The naked skin on her belly pressed against the cool cement floor of the underground parking lot as her long sleeved black shirt slowly rode up from her waist.
It was almost unnoticeable as she pressed her black leather gloved hands against the ground before her face.
She didn’t do things this way often, and it was because of the waiting, the unpredictability of it. A moment could so easily stretch into hours if the person being waited on decided to work late, or it could turn into an opportunity lost if they decided to go home with someone from the office.
There was no routine to people sometimes.
No glance at her watch was needed to know this was a night Sasha Aleksandr had chosen to work late. A woman who had prided herself on punctuality chose the night she was being waited on to be late, but then it wasn’t as though she knew she was being waited on.
Internally, she sighed.
Something inside her should feel something. Sasha was not just another name to be added to her antique wooden box, she was a very important name, one she knew too well.
It wasn’t just because of the killing, the trails of blackmail Sasha had used to climb the corporate ladder before she felt killing was necessary, the needless overspending and the constant acts of adultery that made Sasha so well known to her. It was something else entirely, something deeper.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she felt herself being pulled back to her childhood.
Barefoot and in ratty shorts and a thin camisole tank that had once been white, her small fingers were filthy as she shot them out to block the blow that was meant for her head. Dirty bare feet shot out to catch the girl’s ankles and knock her onto her back. She didn’t feel any joy in this, she knew better.
Jumping back, she avoided the sharp blade that was being slashed at her own ankles from the girl knocked onto the floor.
“Goed!” A tall muscular man paced a few feet away, his hands around his back as he took robotic steps, his narrow black eyes watching the two young girls. He shot an annoyed look at Sasha before marching over to the wall and grabbing two large clip-point blades from the racks on the wall and throwing them at her.
The blades spun through the air towards them.
Jerking her shoulder back, she brought one hand up to catch the handle of the blade from behind as the point swung towards her before catching the other.
She jumped back, avoiding another angry slash from Sasha, her foe.
“Drie!” He barked at her.
She knew he wanted her to push harder, to move faster, to be more aggressive. She was on the defensive here with Sasha, and that was unacceptable to him. It was the same as losing.
Pushing her weight back onto her shoulders, Sasha flipped herself back up on her feet. Her movements were fast as she jumped forward towards her slicing her blade through the air.
Think aggressive, she reminded herself, a careful eye glued to Sasha.
It was all about timing. She waited for the familiar sound of the blade cutting through the air thick with competition before grabbing hold of the thin wrist wielding it.
Flipping her own blade around in her hand, she struck Sasha hard in the throat with the blunt steel handle of the blade.
Gagging, she dropped to her knees, her arm painfully twisted up as her wrist was held firmly in her competitions hand.
“Sasha,” Anger flashed across his thin face as he walked over to look down on her with disgust.
Released, she got to her feet. Bowing her head, she held her hands out palms down before her.
Little feet pattered against the floor as someone ran over and handed the tall, muscular man a thick wooden stick. Taking it, he brought it down hard across her hands.
Sasha did her best not to wince at her punishment, a punishment that Drie herself had received a time or two before and still wore the scars from. She would do anything to keep from getting anymore. She had gotten those scars when she was young, stupid and without the discipline she needed. Now, at six, she knew better.
Walking across the room, she placed the blades back on the rack before walking towards him.
Reaching out, he ran his calloused thumb across the open wounds on Sasha’s hands. This thumb was painted red as he turned and ran the sticky thumb down the length of her face. “U bent nu nummer twee.” He told her.
You are now number two.
He looked at Sasha. “U hebt me ernstig teleurgesteld.” The tears were obviously threatening Sasha’s eyes as she heard the words from him. She had disappointed him, and her punishment would be more than the one she received.
Twee, she thought as she watched Sasha walk away with her head down. She was moving up, there was only one other before her, and she was now well above Sasha’s rank, his own daughter.
Heels on the cement brought her back from her memories. She noted the pointed toe patent shoes, the way she spoke in Dutch over the phone, yelling that she was losing reception. There was an annoyed sigh as she shoved the phone into her purse and stepped over to her car.
Rolling silently out from under the car, she moved around the back of it and came up behind the familiar woman. All she was trained for as a child told her that Sasha at least deserved a fight, not to be silently taken out from behind. Her talent was great, and she could easily kill her now, but that wasn’t something that could be done between them.
She tapped her toe on the floor, quietly but enough to let Sasha know she was there. “Een!” Sasha’s eyes widened.
“Sasha.” She nodded before bringing the handle of the blade down hard in her temple. She reached out, catching the familiar woman before she crumpled to the floor.
Loading Sasha in the back of her luxury Mercedes, she got into the driver’s seat and drove off.