Emperor of Mayhem

82

THE ENEMY WITHIN
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Last night, the two officers investigating Mr. Vlad's case showed up at our doorstep, demanding to investigate me further because new information had supposedly dropped and I was still not off the hook. 

They formally pronounced me a prime suspect because I lied that I never met Mr. Vlad that day whereas I did. And to be honest, I was still going to deny it further. I was going to go as far as accusing them of harassing an innocent citizen by pinning me as a murderer when they had no evidence. 

You see, this my confidence came from the fact that aside from the termination of all the security cameras, and the diversion made by the fire alarm so I could escape, Mikhail's men who worked in the forensic department also made sure they erased every trace of my fingerprints on Mr. Vlad. This, of course, was a very big assurance to me. 

But I guessed though Mikhail's men were undoubtedly smart, they weren't able to outrun technology completely. Because Mr. Vlad's body was taken through some more in-depth analysis, maybe they used some X-ray shit because my hair was supposedly found hidden under one of his nails. 

They took the hair for a test and they found my DNA present hundred percent in it. 

How fucked up, right?

Anyway, the detectives were so hellbent on taking me down to the station for further questioning. And knowing me, as strong as I had been building myself to become these past weeks, both emotionally and physically, it would reach a point in that investigation room where I would get frustrated and just confess the hell out of my crime. So I didn't wish to follow some group of police officers down to the detention center. 

So what happened after that?

Mikhail ordered them to leave and they refused, even threatening Mikhail in return. Me? I just sat there like a still picture watching a mafia king and high-profile detectives issue threats at each other. 

But all of a sudden, in a twinkle, there was a gunshot and the cries that came afterward were from the two detectives. 

It was Riccardo who got annoyed at their nonsense and shot both their legs. 

"You messed up the living room, soldier." Mikhail had said to Riccardo then with a look of disapproval as he glanced at the splashes of blood on the exotic black tiles of his living room, "You should have taken them to the other room first."

By the other room, Mikhail meant his dungeon of death or door to hell—take your pick. That was where he either hung an enemy on a cross upside down and slowly chopped off the fingers before proceeding to set him on fire—his words, not mine— or he just straight up doused the enemy in water that had boiled 100°c. 

"Fuck, that was horrible." I suddenly gagged, skipping off the bed and dashing to the window side. I tucked my head out so fresh air could hit my face and knock this sudden nausea back to the pit it was coming from. 

I had just remembered again how Mikhail took his time last night to skin the detectives while they were still breathing. I remembered how their screams had rung out in the four walls of the windowless dungeon that seemed more like a vacuum 

I should have gone away and not waited to watch when he asked me to. But as the boss lady I was trying so hard to be even though I had half the capacity to be, I stood and watched the process. Well, up until he successfully tore off a section and I started throwing up all over the floor. Riccardo had to drag me away at that point.

"What?" Mikhail's deep voice rumbled from the corner of the room where he was perched by his study desk, doing the usual. Working.

"I wanna throw up." I said and went back to gasping quietly as I struggled to take more of the fresh air into my lungs, "Did you have to skin the detectives like that?" I turned my face away from the window, my attention on him now.