He pulled Adrian’s head against his torso while he fought to get away.
“Shh,” he cooed, gripping his hair with one hand while the other held the blade of the knife against his throat with the other. “I’ll make it quick, I promise.”
With that, Adrian cried out, and Sebastian’s blade sliced deeply across his carotid artery. Blood sprayed everywhere, especially all over his sons, who were sat right next to him. To their credit, they barely even made a noise as their father flopped forward and fell on the rug at their feet.
Maybe they liked him about as much as I liked my own father.
“Can we hurry this up?” Niamh asked. “We’ve got somewhere to be, and I’d like to get some food in me before we head out. Paid the caterers a bloody fortune for that food,” he mumbled, and Motshan took and hand and smiled as he kissed it.
“Patience,” Mots said, looking up at him. “She’s waited a long time for this.”
“That I have,” I said, spinning back around to face the remaining four men on the couch. “But I’m not one to waste food. And I have worked up quite the appetite.”
In quick succession, I shot off four rounds, each one landing square in the forehead of each man that was left. The silence that filled the room was almost spiritual. I let my head drop back, and I took in a deep breath, smelling the blood and death in the room. It smelled just as nice to me as any bouquet of flowers.
“Beautiful work, poppet,” Tristan said, wrapping his arms around me from behind as he kissed my hair and neck.
I turned around and kissed his mouth before addressing the rest of the living people in the room.
“Let’s eat.”