cara placent. Every blind spot.
The doors slid open with a ding.
And standing directly outside the elevator were five security guards. Armored. Ard. Serious.
They didn’t flinch as Liam pushed the trolley out.
None of them even looked at him twice.
Their eyes were set forward. Alert. Focused. No doubt already receiving orders through their earpieces.
One of them muttered, "Third trigger in Colton Virrelli’s office. Top priority."
Another replied, "Could be an assassination attempt. No contact yet."
They rushed into the elevator Liam had just exited—guns drawn, already speaking into their radios.
Liam kept walking.
Down the corridor.
Left at the junction.
Past the supply lockers.
Out the rear maintenance exit.
Just as planned.
The heavy tal door hissed open, letting in the cool evening air. The city’s horizon was a dull orange fading to dusk. The streetlights flickered on, one by one.
Liam exhaled.
Outside his car was waiting.
He reached the car, opened the trunk, and swiftly removed the hidden compartnt. The pistol. The knives. A new change of clothes. All carefully packed into a black duffel bag.
The janitor’s trolley, gloves, and cleaning gear? Left behind.
No need for them now.
He got into the driver’s seat and turned the key.
The engine coughed—twice—then roared to life with a rattling growl.
Smoke belched from the exhaust.
The car rumbled.
He shifted into gear.
And then—he was gone.
Tires screeched against the pavent. The tailpipe spat another cloud of smoke. The noise of the engine echoed through the alley as Liam sped down the street, vanishing into the veins of the city before anyone even knew what had happened.
By the ti the security team would reach Colton’s office...
...it would already be far too late.
****
Support with Golden Tickets and Power Stones.
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