The Assassination 4

Dominic crouched low, his sharp eyes scanning the corridor as he emptied the last of the sleeping powder into the air. Within moments, the guards and servants began to sway, succumbing to the substance's effects. One by one, they crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

He stepped over their bodies with calculated precision, his footsteps silent against the wooden floors. "They'll wake soon," he thought, his mind racing as he anticipated the next move.

Suddenly, a sharp scream echoed through the halls, shattering the eerie silence. Dominic's head snapped toward the sound. He spotted a partially open door leading to a balcony. Without hesitation, he slipped through it, pressing himself against the shadows of the cold stone railing.

"The Madame is dead! Call for the Master!" a servant's panicked voice carried through the air.

Dominic's brows furrowed as curiosity sparked in his mind. "Dead? Is someone else targeting the Hawricks as well?"

He remained still, listening as heavy footsteps approached the balcony door. The guards' hurried conversation confirmed his suspicions: the mansion was under siege. Above him, faint moans filtered down. A flicker of light reflected against the window just above his hiding place.

"Eric's room," Dominic muttered to himself. He glanced at the wall and began climbing, his agile movements almost feline. Each grip and foothold was chosen with precision, his sharp instincts guiding him to avoid detection.

Elsewhere in the mansion, the female assassin moved like a shadow through the chaos. Her stiletto blade glinted under the dim light as she drove it into a guard's throat, her movements fluid and practiced. The man crumpled to the floor with a gurgle, blood pooling beneath him.

"Hawrick filth," she muttered, wiping the blade against his uniform. She glanced at the golden necklace dangling from her hand—her trophy from Honan Hawrick's wife corpse. A smirk spread across her lips. This trinket alone could set me up for months.

Her satisfaction was short-lived as the sound of approaching footsteps made her tense. She darted behind a pillar, her grip tightening on the blade. A group of men entered her view, but their attire was different—darker, more refined, and far removed from the standard-issue uniforms of the Hawricks' guards.

Her sharp hearing caught a name amidst their whispers: "Dominic Brusward."

She rolled her eyes. "So, Mr Brusward called for reinforcements...." she muttered.

Stepping into view, she brandished her blood-stained blade. "Gentlemen, you can relax. I'm with Mr. Brusward."

The leader of the group, a blonde man in a long black coat, didn't even flinch. His cold eyes met hers as he drew a blade and pressed it against her neck in one swift motion. A cigar dangled from his lips, its ember casting a faint glow over his gloved hand.

"Proof," he demanded, his voice low and menacing. "If you're lying, you won't leave here alive."

Before she could respond, another man in the group, slightly older with a calm demeanor, placed a hand on the leader's shoulder. "Let's hold off," he suggested. "Dominic Brusward will be here soon. In the meantime, we need to retrieve the documents from the Hawricks' office. These guards are out cold, but not for long. Let's move quickly."

The blonde man lowered his blade but didn't sheath it. His gaze lingered on the assassin. "Fine. But take her with us. If she's lying, she dies."

Rough hands grabbed the assassin's arms, dragging her along despite her protests. "Wait! I told you—I'm working with Brusward!"

Her captors ignored her, their focus already shifting to their next objective. The assassin clenched her teeth, her mind racing as she calculated her next move.

As Dominic reached the balcony outside Eric's room, he peered through the window. Inside, he caught a glimpse of movement—a figure pacing back and forth. Dominic's lips curved into a smirk as he pulled a small vial from his pocket.

"Time to make my entrance," he thought, his mind already five steps ahead of everyone else.

Dominic landed silently on Eric's bedroom balcony, the moonlight glinting off his loaded gun. He paused for a moment, observing the scene unfolding before him: Eric, stark naked, moving rhythmically over Insa, whose body writhed beneath him in a tangled frenzy of passion. Sweat glistened on their bodies, the sheets a mess of twisted fabric. Their breaths were heavy, mingling with moans that filled the room. Dominic's gaze was cold, unflinching, as he loaded a bullet into the chamber with a soft click.

Eric, oblivious to the danger, thrust deeper into Insa, gripping her thigh tightly. "Insa…" he moaned breathlessly, his lips grazing her neck, his voice thick with lust. "I'm so close…"

Insa met his gaze, her cheeks flushed, her breath hitching as she clutched at his shoulders, ready for the final crescendo. But then—

A deafening BANG.

Blood splattered across Insa's face, hot and sticky, as Eric's head snapped back violently. His body went rigid for a moment, then slumped lifelessly onto hers. The release of death triggered an uncontrollable final spasm, his semen spilling inside of her as he collapsed. Insa screamed, her voice raw and trembling, shoving his body off her. She scrambled backward, her chest heaving, her hands shaking as she wiped at the blood smearing her face.

Dominic stepped forward, the barrel of his gun still smoking. His tall, imposing frame cast a shadow over the bed. His mask obscured his features, but the cold, merciless gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. He breathed steadily, his dark attire unmarked by the brutality he had just unleashed.

"My apologies, ma'am," he said, his voice low and detached, as though he had interrupted nothing more than a mundane conversation. "But he needed to die today."

Insa froze, her mind spinning as recognition dawned. "That voice—it was Dominic." Her eyes darted to his figure, taking in his stillness, his unshaken demeanor, even as her lover's blood pooled at her knees. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she stood, trembling, her legs streaked with the remnants of their act, now sullied by death.

"Dominic…?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over her sobs.

