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.
