Page 37 of Violent Possession
He pulls out a black envelope. He places it on the table’s surface and slides it towards me, his long fingers holding it until the last second. These are hands that, I suppose, never had to break anything: they only sign sentences, never execute them.
I walk to the table and stare at the envelope. “What is this?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. He looks at the city below, then turns his eyes back to me.
“What did you think of the building?” he asks. Alexei repeats his usual gesture, that economical sign of permission, of “go ahead”.
These are simple details, but anyone who grew up among gunfights and concrete basements learns quickly: the value of something is always in the ritual of delivery. I walk to the table.
“Good view. Should sell well on resale,” I say without thinking. I pick up the envelope.
It’s heavier than it should be, and has a velvety texture that sticks to my fingers. It’s strange how these things can make me nervous.
He smiles with half his mouth and makes a minimal gesture—again, permission for me to open it.
I tear open the flap, slide the contents into my hand, expecting paperwork, confession, blackmail.
It’s a card.
Matte black, nameless, a pure, heavy rectangle. No brand, no chip, nothing visible. It just exists.
I look at Alexei, expecting him to break the suspense with a sadistic comment, a bad joke, but the bastard says nothing.
“What’s this for?” I ask, not hiding my skepticism.
“It’s a stipend. Your compensation.”
I thought the “compensation” was the fact that I was still breathing and didn’t have a squad of Russian assassins on my tail.
“Compensation for what? For getting your rich rug dirty with blood?”
“For your service. And for your silence,” Alexei replies, completely neutral. “It’s a pre-paid card. Nameless. I recharge it remotely. Use it for whatever you need.” He pauses, watching me. “But I will have access to the statement.”
There it is again. The way he looks at me now… there’s nothingimpersonalabout it. His eyes are a soft, light blue, but they gain a fucked-up intensity when he stares at me like that, appearing darker.
That look undresses and prices me at the same time.
I clench the envelope in my hand. The feeling of being seen this way… it’s invasive and humiliating. It sends an electric current down my spine and heats my blood, pooling low in my belly.
He stands perfectly calm, meters away. And yet, my body reacts as if he had his hands on me, pressing me against the wall, seconds from killing me, stripping me of all free will.
My breathing shortens in my chest, the skin on my arms prickles.
Shit. I need to get out of here.
I know it’s stupid. In fact, every cell in my body is screaming for me to shut the fuck up and just nod, smile, and get out of there in one piece, but there’s a burnt resistor in my head,a factory defect that forces me to challenge anyone who tries to give me orders. Especially someone likeAlexei, who is too dangerous to exist.
I say before I can stop myself, “Are you going to stand there admiring your new investment or are you going to tell me what you want?”
Alexei’s reaction is never what you expect. He moves his chin slightly forward, leans in a little, and, out of nowhere, his voice comes out affectionate, “Do I bother you, Griffin?”
I tense my entire body, ready for a physical attack, but nothing happens except his voice.
He continues, “You can’t help but poke at me, can you? You need to see how far you can go before there’s a consequence.”
I should hold back the impulse, but the honesty of anger betrays me. “I just want to know when you lose control.”
He gives a minimal smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you know when I’m close.”
