NOVEL NEXT Chapter 26: Suddenly Change
LIACH POV
The moment I finish typing, a call comes through the intercom.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Set up a meeting with Rux company next Monday." Sinveer instructs
"Sure, let me check the schedule." I picked up my tablet, trailing my eyes through the scheduled plans, but there's no space.
"Sir, your monday is fully booked. Is it possible to move this to next month?"
"Why next month?" He asks.
"Looking at our already schedule plans, there's no space for the entirety of this month." I informed him.
"Then change the date for all the other meetings." He says, blankly.
"Excuse me?"
"Have it done by tomorrow." He adds.
What? Does he knows what he's saying. Not just the work alone, but I'll have to call to change plans with several companies and plead with them.
What is this?
I worked through the entire day, skip lunch, and worked into the night. Calling, informing and apologies to different companies. Then I organised the report he needed for tomorrow.
"Finally done." I glance to my watch and it is already past 10 pm. "Elias will be sleeping by now. I hope he ate something after I called him earlier?"
The next day.
I swear to god, I'm going to kill Sinveer before the appointed time if this should continue.
I step into his office, with his coffee and the reports in hand.
"Ms. Liach, how was your night? Hope you slept well?" He asks, smiling.
"I did, Sir."
How could I've possibly sleep well? When you called me in middle of the night to revise an order with me, as if it can't be done today.
"Here are the orders you asked to be revised last night." I place it on his desk.
"Discard it, it's of no use."
"What? Sir was awake all night—"
You deprived me of my sleep, only for you to not want it anymore? God I want to pierce a blade through this man's head.
"How about the Rux meeting I asked you to plan for?"
"Here it's, Sir." I smiled, handing him the schedule.
"What did Rux say about getting the raw materials from us, going forward?"
"They haven't said much, but they decide they are open to other options."
"To other companies?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Cancel that meeting, inform them we're not working with them anymore."
Huh?
"Yes, Sir."
I'm sorry, but we won't be working with you moving forward. Yes I know it's sudden, we deeply apologise. Please pass it to him. Thank you."
"Ms. Liach, change the schedule for tomorrow meeting," his voice cuts through the intercom.
"Yes, Sir."
Something is not right, here.
"Ms. Liach, come take these files they have to be done by tomorrow."
"Yes, Sir."
"Ms. Liach." "Ms. Liach." "Ms. Liach....."
The moment I could open my room door, I collapse into my bed.
Ahhh. Nothing beat more than my bed.
What's going on lately? Liach this, Liach that, all day. Did I offend him or something? My name was called like a million times today and the work load was no joke. Is he planning to destroy me?
Anyway, it doesn't matter. With all of the less time his giving me at work he wouldn't suspect I'm the one setting cracks in his world.
I print forged and tempered documents, slip into Marek's confidential folders—a list of offshore accounts routed under Rigo's initials.
Sometimes a casual remark to Enzo about Marek working late with "restricted files."
I tampered with Rigo's flash drive—only to return it later, wiped and empty, leaking some confidential information. Small things. Barely noticeable. But enough to turn questions into doubt.
By the time they start fighting, Sinveer will look everywhere.
Except me.
But tonight, I have something better to do than let fleeting questions stand in the way of my mission.
My Papa's message came in an hour ago: make it public. Make it brutal. Let them feel it.
He doesn't say who "them" is; I already know who he is referring to.
So, I'm here. The air stinks of smoke and oil. Metal groans in the wind. The whole block feels like a grave waiting to be filled.
The rodent that is to be sniffed out is a low-level dealer working as one of the De Luna suppliers, who doesn't hold much importance. He's unapproved, off-books, and sloppy. Even with his low importance, his death will still affect Sinveer's back chains. And Papa wants him gone. He wants Sinveer rattled.
And I plan to deliver.
The target's name is Rico. He's the kind of man who thinks being violent makes him powerful. The kind who pushes women into corners and laughs at weaker men.
An easy prey.
He's holed up in a converted garage at the end of an abandoned block. His boys are inside playing cards. Loud music. No lookouts.
Their guards are so low. To even think that these are one of Sinveer's backwaters.
Amateurs.
I slip through the rear alley and scale the chain-link fence with a fluid climb, through the window, I spot him—sweaty, bald, drunk off his own ego. A handgun tucked into his waistband, safety still on.
I wait for ten minutes, for him and his lackey to indulge themselves more in their intoxication.
Then I knock. One of Rico's buddy answers first. Big guy. Greasy ponytail. Doesn't even get a word out before my blade goes under his chin and into his brain.
Not a single second to scream.
Then the second one fumbles for his gun. I throw the scalpel—perfect arc—clean through his eye, into his head.
Two down. Then the third, fourth and the last guy standing the fifth.
Rico stares, half-drunk, not sure if it's a dream or not. I walk toward him slow but measured.
"What is he doing?" I ask, laughing. Why is he so slow? "Are you a sloth?" I ask him this time.
He tries to pull his gun. I kick the table at him—hard—slamming his wrist against the edge, he lets out a loud howl.
"Wh-what the fuck—"
I backhand him across his face, not out of anger but out of principle.
He stumbles back, blood in his mouth.
"Who sent you?!"
I say nothing. I just grab his face, slam it into the wall. Then I lean in, lips inches from his ear.
"Congratulations. You've been chosen. Your death is a message."
He tried to scream but he could not, his screams were choked by the garrote wire I loop around his neck. He claws at it, gasping, flailing, wiggling like a fish pulled away from its source. Which unexpectedly intrigued me. So I decide not to tighten it all the way. I let him slide halfway to unconsciousness. Then release it.
The moment he tries to gasp for breath. I tightened my grip again.
It took ten minutes to kill him.
I paint his blood in patterns. Cut his name into his chest. Leave a rose made from his flesh pinned to the wall with his own knife.
It looks grotesque. Poetic, Just like Papa style.
Before I leave, I write one word in spray paint across the wall in black: "Evolve."
Let Sinveer figure out what it means.
That's if he can.
2:18 AM – HER APARTMENT
After arriving, I decide to take a hot bath to clear my mind. The remaining blood on my skin swirls down the drain in lazy spirals. Steam from the hot shower fogs the mirror, hiding the pieces of me I don't want to see right now. Because I didn't just enjoy it.
I needed it.
Before I went for the kill I felt stressed. His sudden attitude, the tension from the Gala, the heat from his hand on my waist, the echo of his voice—it built up inside me like static.
The strangest thing is that I don't know why it's affecting me. One thing I'm certain of is that he is trying to convince himself the placeholder, didn't affect him that day, didn't mean anything. But he's failing. I see it in his jaw when I brush past his chair. I feel it in the way his eyes hesitate just before they look away, and I know he feels it too.
And my fucking brain won't shut the fuck up.
I couldn't swallow this frustration anymore.
So I exhaled it into Rico's throat.
And now, I can finally breathe again.
Especially after what he said he was conveying at the Gala.
But I wonder what he'd do when he finds out later today that these same fingers slice one of his men open some hours ago?
Would he lock me up? Or kill me in an instant?