It’s Christmas Day; I’m decked out head-to-toe in white camo gear completely camouflaging meself against the snow.
When the guy came to pick Mathias and his mummy up from the hotel, I was already on me way to the house, giving meself enough time to leave me SUV well hidden, and hike it over to my hiding place to get a good view of the comings and goings at the front of this bleedin' colossal home.
I’ve previously studied the cameras surrounding the house and know how to avoid detection. It will all come down to timing what I have planned. They’ve got no guards in place, making it too easy for me to spy on them. They truly believe I’m dead and nobody is gonna fuck with ‘em.
It’s like taking candy from a baby.
I know a chunk of them have left already, flown the coop to be with family elsewhere for today. My man-for-hire was on the job tracking the two cars which left the property last night heading for the airport. Now I’ve only got half the people to contend with in the cabin.
This Ghost guy appears loaded, but I too could have a massive home like this one, all luxurious and proper, because I'm also full-on minted. I've always lived with Cezar, so there was no need to spend my stash or want for anything.
Cezar would put on a pretty terrific Christmas spread for us to share back in the ‘real' world. He didn't have a family. He just had me as his sole confidant. I posed as his bodyguard and driver in his ‘real' life while he carried out his lucrative business dealings. The only true excitement I had was when he turned to his ‘dark world' then I got to be in charge of me sentinels and be a leader. I wasn't just a bodyguard anymore—I was somebody much more.
I was respected.
I was feared.
I was trusted to choose the next sentinels.
I trained Rose and got to beat the shit out of her until she learned how to protect herself and transform her body and mind into the assassin Cezar wanted her to become.
Stupid bitch went and fucked all that training up, and here I am on Christmas Day, lying in the snow in freezing temperatures holding a pair of binoculars staring at the house because I got nothin’ better to be doing. No fancy-ass Christmas lunch to be attending.
All I could do was be patient and wait for my chance to get the show started—and what an opening it will be.
Lying here with time on me hands I think after all this is done with I might get meself a flashy place and enjoy me hard earned retirement somewhere warm. I've had enough of the cold. I don't think I can feel my nose anymore; it's that bloody cold. I wouldn't be surprised if me old man disguise went all brittle from the temperature, by the time I get back to the hotel.
I pull the white scarf around my neck up over me balaclava, my goggled eyes the only part exposed to the elements.
Me stomach grumbles, a testament to the time of day it is, but there are no guards outside the house to hear my hunger.
One of Cezar’s Christmas lunches would have gone down well, today, but instead, I’m waiting for the traitor and his mummy to get here so the show can bloody well start.
I had to listen to them this morning swapping gifts, eating their room service breakfast while mummy fretted over meeting Edge for the first time. I had to pull my earpiece out it was getting that cringe-worthy their happy morning. The traitor didn’t even remember to open the gift I gave him; he probably gave it to some kid. No matter, it was only a useless prop to sell the whole Santa gig last night. I’ve got something more explosive he won’t be able to ignore waiting for him.
Finally, the trio has arrived.
***
I'm listening to Lily retelling her story of woe, and it's beginning to become a snooze-fest. I want to roll my eyes. Boo hoo! Join the queue of fucked-up lives. Cry me a river.
The bugs I'd previously planted are working well. Lily has with her the only handbag she'd brought on the trip to Alaska—how convenient. Edge is handling his new family status with little emotion and Whisper is being sickeningly sweet.
Yawn.
I wanted to hear fireworks spitting out of Edge’s mouth at the injustice of losing his family, but he handles the news like a pro.
I almost want Lily to play me game of Russian Roulette; mentally daring her to use the hotel pen I'd slipped into her handbag last night, to give me some excitement. Listening to her blow herself up would give me a fucking boner at least.
One click and boom! Or is it two clicks?
It would mess with me plans, but there's an evil cheap thrill knowing it's there rattling about in her handbag when she's moving around. It could accidentally go off while she's rummaging through her bag looking for shit that women scrounge about in there for.
That Boxer sure is a smart prick organizing all the DNA tests, making sure poor Edge—I sneer his name—didn’t get his feelings hurt unnecessarily from mummy dearest and his bro. He must have messaged the DNA confirmation because this was all fresh news to me.
The next lot of news coming to light had me letting my professional guard down and rolling on to me back to help absorb the impact of what I'd just heard. My eyes peep out through the white balaclava staring up at the sky. It takes a lot to leave me speechless, but right gobsmacked I was. It made lying out here in the freezing cold worth it.
Drum roll… the pièce de résistance was the babies! Edge had porked the bitch, and the whole fucking time she was carrying two bastard spawn inside her. No wonder they're getting on like a house on fire. This Boxer bloke even did a sneaky test to confirm the bitch was indeed carrying Edge's spawn.
Score a few points to Edge for fucking his seed into his father's pet. Jesus Christ! How the bleedin' tables had turned making this game a whole lot more interesting. Two teeny players just joined the game.
Edge must've known she was pregnant when he was carrying her outside to play at snow angels as though nothing had ever happened. Bloody hell! How long has he known? He was William's son, and he'd knocked up his own father's pet. William had bragged to Jonathan Boothe how he'd fucked her all the time. That's just plain sick. Maybe the bitch is more damaged in the head than she was letting on.
What it does mean is my naughty list has changed.
I roll back onto my stomach, secure in the knowledge these fuckers have no idea I'm lurking outside, so close that I could finish them all off… or mummy dearest could do by accident.
Just think of the lark I could have even now with a few bombs strategically placed around the outside of this luxury cabin while they're all having lunch. They thought they were smart fucking up Cezar's event and blowing it up and burning it to the ground. But this will take more than a quick release. I need this orgasm-of-mayhem to last.
Nicu/Adam is now dead. Although satisfying, it was quick and far too easy to exact retribution for Cezar. I’ll chalk that one up to being equal to Rose slicing Cezar's head off, which was quick and in the end, not that satisfying, because a couple of seconds later, she was dead herself.
But an eye for an eye goes a long way toward balancing the scales.
Mathias is next. I don't see it being on Christmas Day like I intended. I was going for something showy, but this new information has allowed me to postpone my plans for today and take some time to ponder my next move.
Sure it would be very satisfying knowing he would be going back to his hotel room after a wonderful family reunion and then KABOOM! Little pieces of traitor are raining down like Gavin-the-concierge. But I need to inject fear and add drama lama into these peoples’ lives.
Build some tension.
Make it a sport.
A proper hunt.
Da…da…da…daaaaaa.
I want to retire from this gig. I want a stage show worthy of Broadway. And I’ll get it.
But first, I must place me gift on the front porch while everybody is still yabbering away inside and I’ve got a bead on where everybody is. I can’t risk waiting here much longer if I’m to succeed with the next step of me plan.
I get meself up, checking my pocket and gathering the box under me arm, and make my way closer. I'm a stealthy bugger keeping my body hunched over, so I blend cleverly into the snow, but also stay out of view of the window and keep to the blind spots. I spray the camera lens black and drop the box off, and then I get out of Dodge. I can’t be sticking around to get caught.
These fuckers have their guard down swigging on spiked eggnog. Nobody is manning the cameras because they’re all making their way to the dining table for their lunchtime feast.
Could do with one of those meself to warm the cockles of me heart, it's freezing out here, but it will be worth it to hear the terror and confusion in their voices.
Let's think of it as a small gift to me from me for Christmas. After all, it's the thought that counts.
Let the games commence.