Sunday, January 6, 2013

The Art of Breaking - Part 1 & 2

Nikolas grunted as he awoke well before the veil of night faded to bring on the light of day. The parts of the dream he remembered was still fresh in his memory and as always he tried to puzzle out the meaning of it.

He had lusted to kill. Sometimes the demands of his job took him to the extreme, but this was getting out of hand. True, he was an agent under special Ops orders and wherever he was needed he went; even took satisfaction in the completion of an assignment. He’d always found their target and eliminated it, but his restlessness and these sleepless nights were beginning to best him. 

What he needed most, he wanted and could not have. To feel the warmth of a hot male body under the command of his hands, to taste the richness, the saltiness of cum and sweat as he brought a sub into submission. But in his reoccurring dreams he had just that, and it twisted from pain and pleasure to blood and cruelty, and always he took it with his own two bare hands, reveling in it.

“I’m a sick fuck,” he exhaled heatedly.  

He blamed the fact he had one on bad luck, on chance, on coincidence. There could be no such excuses, he told himself. His grip he felt slowly slipping. Would he ever be free of the guilt? Guilt that was going to eat him from the inside out.  

Nikolas wondered which one of the transgressions he committed was enough to bring this wrath down upon his head. He was a jackass to think he could escape and be redeemed without any repercussions. Payback's a bitch.

Always a part of him blacked out whenever he went through required steps while on his last mission. Acts, events and places erased. Many areas were left vague, blurred and didn’t come readily when he tried to recall them. As always his aim and sharp wit became precedence, but on that one night he couldn’t change, a bad decision had followed with disastrous results and he’d lost a trusted member of his team.

Deciding to get out of his darkly shrouded bed rather than go back to sleep, Nikolas got up and washed his face and hands in cold water.

Descending the stairs to the main floor of his house, he heard the distant roll of thunder, the last remnants of a passing storm. In the deep hours of the night the rain stopped and the wind stilled, leaving the darkened hallways of the house silent. Even the boards beneath his bare feet refused to creak. Heavy, thick drapes covered the windows, sealing the night out and Nikolas within, leaving the house in shadows.

Once on the main floor, Nikolas headed into the study. He crossed the carpeted floor to the bar, his toes digging into the plushness with each step he took. In the silence, Nikolas poured himself a glass of his finest Scotch and lifted it in a mocking toast to the darkness which surrounded and shrouded him.

His thoughts flew back again to a few nights before all Hell broke loose, when he last dropped in at home base headquarters. It ended with a quick word exchange between himself and Derringer, a professional profiler who was their Ops specialist and expert on the warped criminal mind.

His steps led him up two flights of stairs into the room which supplied their scanners, computers, and technical equipment. Adrian looked up from the current search on the mainstream of detailed information. Adrian had acute insight, a precise, top notch profiler and could bring to light an amazingly accurate picture of a killer. This allowed him and his team to narrow their search and focus their intelligence on certain individuals while the leads were still fresh.

“Hey, boss man. Another sleepless night?”

“If you can call it that. Not sure what the word sleep means anymore. Fuck it. Any word from Braxton on that botched assignment overseas?” Nikolas gave his point of view. “It was a sloppy job. That’s certain.”

“I think the killer was simply trying to gain his five minutes of fame and he even made the crime scene look it was a simple assassination attempt. But if you look more closely, you’ll notice that the crime scene was staged. As the report states, nothing was missing.”

“Are you certain of this? Sources say...”

Adrian nodded. “My experience on these types of criminal acts tells me that the killer is quite the opposite...smooth, suave, and manipulative. He manages to make his victims think that he’s a good person, confidante, has their welfare at heart and he gains their trust. When the time is right, he strikes”

It was unsettling to Nikolas how this in turn, described him to a T.

Had it been his fault an innocent man went down under the call of duty? There were time lapses and spaces...gaps that challenged his memories on where he’d been at that exact moment in time.

“FUCK! What have you done? What have you done to me?” Nikolas yelled out in anger and frustration. Angrily he threw the glass against the stone wall. Small sharp pieces of crystal and amber liquid dripped down the wall and stained the carpet below. He didn’t care though; instead he jutted his fingers through his hair in frustration, turning it into a wild untamable mess.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Nikolas tried to block the visions from his mind so that he could get a fix on this situation. The horrible conclusion, which had been gradually obtruding itself upon his confused and reluctant mind, was now an awful certainty.

He was lost.

Returning to his room, Nikolas changed his clothing quickly, then grabbed his car keys and left the house.

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