Dominic turned slightly, his eyes briefly flicking to the semen trickling down her legs and some dripping on the floor. A strange pang of desire flashed through him, quickly smothered by his iron will. He swallowed hard but said nothing, his cold demeanor unbroken.

"Why?" Insa's voice cracked as she clutched the sheets for support. "Why did you kill him?"

Dominic halted, his back to her, his indifference cutting sharper than any blade. "I told you—he needed to die," he said flatly. "Don't waste my time with ridiculous questions."

His tone sent a shiver down her spine. She clenched her fists, her grief morphing into fury. Her trembling hand reached for the drawer, finding the cold steel of Eric's gun. Turning quickly, she pointed it at Dominic's back, her sobs shaking her frame.

"Stop!" she cried. "I'll shoot if you don't stop!"

Dominic paused, the faintest smirk curving his lips, though it never reached his eyes. The memory of Evangeline aiming a gun at him flickered briefly in his mind. He slowly turned, his piercing gaze locking onto hers, unfazed by the weapon trained on him.

"You won't," he said simply, his voice as icy as the chill of death that hung in the room.

Insa's finger trembled on the trigger, her breaths ragged as she sobbed. "You'll pay for this… You'll pay for killing him," she hissed through gritted teeth.

Dominic tilted his head slightly, his smirk growing darker. "Pay? For what? Justice?" he mocked, stepping closer without a care for the gun pointed at him.

Insa's resolve wavered, her tears blurring her vision. The aura of death and power surrounding Dominic was suffocating. Her sobs grew louder, but her grip weakened.

Dominic's cold, predatory gaze locked onto Insa as her trembling form clutched at the blood-streaked sheets. Her sobs filled the room, and for a brief moment, he imagined someone else in her place—his wife, Evangeline. The vulnerability on Insa's face, the raw display of fear and despair, tugged at a buried corner of his mind. But he quickly crushed the thought. Evangeline would never let herself break like this before him. She despised him too much to show weakness, and he both hated and admired her for it.

"Women are so impulsive," Dominic mused darkly, a faint chuckle escaping his lips. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous light as he took a step forward, his movements slow and deliberate. "Just like my wife…" The corner of his mouth twitched in a humorless smirk as he stopped a few feet away from Insa.

He tilted his head, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade. "Then shoot. You want revenge, don't you? Do it now."

Insa's hands trembled as she raised the gun, her breathing erratic and shallow. Sweat dripped from her brow, mingling with the tears staining her face. Dominic smirked, watching the pain and fear flicker in her wide eyes. The sight of her helplessness stirred something in him—an odd blend of irritation and satisfaction. It was a cruel reminder of the kind of power he wielded over others. Yet, even as he savored the moment, a bitter thought gnawed at him: "If only Evangeline would cry like this for me."

The room seemed to freeze as Dominic waited for her to pull the trigger. Seconds ticked by. The tension grew unbearable, but her hesitation only deepened. With a weary sigh, Dominic's patience snapped. In one swift motion, he lunged forward, wrenching the gun from her grip, his icy breath brushing her ear.

His movements were fluid and precise, like a predator closing in on its prey. Before Insa could react, the cold barrel of the gun pressed against her forehead.

She gasped, her knees buckling as her terror mounted. Dominic loomed over her, his icy stare boring into her soul. His voice dropped, laced with venom. "You hesitate because you're weak. And weakness is a luxury you can't afford right now."

His piercing gaze narrowed as he considered his next move. "If I let her live," he thought coldly, "she'll complicate things. She might even contact the Seldings."

Insa's eyes darted to Eric's headless body on the bed. The once-white sheets were drenched in crimson, a macabre reminder of her lover's gruesome demise. Her sobs grew louder, her entire body trembling. Dominic clenched his jaw, irritated by her futile cries, but a dark part of him reveled in the scene.

"You bastard!" she suddenly screamed, her voice hoarse. "I know who you are. You're Dominic Brusward, aren't you?"

Dominic arched an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "So what if I am? What will you do? Kill me?" He chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. "You couldn't even pull the trigger a moment ago."

Insa's lip quivered, but her defiance flickered through her tears. "If you touch me… my father and my uncle won't let you go."

Dominic's laugh was sharp and mocking, a sound that sent chills down her spine. "Your uncle?" he repeated, his tone dripping with disdain. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Your uncle is dead. How do you think I got into Eric's room so easily?"

Her eyes widened in shock, her face going pale as his words sank in. The gun remained steady against her forehead, Dominic's finger twitching slightly on the trigger.

"You think you can threaten me?" Dominic continued darkly, his voice a low growl. "You're nothing but a pawn in a game far bigger than you can comprehend. And pawns like you…" He pressed the gun harder against her skin, his eyes narrowing further. "Are expendable."

Insa whimpered, her tears spilling freely as her terror consumed her. Dominic watched her crumble, his lips curling into a cruel smile. For a brief moment, he imagined Evangeline in her place again. Would she beg? Would she cry? Or would she meet his gaze with that fiery defiance he both loved and despised?

But the thought was fleeting. Dominic had no use for fantasies. Reality was brutal, and he thrived in its darkness.

"Pray I don't change my mind," he said coldly, pulling the gun away and stepping back. "Because the next time you cross paths with me, there won't be a second chance."

Dominic tied her up turning away, his coat swaying with the motion as he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Insa sobbing while she was dragged on the floor, shattered and alone. The echo of his footsteps lingered in the air, a chilling reminder of the cold-blooded man who had just destroyed her world.

"Remember this moment," he murmured, his tone low and menacing. "The next time you point a gun at me, you'd better be ready to die."