Blinking, a room comes into view, beside me a box of sand with a fork looking tool. My head feels heavy and foggy, the cries of Farrah echoing in my head.

“Farrah?” My head snaps forward and I see June. My fucking target sitting right in front of me.

My heart skips a beat and my nails dig into my palm with a sudden rage.

“I mean, there are no hard feelings. If anything, I should be thanking you for keeping Michael out of my hair.” She giggles and I see what’s going on here. She’s confronting Farrah for her crush on the professor.

I stand, slowly walking to her. “Stop playing your games. Your husband is an asshole who thinks he can take advantage of young women. That there are no consequences to sticking his dick wherever he wants because he’s not getting ass at home. He’s a manipulative pervert and for you to know about his transgressions and to still be with him, it says a lot about who you are. You’re as bad as him.” I don’t hold back. Her face frowns, brows furrowing in.

“Careful or you’ll get frown lines,” I taunt, pointing to her face.

“Farrah.” She clears her throat, her face turning red as I insult her. I’m not saying Farrah was in the right trying to sleep with her man, but bringing Farrah here only to get in her head and hurt her… is not going to fly. No one fucks with Farrah without getting repercussions I will bring.

“My name is Harley,” I insist, and her face goes blank with confusion. “Is your dad the governor?” I ask, just to make sure I’m not mistaken who she is.

“Yes, I’ve told you that, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything we’re speaking of,” she scoffs. She didn’t tell me that, she must have told Farrah that. Next to her computer, I see a pair of sharp scissors and I grab them. She stands with panic in her eyes.

“Farrah, please.” Her hands come up in a defensive manner. “I know Michael needs help, and bringing you in here to release my problems wasn’t right. I see that now.” She scrambles for an excuse for me to spare her.

Carefully, I step around her desk and like a snake, I whip out and grab her by the throat. Her skin isn’t as soft as I thought it would be. Too many chemicals and toxic lotions. She cries, and I press the scissors into her neck. One jeer and it will puncture the main artery causing her to bleed out in seconds.

“Shut up, or I’ll cut you. Do you understand?” I whisper. She rolls her lips onto one another, tears streaming down her smooth cheeks as she nods. “I want you to call your husband and tell him to meet you at the house. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she sobs, snot dripping from her nose as she breathes hard. I breathe in her fear, and it rushes into my soul. The rush of having control is something I’ve sought for far too long.

Carefully she reaches for the phone on her desk and dials.

“Can – can you meet me at the house?” her voice trembles with fear, and I like it. Fear is respect in the eye of the club.

She looks at me and I tap the blade of the scissors on my chin in waiting.

“I know you’re in a lecture, but it’s … it’s an emergency goddamn it.” She starts to become hysterical, and I shake my head in warning.

She glances at me again, her makeup starting to run down her face and show her acne scars. I begin to lose my patience and press the scissors to the back of her spine in hopes to hurry this the fuck up.

“JUST FUCKING DO IT, MICHAEL!” she hollers before hanging up.

“Good girl,” I whisper. “Now, take me to your car and I swear to God, if you let on anything is going on, I will shove this into your spine. Do you understand?”

“Why are you doing this? Is it because of the affair?” she cries. “I don’t care, he’s just a front. I don’t love him—”

I laugh. “Affair? Oh, no no no. This is because your greedy father owes my club money and until I figure out what I’m going to do about it. You and your shithead husband are mine.”

She hangs her head. “Shit,” she mutters in knowing.

“Ah, so you know Daddy is a dirty fucker?”

She responds with an angry glare.

“Where are you parked?”

“In the garage today, I didn’t want the sun to fade the paint on the car.” She goes into detail, and I could really care fucking less about her expensive ass car. I just need a getaway driver and she’s it.

“Go,” I push the blade into her back and she hisses, but walks forward. Keeping my arm close to her back I follow her out of her office, and up a flight of stairs to an elevator.

“You know, we can talk about this,” she says over her shoulder as we wait.

“I’m more of a doer, not a talker,” I reply calmly. “Does the professor have a way home?”

“He- he drove in today,” she informs. Perfect.

The elevator doors open and we step inside, the sound of classical music playing. I hate this kind of music, it puts me to sleep. The scene is ironic really. Pretty rich girl with tears streaming down her cheeks, makeup melting down her face, and here I am standing behind her in a sweaty dress with a pair of sharp scissors pressed into her back while soothing music plays in the elevator.

The doors open and she walks out on shaky legs. Her heels clicking on the concrete until we reach a black Range Rover.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out her keys and unlocks it with a trembling hand. I slide into the back seat as she gets behind the wheel.

“It’s not too late, we can—”

“DRIVE!” I press the scissors inside of her ear.

She cries out and fumbles with the keys to start the car. I can’t help but smile. The fucking rush of having someone else’s life in your hands is a high like no other.

If this is what the club does on a daily basis, I could easily get used to it.