Angel and the Assassin by Fyn Alexander Read Free Book Online

long have you been fantasizing about being a
    daddy‟s boy?”
    “My whole life, Daddy,” Angel said, sitting on the floor to pull on his boots.
    “Sometimes the fantasy and the reality don‟t match up. Being a sub takes
    work and commitment. So does being a master, especially a full-time master.” He
    had always been too busy and focused on work for a relationship of that depth. One-
    night stands only were his rule.

    Angel and the Assassin
    25

    Kael stood up and went quickly to the bathroom to retrieve the scalpel, never
    taking his eyes off the boy. Angel laced up his boots and from his closet took a black
    leather biker jacket and pulled it on. He scooped up his iPod and phone from his
    desk, shoving them in his pocket.
    “Daddy, was it cold out when you arrived?”
    “It‟s fairly mild for September, but the jacket is a good idea,” Kael said.
    “Should I pack a bag? Will we be coming back, Sir?”
    “Don‟t worry about it.”
    “Daddy, there‟s a few things I want if I‟m not coming back.”
    Angel stood at the bathroom door waiting for instructions. Habitually tidy and
    careful, Kael took a small hand towel and began to wipe down the room. When he
    was content, he threw it in the wash basket. “A small bag.”
    I’m just putting off the inevitable. I must be going soft.
    From the closet, Angel grabbed a black leather backpack. He quickly stuffed a
    few items in and slung it on his shoulder.
    Switching off the light, Kael directed Angel out in front of him. The upper
    landing was still in darkness. In the downstairs hall, Angel stopped, looking into
    the sitting room. Kael put his hand on the boy‟s shoulder. “Don‟t look if it upsets
    you.”
    “It doesn‟t. I don‟t care that he‟s dead. My mom won‟t care either. She‟s already
    in France with Gregoire.”
    “I know,” Kael said.
    “How do you know that, Daddy?”
    “I know everything. Where‟s the kitchen? I want a glass of water.”
    This was getting ridiculous. He should have killed Angel upstairs in the
    shower. He had passed up the opportunity of a clean, easy kill. There was no way in
    hell he could leave the house with the boy. He must die there.
    Angel led the way across the wide hall to the kitchen. The light came on
    automatically as they entered. Instinctively Kael stepped back into the hall.
    “There‟s no one here, Daddy; it goes on by itself,” Angel said. “Motion sensitive.”
    “Handy.” Kael followed the boy into the kitchen, past the island counter, and
    over to the sink. Angel took a glass from the cupboard to his right and turned on the
    tap.
    Kael came up behind him, very close, and slid the scalpel from his pocket. He
    placed his right hand on Angel‟s shoulder and his left, holding the scalpel with the
    blade still retracted, he brought up to the boy‟s neck. With his forefinger, he easily
    found the pulsing jugular vein. He was perfectly in position to make the kill. Angel
    trusted him completely. He had his back to him. Even if Angel moved at this point,
    Kael had his body trapped between himself and the edge of the sink. There was no
    escape. All he needed to do was press the release button with his index finger and
    the scalpel blade would flick out, cutting deep into the vein.

    26
    Fyn Alexander

    Kael would instantly step back to avoid blood spatter and would leave the way
    he had entered, through the French windows in the lounge.
    Becoming conscious that neither of them had moved in almost a minute, Kael
    looked up. The window was bare, casting their reflections in the darkened glass
    above the sink. Angel remained completely motionless, looking into Kael‟s reflected
    face. Kael looked at Angel‟s reflection, and their gazes met.
    Angel pressed his back against Kael‟s abdomen. His body melded into Kael‟s
    just as it had when the boy had thrown himself into his arms in the shower
    moments after pissing himself with fear.
    “Life takes strange turns sometimes, doesn‟t it, Daddy?”